Kiss the Girls Page 0,27

the most important point of this first attempt at communication between us.

Your stay will be temporary. You will leave—if, Big If—you listen to what I tell you… so listen carefully, Kate.

Are you listening now? Please listen, Kate. Chase away the justifiable anger and the white noise in your head. I am not crazy or out of control.

That’s the whole point: I am in control! See the distinction? Of course you do. I know how very bright you are. National Merit Scholar and all that.

It is important that you know how special you are to me. That’s why you are completely safe here. It is also why you’ll leave, eventually.

I picked you from thousands and thousands of women at my disposal, so to speak. I know, you’re saying “lucky me.” I know how funny and cynical you can be. I even know that laughter has gotten you through difficult times. I’m beginning to know you better than anyone has ever known you. Almost as well as you know yourself, Kate.

Now for the bad parts. And Kate, these next points are as important as any of the good news I’ve stated above.

These are the house rules, and they are to be strictly observed:

The most important rule: You must never try to escape—or you will be executed within hours, however painful that would be for both of us. Believe me, there is precedent for this. There can be no reprieve following an escape attempt.

Just for you, Kate, a special rule: You must never try to use your karate skills on me. (I almost brought your gi, your crisp white karate suit, but why encourage you to temptation.)

You must never call out for help—I’ll know if you do—and you will be punished with facial and genital disfigurement.

You want to know more—you want to know everything at once. But it doesn’t work that way. Don’t bother trying to figure out where you are. You won’t guess, and will only give yourself an unnecessary headache.

That’s all for now. I’ve given you more than enough to think about. You are totally safe here. I love you more than you can imagine. I can’t wait for us to talk, really talk.

Casanova

And you are hopelessly out of your mind! Kate McTiernan thought as she paced the eleven-by-fifteen-foot room. Her claustrophobic prison. Her hell on this earth.

Her body felt as if it were floating, as if warm viscous fluid were flowing over her. She wondered if she’d suffered a head injury during the attack.

She had only one thought: how to escape. She began to analyze her situation in every possible way. She reversed the conventional assumptions, and broke down each to its component parts.

There was a single, double-locked, thick wooden door.

There was no way out other than through that door.

No! That was the conventional assumption. There had to be another way.

She remembered a problem-solution puzzle from some heretofore useless undergrad logics course she had taken. It began with ten matchsticks arranged as Roman numerals in a math equation:

XI + I = X

The problem was how to correct the equation without touching any of the matches. Without adding new matches. Without taking away any matches.

No easy way out.

No apparent solution.

The problem had been unsolvable to many students, but she had figured it out relatively quickly. A solution was there, where none seemed to be. She solved it by reversing the conventional assumptions. She turned the page upside down.

X = I + IX

But she couldn’t turn this prison room upside down. Or could she? Kate McTiernan examined every single floorboard and each two-by-four in the wall. The wood smelled new. Maybe he was a builder, a contractor, or perhaps an architect?

No way out.

No apparent solution.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t accept that answer.

She thought about seducing him—if she could force herself to do it. No. He was too clever. He would know. Worse than that, she would know.

There had to be a way. She would find it.

Kate stared down at the note on the bedside table.

You must never try to escape—or you will be executed within hours.

Chapter 27

THE FOLLOWING afternoon I visited the Sarah Duke Gardens, the place where Naomi had been abducted six days ago. I needed to go there, to visit the scene, to think about my niece, to grieve in private.

There were more than fifty acres of exquisitely landscaped woodland gardens adjacent to the Duke University Medical Center, literally miles of allees. Casanova couldn’t have hoped for a better site for his kidnapping. He had been thorough. Perfect, so far. How was