The Mastermind watched Alex Cross get out of the car. He had him in his sights.
Cross and the lovely Inspector Jamilla Hughes had returned from a dinner break and were back on surveillance duty. Were they getting closer? Would Alex and Jamilla become lovers in New Orleans? That was an obvious flaw in Cross’s character; he needed to be loved.  But now Cross was out of the car again.
Something is bothering the great Cross. Maybe he needs to walk a little after the meal. Or maybe he needs to think about the case some more, and wants to be alone. He is a loner, just like I am.  This was amazing; this was so good.
He followed Cross down a dark side street filled with modest homes in two styles - the double shotgun and the Creole cottage; both were staples in this part of New Orleans.  The fragrance of honeysuckle, azaleas, jasmine and gardenias were heavy in the air. He sucked in a breath. Pleasant. A hundred years before, the scents had masked the odors of the nearby slaughterhouses.  The Mastermind knew his history, knew lots about most things, and the facts flowed easily through his mind as he continued to follow Cross at a safe distance. He retained information and knew how to use it.
He could hear the rattle and hum of the St Charles Avenue streetcar as it raced along its tracks a few blocks away. It helped to cover any slight sound of his own footsteps.
He was enjoying this walk with Cross immensely. Maybe this would be the night. Just the thought sent adrenaline pump............