Killer (3 page)

At that moment she hated Loki with all her strength.

Ever since Gaia had entered their lives, it had been nothing but
Gaia
this,
Gaia
that—
Gaia, Gaia, Gaia
. And Loki was going to end up with his precious little niece, just like he wanted, while Ella was left out in the cold. Well, what about
her?
Didn't she count for anything anymore? Hadn't she given him everything? But he didn't care. Perhaps he'd pushed her away because she wasn't pretty enough, wasn't young enough—wasn't
Gaia
enough.

No. She shook her head, gazing into her steely green eyes in the mirror. Her red hair was dazzling, and her porcelain face still beautiful—despite the wounds. She
was
young and pretty. She was a woman. And Gaia was a child. That was the difference.

Ella snorted. Loki might have cast
her
on the side of the road like an old hubcap, but she wasn't even close to being through with
him
yet.
There's only one
way of getting the attention of a man with a one-track mind,
she said to herself.
To hunt down the thing he loves the most and kill it.

As she searched through her walk-in closet for a clean shirt, Ella was amazed by the piles of sequins, glitter, and gold lamé she'd managed to accumulate over the years. All the glitz, all the shopping—all of it had been part of the character she'd played so thoroughly as George's wife. She deserved a rich reward for her performance . . . a
very
rich reward. Funny. Loki had promised she would have to be married to George for only a few months. Somehow the months had turned into years. Yet Loki still kept hinting that the two of them would be together and that all would be right with the world again and . . . blah, blah, blah.
Another in an endless string of his self-serving promises.

It had been so long since Ella was herself that she couldn't even remember what she used to wear, what things she used to like. She grabbed a white T-shirt from George's shelf. It was the closest thing to normal clothing she'd worn since this whole charade began.

But once the blond train wreck wasout of her life, things were bound to improve.
When George returned, Ella would be sure to spin the story just right so that he would blame
her for Gaia's running away. Maybe he'd even want a divorce. That would be a bonus.

And of course there was Sam Moon. The real prize.

Sam Moon would turn her life around. He was the gorgeous light at the end of a garbage-filled tunnel . . . and he didn't even know it. Ella found herself smiling through her pain as she continued to tend to her torn flesh. Sure, he had fallen for Gaia—hard. He was going to be devastated by her loss. He'd ignored Ella, too, just like Loki. But with Gaia gone, he'd have nobody to turn to but Ella. He wouldn't have a choice.

Ella taped the last bandage over her arm, then hurried to George's office and sank into his soft leather chair. Time to check her e-mail. The computer flickered as she turned it on, then she clicked the mouse over the mail icon. Five messages. Aside from the usual get-rich-quick Spam, there was a note from George. Ella stifled a yawn. Something about how much he loved and missed her. Poor guy. Even now, she still managed to feel almost sorry for him. Almost.

Delete.

That's when her eye caught a name at the bottom of the list.

Sam Moon.

Ella smiled. It looked like the young man had come to his senses ahead of schedule.

 

ED FARGO CLOSED HIS EYES AND
leaned in for another kiss.

The New, Broken-Down Ed

Wow.

The fingers that had been gently raking through his hair suddenly stopped moving, and the soft lips pulled away. “Did you say something, Ed?”

Tightening his arms around Heather Gannis's waist, Ed's foggy gaze languidly trailed from her amber-streaked blue eyes, to the freckled bridge of her nose . . . down at last to a contented stop on the smooth legs that were draped across the arm of his chair. How did he get so lucky to be here at this point in time in the history of humanity?

“I think I said
wow,”
he muttered.

Heather reached up and gently lifted his head by his chin, redirecting his stare back to her face. “What's the sudden
wow?”
she asked with a smirk.

Ed shrugged. He found himself smirking as well. The
wow
was hardly sudden.
Wow
had been screaming in his head ever since Heather had unexpectedly pulled him away from his sister's engagement party at the Plaza Hotel and into a storage room.
Wow
was every time he looked at her . . . and every time he saw the way she looked back at him. The sparkle in her eyes was exactly how he remembered it—before the
accident. Every time he thought of it,
wow
smacked him right across the face.

Of course, so did doubt and insecurity.
But what fun wasbeing the guy in the wheelchair if you didn't have doubt and insecurity?

He bit his lip. It was easy for Heather to overlook his problems now. The relationship was brand-new again. Exciting. Like when they had first started going out. But in a few weeks or months she was going start to notice the hassles of the chair. Like the fact that she was in constant danger of having her toes run over. Or that he couldn't reach the box of Cap'n Crunch on the top shelf at the supermarket.

Then there was also the problem that Heather was bound to make a few comparisons between the old, working model of Ed and the new, broken-down one. The accident had changed him a lot—and not just because he couldn't walk anymore. What if she suddenly realized she was still in love with the old Ed and not the new one?

“. . . What's wrong?” Heather was asking.

He jerked slightly and blinked. He was seriously spacing out. What was his problem? Why was he so worried? Heather was
here.
Now. Everything was cool.

“Uh . . . nothing,” he mumbled.

She looked him in the eye. Her face was only
inches from his own. “You're a lousy liar, Fargo,” she said wryly. “I've told you that before.”

He swallowed.
That wasthe great thing about Heather: She could always see through hisbullshit.
“Well, this is going to sound kind of weird,” he finally managed. “See, after the accident I got this strange idea in my head that just because my legs didn't work, my lips wouldn't, either. Or that I'd forget how to make them work.” He forced a little laugh. “I guess I had nothing to worry about.”

Heather grinned. “You can't forget how to kiss, stupid. It's like riding a bicycle.”

Ed raised his eyebrows. “Bad analogy for a guy in a wheelchair,” he joked.

“Oops.” Heather lowered her eyes. “I think you're doing great, though,” she added quickly. “I'd say maybe you're even better than
before
the accident.”

A smile spread across Ed's face.

Talking about Ed-and-Heather, part I, had finally begun to lose its sting. He was starting to realize that there was no point in clinging to the resentment he'd felt toward Heather for breaking up with him after he was paralyzed. What mattered was where they were headed. Ed-and-Heather, part II, had the potential to be much better, much deeper.

Heather abruptly stood and smoothed her
rumpled sweater. “I've gotta go,” she announced. “Phoebe's being discharged from the hospital today.”

Ed blinked. He still wasn't sure how to react when Heather mentioned her anorexic sister. He figured the best thing to do was just . . . well, just to be there. “Hey, that's good news,” he said.

“I guess,” she muttered ruefully. She glanced around Ed's room, making sure she had all her belongings. “I mean, it's good that she finally has enough strength to walk. But she still looks like a skeleton. And I don't know if she wants to eat. I mean, you saw her. They've been feeding her through tubes....”Heather's voice trailed off.

“I'm sure your mom and dad will be right on top of it this time,” Ed piped up, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “They won't let anything happen to her.”

Heather's face darkened. “There's not a lot they can do. They can't be with her twenty-four hours a day, forcing food down her throat, then making sure she doesn't puke it up again.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “Phoebe isn't going to get better unless she wants to. And right now, I don't think she does.”

Ed just stared at her.
Say something funny, you moron,
he told himself. He always prided himself on the ability to bring a little levity into a dark situation.
To take something miserable and whip it
back into shape with a little joke.
But for some reason, he couldn't think of a damn thing to say. It was impossible to make a joke out of Phoebe's condition—

Bzzzzt.

The front door buzzer rang.

Perfect timing. Ed breathed a secret sigh of relief.

Heather frowned. “Who's that?”

“I bet it's my sister,” he muttered, spinning around and rolling himself through his bedroom door. “She left her keys here again. She's become a complete ditz since she got engaged.”

The buzzer rang again—more insistently.

Ed scowled as he hurried down the hall toward the front door of the apartment. “Coming, Bridezilla,” he mumbled.

He rolled up to the front hall intercom and pressed the talk button.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Gaia.”

Shit. Ed's heart stopped.
Time was an eighteenwheeler that had just come screeching to a halt.
Gaia. Here. With Heather. Not good . . .

“Ed?”

Why do you always pick the worst times to show up?
he wondered angrily.

“Ed, are you there?” she asked.

“Uh ... yeah,” he answered. “What's up?”

“Look, I know this is going to sound really weird, but can I hang out with you for a while? Just until I get in touch—”

“I'll come down,” he interrupted. He didn't want to risk allowing Gaia and Heather to see each other. True, the tension between them had subsided a little .... But still, he knew how combustible they could be. Like gas and fire.

He threw open the front door and slammed it behind him—hurrying out into the hallway toward the elevators. He punched the down button. He rubbed his hands on his jeans. His palms were moist. So Gaia wanted to hang out for a little while. Why? And why couldn't she have called first?
But there wasno point in trying to make any sense out of Gaia.
Besides, it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference if she
had
called. He still would have let her come over. The pathetic truth of the matter was that he'd still do anything she wanted ....

The elevator doors slid open.

Ed's face twisted in a scowl as he rolled in and jabbed at the button for the lobby. He would just tell her no. Plain and simple. She couldn't walk all over him. Well . . . okay, she
did
sound a little freaked out. He swallowed. Okay, maybe he'd find out what her deal was, and then he'd decide
whether or not she could come in. That was fair. She owed him an explanation. She wouldn't be able to give him the runaround. Not this time. They'd long since agreed to scrap their no-questions policy.

The doors slid open again. Ed hurried out and headed across the lobby to the glass doors.

He nearly fell out of his chair.

What the hell?

This was bad. Very bad. Gaia was standing there . . . only for once in her life, she didn't look heartstoppingly gorgeous. Sure, she still towered over him like some modern-day Amazonian goddess, with her tangled yellow hair tumbling in a sultry mess from beneath a wool cap—but her skin was frighteningly pale. Hanging off her muscular shoulder was a messenger bag, crammed to maximum capacity, with a wrinkled shirtsleeve poking out of the top. Her left wrist was cradled in her right hand. A sticky crimson stream of blood flowed down her fingers. It dribbled into a red puddle around her beat-up sneakers.

Ed couldn't speak. He could only gape at her as he opened the doors of his building.

“Is it cool if I come in?” Gaia asked in a stony voice, seemingly oblivious to her injuries.

In an instant Ed forgot all about the promises he'd just made to himself. Gaia was hurt. Gaia needed help.
That was all that mattered. “Uh . . . yeah—sure,” he stammered. “What's going on?”

Gaia brushed past him and marched toward the elevators, her head down. “I don't feel like talking about it,” she said.

That figured. Of course. Why would she ever feel like talking about it? Anger surged through him, then quickly subsided. He sighed. She played the same freaking scenario over and over again: Shut Ed out as much as possible, then come to him only when you need something. Lather. Rinse. Repeat . . .

“I don't know why you're coming to me,” Ed stated,
following in her footsteps like some kind of sniveling puppy on wheels.

Gaia wiped her nose on her sleeve, avoiding his eyes. “I don't have anywhere else to go, all right? Don't worry—I'll stay out of your hair. All I need is a floor to crash on.” Little droplets of blood marked her trail across the lobby. He glanced nervously behind him, just to make sure nobody could see.

Ed wanted to stay firm, to stand up for himself, but it was too late. She was already entering the elevator. He had no choice but to follow. He nodded at her wrist as the doors slid shut behind them. “Let me guess—a band of nomadic ninjas jumped you on the number-nine train.”

Gaia looked down absently, as if she didn't have a
clue what he was talking about. “Oh. Right. I got caught on the rain gutter on the way down from my room.”