Roses Are Red - James Patterson [60]
“I liked kissing you,” I told her. “But you are that small.”
The taste of her mouth was sweet peppermint, and it lingered with me. I wondered when she had slipped a mint into her mouth. She was sneaky fast. Her skin was soft and smooth to the touch. Her dark hair glistened and bounced lightly on her shoulders. I couldn’t deny that I was attracted.
But what to do about it. I had the feeling that this was too much too soon for me. Way too much, way too soon.
The elevator door opened on her floor with a thud. I felt a rush of anticipation, and maybe a rush of fear. I had no idea what to make of it, but I knew I liked Betsey Cavalierre. I wanted to hold her close, wanted to know who she was, what she was like to be with, how her mind worked, what she dreamed about, what she might say next.
Betsey said, “Walsh.”
We quickly stepped back into the elevator car. My heart clutched. Shit.
She turned to me and started to laugh. “Gotcha. There’s nobody out there. Don’t be so nervous! I am, though.”
By this time we were both laughing. She was definitely fun to be with. Maybe that was enough for now. I liked being around her, laughing the way we were.
We hugged as soon as we were inside her room. She felt so warm. I let my fingers trail gently down her back, and she sighed softly. I moved my thumb in the tiniest circles all over her back. I gently kneaded her skin and could feel her breathing pick up tempo. My heart was racing, too.
“Betsey,” I whispered, “I can’t do this. Not yet I can’t.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “Just hold me, though. Holding is nice. Tell me about her, Alex. You can talk to me.”
I thought that she was probably right. I could talk to her, and I even wanted to. “It’s like I said, I like ties. I’m big on intimacy, but I feel it has to be earned. I was in love with a woman named Christine Johnson. It seemed so right for both of us. There never was a time I didn’t want to be with her.”
I broke down. I didn’t want to, but the sob came out of nowhere. Then I was crying a lot and I couldn’t make myself stop. My body was heaving, but I could feel Betsey holding on to me, holding me tight, refusing to let go.
“I’m so sorry.” I finally managed a few words.
“Don’t be,” she said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all. In fact, you did everything right.”
I finally pulled back a little and I looked at her face. Her beautiful brown eyes were wet with tears.
“Let’s just hug,” she said. “I think we both need hugs. Hugs are good.”
Betsey and I hugged for a long time and then I went back to my room alone.
Chapter 81
THE MASTERMIND was feeling so goddamned confident, and excited, that he couldn’t stand it. That night, he was there in Hartford. He had no fear anymore. No one scared him. Not the FBI. Not anyone involved with the case.
How to top oneself? How to reinvent himself? Those were his only concerns. How to get better and better.
He had a plan for tonight — a different kind of plan. This maneuver was so clever, so perverse. He’d never heard of anything like it. It was such a lovely and original “creation.”
The most commonplace part was breaking into the small, garden-style apartment on the outskirts of Hartford. He cut out a pane of glass in the door of the loggia, reached in and turned the knob, and voilà — he was in.
He listened to the house breathe for a delicious moment. The only sound he could hear was the wind whistling through a stand of trees that overlooked the still, black water of a country pond.
He was a little afraid to be inside the house, but the fear was natural, and intoxicating. The fear made the moment great for him. He slipped on a President Clinton mask — the same kind of mask used in the very first bank robbery.
He quietly made his way toward the master bedroom at the back of the apartment. This was getting so good. He almost felt that he belonged here now. Possession was nine tenths of the law. Wasn’t that the old saw?
The moment of truth!
He quietly, quietly opened the bedroom door. The room smelled of sandalwood and jasmine. He paused