Cross

'No.' She tried to cover herself too late.

There were three mailboxes on the wall. Only number two had a single name: L. Brandt.

'Let's go upstairs, Miss Brandt.'

'I'm not -'

'Yes, you are. No reason to lie. Now move it, before you lose it.'

In less than twenty seconds, they were inside her second-floor condo. The living room, like L. Brandt herself, was neat and organized. Black-and-white photos of kissing scenes were up on the walls. Movie posters – Sleepless in Seattle, An Officer and a Gentleman. The girl was a romantic at heart. But in some ways, so was Sullivan – at least he thought so.

Her body went stiff as a two-by-four as he picked her up. She was a tiny thing; it took all of one arm to get her into the bedroom, then down on her bed, where she lay without moving.

'You're a very beautiful girl,' he said. 'Just lovely. Like an exquisite doll. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see the rest of the package.'

He used the scalpel to cut the buttons off that pricey tweed suit of hers. L. Brandt came undone right along with her clothes; she went from paralyzed to limp, but at least he didn't have to remind her to keep quiet.

He used his hands on her bra and panties, which were black and lacy. On a weekday, too. She didn't wear pantyhose, and her legs were just great, slender and lightly tanned. Toenails painted bright red. When she tried to squeeze her eyes shut, he slapped her just enough to get her full attention.

'Stay with me, L. Brandt.'

Something on her dresser caught his eye. Lipstick. 'You know what, put some of that on. And a nice perfume. You pick something out.' L. Brandt did as she was told. She knew she had no choice.

He held his cock in one hand, the scalpel in the other – a visual she would never, ever forget. Then he forced himself inside her. 'I want you to play along,' he said. 'Fake it if you have to. I'm sure you've done that before.' She did her best, arching her pelvis, moaning once or twice, just not looking at him.

'Now, look at me,' he commanded. 'Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. That's better.' Then it was over for him. For both of them.

'A quick chat before I go,' he said. 'And, believe it or not, I am planning to leave. I'm not going to hurt you. No more than I already have.'

He found her purse on the floor. Inside was what he was looking for – a driver's license and a black address book. He held the license under the bedside lamp.

'So it's Lisa. Very nice picture for government-issue. Of course, you're even prettier in real life. Now let me show you a few pictures of my own.'

He hadn't brought many, just four of them, but some of his personal favorites. He fanned them out in the palm of one hand. Lisa was back to frozen again. It was almost funny, like if she was still enough, he might not notice her there.

He held up the photos for her to see – one at a time. 'These are all people I've met twice. You and I, of course, have only met once. Whether or not we meet again is entirely up to you. Do you follow? Am I making myself clear?'

'Yes.'

He stood up and walked around to her side of the bed, gave her a few seconds to process what he was saying. She covered herself with a sheet. 'Do you understand me, Lisa? Truly? I know it can be a little hard to concentrate right now. I imagine it would be.'

'I won't say – anything,' she whispered. 'I promise.'

'Good, I believe you,' he said. 'Just in case, though, I'm going to take this, too.'

He held up the address book. Flipped it open to B. 'Here we go. Tom and Lois Brandt. Is that Mom and Dad? Vero Beach, Florida. Supposed to be very nice down there. The Treasure Coast.'

'Oh, God, please,' she said.

'Entirely up to you, Lisa,' he said. 'Of course, if you ask me, it would be a shame after all this for you to end up like those others in the photographs. You know – in parts, sewn up. Whatever I was in the mood to do.'

He lifted up the sheet and looked her over one more time. 'They'd be pretty parts in your case, but parts all the same.'

And with those last words, he left Lisa Brandt alone with her memories of him.

Chapter 52

' THIS IS WHY I DON'T WEAR TIES.'

John Sampson pulled at the constricting knot around his neck and ripped the damn thing off. He tossed it and what remained of his coffee into the trash. Immediately he wished he hadn't thrown away the coffee. He and Billie had been up half the night with little Djakata and her flu. A truckload of caffeine was exactly what he needed right now.

When the phone on his desk rang, he was in no mood to talk to anybody about anything. 'Yeah, what?'

A woman's voice came on the other end. 'Is this Detective Sampson's line?'

'Sampson here. What?'

'This is Detective Angela Susan Anton. I'm with the Sex Assault Unit, assigned to the Second District.'

'Okay.' He waited for her to connect some dots for him.

'I was hoping to pull you in on a disturbing case, Detective. We're running into some serious dead ends over here.'

Sampson fished in the wastebasket for the coffee container. All right! It had landed right-side up.

'What's the case?'

'A rape. Happened in Georgetown last night. The woman was treated at GUH, but all she'll say is that she was attacked. She won't ID the guy. Won't describe him at all. I was with her all morning and got nowhere. I've never seen anything quite like it, Detective. The level of fear the woman is exhibiting.'

Sampson crooked the phone to his ear and scribbled some notes on a tablet that said 'Dad Pad' at the top, a Father's Day knickknack from Billie. 'Okay so far. But I'm curious why you're calling me, Detective.'

He sipped the bad coffee again, and suddenly it seemed not so bad.

Anton took a beat before answering. 'I understand that Alex Cross is a friend of yours.'

Sampson set down his pen and leaned back in his desk chair. 'Now I see.'

'I was hoping you could -'

'I hear you loud and clear, Detective Anton. You want me to pimp the deal for you?'

'No,' she said quickly. 'Rakeem Powell tells me you two are seriously good when you work serials together. I'd like to have you both in on this. Hey, I'm just being honest.'

Sampson stayed quiet, waiting to see if she'd get out of this one or hang herself some more.

'We left messages for Dr. Cross last night and this morning, but I have to imagine everyone and their uncle want a piece of his time. Now that he's freelancing.'

'Well, you're right about that, everybody wants a piece of him,' he said. 'But Alex is a big boy He can take care of himself and make his own decisions. Why don't you keep trying his phone?'

'Detective Sampson, this perp is a particularly sick bastard. I don't have the luxury of wasting anyone's time on this case, including my own. So if I've stepped on your toes in any way, maybe you can get the hell over it, cut through the bullshit, and tell me if you'll help me or not.'

Sampson recognized the tone, and it made him smile. 'Well, since you put it that way – yeah, okay. I can't make any commitments for Alex. But I'll see what I can do.'

'Great. Thank you. I'll send over the files now. Unless you want to pick them up here.'

'Hold on. Files? Plural?'

'Am I going too fast for you, Detective Sampson? The whole reason I'm calling is your and Dr. Cross's experience with serial cases.'

Sampson rubbed the telephone receiver against his temple. 'Yeah, I guess you are going too fast for me. Are we talking homicide here, too?'