Escape (6 page)

The longer Gaia spied on her appointed spy, the more chilling all the realizations became. If the ambulance driver who'd brought her father to the hospital was actually some kind of operative working for “them”—the Mystery Assholes, Loki's people or whoever—then that
meant that there had never really
been
a hospital angle here. They'd had her father from the moment he was picked up. They were just using the hospital. Using it as some kind of holding station to shake off cover and leave Gaia completely in the dark.

They'd had him all along. The whole freaking time. They'd had her father from day one. And that meant that they definitely had him now. And they were watching her.

Gaia's teeth clenched tightly together. She'd had so many chances—so many opportunities to get her dad out of that ambulance or out of that hospital, away from these people. And she'd missed every one of them. She could feel her face heating up with the desire to pound her own face in for being
so goddamn blind.

Pockmark did one last sweep of the room. For one millisecond Gaia thought he might have spotted her through the books, but his face proceeded to glide right by her. He looked flustered, to say the least. He tugged his bag over his head and bolted for the exit. She could see his frustration increasing with every step. But he really didn't need to worry. Yes, he had lost her for a moment, but in just a few minutes he was most definitely going to find her. Or rather, she was going to find him.

She waited the appropriate ten count before following him in full surveillance mode. Eyes wide open, feet barely touching the ground, appearing completely nonchalant while inching closer and closer.

Out the library doors and then out onto the brightly lit night on Fortieth and Fifth. The sidewalk was swarming with people, mostly men in suits headed home after putting in their extra
this - is - how - I -got- rich two hours.
The street had been transformed into a sea of metallic yellow, thanks to the bumper-to-bumper taxicabs and the amber streetlights. But Gaia's eyes were like two fast-motion cameras, shooting frame after frame of every one of Pockmark's lumbering moves. He slid between the taxis' bumpers as he crossed the street. Then he walked up the wide expanse of stone stairs to the palatial main branch of the Public Library, guarded on either side by two stone lions lying proudly on their stone pedestals.

The entrance concourse was reasonably empty at this point, what with the entire city headed home for dinner, and it was dark enough in certain corners for a little privacy. Gaia was in no mood to waste time. She decided that the moment had come for her and Pockmark to be reintroduced.

“Looking for me?” she barked, being sure to cut right through the street noise with a sharp tone.

She saw him stop in his tracks. But he didn't turn his head. He knew that his cover had been blown and that any contact with his mark would have his people pounding on tables in a rage and most likely pounding on him, too. And most of all, he hadn't turned around because he obviously knew all about Gaia. He
knew what she was capable of doing to him, and he knew why she would do it. He was, after all, the man who had taken her father from her. Literally.

And so, rather than turn around, this pathetic, cowardly slob picked up the pace.

“Hey!” she shouted after him, moving from a walk to a trot to a full-on run. “I just have a few questions to ask you.” He increased his own speed as he headed back off the entrance steps and down Fifth Avenue, trying in vain to get lost in the crowd. Gaia cut through the masses of pedestrians until she was right on his tail, but he turned off onto the much darker Thirty-seventh Street, probably thinking that the maze of blue scaffolding on the street would hide him better.

Gaia leapt off her feet and connected with his disgustingly sweaty back, slamming him face first into the rugged stone facade of the corner building.

“I asked you to wait up,” she hissed, yanking his arm behind his back and stretching it downward at a most inhuman angle. He let out a
tragic little yelp.
Gaia was certainly no sadist, but she couldn't help taking some small pleasure in any pain she might be causing him. She knew it was nothing compared the torture he'd put her through when he'd stolen her father from her and strapped him onto a metal gurney like he was already dead.

“Where is he?” That was all she wanted to know right now. The rest would come later.

“I don't. . . I'm not sure what. . .”

“Where
is
he?” she shouted straight down his ear canal, cramming her knee into his lower back.

“Who?” he whimpered. “I don't know what you're—”

“Don't. Don't do it. Don't waste my time with that, I'm warning you. You tell me where my father is. You tell me who is doing this right now, and I won't break your arm clean off your shoulder.”

“I don't know.”

“Don't lie!” She shot a jab into his back and then twisted the arm harder.

“I
swear.
I swear to God. I was just supposed to stand there and let you see. . . . Please don't—”

“What? What are you talking about? What do you mean, stand there? Let me see what?”

“Me. I mean, you were just supposed to see—
ugh. . .”

A hand suddenly whipped by Gaia's face, smacking Pockmark hard on the back of the head. Gaia flipped around just as an elbow cut across her forehead, knocking her completely off balance and sending her headfirst into one of the blue metal bars of the scaffold. She couldn't even tell if the chimelike sound was inside her head or just
the sound of her skull striking metal.

“Just go, you idiot,” she heard a man barking at Pockmark. “Get your fat ass back to base.
Run,
you piece of crap.”

Gaia leapt to her feet just in time to see Pockmark
huffing toward Madison. But when she turned back to her assailant, the plot thickened so much more, it nearly congealed.

It was yet another face that she'd seen before, though much less bruised and battered than the last time she'd seen it. The same round jaw. The same Hispanic features. The same man she had encountered on the West Side Highway not so many days ago. The man she had first seen beating Sam Moon.

Sam had explained the entire scenario to Gaia once they'd gotten him safely back to her place. This man who was standing before her. . . he was one of the men from Loki's compound. One of the men who had wanted Sam dead. He'd chased Sam all the way from the Berkshires back to New York City. And if Gaia hadn't shown up when she had, he probably would have gotten his wish: a dead Sam, an incarcerated Sam, or both. But what the hell was he doing here now? What had he just said?
Get your fat ass back to base. . . .

They knew each other. He and Pockmark. They
were
working together.

He threw another punch at Gaia, but she was ready this time. She dodged the punch and yanked his wrist forward, using his momentum to send him the rest of the way into the cold, hard metal scaffold. There was the second chime.

She yanked him up by the lapels of his gray suit and
slammed him once more
against the metal for
a third chime. He croaked in pain as his eyes momentarily fluttered toward the back of his head. And as she stared at him in his painful daze, she didn't even know what to say. Now she wasn't even sure what questions she should be asking.

If the man who'd tried to beat Sam to death knew the man who'd tried to kidnap her father. . . was one person responsible for all of this? Both Gaia and Sam had considered it a very real possibility, but this seemed to be the clincher. This proved for certain some connection between that compound in the Berkshires and the kidnapping of her father. But what was the connection? Was it as simple as Loki? Had it been as simple as Loki this entire time? Someone working for him while he rotted away in that coma, finishing up all his dirty work out of loyalty?

“Who's doing this?” she barked into his dizzy eyes. “Who is doing all this? Is it Loki?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Where's my father? Where the hell is he?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He repeated the exact same phrase with the exact same inflection. But this time. . . he smiled.

He was playing with her. He was freaking playing with her. And his
stupid, robotic loyalty
was obviously unbreakable.

Reflex took over. Before she could finish another thought, Gaia had driven her lower palm straight up
into her assailent's nose. She could hear the snap as his head whipped back against the bar again. He began to slide slowly from her grip down toward the ground.

“Get up!” she hollered. “Get up and answer me!”

That was when the knife nearly slashed straight across her chest. He was slicker than she'd thought. As he fell toward the ground, he'd pulled a hidden blade from somewhere, and he'd gone down slashing.

Gaia grappled onto the bars above her and swung herself back from his slashing hand. He took two more swipes before she swung back toward him, punting the knife far down the empty sidewalk with a perfectly placed snap of the foot.

And then he just took off. He took off at top speed, slamming his body deep into the crowd on Fifth Avenue. Gaia landed back on the ground and tried to spot him, but with
that damn gray suit
on, he'd turned into the other thousand men on the street in gray suits. Plus her dimming vision, along with a mild postbattle dizziness, had begun to kick in just enough to leave her disoriented.

No,
she shouted at herself.
You're losing him, goddamn it.
She hadn't just lost him. She'd lost herself the last best chance at getting any real information about her dad.

Unless. . .

Maybe she hadn't lost every chance just yet. Maybe, in fact, she'd just discovered the one true lead she
actually had. The one place she hadn't thought of to search.

And quite suddenly there were two horrific things she needed to talk to Sam about. She couldn't even decide which one would be more painful to discuss. But it would all be moot if she couldn't get back home without passing out. . . .

Scampering Dog Syndrome

YES, SAM HAD FOUND A COMB IN
the bathroom of the maid's quarters and combed his hair. Yes, he had washed his clothes in the washer/dryer while Natasha and Tatiana were away, and he had cleaned his little prison of a room rather thoroughly. But that did
not
mean that he was preparing for his strategy session with Gaia like it was a date. It had been time to clean things up, anyway. Time to introduce at least a little bit of order into his thoroughly chaotic world.

Okay, yes, he had snuck out and gotten her a gift.

But it wasn't like it was some kind of
gift
gift. Its purpose was entirely utilitarian. Its purpose was only to ensure his and Gaia's safety.

He heard the front door of the apartment open and close. It was almost seven-thirty. It had to be Gaia. And so. . . he began to pace. Which in this room basically meant taking two steps in one direction and two steps in the opposite direction. He didn't want to sit on the chair and he didn't want to sit on the bed.

He felt like a dog whose master had finally come home from a long day at the office. That was what this excited pacing felt like: a dog scampering around with the most vicious case of cabin fever. He could practically feel his
tail wagging with anticipation,
waiting in his little doghouse for Gaia to walk through the door. Terrific—he had gone from feeling like a five-year-old child to feeling like a dog. He heard the secret knock and tugged the door open, letting Gaia in and then slamming the door shut.

“I am
so
glad to see you,” he admitted. He didn't even bother to temper his enthusiasm. “I mean, I've always thought of myself as a pretty solitary person, but this hiding thing is just ridiculous. This is. . . well, I'm just very glad you're here.” He smiled at her and tried to free himself of scampering dog syndrome, relaxing his body into a state of near stillness. But something was wrong. Gaia wasn't smiling back. In fact, she was a complete mess. Maybe she'd fallen asleep on the train?

“Sam, we need to talk—”

“Wait, I got you something,” he said, reaching
behind him for her gift and handing her the rolled-up paper bag.

Gaia stared dubiously at the bag. “What's this?”

“A gift.”

“Sam, this is no time to be—”

“No, it's not a
gift
gift,” he explained. “It's nothing like that, just open it.”

Gaia still looked rather uncomfortable. Impatient, even. Exhausted, concerned, ornery. . . not what Sam had hoped for tonight. But nonetheless, she reached into the bag, and she pulled out her gift. A brand-new cell phone.

“I got a replacement ATM card at the bank and I got us each a phone,” Sam explained. “Don't worry, I was only outside for about a half hour. I just thought for safety purposes, we wouldn't want to risk. . . losing contact again. It's already on and ready to go.”

She examined the phone and then looked up at him. “That was. . . Thank you,” she said. “It's a really good idea. . . . Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now if we need to get a message to each other, we can just call or text message, and no one needs to know a thing about it—” He stopped himself midsentence and took a closer look in her eyes.
A sharp pain
flashed through his chest. And it had nothing to do with his healing bullet wounds. Something had happened. Someone had hurt Gaia somehow, or she had just hurt someone, or else. . . she
was going to hurt someone. “What happened?” he asked anxiously. “Tell me what's wrong. Is it your dad? Gaia, come on, you're scaring me.”