Jack & Jill

in mine, and we went inside the house on Fifth Street.
    Home.
    Where there are still rules, and everybody is safe, and the dragonslayer is alive and well.

CHAPTER
115

    IT REALLY DOESN’T END—the cruel, relentless nightmare, the roller-coaster ride from hell.
    It was Christmas Eve and the stockings were hung from the chimney with care. Damon, Jannie, and I had almost finished decorating the tree—the final touch being long strings of popcorn and shiny red cranberries.
    The damn telephone rang and I picked it up. Nat King Cole sang carols in the background. A fresh layer of snow glistened on the tiny patch of lawn outside.
    “Hello,” I said.
    “Why hello. If it isn’t Doctor/Detective Cross himself. What a neat treat.”
    I didn’t have to ask who the caller was—I recognized the voice. The sound of it had been in my nightmares for a white—years.
    “Long time, no talk,” Gary Soneji said. “I’ve missed you, Doctor Cross. Have you missed me?”
    Gary Soneji had kidnapped two young children in Washington a few years back, then he’d led us on an incredible search that lasted for months. Of all the murderers I’d known, Soneji was the brightest. He had even fooled some of us into believing that he was a split personality. He’d escaped from prison twice.
    “I’ve thought of you,” I finally told him the truth, “often.”
    “Well, I just called to wish you and yours a happy and holy holiday season. I’ve been born again, you see.”
    I didn’t say anything to Soneji. I waited. The kids had picked up that something was wrong about the phone call. They watched me, until I waved for them to finish up with the Christmas tree.
    “Oh, there’s one other thing, Doctor Cross,” Soneji whispered after a long pause.
    I knew there was something. “What is it, Gary? What’s the one other thing?”
    “Are you enjoying her?
I just had to ask. I have to know.
Do you like her?”
    I held my breath. He knew about Christine, goddamn him!
    “You see, I was the one who left Utile Rosie the cat for your family. Nice touch, don’t you think? So whenever you see the little cutie, you just think—
Gary’s in the house! Gary’s real close!
I am, you know. Have a joyous and safe New Year. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
    Gary Soneji hung up the phone with a gentle
click.
    And then so did I. I went back to the beautiful tree and Jannie and Damon and Nat King Cole.
    Until next time.

ENJOY THIS PEEK AT
    JAMES PATTERSON’S

    STUNNING NOVEL OF
    PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE.
    YOU’VE BEEN
WARNED

    Please turn this page
    for a preview.

    IT’S WAY TOO EARLY in the morning for dead people.
    That’s what I’d be thinking, were I actually thinking clearly right now. I’m not.
    The second I turn the corner on my way to work and see the crowd, the commotion, the dingy gray body bags being wheeled out of that oh-so-chichi hotel, I reach for my camera. I can’t help it. It’s instinct on my part.
    Click, click, click.
    Don’t think about what’s happened here. Just shoot, Kristin.
    My head whips left and right, the lens of my Leica R9 leading the way. I focus first on the faces around me—the gawkers, the lookie-loos.
That’s what Annie Leibovitz would do.
A businessman in wide pinstripes, a bike messenger, a mother with her stroller, they all stand and stare at the -terrible murder scene. Like it or not, this is the highlight of their day. And it’s not yet eight a.m.
    I move forward, even as something inside me is saying, “Look away, walk away.” Even as something says, “You know where you are. This hotel. You know, Kristin.”
    I’m weaving my way toward the entrance to the hotel. Closer and closer, I’m being pulled—as if by an undertow that I can’t resist. And I keep shooting pictures as though I’m on assignment for the
New York Times
or
Newsweek.
    Click, click, click
    Parked at jagged angles, police cars and ambulances fill the street. I look up from their sirens, tracing the twirling beams of blue-and-red light as they dance against the surrounding brownstones.
    I spy more gawkers in the windows of nearby apartments. A woman wearing curlers takes a bite of a bagel.
Click
    Something catches my eye. It’s a reflection, the sun bouncing off the rail of the last gurney being wheeled out of the hotel. That makes four.
What happened in there? Murder? Mass murder?
    They sit, gathered on the sidewalk—four gurneys— each holding a body bag. It’s horrifying. Just awful.
    My wrist twists, and I go