Freak (6 page)

Receipt of message confirmed. Send all NYC units into the field. I want daily reports on the movements of Genesis, Cain, and Abel. Don't fail me on this.

Could she really do this? Could she really just take off on the spur of the moment and go have fun?

Touched

“GAIA! WHAT A PLEASANT SURPRISE!”

Dmitri held the door to his Murray Hill apartment open for Gaia on Saturday morning and she smiled as she walked by. She may have been there on business, but she had a soft place in her heart for the kindly old man who had helped her bring Natasha to justice. It was good to see him again.

“How have you been?” Dmitri asked, settling into a cushy leather chair in his plush living room. Gaia sat across from him on the couch and leaned forward.

“Okay,” she said. “But I need your help.”

“What is it?” Dmitri asked, his expression growing concerned.

“The CIA put my father on forced leave and they won't let either one of us near Natasha and Tatiana,” Gaia said in a rush. “Which means we're nowhere on the investigation into my father's kidnapping.”

Dmitri nodded slowly, taking this in. “Why did they put your father on leave?”

“I don't know,” Gaia said, standing up and starting to pace. “He won't tell me and neither will they.”

“You talked to someone at the CIA?” Dmitri asked, raising his eyebrows. He brought his fingertips together under his nose in a contemplative pose as he watched her circle in front of him.

“Yeah, some special agent,” Gaia said. “She's going
to grill Natasha and Tatiana separately. I told her what to dangle in front of them to make them talk, but who knows if it'll work. . . . ”

Dmitri shifted in his seat and brought his hands together under his nose. “What did you tell her to do?”

Gaia really looked at him for the first time since the conversation started. There was a new tension in his voice. He was legitimately apprehensive. Gaia was touched.

“I told her to offer Natasha Tatiana's freedom and vice versa,” she said with a shrug.

Dmitri narrowed his eyes and nodded, then took a deep breath. “Yes. Very wise,” he said, now gazing off across the room. “That just might do the trick.”

“Anyway, do you think there's anything you can do?” Gaia asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch again. “Can you call your guy at the CIA and see what he knows? Or . . . I don't know, use some of your other contacts—find out if they've gotten any rumblings out of Russia? Maybe people are talking about the rescue. . . . ”

Dmitri sat in silence for a moment, eyeing her, mulling over everything she'd told him. Finally he sat up and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His face moved into the shaft of light coming from a nearby lamp, illuminating every last line and wrinkle in his weathered face.

“Gaia, I know you're not going to like this, but I think it's time for you to let this go,” he said.

Gaia felt as if he'd just punched her right in the gut. With brass knuckles. “What? Let what go? The fact that Natasha and Tatiana betrayed us? The fact that someone kidnapped my father? What if they try it again?”

“They won't try it again,” Dmitri said, his blue eyes sure. “Trust me.”

“How can you know that?” Gaia demanded.

“You've already proven that you won't be intimidated—that you won't respond to their tactics,” Dmitri said. “Believe me, Gaia. I know how these people work.”

Gaia couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. She had been so sure that Dmitri would help her. So confident that he was her best ally in this. Why was he turning her down?

“Please, Gaia. It's time to move on,” Dmitri said, reaching for her hands. “Let it go and live your life. Let the CIA do its job.”

Gaia scoffed and stood again, pulling her hands from his. “You sound just like my father.”

Dmitri chuckled and looked up at her. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

“Whatever,” Gaia said, turning her back on him and heading for the door.

“Gaia! I want you to know that whatever happens, I will always be here for you!” Dmitri called after her.

Gaia paused for only a second, then kept walking,
wondering why she had hesitated at all. Why those words had for some reason touched a chord within her heart.

“Yeah,” she said under her breath. “Thanks for nothing.”

Let Go

TOM WALKED TOWARD CENTRAL PARK,
his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes trained on the ground. He took a few long, deep breaths of the fresh spring air and felt the soothing warmth of the sun wash over him. Once he'd finished putting together Gaia's new furniture that morning, he'd found himself slowly going stir-crazy. His new bed and dresser were going to be delivered later in the week and he still couldn't seem to make himself comfortable among Natasha's things. He felt more stifled in that apartment with her books and her knickknacks and her scent than he had in any prison cell he'd ever had to call home.

Who was she working for?
Tom wondered for the ten billionth time since he'd learned that Natasha was, in fact, the enemy.
She had to be working for someone. Who was it? The Russian Mafia? The Russian Secret Service? One of the newer spy organizations?

He entered the park and passed by a few empty benches, not ready to sit yet. He had too much pent-up energy to expend. He'd walk the whole way to the other side and back if he had to. Whatever it took for him to figure this out.

Of course, the problem was, he was fairly certain he already had it figured out. As much as Gaia wanted to believe otherwise, Tom knew that Loki had to have been the one pulling the strings. It was the only scenario that made sense. No one had questioned him while he was in Russia. No one had tortured him or demanded he divulge his secrets. There didn't seem to be any point to him being there other than to keep him from being here. Who would go to all those lengths to remove him from his daughter other than Loki?

“Damn it,” Tom said through his teeth. He stuffed his hands under his arms and clamped his elbows down, coiling in on himself.
How had Loki done it?
That was what he wanted to know.
How had he faked a coma? How had he given orders from a hospital room? How had he convinced Gaia that he was Oliver again?

I need to talk to Natasha. She's the only one who knows,
Tom thought, trying not to notice the mother who was pulling her toddler to her as he passed by, clearly disturbed by his whacked-out demeanor.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let her get to me?

The answer, he knew, was simple. He let her get to him because he was in love with her. And her betrayal
stung more than anything he'd suffered in the past. She'd fooled him into opening a heart that had been dosed for a decade, and then she'd turned on him. If he was ever going to figure out what was going on with her and her daughter and Loki, he was going to have to get past that.

Tom paused at a fork in the paved pathway. He forced himself to uncurl his arms. Forced himself to look up at the oncoming dusk. He breathed in and out, expanding his chest and closing his eyes. He breathed in and out and told himself to let go. He had to. For his daughter. For his own sanity.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked at the two paths that lay ahead. One wound up and into the budding bushes and trees, the other was straight and sloped down toward the center of the park. Tom turned right and took the easier path. He wanted to stroll. He wanted to relax. It was time to let go.

He'd only taken a few long strides when the trill of his cell phone surprised him. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open in one smooth motion.

“Moore here,” he said into the mouthpiece.

“Agent Moore, it's Director Vance. There's been a development.”

Tom blinked and stepped off the pathway to let a pair of skateboarders pass. “What kind of development?” he asked, his pulse beginning to race.

“We need you to come in,” the deep, throaty voice replied. “Now.”

“What about taking some time off?” Tom said, unabashedly enjoying this. They needed him. He knew they needed him.

“I'm ending it,” Vance replied firmly. “I expect to see you in fifteen.”

Used Undies

GAIA SAT ON THE COUCH ON SATURDAY
evening, brooding over her meeting with Dmitri. For the last hour she'd been alternating between obsessive irritation and obsessive brainstorming—trying to think of other ways to help her dad. He'd left her a message saying he was going back to work, which was good, but that didn't mean they were putting him back on the case. He might still need her, and even if he didn't, there was no way to stop her mind from obsessing.

When the doorbell rang, however, her thoughts came to a screeching stop. She jumped up, crossed the living room, and slipped the cover on the peephole aside.

Jake,
she thought, her heart responding with the usual thump, much to her chagrin.

“I know you're there. I heard the peephole thing move,” Jake said.

Gaia rolled her eyes and opened the door. Jake looked even more perfect in full, undistorted size than he had through the peephole. He was wearing black pants and shoes and a formfitting burgundy T-shirt that made his olive skin look even darker. His black leather jacket was new—at least she hadn't seen it before—and his hair was slightly gelled.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Gaia asked, stepping aside so that he could come in.

“It's Saturday night,” Jake replied, opening his hands. “I think the more appropriate question is why are
you
dressed like
that?”

Gaia flushed and crossed her arms over her chest. After she had returned from Dmitri's that afternoon, she'd taken a shower and braided her still-wet hair down her back. Then she'd slipped into her most comfortable cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and a black hooded sweatshirt for her night on the couch. What did Jake expect her to do, lounge around in silk and cashmere?

“So, you came here to insult my wardrobe?” Gaia asked.

“You started it,” Jake said. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “Actually, I came here to take you out. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go.”

Gaia blinked and drew herself up straight. Wait. Had he just asked her out? Where was the awkwardness? The agonizing silence? How was she supposed to
have the time to get all mortified and embarrassed and confused if he just sprung it on her like that?

“I . . . uh . . . ”

Okay, there it was. Total loss of communication skills. This felt more familiar.

“Come on, what do you do for fun?” Jake asked, his high energy bursting out of him and ricocheting off the walls. Gaia had a mental vision of herself ducking and dodging to avoid being hit by a shot of Jake oomph.

“What do I do for fun . . . ?” Gaia repeated, stalling.

This is pathetic,
she thought, racking her brain.
I don't have an answer to that question.
But when had she ever had the chance to think about it? When had she ever been misery-free long enough to even consider having fun? Yeah, she'd had a few laughs with Ed, but she couldn't exactly tell Jake that she hung out with Ed for fun. Besides, hanging out with him was not an option. Not anymore.

“Um . . . chess?” Gaia said finally, pathetically.

Jake, understandably, laughed. “You have to be kidding me,” he said, walking over and standing across from her. “You live in one of the most kickass cities in the world. There are a million things to do here and you pick chess.”

“It's . . . challenging,” Gaia said, defeated. She let her shoulders slump and looked up into his eyes. She felt like the biggest geek in the world, standing in front of
some popular, fun-loving guru and begging him to help her become functional in society.

“Okay, you need help,” Jake said, as if reading her mind.

He abruptly turned left and walked down the hall toward her bedroom. Gaia followed, somehow resisting the urge to tackle him to the floor before he got there. Her room was a constant mess, with tangles of clothes, cupcake wrappers, soda cans, and who knew what else littering the floor. If he went in there, he was sure to get a glimpse of something embarrassing, like socks with holes in them or bras with fraying straps or worst of all, used undies.

Please don't let him see any used underwear,
Gaia thought, squeezing her eyes shut as she entered the room.

But Jake didn't even look around. He went straight to her closet and pulled out a slim-fitting black turtle-neck. He tossed it at her and then started going through a pile of jeans—Tatiana's jeans.

“I'm
not
wearing her clothes,” Gaia said. She grabbed a pair of white cotton panties off the floor and stuffed it under her new pillows.

“Understood,” Jake replied, turning to her side of the closet again. “Do you own anything that isn't army green?”

Gaia flushed. Why had he come over here? To remind her of how unappealing she was? To show her
that she didn't even own one single piece of clothing that a guy would find attractive? Jake was turning out to have some serious nerve.

“You know . . . ,” Gaia began, but she never got to finish. Jake gave up on the closet and stepped so close to Gaia her nose was practically pressed into his chest. He reached around behind her and she felt a tug at the bottom of her braid. She held her breath as she felt his fingers running through her hair, fanning it out over her shoulders.

Jake pulled back and looked down at her, smiling almost gently. “Wear whatever you want,” he said. “But I am taking you out of here.”

Then he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Still struggling to breathe, Gaia stepped in front of the full-length mirror that Tatiana had secured to the back of their door. Her hair was dry now and the haphazard braid had woven it in hundreds of loose waves. Gaia ran her fingers through it, trying to see whatever it was that had made Jake smile like that. She pulled it all over one shoulder and turned to the side.