Killer (11 page)

At the top of the stairs was an enormous iron door. Ella could barely make it out for the lack of light, but it looked a little like a bank vault. Hanging from the ceiling on a rusted chain was a small iron ball. The
woman swung the ball against the door like a door knocker. After knocking six times she waited a moment. Then she knocked again.

Almost instantly there was a metallic sound of locks being turned, bolts sliding away. The dry hinges groaned as the door swung open, spilling a pool of cool blue light. A man in an embroidered tunic stood in the doorway, beckoning Ella to come forward.

“You are here to see Mr. Xi?” he asked, gently helping her inside the blue chamber. Ella nodded breathlessly, her eyes struggling to adjust to the light. Five-foot vases swam into view. Lacquered dragons. Antique tapestries of mountains threaded with silver. At least they kept
this
place clean. But were these pieces real? Ella wished she knew more about Chinese art. She wouldn't be surprised if these were just cheap props, designed to give the impression of luxury.

“Your name, please?” the man in the tunic asked.

“Ella,” she replied, not bothering to give an alias. There was no point. Loki would figure her out eventually. He always did. “Ella Niven.”

The man nodded, then led her down a passage to another darkened doorway. It was opened just the slightest bit. He turned and clasped his hands neatly together. “Mr. Xi?” he asked into the crack. “May I present to you Ella Niven?”

Ella bit her lip to keep from sneering.
There was something so
absurd
about this whole ritual. Why couldn't she just talk to the man and get it over with?

After a few moments of silence a gravelly voice answered, “Yes, you may.”

The man in the tunic motioned for Ella to step inside. She blinked, frowning, as she pushed open the door. The room was like a dark blue box drained of light—except for a slender spotlight that illuminated a single empty chair in front of a long, sleek table. Behind a Chinese screen at the far wall she could see the hulking outlines of six bodyguards standing at attention. The tiny red bulbs of surveillance cameras blinked in each corner.

“Sit down, Ella Niven,” commanded the gravelly voice. It, too, came from behind the screen.

She took a seat in the empty chair, swallowing. She blinked in the harsh glare of the light. She could barely see a thing. Her heartbeat quickened. These rituals might be trite and annoying, but she had to admit it: They were effective.
They instilled fear in a potential client. Ella knew that she wouldn't be able to turn back even if she wanted to.
No doubt all six of those men were as highly trained as she was. . . .

A tiny man in a fedora stepped out from behind
the screen and stood at the opposite end of the table, by the door. It was too dark to make out any of his features, but his frame was very small and thin for a man. If Ella didn't know any better, she might have thought this guy was actually a twelve-year-old boy. Strange . . . she had been here once in the past, many years ago, but she'd never actually seen Mr. Xi.

“Uh . . . thank you for agreeing to see me,” Ella murmured, holding her shopping bag protectively in her lap.

“I recognize you,” Mr. Xi stated. His voice was throaty and disturbing, especially coming from someone his size. “I know who you are.”

Ella nodded, fighting to ignore the twinge of fear that shot down her spine.
Thisman could be on the phone with Loki in an instant—and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.
She figured it was best to just shut up.

“You would like to employ my services,” he said. It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact. There was an edge of undeniable authority in his tone. Much like Loki himself.

“Yes,” Ella whispered.
Why the hell else would I be here, you
—

“Speak up, woman!”

“Yes,” she repeated, wincing. “I would.”

“My services will cost you one hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he announced.

Ella knew that this would be the amount. Still, hearing it didn't fill her with joy. With numbed fingers she pulled a shoe box out of her shopping bag. She removed the lid and stared down at the crisp blocks of cash—taken out from the Bank of Liberia on Tenth Street less than an hour ago. The transfer had been a success. And now . . . well, it seemed such a shame to be spending half of the money she stole so soon after she had stolen it. But she was resolved to do this. She slid the box across the table.

Mr. Xi didn't touch the money. He barely looked at it. Instead he snapped his fingers. One of the bodyguards rushed out to the table and hurriedly counted the bills. Then he nodded toward Mr. Xi and retreated back behind the screen.

“Whose life are you buying?” Mr. Xi demanded.

The directness of the question caught Ella off guard. There really
was
no turning back. They were coconspirators now, talking plainly about a murder.

“Her . . . her name is Gaia—Gaia Moore,” Ella stammered.

“What is her relationship to you?”

Ella hesitated. “She's . . . uh, my foster daughter,” she murmured, looking down at the table. For some reason, saying the words out loud made her feel
ashamed. But why should they? Gaia Moore had destroyed her life.

“I'll need a picture,” the shadow said.

“Of course.” Ella reached back into the Barney's bag and pulled out a manila envelope, then slid it across the table. Mr. Xi stepped forward and removed the snapshot. He stared at it for several uncomfortable moments. Ella shifted in her seat.
For a second she even waited for him to gush about how beautiful Gaia looked—like every other nauseating person on earth did.
But thankfully, he didn't say a word about it.

He tossed the photo back on the table. “How do you want to end this girl's life?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don't care. Just as long as it happens soon. She's a martial arts expert, though. She could be a little hard to get to.”

Mr. Xi laughed. “That won't be a problem. But you are certain that this is what you want?”

Ella didn't allow a moment's hesitation. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“You are certain?” he repeated.

Didn't I just say I wanted to do it?
Ella wondered, scowling. “I want her dead,” she growled. “Is that enough to convince you?”

“There's no need for rudeness,” he answered calmly. “I will take your contract. You may go now.”

Ella didn't move. Did he think she was some sort of idiot? She blinked hard in the spotlight. “How do I know you're actually going to go through with it?” she asked. “I mean, how do I know that you're not just taking my money?”

Mr. Xi sighed. “Faith, Ella Niven,” he muttered. “Good faith. If I give you my word, the job will be done.”

Ella clenched her jaw. That wasn't exactly reassuring. “You haven't changed your mind, have you?” he asked.

“No,” Ella said quickly. “Of course not.”

“Good,” the shadow said. “Because we operate by a strict code here. Once the money has changed hands, there's no turning back.”

 

Sadomasochist

TOSSING THE EMPTY CANDY BAR
wrapper in the trash can, Gaia tiredly resumed her post in front of the dim sum house several doors down from Mr. Chin's. The sun had nearly set. A bitter wind had settled over the street. The crowd of pedestrians had begun to thin out, ducking into doorways like squirrels
burrowing into holes for the winter. Gaia shifted on her feet, rubbing the sides of her arms through her coat sleeves. Ella had been in there forever. And Gaia knew that Ella sure as hell wasn't buying an old TV.

No. Whatever was going on in that dusty time warp of a store somehow involved Gaia herself.

Maybe she should duck inside the restaurant to get warm. But then she might miss Ella. She turned her head to look at the tank filled with striped sea bass in the window, their opalescent bodies undulating in the water as they pressed their fish lips against the glass. She couldn't help but smile. It almost looked like they were blowing kisses at her. She puckered her lips and air kissed them back. It was funny . . . in a really, really sick way. Well, actually it wasn't funny at all. Her smile faded. Now that Sam was officially dead to her, this was the closest to making out that she was likely ever to get.

But the window did serve a purpose. By staring into it at a certain angle, she was able to use its reflection to get a good view of the street.

Rule number two of surveillance—make use of reflective surfaces. It was best never to look directly at anyone—but to use car doors, windows, whatever makeshift mirrors were available. The city was full of them; that was one good thing about New York. And this large fish tank full of striped bass was as good as any—

Wait a second.

Gaia's eyes narrowed. Reflected there in the glass, she could see a shadowy image crossing the nearly deserted street: a woman with a blond French twist. Gaia recognized that hair. Didn't she? She watched as the woman walked back and forth a few times, then stopped and looked around as if she were lost. As discreetly as she could, Gaia cast the woman a quick sidelong glance. Yup. The shoes, the tailored suit, the French twist, even the purse . . . Gaia had seen her earlier today. It was the woman she had helped at the restaurant, the one whose purse had been snatched, then dumped in the trash.

Weird. Gaia continued to pretend to gaze at the fish. There were seven million people on the island of Manhattan . . . yet she ran into this woman twice in the same day? What were the odds of that? She figured she had a pretty good chance of repeatedly rubbing elbows with struggling actors and street thugs—but seeing a member of the Park Avenue set, especially down here, was just a little too unlikely....

Maybe the woman was a sadomasochist. Yeah. Maybe she had a thing for getting mugged.
Gaia watched in mild amusement as the woman absently swung her rescued handbag. Why didn't she just pull out a map and tape a sign to her back that said I'm Lost? For a moment Gaia was half tempted to walk over to her and ask the woman if she needed directions.

But that was when Ella walked out of the store.

She'd ditched the Barney's shopping bag. Gaia turned back toward the puckering fish. Curiously, the blond woman had vanished. Just like that.

But then Gaia caught a glimpse of her. Right behind Ella. The woman had pulled out a cell phone and was headed in the same direction as Ella was . . . almost as if she suddenly knew exactly where she was going.

Almost as if she were
following
Ella.

Gaia's gaze remained fixed on the glass. She didn't move. Ella turned left at the next corner. Five seconds later the blond did, too. Then Ella crossed in front of a cab. So did the woman.

That was all Gaia needed to see. It was no coincidence that the woman had appeared twice in the same day. Coincidences like that just didn't happen. Not in New York City.

 

“I'M RIGHT BEHIND HER,” PEARL
whispered into her cell phone. “We're on Pell Street, heading north.”

Three's a Charm

“Make sure no one sees you,” Loki instructed. “And call me when you're done.”

The line went dead.

Pearl jammed the phone into her pocket. The threat was clearly implied:
Get the job done or die.

She'd brought this upon herself, though. She'd grown careless.

But she wouldn't fail this time. Not this time . . . and not ever again. Her fear of Loki served a positive purpose. It enhanced her focus. She would remember that.

Ella was just a few yards ahead, her dreadful dye job flapping in the cold winter wind. Now that Pearl thought about it, Ella
wasn't
as beautiful as she'd once thought. Smiling, Pearl picked up her pace, her heels clattering on the sidewalk. “Ella?” she called. “Ella? Is that you? Yoo-hoo ... Ella!”

Ella paused, turning slowly on her heels.

That's a good girl,
Pearl thought as she waved.
Now, stay put this time.

God. Even in the shadowy half-light of the street-lamps, Pearl could see that Ella looked like hell. What had Loki's fallen angel done since lunch? Fallen into a sewer?

“Ella!” Pearl called again, her face a mask of feigned happiness and surprise.

“Pearl?” Ella's eyes narrowed, then she laughed . . . a little awkwardly. “Wow. Twice in one day. I'm starting to think you're stalking me.”

Pearl tossed back her head in a throaty laugh. But
she knew she would have to act fast. She closed the gap between them. Ella was smart enough to be suspicious of such a coincidence; Pearl couldn't underestimate her.

“I know—what are the chances?” Pearl asked. She shook her head. “I met up with a Chinese art dealer. He was supposed to have some genuine Ming vases. All junk. So what are
you
doing in this part of town?”

Ella hesitated, glancing distractedly up and down the street. “I had a little business of my own to take care of,” she muttered.

“I see.” Pearl winked, trying to loosen up her target, to get her in that mood where her defenses were down. “Something a little
naughty,
I hope?”

“Uh ...what?” Ella asked, clearly not listening.

Pearl quickly surveyed the area. The location was good, but not ideal. On the corner was a small Asian deli with an outdoor vegetable stand. An elderly man with bifocals was poking through a case of bok choy. Hardly a damaging witness, but Loki had been clear. No witnesses. Pearl had to get her off Pell Street. Again her eyes scanned the sidewalk.

There.
Up ahead, maybe ten feet, a little alley. Perfect.