Kiss the Girls by James Patterson Page A

conversational voice…
sixth-degree animal.
    She tried to get up, but thought better of it immediately. “Whoa there,” she said out loud. Her throat was dry, and her voice sounded raspy as it echoed unpleasantly inside her head. Her tongue felt as if it needed a shave.
    I’m in hell. In a circle from Dante’s Inferno, with a very low number,
she thought, and she began to shiver. Everything about the moment was terrifying, but it was so horrible, and so unexpected, she couldn’t orient herself to it.
    Her joints were stiff and painful; she ached all over. She doubted that she could press a hundred pounds right now. Her head felt huge, bloated like aging fruit, and it hurt, but she could vividly remember the attacker. He was tall, maybe six two, youngish, extremely powerful, articulate. The images were hazy, but she was absolutely certain they were true.
    She remembered something else about the monstrous attack in her apartment. He’d used a stun gun, or something like it, to immobilize her. He’d also used chloroform, or maybe it was halothane. That could account for her bruising headache.
    The lights had purposely been left on in the room. She noticed they were coming from modern-looking dimmers built into the ceiling. The ceiling was low, possibly under seven feet.
    The room looked as if it had recently been built, or remodeled. It was actually decorated tastefully, the way she might have done her own apartment if she had the money and time…. A real brass bed. Antique white dresser with brass handles. A dressing table with a silver brush, comb, mirror. There were colorful scarves tied on the bedposts, just the way she did them at home. That struck her as strange. Very odd.
    There were no windows in the room. The only way out appeared to be through a heavy wooden door.
    “Nice decor,” Kate muttered softly. “Early psycho. No, it’s
late
psycho.”
    The door to a small closet was open halfway and she could see inside. What she saw made her feel physically ill.
    He’d brought her clothes to this horrible place, this bizarre prison cell. All of her clothes were here.
    Using her remaining strength, Kate McTiernan forced herself to sit upright in the bed. The effort made her heart race, and the pounding in her chest frightened her. Her arms and legs felt as if heavy weights were tied to them.
    She concentrated hard, trying to focus her eyes on the incredible scene. She continued to stare into the closet.
    Those weren’t actually her clothes, she realized. He’d gone out and bought clothes
just like hers!
Exactly to her taste and style. The clothes displayed in the closet were brand-new. She could see some of the store tags dangling from the blouses and skirts. The Limited. The Gap in
Chapel Hill.
Stores she actually shopped in herself.
    Her eyes darted to the top of the antique white dresser across the room. Her perfume was there, too. Obsession. Safari. Opium.
    He’d bought all of it for her, hadn’t he?
    Next to the bed was a copy of
All the Pretty Horses,
the same book she had bought on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill.
    He knows everything about me!

Chapter 26

    D R. KATE McTiernan slept. Awoke. Slept some more. She made a joke of it. Called herself “lazybones.” She
never
slept in. Not since before med school, anyway.
    She was begining to feel more clearheaded and alert, more in command of herself, except that she had lost track of time. She didn’t know if it was morning, noon, or night. Or even which day it was.
    The man, whoever the bastard was, had been inside the mysterious, despicable room while she slept. The thought made her physically ill. There was
a note
propped on the bedside table, where she was sure to see it.
    The note was handwritten.
Dear Dr. Kate,
it said. Her hands were trembling as she read her own name.
I wanted you to read this, so that you understand me better, and also the rules of the house. This is probably the most important letter you’ll ever receive, so read it carefully.