James Patterson Novels Novels & Stories

James sat in his cane chair with his eyes closed and feet resting on the table as he listened to the sound of two goats in his backyard, bleating. The goats were gifts from Osinala which arrived very early in the morning before he could say the Lord's Prayer and brush his teeth. He looked forward to another meeting in the village square when he had regained his confidence and was strong enough to defend his cause. He stood up now and walked to the small pile of books he had arranged last night in search of an exemplary text that would fascinate his mind and set him in the right mood. Some weeks ago, he had considered writing a book about his trip to Africa. Unlike all the books he had read,

Then: "Does he have a house? Does he have a dog? I want a dog but Mommy says we have to wait until we're responsible enough. James lost his shoe twice." "That was one time." James objected from across the room. "Twice. Monday and Wednesday." August was firm on this. He turned back to Patricia. "Does Daddy have a dog?" "I don't think he does. But I know he'd love to meet you and hear about the dog you want someday." Patricia chose her words carefully. "He thinks about you very much." August went quiet with this information. Turned it over in his mind the way he did with everything. James had wandered back over and was now sitting at Patricia's feet trying to put a block on her shoe.

Of course it's a James Patterson. "I didn't take you for Patterson man." I lean back on the couch readjusting myself and opening my Kindle again. This could work. A girl must always keep hope. Hudson shrugs, sitting back in the chair. He tosses his feet up on my coffee table and gets comfy. "Some of his plot points aren't so far-fetched. Now shhhh," he shooshes me with one finger across his lips. "I got into a good part on the plane."

So maybe Jim lived in a tiny place because he was a single guy, and he saw no point in wasting money on a larger apartment. Anyway, from the looks of it, the man spent every penny he had on books. They were jammed onto a couple of cheap bookshelves, and piled high on every available surface. God, he even had books on his kitchen counters and neatly lined up under his bedroom window. She peeked at a few of the titles, and was amused to see the range of topics: mystery, action, contemporary literature, some horror. She even spotted a few military romance books, and she grinned at that. Maybe he’s reliving his days as a Ranger, reading about bad-ass military heroes saving damsels-in-distress in

Patrick told James. “That sounds ominous, please take a seat,” James told him and then he sat down on his chair. “So, what is this news that couldn't wait till the end of the week?” James asked Mr. Patrick. “Well, you know how you asked me to continue trailing Anna and Dylan?” Patrick asked James and James didn't like the tone of his voice at all, it was like he was about to deliver bad news. “Yes, did something happen?” James asked him, already dreading what his answer would be.

I had found the Fort Knox of pussy protection. And for an hour it worked. Cory read the new James Patterson book and I read the other new James Patterson book (he apparently puts out a new book more often than the Red Sox lose another game). Interestingly, Cory and I had a lot of common interests, including being avid readers and both having the same favourite author in James Patterson. Sit in any single position for a straight hour though, and the rear becomes a mutineer. Yet, even though I was very uncomfortable, I refused to reposition myself, although I did begin to squirm a bit.

I must. I open the door, expecting Ira or some girl, instead I see a man in a crisp gray suit standing in front of me. I blink in confusion. “Yes?” “Miss Riley. I am James Patterson.” He forwards his hand and my mind screams not to shake it. His expensive tailored suit, trimmed gray hair and neatly shaved face gives me a sense of foreboding. It’s all too familiar. Just like Mikolaj fuckin Josef, this man is scary. Not in looks, but in personality.

Several Weeks Later Jasper slowly eased his body onto its side. Mimicking sleep, he intently listened to the conversation between a young woman named, Cora, and the old nurse he’d heard called both Bess and Smithfield. He’d assumed that her true name was Elizabeth Smithfield with Bess being the nick name for Elizabeth, but names were funny things. He’d noticed the increasing pattern of nick names or abbreviated names being given to children at birth by parents wanting to be different. Therefore, he could have been incorrect on that assumption.