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Authors: James Patterson

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Alex Cross 02 - Kiss the Girls

BOOK: Alex Cross 02 - Kiss the Girls
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Also by James Patterson:

Available in eBook*

The Thomas Berryman Number

Season of the Machete

See How They Run

The Midnight Club

Along Came a Spider*

Kiss the Girls*

Hide & Seek

Jack & Jill*

Miracle on the 17th Green

(with Peter de Jonge)

Cat & Mouse*

When the Wind Blows*

Pop Goes the Weasel*

Black Friday

Cradle and All

Roses Are Red*

1st to Die*

Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas*

Violets Are Blue*

2nd Chance*

The Beach House

The Jester*

The Lake House*

Copyright

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 © 1995 by James Patterson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may
quote brief passages in a review.

Warner Books

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue

New York, NY 10017

Visit our website at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
.

ISBN: 978-0-7595-2780-5

First eBook Edition: December 2002

Contents

Also by James Patterson:

Copyright

Prologue

Part One: Scootchie Cross

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

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Part Two: Hide and Seek

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

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Part Three: The Gentleman Caller

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

Part Four: Twinning

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

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

Part Five: Kiss the Girls

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

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

For Isabelle Anne

and Charles Henry

Prologue

PERFECT CRIMES

 

Casanova

Boca Raton, Florida, June 1975

F
OR THREE weeks, the young killer actually lived
inside the walls
of an extraordinary fifteen-room beach house.

He could hear the whispery Atlantic surf outside, but he was never tempted to look out at the ocean or the private white-sand
beach that stretched to three hundred feet or more along the shore. There was too much to explore, to study, to accomplish,
from his hiding place inside the dazzling Mediterranean-revival-style house in Boca. His pulse hadn’t stopped hammering for
days.

Four people lived in the huge house: Michael and Hannah Pierce and their two daughters. The killer spied on the family in
the most intimate ways, and at their most intimate moments. He loved all the little things about the Pierces, especially Hannah’s
delicate seashell collection and the fun fleet of teak sailboats that hung from the ceiling in one of the guest rooms.

He watched the elder daughter, Coty, day
and
night. She attended St. Andrews High School with him. She was stunning. No girl in school was as beautiful or as smart as
Coty. He was also keeping his eye on Karrie Pierce. She was only thirteen, but already a budding fox.

Although he was more than six feet tall, he easily fit into the air-conditioning ducts of the house. He was wire thin and
hadn’t started to fill out yet. The killer was handsome in an Eastern preppy way.

Stashed in his hiding place were a handful of dirty novels, highly erotic books he had found during fevered shopping trips
to Miami. He had become addicted to
The Story of O, School Girls in Paris,
and
Voluptuous Initiations.
He also kept a Smith and Wesson revolver in the walls with him.

He went in and out of the house through a casement window in the celler that had a broken latch. Sometimes he even slept down
there, behind an old, gently purring Westinghouse refrigerator, where the Pierces kept extra beer and soda pop for their gala
parties, which often ended with a bonfire on the beach.

Truth be told, he was feeling a little extra weird that night in June, but nothing to worry about. No problems.

Earlier in the evening, he had handpainted his body in bright streaks and splashes of cherry red, orange, and cadmium yellow.
He
was
a warrior; a hunter.

He huddled with his chrome-plated .22-caliber revolver, flashlight, and grope-books in the ceiling over Coty’s bedroom. Right
on top of her, so to speak.

Tonight was the night of nights. The beginning of everything that really mattered in his life.

He settled in and began to reread favorite passages from
School Girls in Paris.
His pocket flashlight cast a dim light on the pages. The book was definitely a major turn-on, but also a big yuk. It was
about a “respectable” French lawyer who paid a buxom headmistress to let him spend nights inside a hotsy-totsy boarding school
for girls. The story was filled with the hokiest language: “his silver-tipped ferrule,” “his faithless truncheon,” “he gamahuched
the ever-willing schoolgirls.”

After a while he got tired of reading, and peeked at his wristwatch. It was time now, almost 3:00 A.M. His hands were shaking
as he put the book aside and peered through the cross-hatching of the grill.

He could barely catch his breath as he watched Coty in bed. The very real adventure was now before him. Just as he had imagined
it.

He savored a thought:
My real life is about to begin. Am I really going to do this? Yes, I am! …

He was
definitely
living in the walls of the Pierce beach house. Soon that nightmarish, eerie fact would dominate the front page of every major
newspaper throughout the United States. He could hardly wait to read the
Boca Raton News.

THE BOY IN THE WALLS!

THE KILLER WHO ACTUALLY LIVED IN THE WALLS OF A FAMILY’S HOUSE!

A STARK-RAVING HOMICIDAL MANIAC COULD BE LIVING IN YOUR HOUSE!

Coty Pierce was sleeping like the most beautiful little girl. She had on an oversized University of Miami Hurricanes T-shirt,
but it had moved up and he could see the pink silk bikini panties underneath.

She slept on her back, one sunbrowned leg crossed over the other. Her pouty mouth was just slightly open, forming the tiniest
o,
and she looked all innocence and light from his vantage point.

She was almost a full-grown woman now. He’d watched her preen in front of the wall mirror just a few hours before. Watched
her take off her pink lacy push-up bra. Watched her as she stared at her perfect breasts.

Coty was unbearably haughty and
untouchable.
Tonight he was going to change all that. He was going to take her.

Carefully, silently, he removed the metal grill in the ceiling. Then he crawled out of the wall and down into Coty’s sky-blue-and-pink
bedroom. His chest felt constricted, and his breathing was quick and labored. One minute he felt hot, the next he was shivering
and cold.

Two small plastic trash bags covered his feet and were secured around his ankles, and he wore the light blue rubber gloves
that the Pierces’ maid used for housecleaning.

He felt like a sleek Ninja warrior and looked like Terror itself with his naked handpainted body. The perfect crime. He loved
the feeling.

Could this be a dream?
No, he
knew
it wasn’t a dream. This was the real deal. He was actually going to do this! He took a deep breath and felt a burning inside
his lungs.

For a brief moment, he studied the peaceful young girl he’d admired so many times at St. Andrews. Then he quietly slipped
into bed with the one-and-only Coty Pierce.

He took off a rubber glove and gently caressed her perfect, sun-bronzed skin. He pretended that he was smoothing coconut-scented
suntan oil all over Coty. He was rock-hard already.

Her long blond hair was sunbleached and felt as soft as rabbit’s fur. It was thick and beautiful and smelled forest-clean,
like balsam.
Yes, dreams do come true.

Coty suddenly popped open her eyes. They were shiny emerald green gems, and they looked like priceless jewels from Harry Winston’s
in Boca.

She breathlessly said his name—the name she knew him by at school. But he had given himself a new name; he’d
named
himself, re-created himself.

“What are you doing here,” she gasped. “How did you get in?”

“Surprise, surprise. I’m
Casanova,
” he whispered against her ear. His pulse was racing off the charts. “I chose you from all the beautiful girls in Boca Raton,
in all of Florida. Aren’t you pleased?”

Coty started to scream. “Shush now,” he said, and smothered her small lovely mouth with his own. With a loving kiss.

He also kissed Hannah Pierce on that unforgettable evening of mayhem and murder in Boca Raton.

Shortly after, he kissed thirteen-year-old Karrie.

Before he was finished for the night, he knew that he really was Casanova—the world’s greatest lover.

 

The Gentleman Caller

Chapel Hill, North Carolina, May 1981

H
E WAS the perfect
Gentleman.
Always a
Gentleman.
Always unobtrusive and polite.

He thought about that as he listened to the two lovers talking in sibilant whispers as they strolled near University Lake.
It was all so dreamily romantic. It was so right for him.

“Is this a good idea, or is this too dumb for words?” he heard Tom Hutchinson ask Roe Tierney.

They were maneuvering into a teal blue rowboat that was gently rocking alongside a long dock on the lake. Tom and Roe were
going to “borrow” the boat for a few hours. Sneaky college mischief.

BOOK: Alex Cross 02 - Kiss the Girls
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