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Prologue
WITHOUT ANY WARNING
Chapter One
NOTHING EVER STARTS where we think it does. So of course this doesn't begin with the
vicious and cowardly murder of an FBI agent and good friend named Betsey Cavalierre. I
only thought that it did. My mistake, and a really big and painful one.
I arrived at Betsey's house in Woodbridge, Virginia, in the middle of the night. I'd
never been there before, but I didn't have any trouble finding it. The FBI and EMS were
already there. There were flashing red and yellow lights everywhere, seeming to paint the
lawn and front porch with bright, dangerous streaks.
I took a deep breath and walked inside. My sense of balance was off. I was reeling. I
acknowledged a tall blond FBI agent I knew named Sandy Hammonds. I could see that Sandy
had been crying. She was a friend of Betsey's.
On a hallway table I saw Betsey's service revolver. Beside it was a printed reminder
for her next shooting qualifier at the FBI range. The irony stung.
I forced myself to walk down a long hallway that led from the living room to the back
of the house. The house looked to be close to a hundred years old and was filled with the
kind of country clutter that she'd loved. The master bedroom was situated at the end of
the hall.
I knew instantly that the murder had happened in there. The FBI techs and the local
police were swarming around the open door like angry wasps near a threatened hive. The
house was strangely, eerily quiet. This was as bad as it gets, worse than anything else.
Ever.
Another one of my partners was dead.
The second one brutally murdered in two years. And Betsey had been much more than just
a partner. How could this have happened? What did it mean? I saw Betsey's small body
sprawled on the hardwood floor and I went cold. My hand flew to my face, a reflex I had no
control over.
The killer had stripped off her nightclothes. I didn't see them anywhere in the
bedroom. The lower body was coated with blood. He'd used a knife. He'd punished Betsey
with it. I desperately wanted to cover her, but I knew I couldn't.
Betsey's brown eyes were staring up at me, but they saw nothing. I remembered kissing
those eyes and that sweet face. I remembered Betsey's laugh, high-pitched and musical. I
stood there for a long time, mourning Betsey, missing her terribly. I wanted to turn away,
but I didn't. I just couldn't leave her like this.
As I stood there in the bedroom, trying to figure out something coherent about Betsey's
murder, the cell phone in my jacket pocket went off. I jumped. I grabbed it, but then I
hesitated. I didn't want to answer.
"Alex Cross," I finally spoke into the receiver.
I heard a machine-filtered voice and it cut right through me. I shuddered against my
will.
"I know who this is and I even know where you are. At poor, dear, butchered
Betsey's. Do you feel a little bit like a puppet on a string, Detective? You should,"
said the Mastermind. "Because that's what you are. You're my favorite puppet, in
fact."
"Why did you kill her?" I asked the monster. "You didn't have to do
this."
He laughed a mechanical laugh and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "You
ought to be able to figure that out, no? You're the famous Detective Alex Cross. You have
all those big, important cases notched on your belt. You caught Gary Soneji, Casanova. You
solved Jack and Jill. Christ, you're impressive."
I spoke in a low voice. "Why don't you come after me right now? How about tonight?
As you say, you know where I am."
The Mastermind laughed again, quietly, almost under his breath. "How about I kill
your grandmother and your three kids tonight? I know where they are too. You left
your partner with them, didn't you? You think he can stop me? John Sampson doesn't have a
chance against me."
I hung up and ran out of the house in Woodbridge. I called Sampson in Washington and he
picked up on the second ring.
"Everything okay there?" I gasped. "Everything's fine, Alex. No problems
here. You don't sound too good, though. What's up? What happened?"
"He said he's coming for you and Nana and the kids," I told John. "The
Mastermind."
"Not going to happen, sugar. Nobody will get past me. I hope to hell he
tries."
"Be careful, John. I'm on my way back to Washington right now. Please be
careful. He's crazy. He didn't just kill Betsey, he defiled her."
I ended the call with Sampson and I sprinted full-out toward my old Porsche.
The cell phone rang again before I got to the car.
"Cross," I answered, still running as I spoke, trying to steady the phone
against my chin and ear.
It was him again. He was laughing maniacally. "You can relax, Dr. Cross. I can
hear your labored breathing. I'm not going to hurt them tonight. I was just fucking with
you. Having some fun at your expense.
"You're running, aren't you? Keep running, Dr. Cross. But you won't be fast
enough. You can't get away from me. It's you I want. You're next, Dr. Cross."
Excerpted from VIOLETS ARE BLUE © Copyright 2001 by James Patterson. Reprinted with permission from Time Warner. All rights reserved.
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