James Patterson - Murder of Innocence

1. MURDER OF INNOCENCE
   (James Patterson with Max DiLallo)
2. A MURDEROUS AFFAIR
   (James Patterson with Andrew Bourelle)

JAMES PATTERSON is one of the best-known and biggest-selling writers of all time. His books have sold in excess of 385 million copies worldwide. He is the author of some of the most popular series of the past two decades the Alex Cross, Womens Murder Club, Detective Michael Bennett and Private novels and he has written many other number one bestsellers including romance novels and stand-alone thrillers.

James is passionate about encouraging children to read. Inspired by his own son who was a reluctant reader, he also writes a range of books for young readers including the Middle School, Dog Diaries, Treasure Hunters and Max Einstein series. James has donated millions in grants to independent bookshops and has been the most borrowed author in UK libraries for the past thirteen years in a row. He lives in Florida with his family.

ANDREW BOURELLE is the author of the novel Heavy Metal and co-author with James Patterson of Texas Ranger and Texas Outlaw. His short stories have been published widely in literary magazines and fiction anthologies, including The Best American Mystery Stories.

MAX DILALLO is a novelist, playwright and screenwriter. He lives in Los Angeles.

Murder, Interrupted
Home Sweet Murder
Murder Beyond the Grave
Murder Thy Neighbour

July 14, 2000

CAREY FLUTTERS OPEN HER eyes, but she cant see much of anything.

Hot water is running down her face. Swirls of rising steam engulf her.

Her head is spinning, and her legs and arms feel wobbly, like the Jell-O shots she and her sorority sisters make for their house parties.

Carey has been drunk before. And stoned. More times than she can count.

But this feeling, whats happening to her right now, is different.

Very different.

Carey gropes blindly for something to hold on to. Her fingertips make contact with a wall of wet tile. She claws at the slick surface, feeling dangerously shaky. Then she forces herself to take some slow, deep breaths. And think.

Shes standing upright in a hot shower. That much Careys sure about.

But she has no idea whose shower.

Or where she is.

Or how in the hell she got here.

Andoh GodCarey realizes now that shes completely naked.

What happened to her clothes?

The last thing she remembers is the start of the night. It was Friday, and she and some girlfriends decided to head off campus and go barhopping on State Street, Santa Barbaras main drag. They ended up at OMalleys, a popular, proudly inauthentic Irish pub. The place was packed with fellow University of California students, all drunk and sweaty, sloshing their Coors Lights and moving their bodies to pulsing hip-hop.

Most of the guys there were undergrads like Carey. But one of them was older. Quite a bit older. It was hard to tell for sure in the dim bar, but he looked well into his thirties. He seemed out of place in this sea of students, but he was tall, with a great head of dark hair, and he had a charm and confidence about him that most boys Careys own age lacked. Their idea of flirting was leering at a girl, dropping a cheesy pickup line, then offering to buy her a couple of shots.

Not this man. He came up to her with a glass of ice water from the bar already in handcold and refreshing, exactly what Carey was craving after hours on the dance floorand struck up an actual conversation.

He introduced himself as Andrew. He asked what she was studying and where she was from. Art history and Sacramento, she told him. He said hed grown up in California too. In Malibu and Brentwood, to be specific, which she knew were wealthy enclaves of nearby Los Angeles. He was a filmmaker. He loved to surf. He owned a bungalow on the beach in Mussel Shoals, a twenty-minute drive away. And he claimed he knew a secret recipe for the best margaritas in the entire world. Would Carey like to come over and have some?

Thats where her memory begins to blur.

Which is why Carey deduces with horror that she has been drugged.

She can recall the rest of the night only in vague, dreamlike snippets. She remembers stumbling into the front seat of the mans forest green SUV. She remembers gripping his shoulder for support as she tottered along the beach behind his house. She remembers collapsing, loopy and exhausted, onto his couch.

But how did she end up in the shower?

Her breathing quickens as she tries to formulate a plan. If she can just stop her head from spinning, if she can just make her muscles work again, she can step out of the shower. She can get dressed. She can go home.

But Carey doesnt get the chance.

The bathroom door opens, and in walks the man from the bar.

He strips off his white linen shirt and board shorts, pulls back the shower curtain, and steps in behind Carey, brushing his nude body up against hers.

Carey gasps. Shes filled with nausea and fear. She goes rigid from head to toe.

Feels good, hmm? he says, nuzzling Careys neck and sliding his hands along her thighs and up to her bare breasts.

No, it doesnt feel good, Carey thinks. Stop, please. No. Stop!

Carey wants to scream and yell but no words come out, only muffled sobs.

She wants to fight off this monster. Spin around, knee this son of a bitch in the groin, dig her nails into his eyeballs.

But she just stands there in the running water. Frozen. Dazed. Helpless to speak up or resist.

Praying for this nightmare to end as the man pushes himself inside her.

Four Years Earlier

PADDLE FASTER, DUDE, YOURE gonna miss it!

Andrew Luster, still boyishly handsome at thirty-two, lies stomach-down on an eight-foot-long freshly waxed pinewood surfboard that glistens in the rising California sun. His arms are churning the water like a pair of twin-engine propellers.

Behind him, a massive wave is surgingand hes determined to catch it.

Heeding his friends words, Andrew pumps his arms harder. A salty sea mist stings his eyes. His shoulders start to burn. But he doesnt let up. Hes set his sights on that wave, and hell be damned if hes going to let it get away.

Thats the kind of man Andrew Luster is and always has been.

Hes a man who knows exactly what he wants.

A man used to getting exactly what he wants.

No matter the cost.

Soon, the wave begins to swell. Andrew leaps up onto his board in a squatting position. As the water crests, he stands upright, turns sideways, and feels himself picking up speed.

Yeah! he shouts. He pumps his fist, savoring the thrill. Hell yeah!

But Andrews joy is short-lived. Without warning, his board jerks. He loses his balance and belly-flops into the surf.

He quickly fights his way back to the surface, coughs up seawater. His friend Jon Baldenhis neighbor and occasional early-morning surfing partneris floating on his own board nearby, pointing at him and cackling. Nice wipeout!

For a moment, Andrew is overcome by a rush of shame and fury. He hates being laughed at almost as much as he hates not getting his way.