But sensibility was quickly eclipsed by the white-hot fire ripping through Gaia’s veins. She wasn’t about to let go so easily. No. Why let them have all the fun? Why not give them both a piece of her mind before she split town and never saw them again?
Right. She stood up straight, tightening her fists at her side. It was time to confront them both.
Small Consolation
TOM MOORE WATCHED THE TALL, somber nurse glide in from the hallway to change his wound dressings. Covert government hospitals had a concrete minimalism that had a way of making regular hospitals seem like luxurious resort hotels. The windowless walls were painted pigeon gray. The air was as thick and damp as a basement. The only fixture in the room that provoked any interest was the ten-inch TV set mounted in the corner. It was muted, displaying satellite-fed news from around the globe.
“If it gets really bad, let me know,” the nurse said. “I’ll bring more painkillers.”
Tom nodded. He still couldn’t believe that in all the confusion, Ella had managed to get off a shot. Even more astounding was that the shot had actually hit him. But he shouldn’t bother concerning himself with that right now. It was a waste of time. What mattered was that he was able to escape the scene without any police involvement.
Of course, he still owed an explanation to the Agency. And he knew that the Agency could not have been happy with his recent ... activity.
He was supposed to be on assignment in Russia. He was supposed to be working to thwart a terrorist network. Instead he’d devoted the past month to spying on his daughter. And he’d even managed to compromise that . . .
The nurse began to remove the bandages.
Tom glanced at the dark, clotted hole in his arm.
Gaia saw me.
It never should have happened. On the other hand, she would have been killed. Tom swallowed at the memory of her haunted eyes, meeting his across that chaotic street. Eyes that searched and yearned for answers.
He winced. The pain of that memory was far greater than that of this bullet hole.
Every day of his life he ached to have his daughter back. To take her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was for leading the kind of life that threatened her safety and happiness. For leaving her to take on the whole world by herself . . .
Tom stared blankly at the television, his eyes glazing over. He could only imagine what Gaia must have thought of him. She had always been so head-strong and opinionated. It was bad enough that he’d left her once, but could she ever forgive him for leaving her twice? And now, on top of it all, to realize that Ella was an enemy . . . it was almost too much to bear. It was his fault for placing his daughter in that house.
The only small consolation was knowing he had trained Gaia supremely well in the art of self-defense. She had been able to handle herself in the past. He’d seen it. Still, would it be enough? Maybe she was in over her head. She was only a child ....
Propping himself up with his good arm, Tom struggled to get off the hospital bed. “I have to get out of here,” he said with a groan. “I have to—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” the nurse interrupted, gently but firmly. “Not right now, anyway. There’s too great a risk of infection. Give it a day. At the very least.”
He struggled against her, a hot sweat breaking out on the surface of his skin. He teetered for a moment as the searing pain radiated up his arm and throughout his chest—then collapsed on his pillow in exhaustion.
“But I need to see my daughter,” he croaked.
The nurse wrapped the clean bandage around his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere,” she repeated.
Tom’s jaw tightened. He knew he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t go anywhere. But in a day, there was a very good chance that Gaia would be dead.
Alternate Universe
LA FOCACCIA WAS PACKED WITH A lunchtime crowd of hip, art gallery types—men in dark suits, skinny women in designer dresses, bags of bones, really . . . people with whom Ella might have associated in an alternate universe. She shook her head as she followed the hostess through the sea of tables. The downtown art scene couldn’t provide the same thrills that Loki had. That was for damn sure. Yet there was a certain dignity in leading an honest life. Wasn’t there?
Of course, the real question was this: How many of these people were actually honest?
Ella smirked. She knew enough about human nature to know that very few human beingscould fit that description. In a way, Ella was more honest than any of them. She followed her desires.
And she was about to follow them again. The hostess—a pretty, petite woman with long black hair—motioned toward a red leather, horseshoe-shaped booth. It was nestled in a cozy back corner. Very romantic. The kind of booth where young lovers nuzzled each other while their dinners grew cold. Ella’s stomach tingled as she slid into her seat. Once again, Sam Moon had miraculously stepped in to save her from her miserable sham of a life. Too bad Gaia couldn’t be here with them to see it. Maybe Ella should videotape it and send her a copy. Gaia could have her dear uncle Loki, but Ella would have Sam. Ella would be the winner. And Gaia would know it. She had to know it—
“Can I get you a drink while you wait?” the hostess asked.
Ella nodded brusquely. “A glass of red wine,” she stated. “Oh—and I’m expecting someone. A young man. His name is Sam Moon. Can you send him this way when he arrives?”
“Certainly.” The hostess smiled, then turned and left. Ella eased back in the cushions. There were so many plans to make. Now that Sam had finally come to his senses, the execution of those plans was going to be a lot more smooth. First, Ella would divorce George—a given—and then she and Sam would get the hell out of the country. Maybe Paris. Definitely somewhere in Europe. Because after a few blissful weeks together, they would turn to business. They would hunt down Loki and Gaia. They would have their revenge. They would be like . . . what? A modern-day Bonnie and Clyde? Something along those lines . . .
It was going to be so beautiful.
A minute later the waitress returned with a large glass of merlot.
“Thank you,” Ella murmured. She took a long, deep sip—savoring the heavy liquid as it filled her stomach with a delicious warmth. Her mind was spinning wild with possibility. Hurry up, Sam, she thought impatiently. Everything depends on you.
GAIA RAN ACROSS FOURTEENTH Street into Union Square Park, her long, muscular legs pumped full of anger and adrenaline. It was farmers’ market day, which meant a poky crowd of shoppers was meandering through the maze of tents at maddeningly slow speeds, weighing heavy decisions like whether they should buy a bouquet of wildflowers or a freshly baked apple pie.
Melting Pot of Gawkers
What would life be like if that was the hardest decision she had to make?
Whatever. Gaia shook the question from her mind as she darted through the crowd. On most days she made a point of circumventing the entire scene, but the quickest way to La Focaccia was through the park. She didn’t want to be late. Not for this.
A speech of sorts hummed through her mind, fragments and digs she wanted to get in when she finally had the chance to confront Sam and Ella together. But all she could seem to think of were lame clichés, scenes out of made-for-TV romance movies, like, “You disgust me,” and, “I hope you both rot in hell.” Still, those could be keepers. Gaia even toyed with the idea of violence. She was open to a little spontaneity.
The real satisfaction, though, was going to be in seeing the look of utter shock on their faces when she walked in. Gaia didn’t care if it was dangerous. How could she? She was fearless. Ella could do anything. Pull a gun. Attack with kung fu. Call the police. Whatever happened, the confrontation was going to be worth it.
Gaia picked up her pace, dodging booths of plants and fruit and baked goods. A bulldog on a leash darted unexpectedly in front of her path. She vaulted the animal smoothly, hardly missing a step. For a moment she almost smiled. Soon she would be there. Soon she would extract her reven
ge.
From several yards away, Gaia’s acutely sensitive ears began picking up the tuneless strumming of the old blind Caribbean man who sang and played guitar in the middle of the market. She had seen him there a couple of times before. He always sat on the same rickety folding chair, his red-velvet-lined guitar case open to receive donations from passing shoppers. His voice was as flat and lazy as his guitar playing—but his music had an easy, lovable style to it. As far as Gaia was concerned, the old guy’s singing was the best thing the farmers’ market had to offer. Well, that and those oversized, homemade chocolate chip cookies.
As she rounded a corner to the blind guy’s usual spot, Gaia saw that he’d managed to attract a small crowd. A crowd of two, actually: a boy and a girl—each about twelve years old. Usually people ignored him or dropped change in the open guitar case and hurried away. But these two were standing right in front of him.
Wait a second. Gaia slowed to a trot. Her eyes narrowed.
The girl had a backpack and a heavy down parka. She kept poking the boy urgently in the ribs with her elbow, as if she was urging him to do something. The boy scratched the top of his black wool hat, his eyes glued to the guitar case full of money. Gaia’s gaze flashed to the blind guy. He kept on playing, completely unaware of the pair. Oh, shit. It didn’t take a member of the CIA to figure out what kind of scene wasunfolding.
Gaia came to a full stop. She was less than fifteen feet away from the three of them. The two kids had their backs turned to her.
The boy looked over one shoulder. Then he looked back down at the money.
Oh, come on, Gaia pleaded silently . Don’t do it.
Maybe her words would somehow cross the distance and seep into the kid’s subconscious mind. It was strange. Not so long ago she would have actually welcomed a sight like this, actually gone looking for just such a situation—one where jerks like these kids preyed on the helpless and the weak. Because then she could take care of them. She had even gone so far as to circle Washington Square Park in the wee hours of morning, trying to look like a helpless victim in order to lure muggers out of the shadows and into her fists. After all, if she was a freak, why not put that to good use?
But right now ... now was not the time.
The boy took a step closer to the guitar case.
Don’t do it.
Gaia knew she couldn’t just sit by when she saw something happen. If the kid did take the money, she would have to chase him down. She was involved now. There was no turning back. She just wished she hadn’t noticed.
Don’t make me late. . . .
But Gaia’s silent pleas never reached the kids. The girl in the silver parka gave the boy another nudge. That was all it took. Quick as a flash, the boy bent down and greedily snatched the cash out of the guitar case. Change dropped everywhere as he tried to shove the money into the pockets of his oversized jeans. The guitar player stopped playing and singing.
“Hey!” somebody in the crowd yelled.
The boy and girl flinched—then broke into a fevered sprint, heading across the park lawn.
It was amazing how two little juvenile delinquents could be surrounded by hundreds of onlookers and still manage to get away. Gaia shook her head. That was New York City. A big, filthy, melting pot of gawkers. She exhaled tiredly and took off after them.
“ELLA?”
Schoolgirl Crush
Ella looked up from her wineglass to see the curvy figure of a blond in an expensively tailored suit and pearl choker.
“Pearl?”
A smile spread across her face. In all the unbelievable drama of the past twenty-four hours, she’d almost forgotten meeting this woman just the other day while shopping at the Frederick’s sale. But now the memories came flooding back. Of course, some were clearer than others. The two had bonded instantly over trashy lingerie and then proceeded to swap stories over drinks . . . many, many drinks. But even in her stupor, Ella had been certain that they were kindred spirits. Pearl was smart, classy, and pulled together. Pearl was someone to admire.
“This is so funny!” Pearl exclaimed. “I just finished having lunch with a client.”
Ella nodded. She felt a strange stirring in her chest. Lunch with a client. It all sounded so normal. But glamorous at the same time. The way her life should be . . .
“You’re not having lunch all by yourself, are you?” Pearl asked, pursing her lips.
“No, no.” Ella laughed, then scooted to the opposite end of the horseshoe to make room. “I’m meeting someone. Do you have time for a quick drink?”
“Sure.” Pearl slid gracefully into the booth.
A waiter instantly appeared. “Can I get you something ?” he asked.
“Just water,” Pearl replied. She winked at Ella. “I have to work this afternoon.”
Ella grinned, then raised her wine. “That never stopped me ....”
Pearl laughed. The sound of it was so sweet and controlled, like music. “So, I thought we were supposed to get together again. Why didn’t you give me a call?”
Ella took a sip, then tapped the stem of the glass with her long, red fingernails. Suddenly she realized that she was so sick of these stupid clawlike nails—she could barely dial the telephone with them. When she took control of her life again, they were going to be one of the first things to go. “I . . . uh.” She closed her mouth, debating what to say. Then she decided the hell with it: She would just tell the truth. Or at least part of the truth. “I guess you could say I’ve been in the middle of a personal crisis,” she murmured, taking another sip.
Pearl’s flawless features creased with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve decided to divorce my husband,” Ella stated, placing the glass back on the table. “I’m starting over.” Which is pretty much true, she added silently.
“Good lord.” Pearl’s eyes widened. “When did you decide that?”
“Just now.”
For an instant their gazes met. Then they both smiled. Pearl leaned forward and covered Ella’s hand with hers.
“Don’t worry, Ella,” she whispered. “I’ve been through the divorce mill a few times myself. I know how painful it can be—though the settlement always has a way of easing the sting.”
Ella laughed in spite of herself. Pearl never said the wrong thing. Ever. She was utterly fabulous. The kind of person Ella could be. The kind of person Ella was meant to be.
“It’s not that bad, really,” Ella admitted after a moment. “The truth of it is . . . well, I guess I never loved George.” She sighed. “The situation’s kind of complicated.”
Pearl raised her eyebrows conspiratorially. “Another man?” she whispered.
Surprisingly, Ella’s face suddenly grew warm. She knew she must be blushing. In a way, she almost felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. But that was okay. It was pure somehow.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Pearl said with a laugh. She withdrew her hand.
“No, no ... it’s just, I don’t know.” Ella smiled. The wine was beginning to make her dizzy.
“He’s a college student,” she found herself confessing. “He’s the one I’m meeting here today.”
Approval glinted in Pearl’s topaz eyes. “A college guy? Hmmm. Very tasty.”
There was a tone in Pearl’s voice that was so comforting—as if she were inviting Ella to reveal all of her secrets. She wassomeone who would never judge Ella. Not like Loki or George or Gaia. No. Pearl was someone who would understand Ella. A friend.
“I don’t know why, but I feel like I could tell you anything,” she whispered.
Pearl blinked. “Is that right? How nice.”
Without warning, Ella felt herself letting go. Maybe it was the wine, or the stress, or Loki’s betrayal, or almost getting shot ...but she no longer had any control over her emotions. “I’ve been pretending, Pearl,” she blurted out. “I’ve been pretending to be someone else. I’ve been dressing differently, cutting my hair differently, marrying a man I don’t even love,
all because the man I was in love with told me to do it. . . .” Tears welled up in her eyes. It had been so long since she’d cried. Too long.
“Shhh,” Pearl soothed. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not,” Ella choked out. “It’s never all right.”
too late
That deathly figure in the doorway was just another Skizz—a vampire that sucked the blood of the living.
THE GIRL WITH THE SILVER PARKA and the boy with the oversized jeans sprinted across Union Square East just as the traffic light changed. Gaia hung back on the park side, letting the yellow cabs fill in the gulf between them. If it had been any other day, she probably would’ve dodged the rush of vehicles to keep up with them. But not today. There was no way Gaia was going to risk personal injury—and the possibility of missing Sam and Ella’s private party for two—for a couple of punkass twelve-year-olds.
The Biggest Idiot on the Planet
When the light changed again, Gaia bolted down Sixteenth Street. The pair hadn’t gotten very far. The silver parka loomed less than a half block ahead, in the doorway of a four-story brownstone. As Gaia gained on them, she could see a man standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of dirty jeans and a trench coat. He was sickly thin, with skin as white as bleached paper. Wide-eyed and shaking, the boy handed over the wad of stolen cash in return for a small paper bag.
A drug deal.
Gaia stiffened. Her legs continued to run, but her body went cold. Drugs. Drug dealers. The same kind of scum who had killed Mary . . .
Mary Moss had been the closest thing to a best friend Gaia had ever had. Aside from Ed, Mary was the only person to treat Gaia as if she were truly someone worth getting to know—unlike everyone else (namely Heather and the FOHs, Friends of Heather), who treated her like a weirdo freak.
At first Gaia didn’t want a friend. But Mary never gave up on her. And it wasn’t long before Gaia began to trust her because she knew that Mary didn’t want anything from her.
Killer Page 4
