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He hunted their killers as well. He eliminated his competition. He beat them at their own game. He had known Casanova years before the meticulous and very nasty killer was caught by himself and Dr Cross. He had played murder games with Casanova and with the Gentleman Caller. Kiss the girls and make them cry. Kyle had even fallen in love with one of the victims - young Kate McTieman. He still had a soft spot for dear, sweet Kate. He had been so many things to so many people, played so many roles, and he had only just begun. He had been the Mastermind - but he'd also helped capture the man believed to be the Mastermind. How could you beat that for puzzle-making and puzzle-solving. He'd been an elusive killer in Baltimore; in Cincinnati; in Roanoke, Virginia; in Philadelphia, until he tired of those cities and the minor roles he played in them. He was husband to Louise, father to Bradley and Virginia. He was on the fast track inside the FBI, with one significant problem: he believed they were finally on to him. He was sure of it - though God, they were such obvious, plodding fools. So many exciting roles, so many poses that sometimes Kyle Craig wondered who he actually was. Now the game with Alex Cross had to end. He'd felt the need to taunt and torture Cross, to prove he was the homicide detective's master. And then he had gone over the edge a little himself. It happened when he killed Betsey Cavalierre, one of his own agents. Actually, the killing couldn't be helped. Cavalierre had become suspicious of him while she was chasing the Mastermind with Cross. She had to go, had to die. And so did Cross. Cross was loyal to his friends, trusting, and it had become his greatest flaw, his singular weakness. But Cross would have caught on to him, even if he hadn't yet. And, of course, Cross's instincts had brought him here to watch over Inspector Hughes. Cross needed to be a good man, an ethical cop, a protector. What a waste of intellect. What a pity that Cross couldn't have been an even better adversary. Alex had seen him on the street - so what came next? Whatever it -------------- 267 --------------
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was, it certainly had his adrenaline flowing. This was so good. Kyle knew he had a little time to figure it out. What to do? They were inside Hughes's apartment. He had the edge on them. He wouldn't lose his edge, his advantage. He made his next move.
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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue
Chapter Ninety-Nine
t'VT'ou know, I never liked him, Alex/Jamilla said as we waited in I the semidarkness of her apartment/He seemed so cold, almost mechanical to me. And I'm telling you, he doesn't like women. I felt it instantly.' 'Well, unfortunately, I did like Kyle. He's clever as hell. He even rigged calls from the Mastermind when he and I were together. Now I need to figure out who he really is. There's no psychosis involved, at least I don't think so. He's organized. He can obviously work out elaborate plans. For once, I wish he would call.' 'Be careful what you wish for,'Jamilla said. She and I were sitting beside a shelving unit on the hardwood floor in her living room. There was also a workout bench; nothing too fancy, an older model. Five-and ten-pound free weights were scattered on the floor. So were magazines and sections of the Chronicle. I hoped that Kyle couldn't see into the apartment, that he didn't have binoculars. Or possibly a nightscope attached to a rifle. I knew he could shoot from the way he'd taken down Michael Alexander. He was good at a lot of things. Just in case, Jamilla and I tried to keep away from the windows. 'It makes me dizzy to think about what he's done so far. I wonder if we'll ever know the extent of it?' she asked. 'If we catch him, he'll want to talk. Kyle will want to show off what he's done. If he comes after us tonight, maybe we'll find everything out.'
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'You think he knows you're here?' I sighed, shrugged. 'Probably. Maybe tonight is his coming out party. I know one thing, he won't do what we expect. The Mastermind never does. That's the only real pattern he has.' We talked about calling in reinforcements, but Jamilla thought it would probably scare Kyle off. He wanted the two of us, right? That's what he would get. Do you want to taunt me any more, you bastard? Go for it. Bring it on, Kyle. So the two of us sat there in the dark, and it was almost cozy. Jamilla finally reached out and touched my hand. Then we moved together, leaned against one another. We waited. 'At least it's comfortable,'Jamilla whispered. As stakeouts go.' 'No place like home, right?' It was a little before four when we heard noises above us. Jamilla turned and looked at me. We raised our guns. For the first time, I confronted the idea of shooting Kyle, a man I had thought was my friend. I didn't like the feeling. I wasn't sure how I would react, and that scared me too. There were soft footsteps outside on the terrace. In a way, I was relieved. This was the showdown Kyle wanted. He was coming. I figured that the story he'd been telling for so long, his fantasy life, had finally taken over. Maybe he was psychotic now. That would give us an advantage. 'Real careful,' I whispered, and touched the back of Jamilla's hand. 'Try to look at it the way he does. Kyle thinks he has us where he wants us.' He picked the lock quickly and expertly. A minimum of effort. I realized that he had been watching her place. He knew enough to come up the back stairs, and then he'd climbed a metal ladder onto the terrace. The lock made a soft click. Then nothing happened. 'We're good, everything's cool,' Jamilla whispered. 'This time, we win.' We waited in the dark near the door. It finally opened, oh-so- slowly. Kyle came inside. He moved toward us in a low crouch. Obviously, he couldn't see where we were, but we could see him.
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I hit Kyle with all my weight, full force, every ounce of strength that I had. I slammed him hard against the living-room wall. The whole apartment shook. Books and glasses fell to the floor from open shelves. I was surprised we didn't go right through the wall. I clipped his chin with an elbow as hard as I could. Felt good. Kyle was wiry and strong, but I was pumped to take him. I hit him with a hard, short right hand. It snapped into his jaw. I hit him in the solar plexus. A real gut-wrencher. I was going to hit him again. But then Jamilla flicked on the room lights. My brain caught fire. My body shuddered. It wasn't Kyle Craig.
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Chapter One Hundred
< ^"^ et down, get down! Get below the windows!' I yelled at Vj Jamilla. I was afraid she might be hit by rifle fire. Kyle could be out there, and I knew that he could shoot. She went down and lay facing me, and also the man I had tackled coming in the door. He looked as confused as I felt. Who the hell was he? What had just happened? And where was Kyle? Jamilla had her service revolver pointed at his chest. Her hand was amazingly steady. His nose was bleeding badly from where I'd hit him. He was well-built, probably early thirties, short-haired, a light-skinned black man. Everything was complete chaos in my brain. 'Who the hell are you? Who are you?' I yelled at the dazed, bleeding man on the floor. 'FBI,' he panted. 'I'm a Federal agent. Put down the gun. Put it down now.' Jamilla was yelling too. 'I'm San Francisco PD, and I'm definitely not putting down my gun, mister. What are you doing in my apartment?' she shouted. I could almost see her mind working and she wasn't thinking nice thoughts.'Talk to us!' He shook his head. 'I don't have to answer your questions. Wallet's in the rear left pocket. Badge and ID. I'm FBI, goddamnit!' 'Stay down,'I yelled.'There could be someone outside with a gun. Did Kyle Craig send you here?' I asked. The look on the agent's face answered the question for me, but he -------------- 272 --------------