Freak (3 page)

“I decided to take some time off,” Tom said, slapping a piece of paper down on top of a pile. Her father taking time off? Was this some kind of new, previously unexplored reality?

“What? But Dad, what about Natasha and Tatiana? What about your kidnappers? You can't just—”

“But I am,” he said calmly. “My director thinks I need to take a break and I agree.”

He was lying. She could tell by the way his jaw was tensing, making his cheek bulge slightly. He didn't want to take time off—his director was making him. This was insane. How were they supposed to find out who had kidnapped him if they weren't even going to let him interrogate the two people who
might
give them a lead?

“We're both going to have to let the CIA do their job,” her father said, reading her distraught expression perfectly.

Gaia had no idea how he could be so accepting of this. Her father wasn't a quitter; he was a fighter—just like her. She wasn't going to just drop this investigation. She'd do it on her own if she had to, no matter what the CIA or her father said. Whoever had kidnapped her father had to be found and be brought to justice.

“In the meantime there's something I wanted to talk to you about,” her father said with a forced smile. “How would you feel about making a new start?”

“What kind of new start?” Gaia asked slowly, still adjusting to his new attitude.

“Should I—” Jake asked, motioning toward the bedrooms.

“No, stay,” Tom said with a laugh. “I just wanted to ask Gaia if she'd like to do a little shopping this weekend.”

Gaia's jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly and snapped it shut again. That was definitely a phrase she never thought she'd hear. Not from her father, anyway. The things she heard most often from him were phrases like, “Stay off the radar,” “I'll try to be in touch sometime next month,” and “Aim for the solar plexus.”

“Shopping?” Gaia asked, slumping back in her seat. “For what?”

Please don't let him say bras or something like that,
Gaia thought.
Like he suddenly wants to make up for not being there and for my not having a mother.

Gaia didn't blame her father for his many disappearing acts over the years—at least not anymore—not now that she knew what he was doing on all those excursions and why. He was fighting the good fight. Protecting her. Protecting the free world. It had taken Gaia a long time to accept that and move on. She couldn't handle it if he decided to take on the role of guilt-ridden father now.

“New furniture,” Tom said. “Everything in this place belongs to Natasha and Tatiana. I think it's time we get some of our own things, don't you?”

A little stirring of excitement came to life in Gaia's chest, quelling the determination for revenge ever so slightly. She hadn't thought of it that way, but her father was right. This place was going to be their home. Their home. She and her father hadn't had
one of those in years. Why would they want it to be decorated by their evil archenemy?

“Really?” Gaia said, too unaccustomed to the idea of doing something as normal as furniture shopping with her father.

“Yes, really,” Tom said, standing. He moved over to the end of the hallway and looked off toward the opposite end—toward the room Gaia once shared with Tatiana. “We can get rid of those two beds and get you a double . . . move out that old-fashioned desk—I'm guessing it's not your style,” he added with a grin.

Gaia liked what he was saying, but the way he was saying it was still odd. Almost manic. He was too excited about the prospect of shopping.

He wants to be at work,
she thought with total certainty.
He wants to find his kidnappers as much as I do, but they're freezing him out.

Well, maybe her father needed a little normalcy after everything he'd been through. And if so, she'd help him get it. But in the meantime, she'd do a little digging of her own.

Gaia sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “Okay, I'm in,” she said. “Actually, we can go tomorrow. We have the day off for some teacher's conference.”

“Good. Tomorrow it is,” her father said, squeezing both her shoulders from behind. “We'll go over to Seventh and hit the stores.” He turned, hands in the
pockets of his khakis, and looked around the living room. “It'll be a whole new start. Out with the old, in with the new.”

Gaia smiled slightly and looked up at Jake, who was staring right at her. She felt a flutter in her heart as their eyes locked. Maybe Jake could help her with her investigation. She was clueless as to where to start, but maybe they could figure that out—together.

A whole new start,
she thought.
Out with the old, in with the new.

Rejection

OLIVER SAT IN ONE OF THE FEW
chairs in his brownstone in Brooklyn, staring at the telephone on the table next to him. A half-empty bottle of scotch reflected the glow from the desk lamp that afforded the only light in the room. He took a swig from his glass and braced himself as the warm liquid burned down his throat.

It's just a phone call,
he told himself.
You've taken phone calls from the President of the United States in your day. Just get it over with.

He placed the tumbler down, picked up the receiver, and quickly punched in Gaia and Tom's number. He
had no idea why he was overcome with such trepidation. Yes, there was a lot of bad history between him and his brother and niece, but that had all changed. They had fought side by side in Russia. They had escaped together. And even if he and Tom had been at each other's throats half the time, going through those experiences together had brought them closer. He could feel it. Tom must have been feeling it, too.

The phone rang a few times and he finally heard someone pick up at the other end. Oliver started to smile.

“Tom Moore,” his brother said stiffly.

“Hello, Tom. How are you settling in?”

Silence. Oliver's heart thumped almost painfully.

“Tom?”

“I don't want you calling here again,” his brother said, his tone impossibly cold.

“Tom, please. I just thought you and Gaia and I could get together,” Oliver said, sitting forward in his seat. “To talk things over . . . maybe have a meal—”

“Until I know with absolute certainty that you had nothing to do with my kidnapping and with the threats to Gaia's life, I have nothing to say to you. And I don't want you contacting her,” Tom said. “Do you understand?”

Oliver struggled for words—a unique experience for him. Usually he could be smooth under any
circumstance, could sweet-talk anyone and everyone he came into contact with. It was all part of his CIA training. But this . . . this flat-out rejection from his only brother—his twin—was too much, even for him.

“Tom, I—”

“Stay away from my daughter, Oliver. Don't test me on this.”

And with that, the line went dead. Oliver held the receiver against his face, unable to move. He hadn't expected Tom to jump up and down and do cartwheels over the phone call, but this completely disrespectful treatment was uncalled for. After everything he'd done to bring Tom home safely, to help his brother and his daughter, he certainly didn't deserve
this.

With his hand shaking, Oliver slowly lowered the receiver onto the cradle. He took a steadying breath and lifted his drink again, downing the rest of it in one quick gulp.

It's going to be okay,
he told himself, bracing his forearm with his other hand to stop the shaking. To stop the hot blood coursing through his veins from pushing him toward the edge—toward anger.
He'll come around eventually.

But his thoughts were cold comfort to him, alone in his dark, unfurnished home. What did he have to do to get back in Tom's good graces? How many times would he have to prove himself?

By the Rules

AS THE SUN BEGAN TO SET OVER THE
city, and its red-gold light reflected off the mirrored façade of the more modern buildings, Gaia walked toward the front desk at Wallace and Wenk, the law offices that doubled as a front for the CIA's underground New York headquarters. Per Jake's advice, she was wearing the most responsible outfit she could piece together—her cleanest jeans topped by a light blue button-down shirt belonging to Jake that he hadn't worn since the ninth grade. Her hair was back in a bun, and she tried to walk with her chin up and her eyes straight ahead. The small, mousy woman behind the counter smiled tightly as Gaia approached.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'm here to see Mr. Lawrence Vance,” Gaia said, thrumming her fingers on the glossy marble countertop. The receptionist eyed her gnarled fingernails and Gaia clasped her hands behind her back.

“I see. And your name?” the woman asked dubiously.

“Gaia Moore. Please tell him I'm Tom Moore's daughter,” Gaia said.

The receptionist hit a few buttons on the switchboard in front of her, then turned away from Gaia to speak into the receiver. This was never going to work—Gaia could feel it. It was Jake's idea to play by
the rules—if she wanted to find out what was going on with Natasha and Tatiana, she would have to gain the respect and trust of the CIA. But Gaia didn't like it. She would have preferred to figure out a way to break in after dark and deal with things
her
way.

Of course, this was the CIA. Her way would probably get her shot dead on first sight.

“I'm to show you to one of our waiting rooms,” the mousy woman said, seeming surprised as she hung up the phone. “Nancy, will you cover the phones for a sec?” she asked her counterpart. Then she led Gaia over to a bank of silver elevators at the back of the lobby. Once inside the sleek elevator, the woman stuck a key into a silver button, turned it, and depressed the button. The elevator moved swiftly down and Gaia almost lost her balance. She'd been expecting to be going up.

When the doors slid open again, a stern-looking woman, not much older than Gaia, stood in front of them in a gray suit and white blouse. She made an expression that may have passed for a smile in CIA circles.

“Ms. Moore. What a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. “I'm Agent Rosenberg.”

Gaia shook the woman's hand and Agent Rosenberg looked at the receptionist. “You can go now, Jean. I'll take it from here.”

“Later, Jean,” Gaia said as the doors slid closed. Then she eyed Agent Rosenberg's skinny legs, her even
skinnier arms, her sleek black hair. “You don't look like an agent,” she said.

“Neither do you,” Agent Rosenberg replied. “But I hear you can fight like one. Follow me.”

Gaia did as she was told, keeping with the play-by-the-rules plan, but every cell in her body was jumping around: chaos. Natasha and Tatiana were here somewhere and it was all she could do to keep from laying the agent out and opening doors at random.

“In here, please,” Agent Rosenberg said.

Gaia stepped inside a small office and Agent Rosenberg sat down at a silver table, looking up at Gaia expectantly. Gaia remained standing.

“Is Vance coming?” she asked.

“No. The director is otherwise occupied,” Agent Rosenberg said. “What can I do for you?”

“They sent you to deal with me?” Gaia asked with a scoff. “You must be an intern or something like that.”

“Actually I'm a special agent first class, and they wouldn't have sent me if they didn't want you to know that you're very important to this organization,” Rosenberg said, her words clipped.

“But not important enough for the director,” Gaia said.

“ 'Fraid not,” Rosenberg replied, breaking diction temporarily. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Gaia stood across the room from Agent Rosenberg and crossed her arms over her chest.

“My dad was taken off the Petrova interrogation,” Gaia said. “I want him back on.”

“I'm sorry. We can't do that,” Rosenberg said with a semblance of a smile.

“Then I want to interrogate them,” Gaia said.

“I'm sorry. We can't do that,” Rosenberg said.

“Why are you even bothering with me?” Gaia snapped.

“Why are you even bothering asking for things you know I can't give you?” Rosenberg replied, leaning forward. “You're a smart girl. Start asking the smart questions—the ones I might be able to help you with.”

Gaia narrowed her focus, feeling as if she'd been reprimanded, but also feeling as if she'd been thrown a bone. She pulled over a metal chair and sat down, eyeing Agent Rosenberg, sizing her up.

“Can you tell me what they're saying in there?” Gaia asked finally.

“Not much,” Agent Rosenberg replied.

“Have they given you any leads?” Gaia asked.

“Not yet,” Agent Rosenberg said. But this time, there was a note of optimism in her tone. Gaia shifted in her seat.

“What's your plan to get them to talk?” she asked.

Agent Rosenberg smirked. “Now there's something I have been authorized to tell you. We've decided to split the prisoners up and offer them whichever bargaining chip would get them to talk. The only problem is, we're not entirely certain what that chip might
be. We have a hunch, but we're not entirely certain.”

There was a moment of silence as Gaia took this in. Agent Rosenberg gazed right into her eyes as if it were as easy as staring at a TV. Gaia felt a sudden moment of affinity with the woman. She seemed as close to fearless as any other human Gaia had come in contact with. She was all about control.

“You want my help,” Gaia said.

Agent Rosenberg nodded. “Perceptive girl.”

“What do I get?” Gaia asked.

“You get to help us find the person or persons who kidnapped your father,” Rosenberg replied coolly. “And I will also keep you informed, as much as security clearance allows.”