Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross #2)(91)

“Not yet. Stick with me on this.”

I didn’t want to leave and stop our search for the day. Having Sampson around again was a major plus. There were still three more farms on Dr. Freed’s map. Two of them sounded promising; the other seemed as if it might be too small. So maybe that was the very one Casanova had chosen for his hideaway. He was a contrarian, wasn’t he?

So was I. I wanted to keep searching through the night, dark woods or not, black snakes and copperheads or not, twin killers or not.

I remembered Kate’s terrifying stories about the disappearing house and what went on inside. What had really happened to Kate the day she escaped? If the house wasn’t in these woods where in God’s name was it? It had to be underground. Nothing else made sense…

Nothing made any goddamn sense yet.

Unless someone had purposely cleared away every last remnant of the farm.

Unless someone had used the old wood for other building purposes.

I finally took out my pistol and searched around for something, anything, to shoot at. Sampson watched me out of the comer of his eye. Curious, but not saying anything yet.

I needed to get some anger out. Release some venom, some stress. Right here and now. There was nothing to target-shoot at, though. No underground house of horror.

But also no rotting planks from the farmhouse or barn. Not one remnant that I had seen.

I finally fired a round at the knobby trunk of a nearby tree. In my incipient craziness, a knot in the tree resembled the head of a man. A man like Casanova. I fired again and again. All direct hits, dead-solid perfect. I had killed Casanova!

“Feel better now?” Sampson peered over the top of his Ray-Ban sunglasses at me. “You hit the bogeyman in his evil eye?”

“I feel a little better. Not much.” I showed him my thumb and forefinger, spread about a millimeter apart.

Sampson leaned against a small tree that looked like a human skeleton. The little sapling wasn’t getting enough light. “I do think it’s time we packed up and left,” he said.

That was when we heard screams!

Women’s voices were coming from under the ground.

The screams were muffled, but we could hear them clearly all the same. They were to the north of us and even farther into the thick bramble, but closer to the open meadow beyond the old tobacco fields.

A tightly wound ball of tension hit me with tremendous force at the sound of the voices under the ground. My head slumped involuntarily toward my chest.

Sampson took out his Glock and squeezed off two quick shots, more signals for the trapped women, for whoever was screaming under the ground.

The muffled screams were getting louder, rising as if from the tenth circle of hell.

“Sweet Baby Jesus,” I whispered. “We found them, John. We found the house of horror.”





Chapter 106


S AMPSON AND I got down on our hands and knees. We searched frantically for the hidden entryway into the underground house, running our fingers and palms over the undergrowth until they were cut and bleeding. I looked down and my hands were shaking.

I fired off several more gunshots, so the women trapped below would know we’d heard them, and that we were still up here. After I fired the shots, I quickly reloaded.

“We’re up here!” I yelled, with my head close to the ground. The weeds and grass were scratching my face. “We’re police!”

“Here we go, Alex,” Sampson called to me. “The door’s over here. There’s some kind of door, anyway.”

Running through the high thick weeds was like wading in water. The trapdoor was hidden in honeysuckle and waist-high grass, where Sampson had been searching. The door had been covered over with an extra layer of sod and a thick blanket of pine needles. The door wasn’t likely to be found by a search party, or anyone else hiking through the woods.

“I’ll go down first,” I told Sampson. Blood roared and echoed in my ears. Usually he would have argued. Not this time.

I hurried, rumbling down a steep, narrow wooden stairway that looked as if it had been there for a hundred years. Sampson followed close behind. The good twins.

Stop! I told myself. Slow it down. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a second doorway. The heavy oak plank door looked new, as if it had been installed recently, possibly in the past year or two. I slowly turned the handle. The door was locked.

“I’m coming in,” I shouted to anyone who might be behind the door. Then I fired two rounds into the lock and it disintegrated. The wooden door heaved open with a hard shove from my shoulder.

I was finally inside the house of horror. What I saw made me retch. A woman’s body was laid out on a couch in what appeared to be a well-appointed living room. The corpse had begun to decompose. The features were unrecognizable. Maggots were swarming all over the victim.

Move, I had to tell myself. Go! Go now.

“I’m right behind you,” Sampson whispered in his deep, homicide-scene voice. “Watch yourself now, Alex.”

“This is the police!” I called out. My voice was shaky and getting hoarse. I was afraid of what else we might find in the hideaway. Was Naomi still here? Was she alive?

“We’re down here!” a woman called out. “Can anybody hear me?”

“We hear you! We’re coming!” I shouted again.

“Please help us!” A second voice sounded farther away in the underground house. “Be careful. He’s tricky.”