Violets Are Blue

inside the FBI, with one significant problem: He believed they were finally onto 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 had 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 onto 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.
    Cross had seen him on the street — so what came next? Whatever it 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.

Chapter 99

    “YOU KNOW, I never liked him, Alex,” Jamilla said as we waited in 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 was. 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 said.
    “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.”
    “You think he knows you’re here?”
    I sighed, shrugged. “He probably knows I’m here. 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 anymore, you bastard? Go for it. Bring it, 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 each other. 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 outside. 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.
    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