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    Alex Cross 03 - Jack & Jill


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      If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

      The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

      Copyright © 1996 by James Patterson

      Excerpt from You’ve Been Warned copyright © 2007 by James PattersonAll rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

      This Warner Books edition is published by arrangement with Little, Brown and Company.

      Warner Books

      Hachette Book Group

      237 Park Avenue

      New York, NY 10017

      Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

      Warner Books and the “W” logo are trademarks of Time Warner Inc. or an affiliated company. Used under license by Hachette Book Group, which is not affiliated with Time Warner Inc.

      First eBook Edition: January 2003

      ISBN: 978-0-7595-2782-9

      Contents

      The novels of James Patterson

      Dedication

      Prologue

      Part I: It’s Tomorrow Again

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      CHAPTER 22

      Part II: The Dragonslayer

      CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      CHAPTER 29

      CHAPTER 30

      CHAPTER 31

      CHAPTER 32

      Part III: The Photojournalist

      CHAPTER 33

      CHAPTER 34

      CHAPTER 35

      CHAPTER 36

      CHAPTER 37

      CHAPTER 38

      CHAPTER 39

      CHAPTER 40

      CHAPTER 41

      CHAPTER 42

      CHAPTER 43

      CHAPTER 44

      CHAPTER 45

      CHAPTER 46

      CHAPTER 47

      CHAPTER 48

      CHAPTER 49

      CHAPTER 50

      CHAPTER 51

      CHAPTER 52

      Part IV: A-Hunting We Will Go

      CHAPTER 53

      CHAPTER 54

      CHAPTER 55

      CHAPTER 56

      CHAPTER 57

      CHAPTER 58

      CHAPTER 59

      CHAPTER 60

      CHAPTER 61

      CHAPTER 62

      CHAPTER 63

      CHAPTER 64

      CHAPTER 65

      CHAPTER 66

      CHAPTER 67

      CHAPTER 68

      CHAPTER 69

      CHAPTER 70

      CHAPTER 71

      CHAPTER 72

      CHAPTER 73

      CHAPTER 74

      CHAPTER 75

      CHAPTER 76

      Part V: No Rules. No Regrets.

      CHAPTER 77

      CHAPTER 78

      CHAPTER 79

      CHAPTER 80

      CHAPTER 81

      CHAPTER 82

      CHAPTER 83

      CHAPTER 84

      CHAPTER 85

      CHAPTER 86

      Part VI: Nobody Is Safe Anymore—Nobody

      CHAPTER 87

      CHAPTER 88

      CHAPTER 89

      CHAPTER 90

      CHAPTER 91

      CHAPTER 92

      CHAPTER 93

      CHAPTER 94

      CHAPTER 95

      CHAPTER 96

      CHAPTER 97

      CHAPTER 98

      CHAPTER 99

      CHAPTER 100

      CHAPTER 101

      CHAPTER 102

      CHAPTER 103

      CHAPTER 104

      CHAPTER 105

      CHAPTER 106

      CHAPTER 107

      CHAPTER 108

      CHAPTER 109

      CHAPTER 110

      CHAPTER 111

      CHAPTER 112

      CHAPTER 113

      CHAPTER 114

      CHAPTER 115

      You’ve Been Warned

      America’s #1 Bestselling Author

      # 1 BESTSELLING NOVEL,

      #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR!

      ACCLAIM FOR JAMES PATTERSON’S BLOCKBUSTER NOVEL

      JACK & JILL

      “Alex Cross’s the kind of multilayered character that makes any plot twist seem believable. From the book’s opening murder to its haunting cliff-hanger ending, PATTERSON HAS CREATED A DARK AND SCARY THRILL RIDE THAT KEEPS YOUR HEART POUNDING AND YOUR EYES GLUED TO THE PAGES.”

      —People

      “CAPTIVATING … The pages turn rapidly, and Patterson juggles twist after twist with genuine glee … As always, Patterson provides a fast-paced thriller full of surprising but realistic plot twists … Cross is one of the best and most likable characters in the modern thriller genre.”

      —San Francisco Examiner

      “HE’S UNBEATABLE … In Jack & Jill [he] again proves himself master of the hair-raising thriller with a climactic, double-twist ending, the trick that made his Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls memorable nail-biters.”

      —Buffalo News

      “QUICK AND SCARY.”

      —New York Daily News

      “CHILLING … THIS BOOK IS HARD TO PUT DOWN.”

      —Associated Press

      “A GRIPPING GAME OF DEATH … Through crisp crosscutting, Patterson grabs readers right from the beginning and sweeps them along toward riveting dual climaxes … It’s fine, full-blooded entertainment from start to finish, with a last-page surprise.”

      —Publishers Weekly

      “HE KEEPS THE PEDAL DOWN ON THE ACTION AND SUSPENSE … James Patterson’s gift to thriller fans is D.C. homicide detective and psychiatrist Alex Cross.”

      —Washington Times

      “THIS IS HIS MOST EXCITING YET … The twists and turns arrive in roller-coaster fashion … Don’t miss this exciting political suspense thriller.”

      —Nashville Banner

      “HARROWING … Patterson’s thrilling thriller pursues the parallel serial killers, one cold-blooded and methodical, one helter-skelter and raging, relentlessly, with the tension building and whodunit uncertain (and ultimately shocking) right up to the final chapter.”

      —Newark Star-Ledger

      “ENGROSSING … MARVELOUSLY CRAFTED … ONE OF THE MOST COMPELLING MYSTERIES OF THE YEAR … Patterson confounds even mystery veterans, however, through a thrill ride rivaling The Mantis at Cedar Point—with spine-tingling twists and turns that leave readers hanging upside down with their hearts racing.”

      —Columbus Dispatch

      “BREAKNECK PACING … Patterson is back with another winner featuring black Washington, D.C., detective/psychologist Alex Cross … Highly recommended.”

      —Library Journal

      “NONSTOP ACTION … JACK & JILL is a suspense thriller that explodes off the pages.”

      —Montgomery Advertiser

      “HI
    S MASTERY OF THE THRILLER GENRE IS UNSURPASSED… JACK & JILL takes the reader on a suspenseful ride as relentless as a high-speed roller coaster.”

      —Abilene Reporter-News

      “A FAST-PACED, ELECTRIC STORY THAT IS UTTERLY BELIEVABLE.”

      —Booklist

      “COMPELLING READING … Patterson’s strong narrative and expert characterizations make the plot work exceptionally well.”

      —Lansing State Journal

      “GUARANTEED TO FRIGHTEN … James Patterson not only creates a dizzying flight of suspense and violence, but probes and exposes the explosive elements in today’s society.”

      —Baton Rouge Magazine

      “TERRIFIC … TANTALIZING … Patterson builds a complex storyline; with shocking scenes and striking, sympathetic characters.”

      —Dayton Beach News Journal

      “OUTSTANDING … Readers who have not discovered James Patterson just don’t know what they are missing. Patterson is, without a doubt, one of the most talented and exciting authors of crime fiction today.”

      —Lake Worth Herald

      “RIVETING… Grabs the reader’s attention and doesn’t let it go.”

      —Manchester Journal Inquirer

      “A THRILL-A-MINUTE … It’s a compelling mystery, better still than Patterson’s first two novels, Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls, and those were both excellent novels. His newest book is still more explosive and powerful. It’s a nonstop nightmare.”

      —Naples Daily News

      “HIS MOST EXCITING AND TERRIFYING BOOK… JACK & JILL is Patterson at his hickory-dickory best,”

      —Rockdale Citizen

      The novels of James Patterson

      FEATURING ALEX CROSS

      Cross

      Mary, Mary

      London Bridges

      The Big Bad Wolf

      Four Blind Mice

      Violets Are Blue

      Roses Are Red

      Pop Goes the Weasel

      Cat & Mouse

      Jack & Jill

      Kiss the Girls

      Along Came a Spider

      THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB

      The 6th Target (and Maxine Paetro)

      The 5th Horseman (and Maxine Paetro)

      4th of July (and Maxine Paetro)

      3rd Degree (and Andrew Gross)

      2nd Chance (and Andrew Gross)

      1st to Die

      OTHER BOOKS

      The Quickie (and Michael Ledwidge)

      Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

      Step on a Crack (and Michael Ledwidge)

      Judge & Jury (and Andrew Gross)

      Maximum Ride: School’s Out — Forever

      Beach Road (and Peter de Jonge)

      Lifeguard (and Andrew Gross)

      Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment

      Honeymoon (and Howard Roughan)

      santaKid

      Sam’s Letters to Jennifer

      The Lake House

      The Jester (and Andrew Gross)

      The Beach House (and Peter de Jonge)

      Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas

      Cradle and All

      Black Friday

      When the Wind Blows

      See How They Run

      Miracle on the 17th Green (and Peter de Jonge)

      Hide & Seek

      The Midnight Club

      Season of the Machete

      The Thomas Berryman Number

      For previews of upcoming James Patterson novels and information about the author, visit www.jamespatterson.com.

      For John Keresty

      Thank you—Robin Schwarz, for the poesy, Irene Markocki, Barbara Groszewski, Maria Pugatch, Fern Galperin, Julie Goodyear, Diana Gaines, Mary Jordan, Tommy De Feo, Frank Nicolo, Michael Hart, Stephanie Apt, Liz Gruszkievicz, Nancy Temkin, Donald M.

      And, Richard and Artie Pine, Larry Kirshbaum, Charlie Hayward, Mel Parker, Amy Rhodes, Malcolm Edwards. And, last and most of all, Fredrica Friedman.

      We share the same nightmares. I try to get them down on paper and temporarily make them go away.

      Prologue

      The Games Begin

      I

      SAM HARRISON swung his agile body out of the silver blue Ford Aerostar, which he had parked on Q Street in the Georgetown section of Washington. Horror stories and games are popular for a good reason, he was thinking as he locked the vehicle and set its alarm. Not the comfortable sit-around-the-campfire horror tales and games we used to cherish as kids, but the real-life horror stories that are around us everywhere these days.

      Now I’m living one myself. I’m about to become part of the horror. How easy it is. How terribly, terribly easy to move past the edge and into the darkness.

      He had stalked and shadowed Daniel Fitzpatrick for two long Weeks. He’d done his job in New York City, London, Boston, and finally, here in Washington, D.C. Tonight he was going to murder the United States senator. In cold blood, execution-style. No one would be able to figure out why. No one would have a clue that might matter later on.

      That was the first and most important rule of the game called Jack and Jill.

      In many ways this was a textbook celebrity-stalker pattern. He knew it to be true as he took up his post across from 211 Q Street.

      And yet, if anyone bothered to look more closely, it was like no other stalking pattern before. What he was going to do now was more provocative than secretly observing Senator Fitzpatrick down obscene numbers of Glenlivet cocktails at The Monocle, his favorite bar in Washington. This was the truest form of madness, Sam Harrison knew. It was pure madness. He didn’t believe he was mad. He believed only in the validity of the game of chance.

      And then, less than thirty yards across the shiny-wet street—there was Daniel Fitzpatrick himself. Right on schedule. At least, close enough.

      He watched the senator stiffly climb out of a gleaming, navy blue Jaguar coupe, a 1996 model. He wore a gray topcoat with a paisley silk scarf. A sleek, slender woman in a black dress was with him. A Burberrys raincoat was casually thrown over her arm. She was laughing at something Fitzpatrick had said. She threw her head back like a beautiful, spirited horse. A wisp of her warm breath met the cool of the night.

      The woman was at least twenty years the senator’s junior. She wasn’t his wife, Sam knew. Dannyboy Fitzpatrick rarely if ever slept with his wife. The blond woman walked with a slight limp, which made the two of them even more intriguing. Memorable, actually.

      Sam Harrison concentrated fiercely. Measure twice, measure five times, if necessary. He took stock of all the details one final time. He had arrived in Georgetown at eleven-fifteen. He looked as if he belonged in the chic, attractive, fashionable neighborhood around Q Street. He looked exactly right for the part he was going to play.

      A very big part in a very big story, one of the biggest in America’s history. Or some would say American theater.

      A leading-man role, to be sure.

      He wore professorial, tortoiseshell glasses for the part. He never wore glasses. Didn’t need them.

      His hair was light blond. His hair wasn’t really blond.

      He called himself Sam Harrison. His name wasn’t really Sam. Or Harrison.

      For that night’s special occasion, he’d carefully selected a soft black cashmere turtleneck, charcoal gray trousers, which were pleated and cuffed, and light-brown walking boots. He wasn’t really such a dapper, self-absorbed dresser. His thick hair was cut short, vaguely reminiscent of the actor Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, one of his least-favorite movies. He carried a small black duffel bag, swinging it like a baton as he now walked briskly toward 211. A camcorder was tucked inside the bag.

      He planned to capture as much of this as possible on film. This was history in the making. It really was history: America at the end of its century, America at the end of an era, America at the end.

      At quarter to twelve, he entered 211 through a darkened service entryway that smelled strongly of ammonia and of dust and decay. He walked up to the fourth floor, where the senator had his flat, his
    study, his love nest in the capital.

      He reached Daniel Fitzpatrick’s door, 4J, at ten minutes to twelve. He was still pretty much on time. So far, so good. Everything was going exactly as planned.

      The highly polished mahogany door opened right in his face.

      He stared at an ash-blond woman who was slender and trim and well kept. She was actually somewhat plainer looking than she had appeared from a distance. It was the same woman who had gotten out of the blue Jag with Fitzpatrick. The woman with the limp.

      Except for a gold barrette in her hair, a lioness from a trip to the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and a gold choker, she was gloriously naked.

      “Jack,” she whispered.

      “Jill,” he said, and smiled.

      II

      IN A DIFFERENT PART of Washington, in a different world, another would-be killer was playing an equally terrifying game. He had found an absolutely terrific hiding place among the thick pines and a few towering, elderly oaks at the center of Garfield Park. He made himself comfortable inside a kind of tent formed by the overhanging tree limbs and a few sturdy, overgrown shrubs.

      “Let’s get busy,” he whispered, though no one was in the hiding place with him. This was going to be a wonderful adventure, a great fantasy. He believed it with his whole heart, body, and what remained of his soul.

      He sat cross-legged on the damp grass and began to work on his face and hair. A tune from the rock band Hole was blasting from the speakers inside his head. This was really good stuff. He loved it to death. Disguises and costumes were a rush. They were about the only thing that let you truly escape, and goddamn, did he ever need to escape.

      When he eventually finished with the costume, he emerged from the shadows of the trees. He had to laugh. He was cracking himself up today. This was the best yet. It was so goofy that it was great. Reminded him of a good joke: Roses are red/violets are blue/I’m schizophrenic/and so am I.

      Hardy-har!

      He definitely looked like an old, homeless fuck-bum now. He really did look like a hopeless old fart. Like the mangy character in the rock song “Aqualung.” He had put on a white fright wig and a salt-and-pepper beard from an actor’s costume kit. Any slight failure of his imagination, or skill as a makeup artist, was covered by the floppy hood of his sweatshirt.

     

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