Kiss the Girls

that people didn’t lock their doors in Stoneman Lake.
    God, he loved this… lived for it… his times as Mr. Hyde.
    Juliette was making breakfast for herself. He could hear her half humming, half singing as he made his way across the living room. The aroma and the crackling sound of bacon frying made him think of his family’s house in Asheville.
    His father had been the original gentleman. Army colonel and proud and arrogant about it. Inflexible asshole who was never pleased about anything his son did. Big fan of the thick leather belt to instill discipline. Liked to scream at the top of his lungs as he beat the shit out of him. Raised the perfect son. High school standout scholar and athlete. Phi Beta Kappa undergrad. High honors in Duke medical school. Human monster.
    He watched Juliette Montgomery from the doorway that led into her spotlessly clean kitchen. The window shades were up and the room was flooded with sunlight. She was still singing… an old Jimi Hendrix song called “Castles Made of Sand.” Unexpected tune from the pretty lady.
    He loved watching her like this—when she thought she was alone. Singing something she’d probably be embarrassed to in front of him. Carefully laying out her three strips of bacon on a paper towel that came close to matching the beige-and-brown kitchen wallpaper.
    Juliette wore a sheer white cottony negligee that fluttered around her thighs as she moved between the stove and table. She was in her mid-twenties. Long dancer’s legs. Nicely tanned. Bare feet on the kitchen linoleum. Auburn hair she’d bothered to brush before coming down to make her breakfast.
    A set of knives in a butcher-block holder sat on the counter. He took out the cleaver. The knife made a soft ringing noise as it lightly struck a stainless steel pot on the counter.
    She turned at the sound. Very lovely in profile. Freshly scrubbed, radiant. Juliette liked herself, too. He could tell that she did.
    “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
    The words came out in small gasps. Her face was as pale as her negligee.
    Now move fast,
he told himself.
    He grabbed Juliette and held the cleaver up high. Shades of Hitchcock’
Psycho
and also
Frenzy.
High-concept melodrama.
    “Don’t make me hurt you. It’s all in your control,” he said softly.
    She stopped the scream before it got out of her mouth, but
the scream was in her eyes.
He loved the look on Juliette’s face. Lived for it.
    “I won’t hurt you as long as you don’t do anything to hurt me. Are we all right so far? Are we clear as a bell?”
    She nodded her hear curtly. A couple of nods. Her blue-green eyes were tilted up strangely. She was afraid to move her head too much for fear he’d slash her.
    She sighed. Amazing. She seemed to trust him a little. His voice had that effect on people. His style and fine manners. Mr. Hyde.
The Gentleman Caller.
    She was looking deeply into his eyes, searching for some explanation. He had seen that questioning look so many times before. Why? it said.
    “I’m going to take your panties off now. No doubt this has been done for you before, so there’s no reason to panic. You have the softest, nicest skin. I mean that,” said the Gentleman.
    The cleaver slashed quickly.
    “I like you, Juliette, I really do… as much as I’m able to like anyone,” the Gentleman said in his softest voice.

Chapter 78

    K ATE MCTIERNAN was home again. Home again, home again, jiggitty-jig. First thing was to call her sister Carole Anne, who lived far away in Maine now. Then she called a few close friends in Chapel Hill. She reassured them that she was perfectly all right.
    That was total bullshit, of course. She knew that she wasn’t anything close to all right, but why cause them to worry? It wasn’t Kate’s way to inconvenience other people with her unsolvable problems.
    Alex didn’t want her to go back to her house, but she had to. This was
where she lived.
She tried to calm herself a little, to slow down the big bad world in her head, at least. She drank wine and watched late-night TV. She hadn’t done that in years. Centuries!
    She was missing Alex Cross already, and more than she wanted to admit to herself. Staying home and watching TV was a good test, but she was failing miserably. She was such a schlump sometimes.
    She had developed—
what?
—a schoolgirl
crush
on Alex? He was strong, smart, funny, kind. He loved children, and was even in touch with the child in himself. He had a sculpted