Bad (10 page)

“I can stand a lot, Sam,” she added quietly. “But not pity.”

He nodded. “So, you're all alone. No family anywhere?”

An unreadable expression flickered across her face. “Well . . . I have an uncle. My dad's brother. I met him a few months ago. Until then I didn't even know he existed.”

Sam's brow grew furrowed. “Why didn't you tell me about him?”

“I don't know,” she answered quickly—almost defensively. “No. I do know. I'm not used to feeling like . . . well, like part of an actual family.” Her voice grew strained. “If he's at all like my dad, there's a good chance he might disappear. So I try to pretend like he doesn't exist most of the time. If he disappears, I don't want to miss him. You know what I'm saying?”

But I'm your family,
Sam wanted to promise.
I'll never disappear.
This was a Gaia he had never seen before.
Even the night of Ella's death, she had been strong.
She had been a woman—no, more than that. But sitting on his bed, wearing one of Sam's huge sweatshirts and a pair of his boxers, she looked like a little girl.

“It's okay,” he whispered, not even knowing why.

Gaia drew in a deep breath. “I miss my mom,” she said.

Sam nodded. Without another word, he drew her into his arms. She rested against him, eyes closed, breathing evenly. That was enough family history for one night. Maybe somewhere down the road he'd learn a little more, bit by bit. When she was ready. But for now, it was plenty. They had the rest of their lives to get to know each other. He imagined their futures as two intertwined trees, climbing higher and higher, with branches stretching in every direction. Tonight was just the seed.

 

To:
L

From:
BFF

Date:
February 2

File:
776244

Subject:
George Niven

Last Seen:
Washington Square Park

Update:
Subject observed at known CIA safe house. Intelligence indicates he learned the truth about his wife. Uncertain whether he's had any contact with G. Advise.

To:
BFF

From:
L

Date:
February 2

File:
776244

Subject:
George Niven

Directives:
Forget about current subject. He's no longer a threat. Find Tom Moore.

HEATHER

Twenty-six
million dollars.

Let me just state that sum again. Or better yet, let me write it out. Just to see all the zeros.

$26,000,000.00.

Ahhh.
There's a lot I could do with that kind of money. There's the apartment I would buy for my family. There's the health insurance, the flood insurance, the life insurance, the fire insurance, the whatever-ails-you insurance. There's the gas bill and the electric bill and the phone bill.

I could take care of all of those unpleasant facts of life and still have enough left over to go on a spending spree at Barneys New York every weekend. I could travel to Europe, go skiing in Aspen, sunbathe naked in the Caribbean. I could buy a PT Cruiser, a state-of-the-art laptop, an entertainment center, a yacht.

I could do all of those things and still have enough left over to pay my college tuition and retire to Rio when I'm seventy-five years old.

Of course, none of this matters. It's Ed I love. Not his money, no matter how much there is of it. I'm not going to let him give me one, thin dime.

Well . . . not unless I truly get desperate.

 

Sam
Moon. He represents all things I despise about American teenagers. His clothes are sloppy. His hair is messy. He thinks with exactly one part of his anatomy.

LOKI

And yet he thinks he's good enough for Gaia. Ha! The gall. He is a fool.

Not that he didn't serve his purpose. He came in quite handy, and quite by accident. Gaia needed a distraction while she got her bearings in New York, and he provided that. A necessary evil, one might say.

But he cost me more than the investment was worth. I think this boy must have too much time on his hands. Too much time to pursue Gaia—like a dog in heat. Too much time to allow himself to be seduced, as he did with Ella. That foolishness almost cost me years of careful planning.

In any event, the moment has come to deal with him, swiftly and decisively. Just so he knows that he has more important concerns than getting my niece into bed.

At that moment Ed literally felt like somebody had plunged a machete through his chest.

 

GAIA WASN'T EXACTLY SURE WHAT
had drawn her back to school, the scene of so many heinous episodes in her life. If there were any one place that perfectly represented everything she hated about her move to New York, this was it. But at the same time this school also represented something weirdly positive.
It might be chock-full of morons and idiots and FOHs, but it was harmless.
It was
safe.

Strong Suit

Besides, the truth of it was that she was bored. Sam had gone off to class, and that left her . . . well, alone.

As she climbed the steps, she wondered if the Village School would even want her
back.
After all, she'd ditched far more classes than she'd attended in the past few weeks. And in the brief time she
had
been here, she had threatened to break the leg of some beefy senior who had been picking on this poor little fat kid. What else? Oh, yeah, yesterday she told Mrs. Reingold, her calculus teacher, that her knowledge of math was on a par with one of Jane Goodall's gorillas. She stared down at the crumbling concrete stairs. It was kind of funny. She hadn't learned a single thing in this place—other than that most kids her age were ass-holes.

“Gaia?”

She glanced up.

Holy shit.
“George?” she asked, incredulous. Once again he looked like hell. Gray whiskers covered his face, and it seemed like he had lost half of what was left of his hair in the past twelve hours. He was lurking in the shadows behind one of the big stone pillars that lined the front stoop, ducking the rush of kids. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he answered, eyeing the other students warily. “Listen, we need to talk, okay?”

“Yeah.” Gaia swallowed. “Sure.” She scrutinized his lined face. His eyes were rheumy, puffy—as if he'd been crying.
He must have learned the truth.
Of course. He was an agent. He must have learned everything by now. But what did that mean for
her?
She felt sorry for George, and she truly wanted him to be okay, but he was part of a past she had no intention of revisiting.

“Is there somewhere we can go?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Right here is as private a place as any.”

He nodded. The last of the late-morning stragglers filed into the school building, and the doors slammed shut behind them. Gaia shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“I know what happened,” he began. “I know all of it.”

It was a sweeping, yet ambiguous statement. But she understood.

He sighed, avoiding her gaze. “I never should have trusted Ella. I was foolish, and I'll pay for that foolishness for the rest of my life. But worst of all, I put you in harm's way—”

“That wasn't your fault,” Gaia interrupted. “You did the best you could.” The words were as flimsy and empty as an old gum wrapper, but Gaia could think of nothing else to say.
Comforting others had never been her strong suit.
“Anyway . . . Ella changed. She told me who she really was. She admitted everything. And she regretted the decisions she had made. She . . .” Gaia stopped. It was another stream of blather, utterly meaningless. Yes, it was true, but what difference did it really make? What she really wanted to say was this:
Get out of here, George. Leave this city. Forget you ever knew Ella, or Tom Moore, or me. Go someplace far away. . . .

George shook his head. “It never should have come to that. . . . But look, it doesn't matter. I've got to think of the future now. I've got to salvage what's left.” He raised his eyes. “I know you've moved all of your belongings out of the brownstone. Your room looks like you were never there.”

A pang of guilt shot through her. She should have left a note. She should have done
something.
She didn't want to hurt George—
but now she saw that by doing nothing, she'd hurt him even more.

“Will you move back in?” he whispered. “Please? A girl your age needs a home. And I know I'm not much of a family, but I would love it if you'd let me try to be there for you. I owe it to your father. And myself. “

She nodded. A painful lump was forming in her throat. George needed her. That was the message. She was all he had left. And regardless of what she felt for or knew of her father, George was innocent.
He was a
victim
.
Gaia had always prided herself on being there for the victims—for all the people who were manipulated and abused and beaten. George had been beaten in every way conceivable.

It won't be so bad,
Gaia told herself. Now that Ella was gone, the Perry Street house would be very different. Sad, yes—but maybe peaceful, too. Besides, she couldn't stay with Sam forever. And Uncle Oliver still hadn't contacted her. Even if he
did,
what would she tell him? She didn't
want
to leave. Not yet. Not when she and Sam were finally connecting. Her uncle would understand. If he ever
did
contact her, they could get to know each other right here in New York City. For the time being, she would remain with George.

“Sure,” she heard herself say. “I'll come home.”

WHAT POSSESSED HIM TO GET
SOUP
at lunch?

Overpaid Hollywood Hack

It didn't matter how skilled

Ed was at maneuvering his wheelchair. There were certain items that weren't intended to be carried on one's lap. And hot vegetable soup was one of them. He watched as the broth sloshed out of the bowl and onto his ham sandwich. Wet bread. Moist ham.
Yum, yum
.
Ed wasn't a soup kind of guy. And he sure as hell wasn't a wet sandwich kind of guy. So what was he thinking?

“Hey, Fargo.”

Two long legs lurched in front of Ed. He stopped abruptly. More of the soup spilled. Great. It was looking like a perfect lunch period. Oh, yes. To make matters even better, the legs were attached to Carl Marino, one of Ed's least-favorite members of the Village School student body. And that was saying something, seeing as Ed hated over ninety-nine percent of the population. (Okay,
hate
was a strong word.
Intensely dislike
was more accurate.) Two members of Carl's ever present posse, Jason Franks and Joe Greenberg, were at his side. Ed intensely disliked them, too.

“Can't chat right now, guys,” Ed said. “Sorry. My blood sugar level is low. I need to eat.”

Carl's puttylike face registered no response. “That's funny, Fargo. Is that why you and Heather are back together? She likes comedians?”

Ed scowled. He didn't like the way this conversation had started—and he certainly didn't like where it was going: namely, into bad made-for-TV movie territory. He couldn't believe that guys like Carl actually existed in real life.
They usually sprang from the mind of some overpaid Hollywood hack writer.
So there was no point in continuing.

“She's hot, dude,” Carl went on. “I know she had a thing for you way back when, but it's news that she's gotten into the whole . . .
vertically challenged
thing.”

This time Ed almost laughed. Carl had been far too generous. Ed wasn't the comedian.
He
was. Maybe it was time to say something equally stupid in return.

“I guess she prefers vertically challenged to mentally challenged,” Ed stated brightly.

“Can a crippled guy do it?” Joe asked. “Or does it, like, not work?”

Oh, no! Stop it! You're killing me!
Ed smirked. They had great material, these guys. It just got better and better.

“From what I hear, I should be the one asking you that question, Joe,” Ed said. “Aren't you taking Viagra?”

The guys looked at each other in obvious incomprehension. Three syllable words tended to have that
effect on the Carl Mallone crew. They were like stun pellets.

Carl stepped even closer to Ed's wheelchair. “Excuse me? Did you—”

“Hi, Carl. What are you doing?”

Gaia.
She appeared from behind the wheelchair. Ed rolled his eyes. For once in his life, he was
not
thrilled to see her. In fact, he was kind of pissed. Gaia to the rescue, yet again. He didn't need her this time. Hadn't she quit school? He hated that she thought he was vulnerable. Having a girl—even when that girl was Gaia—swoop in and save him from a group of guys whose combined IQ rivaled his pants size . . . well, it was beyond humiliating. His jaw tightened
.
That surgery had better work.

Carl stepped back. Clearly he was afraid. As well he should be.