Violets Are Blue - James Patterson [79]
Kyle paused. His eyes shifted toward the distant ranch house. “I want to find out if they hunt as a group. There are questions we need answered. What motivates these freaks? What makes them tick? I want to make sure we get the Sire this time.”
Chapter 86
IT WAS a long, cool, very tense night in the foothills outside Santa Cruz. I couldn’t wait for it to be over, or maybe I couldn’t wait for it to start. We learned something interesting right away. The woman lawyer who had been murdered in Mill Valley had been involved in a lawsuit trying to get control of this property. It was probably why she and her husband had been hung.
I watched the ranch through binoculars from the surrounding trees and rock formations. I watched until my eyes ached. No one had left as of eleven. I didn’t see anyone standing lookout either. The people inside were either crazy or supremely confident. Or maybe they were innocent. Maybe this was another wrong turn for us.
I was trying not to worry too much about Jamilla, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t bear to think that she might already be dead. Was that what Kyle thought? Was it what he knew and was keeping from me?
At midnight, two males walked outside leading a tiger. I watched them through the night-sight glasses. I was almost certain I had seen them in New Orleans. They’d been at the fetish ball, hadn’t they? They loped off into the flat, open fields behind the house.
One of the men got down on all fours, then rolled around in the tall grass with the cat. They were playing, weren’t they? Jesus Christ. How incredibly weird. I remembered that the tiger had been called off its prey in Golden Gate Park.
About twenty minutes later, the men brought the cat to a pen behind the main compound. They hugged the six-hundred-pound tiger as if it were a large dog. The lights in the main building and the nearby bunkhouse burned brightly until past two. Loud rock and roll played. Then the lights were dimmed.
No one had left the house to hunt.
We still didn’t know if Jamilla was inside, or even if she was alive. I stayed awake and watched. I couldn’t sleep, not even for an hour or so. The FBI continued to collect information on the people inside the domain. What in God’s name were they doing down there?
There was no word on the identity of the Sire. We did learn about the two blond males with the ponytails. William and Michael Alexander were the sons of a post-hippie couple who had worked at the ranch as animal handlers. The mother had been a zoologist. The boys had grown up comfortable around wild animals. They attended schools in Santa Cruz until they were nine and twelve, at which time the boys began to be homeschooled. They wore Moroccan robes and were always barefoot on their occasional trips to town. They were considered bright, but odd and extremely secretive. The boys had gotten into trouble in their early teens and been sent off to a state correctional facility for aggravated assault. They had been dealing drugs and also been caught breaking and entering.
Kyle joined me in the rocks overlooking the ranch at around three.
“You look kind of green around the gills,” I said to him.
“Thanks. Long night. Long month. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” he asked me. He seemed like a detached observer now. Calm and cool. It was pure Kyle. Calculated intelligence. “I don’t know anything more, Alex. I’ve told you what I know.”
“I can still see the body of Betsey Cavalierre. I don’t want to see something like that again. Yes, I’m worried about her. Aren’t you? What are you feeling, Kyle?”
“If she’s alive down there, they have no reason to murder her now. They’re keeping her there for a reason.”
If she’s alive.
Kyle patted my shoulder. “Get some sleep if you can,” he said. “Rest up.” Then he wandered off. But when I looked his way, he was watching me.
I leaned against an oak tree and covered myself with my sport coat. I must have fallen asleep at some point between three and three-thirty. I saw Betsey Cavalierre