Twist of Fate

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  The cobbled street was lined with imported cars whose trendy owners were safely tucked away inside the equally trendy restaurants that dotted the Market. When said owners returned to their vehicles they would get inside, lock the doors, and drive quickly through the black-hole sections of town until they reached the welcoming security garages of their fashionable apartments or condos.

  Gideon knew he had a lot of nerve being so damned condescending. After all, he drove an expensive import himself, and for a long time now he had patronized expensive, trendy restaurants, not black holes.

  Gideon walked the length of the Market, passing the vegetable stalls that were closed for the night. There was a slight, lurching movement in a doorway. Gideon identified the cause: someone who in the past would have been referred to as a bum but who now came under the more socially acceptable label street person. Apparently the guy had missed the free city bus ride back to one of the missions in Pioneer Square. The mission doors were closed now. Anyone left out in the cold had to seek the shelter of a doorway or a stairwell.

  Gideon mused on his own prospective shelter for the night. The hotel room was expensive, luxurious, and lonely. On the other hand, there was a nice lounge where he could have one more Scotch before going to bed. Once more he thought of Hannah at her party. He didn’t really like parties, especially those filled with strangers, but if he were there with Hannah the two of them could ignore the others.

  He wanted to talk to her again, Gideon realized as he left the Market behind and crossed First Avenue. There was something appealing about talking to Hannah, even though she was more or less hostile toward him now. He’d like some more of her idealistic advice, even though he knew that he couldn’t act on it. He was too far gone down another road. In the past nine years he’d closed off too many of his options and he knew it.

  The morbid feeling grew as he walked another block toward the hotel. The morbid sensation turned grim and the grim mood turned aggressive and belligerent. Hands still thrust into his pockets, Gideon kept walking. There were others on the street. A few young prostitutes, male and female, watched him from the shelter of their doorways but something about him kept them from calling out. Gideon could smell the acrid scents of marijuana and cloves and urine as he passed the alleys. A couple of groups of cruising toughs sauntered past. They eyed him with the cold, voracious gaze of young piranhas but they didn’t get in his way.

  Gideon turned the corner at the next block, heading in the general direction of the expensive, luxurious, lonely hotel room that awaited him, and found himself on a much less active street. Here there were no prostitutes revealed in the streetlights, and the loose gangs of leather-jacketed teenagers weren’t prowling. Gideon kept walking.

  The man with the knife stepped out of the dark mouth of an alley next to a video rental shop that was closed for the night. Gideon felt the movement a second before he found the blade of the knife in front of him. The aggressive, belligerent feeling surged to the surface of his consciousness. Normally he got rid of the frustrated, angry sensations by swimming. But there were other ways to do it, ways he hadn’t used in a long time. He stared at the haggard face of the man holding the knife.

  “You want something?” Gideon asked very politely.

  “Yeah, dude. I want something. A lot of things. I’ll start with the wallet.” He made a quick, upwardly arcing motion with the blade and held out his other hand. There was a glittering wildness in his eyes. “Let’s have it.”

  “Don’t let the sportcoat fool you. You’re not the only one who’s had the advantage of a street education. You want the wallet? Come and take it.”

  The glittering eyes narrowed. “This ain’t no game, slick. I can cut you open ’fore you get a chance to yell.”

  “Show me.”

  “Son of a bitch. Give me the wallet!”

  Gideon said nothing. He waited with a sense of gathering excitement. This was what he needed tonight. But the need must have been showing in his eyes because the younger man wasn’t moving in on him.

  “I ain’t bullshittin’, slick. Hand over the wallet or I’ll…” The knife wavered as a car turned the corner and started down the street. The man glanced past Gideon, swore crudely and vanished down the alley.

  Gideon didn’t need to look around to know what kind of vehicle had turned the corner. He resumed walking. A few seconds later the police car cruised past. It slowed and the cop on the passenger side rolled down his window. He took one look at the expensive linen sport jacket and the Italian leather shoes and made his identification at once. Tourist.

  “You lost, buddy?”

  Gideon sighed. “No. I’m on my way back to my hotel.” He named it.

  “This isn’t the best route.”

  “The hotel’s only three blocks from here.” He tried to keep the hostility out of his voice. His whole body was seething with unreleased tension and adrenaline.

  “Walk up to the next block and then turn right. It’s a little healthier than following this street.”

  “Thank you, officer. I’ll do that.”

  The police car managed to stay within sight until Gideon had obediently walked up to the more active thoroughfare. It was a thoughtful gesture on the part of the Seattle police department but Gideon didn’t feel much like thanking anyone. He wondered how he was going to get rid of this restless, frustrated aggression. The hotel didn’t have a pool.

  The hotel did, however, have that nice lounge, Gideon reminded himself as he walked into the heavily carpeted lobby. Without any hesitation he started toward it. One hour and two Scotches later he left the padded stool to find the lobby telephones. There was no answer in Hannah’s apartment. Still partying. Gideon hung up and dialed the airline on which she was booked to Santa Inez. A man had a right to a decent vacation. There would be unlimited swimming available in the Caribbean.

  HANNAH KNEW she should have been more astonished to see Gideon pacing the departure lounge at SeaTac airport the next morning. She couldn’t quite figure out why she wasn’t. She must have spent too much of last night thinking about him. She collected her boarding pass from the agent and hitched the strap of the many-buckled leather flight bag over one shoulder. She put her weight on the cane and walked toward Gideon with a sense of inevitability.

  “I suppose you’ve got a good reason for being here.” She planted herself aggressively in front of him. She was wearing a swashbuckling military-style shirt and pants in khaki twill. The clothing had arrived the day before from the mail order house from which Hannah ordered most of her things. Her favorite two-inch wide belt of British harness leather completed the rakish look. The clothes gave her a sense of bravado she found useful around people such as Gideon Cage.

  He winced. “Could you keep your voice down? My head hurts like hell.”

  “Hangover?”

  “Don’t sound so damned pleased.” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “Where the hell have you been? They’re already boarding.”

  “I’m not much good at rushing these days.” She tapped the cane on the floor to emphasize the reason. “And even when I am in good running form, I make it a practice not to run just because somebody else thinks I should. I’m perverse that way. I’d make a lousy corporate employee. You haven’t answered my question, Gideon. What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I didn’t come to wave goodbye.”

  “I’m not surprised. You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

  “Here, give me that.” He took the flight bag from her shoulder and reached down to pick up his own leather carry-on bag. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “Isn’t this pushing your desire for guidance counseling a little too far? Gideon, I didn’t invite you along on this trip.”

  “On the other hand, you don’t look real startled to see me.” He led the way toward the boarding tunnel.

  The man was a little too perceptive, even in his hungover state. Hannah trailed down the boarding ramp after him, aware
that she was leaning too heavily on the cane. Her leg seemed especially uncomfortable and she guessed it was because she had spent too much time on her feet at the party.

  “Here,” Gideon said as he paused beside a row and began stuffing their flight bags into the overhead bins. “You can have the aisle seat. It’ll be easier on that leg.”

  “Your thoughtfulness overwhelms me.”

  “Yeah, I thought it might.” He slid into the window seat and reached for her elbow as she lowered herself onto the cushion. “Are you okay? You look a little beat.”

  “Since mornings are my best time, I’m not likely to get much better as the day progresses.” Hannah leaned her head back and closed her eyes, buckling the seat belt blindly. “Talk, Gideon.”

  She had her eyes closed, so she didn’t see him shrug but she sensed the vague gesture in his voice. “I told you. I need a vacation. I’ve never been to Santa Inez.”

  “And where do you propose to stay on Santa Inez?”

  “There’ll be hotels. There are always hotels.”

  “Just tell me why you’re doing this, Gideon.”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  Hannah opened her eyes as the jet crouched at the head of the runway, its engines roaring to life. “You don’t know why you’re here? Other than the fact that you want a vacation?”

  Gideon massaged his forehead, looking deeply pained. “Does there have to be more of a reason?”

  She was about to tell him that there definitely had to be more of a reason, much more, but the jet was rolling very quickly now, straining for lift-off. Hannah didn’t feel like pitching her voice above the grinding noise. She eyed him covertly as the green hills of Seattle dropped away beneath the plane. Gideon Cage did indeed look hungover. She found the thought curiously interesting. It didn’t quite fit the mosaic she had mentally constructed.

  “Do you get drunk often?” Hannah inquired politely as the jet leveled off.

  He slanted her a hard-edged glance. “What do you think?”

  “I think you don’t do it too frequently,” she responded honestly. “Being that out of control wouldn’t fit your personality. Where did you go last night?”

  “Some place near the waterfront. Lots of glass, great view. I don’t remember the name. Then I walked back to my hotel and had a couple of drinks before going to bed. Hardly a wild evening.”

  “You walked from the Market back to your hotel? Alone?”

  “Why not? Seattle is a very friendly town.”

  “Tourist luck,” Hannah marveled. “You should have caught a cab.”

  “I’ll remember that next time. How was your going-away party?”

  “Lousy.”

  For some reason that got his attention. “Lousy? Did your leg hurt?”

  “That wasn’t the problem.”

  “Then what was the problem?” he asked with exaggerated patience.

  “It took the form of am uncomfortable social situation. What might be called a scene.” Hannah accepted a cup of coffee from the cabin attendant and waited as Gideon did the same. “I got into an embarrassing argument,” she continued bluntly as the attendant moved on to the next row. “I hate scenes. Especially ones in which I humiliate myself.”

  “Are we discussing a scene with a man?” Gideon swallowed the contents of his coffee cup in two long gulps. He seemed grateful for the small comfort.

  He really did look somewhat the worse for wear, Hannah decided. His hair had been combed with a too-careful hand, the severe style only serving to point up the grimness around his eyes and mouth. He was wearing a pair of tan pants and an open-necked cotton work shirt. Both garments looked a little crushed, as if they had been yanked out of a flight bag and not been given a chance to unwrinkle.

  “No. A scene with a woman. Vicky Armitage. She’s an anthro professor. I think I mentioned her. She knows I’m going to Santa Inez to deal with my aunt’s library. Wants me to turn it over to someone who is competent to analyze it. Someone who can appreciate the true value of Elizabeth Nord’s records and notes.”

  “And that someone isn’t a guidance counselor?”

  Hannah smiled wryly. “Sometimes you can be amazingly insightful.”

  “How did you humiliate and embarrass yourself?”

  Hannah sighed, remembering the small scene. “I tried to hold my own in a field in which I am eminently underqualified.”

  “Anthropology?”

  “Uh-huh. Normally I have sense enough not to get in over my head with the academic crowd, but Vicky really annoyed me last night. I found myself feeling what could only be described as hostile and aggressive.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind,” Gideon instructed. “Tell me what happened.”

  “There isn’t much to tell, really. I went a few rounds in the ring with someone who is way out of my league and I came away looking like an idiot. Vicky started going on and on about the importance of my aunt’s papers to the scientific community. She said that Elizabeth Nord’s work could be viewed as a prime example of the radical extremes to which participants in the old nature versus nurture controversy were willing to go.”

  “You’re losing me,” Gideon warned.

  “During the first half of the century anthropologists were split on the issue of nature versus nurture,” Hannah explained. “Some were absolutely convinced that heredity or nature determined all the various aspects of culture and human behavior. The other group was equally sure that culture molded human behavior, that a human being developed along whatever lines his culture dictated. Both sides were partially right and partially wrong, of course. Heredity and culture are intertwined, each contributing something to the formation of human personality. But back in those days anthropologists fought to the last ditch over the matter. Vicky claims that my aunt was on the nurture side and that she skewed her findings on Revelation Island to fit the claim that culture was everything. She thinks the Nord papers might prove that.”

  “And you attempted to defend your aunt?”

  “I should have known better. It’s been so long since I was in graduate school. I’ve forgotten the nuances of that kind of infighting.” Hannah shook her head, regretting that she had made a fool of herself. “And I’d forgotten all the heavyweight names and the important monographs. I couldn’t begin to remember the appropriate books and papers. Vicky brought out all the big guns.”

  “And you came off looking like a noncontender.”

  “Not unlike the way I looked after you’d finished with Accelerated Design.”

  Gideon groaned. “Could we forget that incident?”

  “Are you apologizing?” she asked a little too sweetly.

  “Would it do any good?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t buy it for a minute.” She stretched out her weak leg, absently rubbing her knee through the fabric of her khaki slacks. “Are you running off to Santa Inez to escape the young gunslinger?”

  “Ballantine? Maybe.”

  “That doesn’t fit, either. Not like you to admit you’re afraid of another man.”

  “Maybe you should quit trying to predict my actions on the basis of what little you know about me, Hannah.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  There was a pause and then Gideon asked cautiously. “What would you tell Ballantine if he came to you for advice?”

  “You mean, what would I tell you if this were nine years ago?”

  “Something like that,” Gideon admitted.

  “I suppose I’d give you a lecture on the futility of building a career based on revenge.” Hannah finished her coffee. “But to tell you the truth, this morning I’m not sure my heart would be in my work. Quite frankly, after my little scene with Professor Armitage last night, revenge as a motivating factor suddenly makes a certain amount of sense.”

  “Feeling vengeful?”

  Hannah’s mouth curved in a faint grin. “Do you know what would really frost Vicky Arm
itage?”

  “What?”

  “If I were to write the big, revealing book on Elizabeth Nord’s career myself. I know just how I’d do it, too. I wouldn’t get it published through some high-class university press so that only academic types would read it. I’d send it to some huge, commercial New York publisher. Get it packaged as a hot, controversial, pop science best-seller. You know the type. The academic community scoffs at them but television picks them up for a big special. Since a lot of my aunt’s work was on the role of women in society, I’m sure there would be an audience for a book about her. Women love to read stuff like that. I’d make it juicy instead of bone dry, go light on the science and heavy on the good stuff.”

  “Sex?”

  “Precisely. Any book dealing with the role of women is bound to discuss a lot of sex, don’t you think? Initiation rituals, marriage and divorce customs, all kinds of hot material. Then there’s the personal side of things. My aunt was quite a character. There were rumors that she was a lesbian. There was also some gossip about her getting involved in some of the rituals of Revelation Island.”

  “You’re not concerned with protecting your aunt’s good name?”

  “She didn’t have a good name. She had a controversial name and she loved it. Believe me, it wouldn’t bother her ghost in the least if I were to turn her life story into a sleazy best-seller. She’d get a kick out of it.”

  Gideon slanted Hannah a speculative glance. “Writing a book sounds like hard work, a long-term project.”

  “Sure.”

  “Take it from me, you’re probably going to need a little more motivation than the memory of one embarrassing scene at a party.”

  “You’re speaking from experience?”

  “The trick to getting revenge, Hannah, is to make sure that nothing else matters as much as the revenge itself.” Gideon’s voice was flat, totally devoid of emotion. “That means the source of motivation has got to be pretty strong.”

  “As yours was?”

  “Yeah. Got any aspirin?”