You've Been Warned

You've Been Warned

The Novels of James Patterson

FEATURING ALEX CROSS

Cross

Mary, Mary

London Bridges

The Big Bad Wolf

Four Blind Mice

Violets Are Blue

Roses Are Red

Pop Goes the Weasel

Cat & Mouse

Jack & Jill

Kiss the Girls

Along Came a Spider

THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB

The 6th Target(coauthor: Maxine Paetro)

The 5th Horseman(coauthor: Maxine Paetro)

4th of July(coauthor: Maxine Paetro)

3rd Degree(coauthor: Andrew Gross)

2nd Chance(coauthor: Andrew Gross)

1st to Die

OTHER BOOKS

You’ve Been Warned (coauthor: Howard Roughan)

Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

The Quickie(coauthor: Michael Ledwidge)

Step on a Crack(coauthor: Michael Ledwidge)

Judge & Jury(coauthor: Andrew Gross)

Maximum Ride: School’s Out — Forever

Beach Road(coauthor: Peter de Jonge)

Lifeguard(coauthor: Andrew Gross)

Maximum Ride

Honeymoon(coauthor: Howard Roughan)

SantaKid

Sam’s Letters to Jennifer

The Lake House

The Jester(coauthor: Andrew Gross)

The Beach House(coauthor: Peter de Jonge)

Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas

Cradle and All

Black Friday

When the Wind Blows

See How They Run

Miracle on the 17th Green(coauthor: Peter de Jonge)

Hide & Seek

The Midnight Club

Season of the Machete

The Thomas Berryman Number

For more information about James Patterson’s novels, visit www.jamespatterson.com.

For Christine and Trevor, forever my big picture

—H. R.

For Suzie and Jack, my scary ones

—J. P.

Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness.

—Yousuf Karsh

Chapter 1

IT’S WAY TOO EARLY in the morning for dead people.

That’s what I’d be thinking, were I actually thinking clearly right now. I’m not.

The second I turn the corner on my way to work and see the crowd, the commotion, the dingy gray body bags being wheeled out of that oh-so-chichi hotel, I reach for my camera. I can’t help it. It’s instinct on my part.

Click, click, click.

Don’t think about what’s happened here. Just shoot, Kristin.

My head whips left and right, the lens of my Leica R9 leading the way. I focus first on the faces around me—the gawkers, the lookie-loos. That’s what Annie Leibovitz would do. A businessman in wide pinstripes, a bike messenger, a mother with her stroller, they all stand and stare at the terrible murder scene. Like it or not, this is the highlight of their day. And it’s not yet eight a.m.

I move forward, even as something inside me is saying, “Look away, walk away.” Even as something says, “You know where you are. This hotel. You know, Kristin.”

I’m weaving my way toward the entrance to the hotel. Closer and closer, I’m being pulled—as if by an undertow that I can’t resist. And I keep shooting pictures as though I’m on assignment for the New York Times or Newsweek.

Click, click, click.

Parked at jagged angles, police cars and ambulances fill the street. I look up from their sirens, tracing the twirling beams of blue-and-red light as they dance against the surrounding brownstones.

I spy more gawkers in the windows of nearby apartments. A woman wearing curlers takes a bite of a bagel. Click.

Something catches my eye. It’s a reflection, the sun bouncing off the rail of the last gurney being wheeled out of the hotel. That makes four. What happened in there? Murder? Mass murder?

They sit, gathered on the sidewalk—four gurneys—each holding a body bag. It’s horrifying. Just awful.

My wrist twists, and I go wide-angle to shoot them as a group—like a family. My wrist twists back, and I go tight, shooting them one by one. Who were they? What happened to these poor people? How did they die?

Don’t think, Kristin, just shoot.

Two muscular paramedics walk out of the hotel and approach a couple of cops. Detectives, like on Law & Order. They all talk, they all shake their heads, and they all have that hardened New York look to them, as if they’ve seen it all before.

One of the detectives—older, rail thin—looks my way. I think he sees me.

Click, click, click.

Having burned through a roll of film, I furiously load another.

There’s really nothing more to shoot, and yet I keep firing away. I’m late for work, but it doesn’t matter. It’s as if I can’t leave.

Wait!

My head snaps back to the gurneys as something catches my eye. At first, I can’t believe it. Maybe it’s the wind, or just my mind playing tricks early in the morning.

Then it happens again, and I gasp. The last body bag... it moved!

Did I just see what I think I saw?

I’m terrified and want to run away. Instead, I edge even closer. Instinct? Undertow?