Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross #1)(79)

I was caught by surprise—shock—pleasure—entering her, then parting so quickly. She was wired. Almost violent.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I’m going to have a heart attack,” Jezzie whispered. “Better figure out a story for the police. Whew, Alex.”

She took my hand and pulled me into the tub. The water was warm, just right. So was everything else.

We started to laugh. I still had my underwear on, but Pete was poking and peeking around. I pulled off the shorts.

We maneuvered in the tub until we were facing each other. Jezzie got on top of me somehow. We were unwilling to give up any contact. Jezzie leaned way back. She braced her hands behind her head. She watched my face with curious fascination. The red on her neck and chest was getting deeper.

Her long legs suddenly lifted straight out of the water and hooked around my head. Jezzie jerked forward a couple of times, then both of us exploded. Her body went stiff. We thrashed and moaned a lot. Waves of water splashed from the tub.

Somehow Jezzie got her arms around me—her arms and her legs. I settled back in water just under my nose.

Then I went under. Jezzie was on top of me. The feeling of being close to climax rushed through my body. We were both coming. I was also going to drown. I heard Jezzie yell again, a strange water-muffled sound above the surface.

I climaxed as I was about to run out of air. I swallowed water and coughed.

Jezzie rescued me. She pulled me up, and took my face in both her hands.

Release. Blessed release.

We stayed there holding each other. Spent, as they used to say in gentler times. There was more water on the floor than in the bathtub.

All I knew right then was that I was falling deeper and deeper in love. That much I was sure about. The rest of my life was mystery and chaos, but at least there was a lifeline. There was Jezzie.

Around one o’clock in the morning, I had to leave to go home. That way, I would be there when the kids got up. Jezzie understood. After the trial, we were going to sort everything out a lot better. Jezzie wanted to get to know Jannie and Damon; it had to be done just right, we agreed.

“I miss you already,” she said as I got ready to go. “Damn. Don’t go… I know you have to go.”

She took the silver comb out of her hair and pressed it into my hand.

I went out into the night, with her voice still in my head. At first, there was nothing but the pitch-darkness of the parking lot.

Suddenly, two men stepped out in front of me. I automatically reached for my shoulder holster. One of them switched on a glaring light. The other had a camera aimed at my face.

The press had found me and Jezzie. Oh, shit! The kidnapping was so big that everything around it was a story. It had been like that from the start.

A young woman trailed along behind the two men. She had long, frizzy black hair. She looked like part of a movie crew from New York or L.A.

“Detective Alex Cross?” one of the men asked. Meanwhile, his partner took several rapid shots with the camera. The flashes lit up the dark parking lot.

“We’re from the National Star. We want to talk to you, Detective Cross.” I picked up a British accent. The National Star was an American tabloid based in Miami.

“What does this have to do with anything that’s happened?” I said to the Brit. I was fingering Jezzie’s silver comb in my pocket. “This is private. This isn’t news. This isn’t anybody else’s business.”

“That’s our job to decide,” he said. “I don’t know, though, mate. Major communications breakthrough between the D.C. police and the Secret Service. Secret talks, and whatever.”

The woman was already knocking at the motel door. Her voice was as loud as the metallic rapping. “This is the National Star!” she announced.

“Don’t come out,” I shouted to Jezzie.

The door opened, and Jezzie stood there fully dressed. She stared at the frizzy-haired woman and didn’t bother to conceal her contempt.

“This must be a really proud moment,” she said to the reporter. “This is probably as close as you’ll ever get to a Pulitzer.”

“Nah.” The reporter had a comeback. “I know Roxanne Pulitzer. And now I know you two.”





CHAPTER 65


I PLAYED A MEDLEY of Keith Sweat, Bell Biv Devoe, Hammer, and Public Enemy pop songs on the piano. I stayed out on the porch entertaining Damon and Janelle until about eight that morning. It was Wednesday of the week Jezzie and I had gotten our little lurid surprise in Arlington.

Nana was in the kitchen reading a hot copy of the National Star, which I’d bought for her at Acme. I waited for her to call me inside.

When she didn’t, I got up from my pumping piano and went to face her music. I told Damon and Janelle to stay put. “Stay just the way you are. Don’t ever change.”

Just like on any other morning, Nana was sipping tea. The remains of her poached egg and toast were still in evidence. The tabloid was casually folded over on the kitchen table. Read? Unread? I couldn’t tell from her face, or the condition of the newspaper.

“You read the story?” I had to ask.

“Well, I read enough to get the gist of it. Saw your picture on the front page, too,” she said to me. “I believe that’s how people read that kind of paper. I always used to be surprised, people buying a paper like that on Sunday morning after church.”