She scanned the empty corridor. What she needed was. . .
Ed.
Right. Maybe they could just go eat. Not talk, just eat. Hot dogs. Doughnuts. Soda.When in doubt, junk food and zero conversation.Ed understoodthat better than anybody. Now, as long as he didn’t mention Heather Gannis—
Gaia stopped herself in midthought.
A flash of something odd and unpleasant zigzagged through her stomach. Was it jealousy? No. Of course not. Sure, Gaia had experienced many jealous moments with Heather, but not over Ed. Not like this. This was new. This was almost. . . territorial. And uncomfortable.
And much more intense.
So what the hell was it?
Best not to answer. Gaia strode down the hall toward the exit. She had enough complication and confusion in her life already. She didn’t need to throw Ed into the mix.
The Wolf
TOM CLIMBED THE LAST FLIGHT OF stairs to his room at the Pension Arboire. His legs felt like lead. The building was too old for elevators—typical of old Brussels. Even though he’d awakened here this morning, he could barely remember what the room looked like, only that it was small and nondescript, like the pension itself. It was the kind of place where you could hide when someone was on your tail. Or when you were trying covertly to stay on theirs.
He slipped his key in the lock and wondered if Loki’s men had spotted him in the city. He was inclined to think so, although he prayed that he’d managed to duck and dive since Germany, that he hadn’t been followed at all these past two days.
Oliver was better than that, though.
Yes, Tom had felt eyes on him, watching him. But maybe it was just his imagination (a euphemism for paranoia, to be sure). His mental faculties had certainly been impaired by exhaustion. Either way, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Tom was relieved that both he and Henrik had kept a low profile today. It wasn’t wise to meet in person. In fact, Tom had already made a decision: unless an emergency necessitated a rendezvous, he never intended to see Henrik’s face again. At least, not until the mission was over. Meeting was an unnecessary risk, one that put both their lives in danger.
Tom shook his weary head as he closed the door behind him. Night had long since fallen, and the afternoon had brought only the tepid news that the agents working to debug the numbers of Loki’s account had deciphered the first half of the code. Apparently they’d also detected a pattern to the encryption hurdles. Good, but not good enough. Not with all that was at stake. No doubt Loki had used a different sequence forthe second half of the code. This was money, after all. Few things were sweeter to Loki.
Except Gaia.
Tom’s face twisted as he wondered for the thousandth time what his brother wanted with his child.Whatever it is, you’ll never get her,he swore in silent anger.If I have to give my life to ensure it, I—
He froze. Someone else was in the room.
A presence shifted in the darkness. Instinctively Tom reached for the small .22-caliber pistol in his breast pocket, then snapped on the light. Sitting on a corner of the twin bed was a powerfully built man with a pale complexion and eyes so light, they looked like they were made of blue glass. He wore a suit. An Armani. Loki’s favorite brand. For a moment Tom and the man simply stared at each other. Then the man on the bed raised his hand and put a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he said.
In his lap he held a gun—a thirty-eight, with a long silencer.
Tom didn’t hesitate. He jerked his own pistol at the man’s head. “Get up,” he commanded.
Suddenly the man’s face transformed from a pale, impassive stare to an openmouthed, glazed look of fear. He didn’t move. Tom heard a softthwapbehind him, to the left. A neat, red hole appeared in the man’s forehead. His eyes seemed to glaze over. Again he simply stared at Tom, but there was no life behind hisgaze. Blood trickled down his cheekbone, and he fell back on the bed.
Tom whirled around.
Henrik stood in the doorway, holding a pistol identical to the one that lay in the hands of the lifeless intruder. He was breathing heavily.
“How—” Tom began.
“Loki’s on to you,” Henrik panted, answering Tom’s unspoken question. “We finished the traces on his account about an hour ago. When we saw funds being funneled to an account in Brussels, I got worried.”
“Who was he?” Tom asked, glancing back at the body on the bed. A pool of blackish blood formed under the assassin’s head, oozing onto the pillows.
“Wolfgang Flemmer,” Henrik answered. He leaned against the door frame and wiped the sweat from his brow, still clinging to the pistol.
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “The Wolf?”
Henrik nodded. “You know him?”
“Of course. A hit man. I’ve never seen him. I know he’s been to trial three times in the last three years. No one’s been able to pin anything on him. But. . . .” Tom exhaled and sat down in a chair. He felt dizzy, disoriented.
“We’ve got to go, Tom,” Henrik murmured, lookingwarily through the window at the night sky. “It’s not safe for you here.”
“I know, I know.” Tom nodded. Henrik was right, of course. If one of Loki’s emissaries had found himhere, more would follow. He sighed heavily and stood, then reached for the small bag of clothes he kept at the foot of the bed. He felt like he was moving in a dream; his body was functioning independently of his mind. “I just didn’t know that the Wolf was in Loki’s employ—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Henrik breathed, scanning the room quickly. “We have to get you out of here.” He laid a gentle hand on Tom’s shoulder and guided him toward the door. “You’ll stay with us.”
Tom shook his head, freezing in place. “Out of the question. I won’t endanger your fam—”
“You don’t have a choice. We’ve all put our lives on the line for others. That’s our business. You know that George saved my life. More than once, in fact. This is how I will repay him. How Imustrepay him.”
Tom was silent for a moment. He’d already guessed as much. He also knew that it was never wise to confuse personal matters with business, especially in their profession. Yet somehow it always happened. Always. Tom was guilty of it himself. And frankly, he needed all the help he could get right now. Loki’s forces were closing in. So. He would regroup at Henrik’s house, then be on his way—to a hotel, to a different city, anywhere. “All right,” he said. “But I’ll only stay for an hour.”
Henrik nodded somberly. “We’ll discuss that on the way,” he said. He closed the door behind them on the dead assassin.
ED
Gaia isn’t the most subtle girl on the block. But that’s always been fine by me. I’m not the world’s most subtle guy. Which is why we became friends. At least, I think that’s why we became friends. It might have also had something to do with the fact that I once stupidly tried to save her from a bunch of skinheads—in a wheelchair no less—and she took pity on me.
Wait—did I mention that I used to be in a wheelchair?
Yes. Yes, I did.
Funny, isn’t it? Somehow, in some way, it all comes back to the goddamned wheelchair. Specifically, the lack thereof.
Gaia and I have dealt with our fair share of respective bullshit in our time. Another reason I think we became friends. But usually I can read her. Usually if she’s got something on her mind, I can tell if it’s me or her dad or Sam or whatever. And if itisme that’s yanking her chain, Icome right out and ask her why. Or at least, that’s what I used to do.
These days, though, she doesn’t respond. She goes through the motions. So do I. We talk and joke and perform the rituals of friendly interaction. But then I catch her looking at me strangely, and it’s like she thinks I’m another person. I want to talk to her in those moments. I want to say, “Stop looking at me like I’m some asshole you just met and don’t trust.”
But of course, I never do.
I’ve recapped everything we’ve said and not said, done and not done in the last few weeks, and I can’t figure out
what the deal is. I mean sure, I know there are days when Gaia thinks I’m just another jerk in a male-dominated, chauvinistic world. Rarely, but it happens. Or it used to, mostly when Heather and I were trying totest out the old “second-time’sthe-charm” theory in the romance department. (By the way, that theory is complete crap.)
The point is, during all of these potholes in our friendship— even when Gaia wouldn’t talk to me—I always knew what her beef was. Or had a vague idea. But now I’m confused. I don’t even know how to define Gaia’s vibe. It’s some kind of self-conscious, distancing thing. And again, there’s only one factor to which I can attribute it. Only one thing that’s changed between us: I can walk.
Okay, make that limp. With crutches, no less. But after you’ve been in a wheelchair for a few years, limping becomes the equivalent of doing a wild jig— even with the pain.
Don’t get me wrong. I know Gaia’s happy for me. She’s almost happier for me than I am for myself, if that’s possible. But maybe she’s still getting used toit. Sure. That must be it. She’s just acclimating to the new Ed. The way astronauts have to acclimate to life in zero gravity or scuba divers have to acclimate to incredible underwater pressure. It takes time.
I should know. I’m acclimating to it myself.
So maybe that’s the problem. I mean, a lot of times I feel like two people trapped in one body. Not in a scary, schizo, Jekylland-Hyde way—but something has definitely changed. Almost like the old me is watching the new me. Or the old me is watching the evenolderme. If that makes any sense.
Here’s the existential question: Am I still the same me if I’m a different me? Am I somehow less myself now that I’m more my old self, back where Shred left off? And is this why Gaia feels alienated? Because the Ed Fargoness of her Ed Fargo is somehow bound up within the paraplegic state?
Jesus. Just thinking about it gives me a headache. No wonder all those existentialist poets were so depressed.
baking-soda smile
He was dizzy and unsure, but he also felt weirdly clear. Like all the shit in his mind had been flushed down a toilet.
Control-Freak Armor
“YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME,” ED said. He leaned heavily on his crutches, grinning at Gaia as she dug into her pocket for a grubby wad of bills. “We’re really going to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens?”
Gaia arched an eyebrow. “This is part two of our City Parks and Recreation tour,” she said. “Now, come on. You didn’t think I dragged you all the way out here just so we could eat at Gray’s Papaya, did you?”
“Well, actually. . . Brooklyn hot dogsareknown for their higher concentration of grease and fat. They’re right up your alley.”
“That’s funny,” Gaia said in a dry voice. She headed toward the ticket booth, playfully waving her arms at the blue sky. An early spring breeze rustled her hair. “This isn’t about grease and fat, Ed,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s about having a productive day. It’s beautiful out. We can get some exerciseandlearn something.”
Ed laughed, mostly because he hadn’t seen Gaia Moore act playful since—when? Probably since playing truth or dare with Mary Moss. He shook his head, wiping that thought from his memory as he watched her hand over the money to the ticket guy.Now wasdefinitely not the time for depression.“You sound like my mother,” he replied. “Since when has health or education been a priority?”
Gaia rolled her eyes. Ed couldn’t believe this. He was teasing her, like old times. And she was reacting normally. Amazing. Miracle of miracles! He didn’t quite understand it, either. Was this all it took to part the curtain of uncertainty and awkwardness between them? A trip to the Botanical Gardens? Maybe the sodas they had drunk on the subway ride out here had been spiked with some kind of magical, healing potion.Either that or drugs.Because without warning, provocation, or discussion, things were suddenly easy again. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Heather had just sent him a letter. Needless to say, it had unsettled him. Okay, maybe that was an understatement. It had unsettled him in the same way an iceberg had unsettled theTitanic.
Dear Ed,Since you won’t talk to me, I’ve decided to write you. Please, please read this. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but let me say what’s on my mind even if I don’t deserve to take up your time.
I know I’ve been wrong. I regret it. More than you can possibly know.
I love you, Ed. There. I said it. And because Ilove you so much, I’m not letting myself off easy. It’s hard to face up to what I did to you, but you have to believe that I know how wrong I was. It’s all I think about. I’ve been trying to figure out how it is that I could be so selfish and self-righteous about your decisions when I’ve made such crummy ones myself. If it weren’t for me, you never would have ended up paralyzed in the first place. But that didn’t stop me from being mad at you when you refused to accept the insurance settlement. It makes me sick just to think about it. How could I have acted like that?
Actually, I know the answer. I acted like that because I’m really, really good at being in denial.
I’m not a bad person, though. You know that, don’t you? I won’t give up on us. Not after all that we’ve been through. I won’t give up until you know that I’ve changed and that I want to prove it to you.
Love,
Heather
Ed shuddered involuntarily. He’d read the letter probably twenty times—although he’d memorized it word for word by about the sixth or seventh time through. It wasn’t hard to draw a conclusion from it, either. No.Heather needed help.Of the therapeutic kind.That’s all there was to it. And he certainly wasn’t the guy who could provide it. No, that kind of help required several degrees from major universities in various disciplines: psychiatry, psychopharmacology, et cetera. It was so strange. Ed had never imagined a time when he wouldpityHeather Gannis. But here he was. How could she be so unrealistic? They wereover.Period. And after what she’d put him through at Sarabeth’s the other day, they could never go back.He knew her control-freak armor was starting to wear thin,but he had no idea that she—
“Hello? Earth to Ed! We’ve lost all contact!”
“Huh?” Ed blinked. Gaia was standing at the turnstile, waving frantically. “Oh. Sorry.”
He hobbled toward her as fast as he could. He was actually sort of getting the hang of this crutching thing. It was still painful, of course—and still frustrating (a nice way of saying embarrassing), especially since Gaia pretty much had to escort him through the turnstile as if he were eighty years old.But he was undeniably a biped now.It would only get better.
“Let’s start with the Fragrance Garden,” Gaia suggested, leading him down a path lined with benches shaded by giant old trees. “It’s right over here.” She pointed toward a small circle marked by rows of colorful petals and herb beds. “I hear it’s really cool.”
Ed nodded. “Yeah, we really should take time out to smell the flowers,” he joked.
Gaia groaned. “I think you’ve been spending too much time at home,” she said. “That sounds like the kind of joke a dad would make.”
Ed opened his mouth, then closed it. He was going to rattle off some witty (hopefully witty, anyway) comeback about dads and jokes, but at the last second he decided to drop it.It was best not to pursue the “dad” line of conversation with Gaia.In fact, anything to distract her from thinking about her dad or her uncle would probably be a good thing.
Gaia paused at the entrance. “The following plants have particularly strong fragrances,” she read from a sign. “Whether known for their medicinal properties or merely for their dreamy aromas. . . blah, blah, blah,” she finished. She strode into the garden. “Let’s find out for ourselves.”
“I got a better idea,” Ed said, lurching in front of her. He reached out to a small, flat-leaved bush, then crushed a leaf between his fingers and held it up to Gaia’s nose, making sure to block the plaque from her line of sight. “Take a hit and guess the plant. For a dollar.”
“A dollar? Wh
ew, Fargo, you’re a big spender.” She closed her eyes and inhaled loudly.“Yum. I’d say. . . sage.”
“You sure?” Ed smiled as Gaia had another whiff.
“Okay, lemon.”
“Lemons grow on trees, Gaia.”
“Thank you, Einstein. All right. I give up.”
“Lavender,” Ed told her with a snicker. “God, Gaia, how many girls don’t know what lavender smells like?”
Gaia opened her eyes and shot him a sarcastic smile. “Girls like me. Girls who don’t have lavender pillows in their underwear drawer.” She thought for a moment. “Girls who don’t actuallyhavean underwear drawer.” The smile vanished. Her head drooped. In an instant, out of nowhere, she seemed down, preoccupied. “What do you say we go get a sugar fix? I packed a couple of candy bars.”
Ed nodded, not wanting to question the sudden shift in mood. He should have known that the levity wouldn’t last.Gaia was a wreck these days, a chameleon—her emotions changing color without warning.So much for the healing properties of plants,he thought. But a glucose infusion might help. He’d seen it before. If they could chill out long enough for her to stuff her face, then they could recapture the just-like-old-times vibe. It was worth a shot. He followed Gaia back out onto the path.
“How about down there?” she asked. She pointed to the Japanese Garden: an immaculate arrangement of old willow trees surrounding a small pond filled with koi the size of torpedoes.
Again Ed simply nodded. They sat down side by side in the grass, which took some doing—a lot of fumbling and hopping and assisting—but finally hewas on his butt, and it was a huge relief. Gaia reached into her bag and dug out some squishy Milky Way bars, one of which she unceremoniously tossed to him.
Flee Page 4
