Chapter 121

THE PLACE DCAK HAD ENTERED was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant for Mexican takeout. There were no tables in the front, just one very shaken old woman splayed on the floor and a skinny cashier still pressed to the wall like he was his own shadow.

I ran around the counter, pushing through a swinging door back into the kitchen.

The temperature instantly went up about twenty degrees. Two cooks shouted at me in Spanish.

Too late-I saw Anthony come at me from the right. What the hell? A cast-iron pan burned through my shirt and sent searing pain up my arm and right into my brain.

I countered reflexively with my other hand, an uppercut to his temple, a second punch to his throat.

He let go of the frying pan, and I grabbed it myself. I pushed it into Anthony’s face, then let it go before it fried the skin off my hand. He howled and stumbled back, blackened prosthetic skin sagging around one ear. Both of the cooks screamed as if they were the ones who’d just gotten burned.

Anthony steadied himself on the edge of an industrial range. He grabbed another cooking pan and hurled sizzling oil and vegetables in my direction. I avoided the flying grease, but Anthony was headed toward the back door.

He pulled down a set of baker’s shelves as he went. Dishes and equipment crashed everywhere. Lots of noise and chaos and shattering pottery.

“My sister’s dead!” he screamed back at me. Meaning what-that now he was really mad?

I grabbed a kitchen knife and went after him.

Chapter 122

AS I JUMPED OUT into a long, wide alleyway-the delivery entrance-I heard sirens wailing from somewhere in the neighborhood. I hoped to hell they were for us and that somebody would figure out real fast that I was back here with DCAK.

The alley ran behind several buildings, with a dead end to my right and a busy street to my left, about fifty yards off-farther than he could have run by now, anyway.

So where was he hiding? He had to be close. But where?

I threw open the nearest Dumpster, and a repulsive wave of garbage smell came up at me, but no Anthony. No DCAK. I turned my back on the alley just long enough to lean into the trash and make sure he wasn’t there.

Another three Dumpsters lined the wall. Dusty, rusting cars were stacked on the other side. I checked down low. He wasn’t hiding under any of them. Where was he?

I saw him out of the corner of my eye-and just in time. I narrowly missed getting sliced across the face. He’d been behind one of the Dumpsters, and he had a knife. He seemed confident and scarily under control considering the circumstances, almost like he was playing another role.

I sure wasn’t; knives weren’t my thing. But the kitchen blade was the only weapon I had right now.

He came for me again. The blade whiffed past my face, barely missing flesh. He sliced the blade at me again, and again, and again.

I feinted a short thrust back at him, and he laughed. “I think I’m going to like this,” he said. “I know I am. I trained in hand-to-hand. How about you, Dr. Cross?”

He didn’t bother to taunt or test, just stabbed the knife at me again. I jumped away, and he missed. But not by much. An inch or so.

Anthony’s face was intense, the veins pulsed, but his eyes remained playful. He was toying with me. Was he missing on purpose? Stretching this out?

“The once great Alex Cross,” he said. “Too bad we don’t have an audience.”

“Oh, but you do. I’m your audience this time, DCAK,” said a voice.

We both turned-and there was Kyle Craig.

Chapter 123

KYLE SPOKE, and he sounded exuberant, almost joyful. To see us? To be seen? “What a sight for sore eyes! The great DCAK-the great Alex Cross. Together at last in a duel to the death. With kitchen knives? I’d pay to see that one. But hey, I don’t have to pay. I’m right here, aren’t I?”

DCAK held his knife up and poised, but he kept sneaking glances at Kyle. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Admiring your work, of course,” Kyle said, and seemed sincere enough. “Just like any of your other fans would if they could. They’d be lined up twenty-deep on the street to see this. I’ve been following you. Ever since we met at the Cross house.”

“You think I don’t get your sarcasm,” DCAK snarled.

“Be a waste of breath if you didn’t. Be careful with Dr. Cross, now. Watch him. He’ll slice you up if he can. He’s a cagey one.”

“He can’t,” DCAK stated flatly, “hurt me. He’s out of his league. And so are you.”

“Oh my,” said Kyle. “Now you’ve gone and cut me, so to speak.”

I said nothing to either of them. I was still looking for some kind of an opening. I wasn’t very good with knives, but I was quick on my feet. Maybe that would help me, save me somehow. But now I had Kyle to worry about too. How had he gotten here, and what was his current connection to DCAK? Had it just changed?

“He’s focused on the fight. You’re not,” Kyle coached DCAK from the sidelines. “That’s all I’m trying to point out. Take it for what it’s worth.”

DCAK looked back at me. “All right, then. Let me put Cross down. In your honor.”

In your honor? What was that supposed to mean? Then he thrust his knife again and missed, but this time he meant business. Another fast swipe, and he sliced my arm. Blood streamed onto my shirt and dripped onto the pavement.

“That’s better, DCAK,” Kyle cheered him on, his voice suddenly guttural. “Now go for it! Put him down! Kill the bastard!”

DCAK was starting to breathe harder, through his mouth. Maybe that could be an advantage for me? I circled to the left, then I changed directions. No logic to it, just instinct.

I was moving the other way when he swiped his knife at me again. He missed! I stabbed at him and nicked his arm. Blood spurted from the wound. Nasty game, knives.

Kyle applauded. He slowly, slowly clapped his hands, but he didn’t speak any more encouragement.

I moved in a circle again, but I went faster this time. Abruptly I reversed directions. Then I came back the other way.

Suddenly DCAK roared in a deep voice and charged at me. I pivoted to the left, and for a second my back was exposed. He was still leaning the other way. Which meant… what? I continued to pivot-all the way around. Then I set my right leg and drove my knife up and under his arm. The knife found flesh, muscle. It finally sank into his chest.

He moaned almost as loudly as he had roared a second before. “You stupid sonofabitch!” Then he went down and lay there on his back, wide eyes staring at nothing. I spun away from DCAK and looked at Kyle.

I had a knife.

He had a gun.

“He wasn’t much, was he?” Kyle said, and grinned.