Killer (5 page)

There was a light knock on the door.

“Come in,” he muttered

Brendan, Sam's other suite mate, pushed open the door. He looked almost as tired as Sam felt. His eyes were puffy. His face was pale.

“Hey, man,” he murmured. “Just thought I'd come by and give you the latest on Mike.”

Sam nodded, swallowing. “Have there been any changes?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, shaky.

Brendan shook his head. “He's still the same. I was thinking about going over to the hospital this afternoon. You want to come?”

I should go,
Sam said to himself. But he couldn't. Not with that e-mail. No. Nothing could prevent him from missing an opportunity to set things straight with Gaia—not even his crushing guilt over Mike's coma. He felt his chest tightening.
He didn't even want to
think
about what kind of person that made him.
It was best not to think at all. It was best just to act on his instincts and worry about the consequences later. To risk everything. Like in chess . . .

“I was thinking about going around one,” Brendan prodded.

“I—I . . . wish I could go with you,” Sam finally stammered. “But there's something I've got to deal with today. Maybe later.”

Brendan shrugged. “That's cool. I'll see you around.” He closed the door.

For a brief second Sam was half tempted to confess the truth to Brendan. The
entire
truth: Ella, Gaia, Heather, everything.
The secrets were tearing him up inside.
But he realized something. The truth was simply too far-fetched. Brendan probably wouldn't even believe him.

Sam sighed loudly. All that mattered now—for the next few hours, anyway—was confronting Gaia. He'd worry about Mike later. When he could. Gaia was the priority. He'd messed up so many times with her . . . but just maybe his mistakes weren't beyond the realm of forgiveness. The e-mail seemed to indicate that she wanted to give him another chance. Sam knew he didn't deserve it—but if she was willing to forgive, there was no way he was going to be stupid enough to talk her out of it.

It's fate,
Sam told himself.

He almost laughed. Funny.
Three months ago he would have said that there was no such thing asfate. Now he lived hislife by it.
Now he was as superstitious as they came.

 

GAIA GAPED AT THE COMPUTER
screen. Her first thought was that some computer bug had scrambled Ella's e-mail. But she knew that was just wishful thinking. Actually, it was desperation, rage, and shock all balled into one big punch in the face. But she read the words out loud to herself, anyway—just to be sure this was reality and not some ludicrous nightmare.

House of Sleaze

“Meet me at La Focaccia at 1:00
P.M.
We need to talk about our future together.”

The words hung in Ed's darkened and cluttered little spare room.

Gaia almost laughed out loud. Sam and Ella.
Whatever sordid business had gone on between them wasfar from over.
Well. Gaia blinked. That was what she got for hacking into Ella's e-mail, wasn't it? The most ironic thing about it was that she wasn't even
thinking
of Sam when she decided to snoop on Ella. Not this time, anyway. She just wanted to see if Ella's e-mail would give her a clue about Ella's condition and whereabouts.

I can't believe this is happening.

Sam—the one bright light that Gaia had always imagined slicing through the gruesome fog that
constantly surrounded her, the only person to whom she'd even been willing to sacrifice her virginity (yes, her
virginity
)—had slept with Ella. The Wicked Witch of the West Village. The bane of Gaia's existence. A woman practically twice Sam's age to boot.

Of course, Gaia had known this for about a week now. But seeing the evidence here, again,
now
... Well, one thing was very clear. Her foster mother was a woman who took immense pleasure in inflicting maximum pain.

This is the woman Sam chooses to sleep with. Instead of me.

Gaia grabbed the mouse and hastily exited Ella's e-mail. Her fingers began to shake. A terrible, hot sensation was filling her chest.
The thing was, the sex wasn't even the worst of it.
No. The worst of it was that this obviously meant more to Sam than just some cheap fling. He was e-mailing her. Making plans. Apparently he thought they had a “future together.”

Maybe he was even in love.

Gaia dropped her head to the desk, burying her face in her shivery arms. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. Her insides were splintering like shards of window glass. Why had she even allowed herself to get in a position where she could be hurt by a guy? Those kinds of problems
were for normal people, with normal lives.
Not mutant orphan freaks with overdeveloped muscles.

One thing was abundantly clear, though. She had to leave. She had to find her uncle Oliver. Immediately. Staying at Ed's would only prolong the agony. Yes . . . deep in her core, Gaia knew that the smart thing to do was to just walk away. Let the two sleazoids have each other. They could have a sleazy wedding and make sleazy babies together and live in a house of sleaze, if they wanted.

But sensibility was quickly eclipsed by the white-hot fire ripping through Gaia's veins. She wasn't about to let go so easily. No. Why let them have all the fun? Why not give them both a piece of her mind before she split town and never saw them again?

Right. She stood up straight, tightening her fists at her side. It was time to confront them both.

 

Small Consolation

TOM MOORE WATCHED THE TALL,
somber nurse glide in from the hallway to change his wound dressings. Covert government hospitals had a concrete
minimalism that had a way of making regular hospitals seem like luxurious resort hotels. The windowless walls were painted pigeon gray. The air was as thick and damp as a basement. The only fixture in the room that provoked any interest was the ten-inch TV set mounted in the corner. It was muted, displaying satellite-fed news from around the globe.

“If it gets really bad, let me know,” the nurse said. “I'll bring more painkillers.”

Tom nodded. He still couldn't believe that in all the confusion, Ella had managed to get off a shot. Even more astounding was that the shot had actually
hit
him. But he shouldn't bother concerning himself with that right now. It was a waste of time. What mattered was that he was able to escape the scene without any police involvement.

Of course, he still owed an explanation to the Agency. And he knew that the Agency could not have been happy with his recent ... activity.

He was supposed to be on assignment in Russia. He was supposed to be working to thwart a terrorist network. Instead he'd devoted the past month to spying on his daughter. And he'd even managed to compromise
that
. . .

The nurse began to remove the bandages.

Tom glanced at the dark, clotted hole in his arm.

Gaia saw me.

It never should have happened. On the other hand, she would have been killed. Tom swallowed at the memory of her haunted eyes, meeting his across that chaotic street. Eyes that searched and yearned for answers.

He winced. The pain of that memory was far greater than that of this bullet hole.

Every day of his life he ached to have his daughter back. To take her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was for leading the kind of life that threatened her safety and happiness. For leaving her to take on the whole world by herself . . .

Tom stared blankly at the television, his eyes glazing over. He could only imagine what Gaia must have thought of him. She had always been so head-strong and opinionated. It was bad enough that he'd left her once, but could she ever forgive him for leaving her twice? And now, on top of it all, to realize that Ella was an enemy . . . it was almost too much to bear. It was
his
fault for placing his daughter in that house.

The only small consolation was knowing he had trained Gaia supremely well in the art of self-defense. She had been able to handle herself in the past. He'd seen it. Still, would it be enough? Maybe she was in over her head. She was only a child ....

Propping himself up with his good arm, Tom struggled to get off the hospital bed. “I have to
get out of here,” he said with a groan. “I have to—”

“You're not going anywhere,” the nurse interrupted, gently but firmly. “Not right now, anyway. There's too great a risk of infection. Give it a day. At the very least.”

He struggled against her, a hot sweat breaking out on the surface of his skin. He teetered for a moment as the searing pain radiated up his arm and throughout his chest—then collapsed on his pillow in exhaustion.

“But I need to see my daughter,” he croaked.

The nurse wrapped the clean bandage around his shoulder. “You're not going anywhere,” she repeated.

Tom's jaw tightened. He knew he couldn't argue. He
couldn't
go anywhere. But in a day, there was a very good chance that Gaia would be dead.

 

Alternate Universe

LA FOCACCIA WAS PACKED WITH A
lunchtime crowd of hip, art gallery types—men in dark suits, skinny women in designer dresses, bags of bones, really . . . people with whom Ella might have associated in an alternate
universe. She shook her head as she followed the hostess through the sea of tables. The downtown art scene couldn't provide the same thrills that Loki had. That was for damn sure. Yet there was a certain dignity in leading an honest life. Wasn't there?

Of course, the real question was this: How many of these people were actually
honest?

Ella smirked.
She knew enough about human nature to know that very few human beingscould fit that description.
In a way, Ella was more honest than any of them. She followed her desires.

And she was about to follow them again. The hostess—a pretty, petite woman with long black hair—motioned toward a red leather, horseshoe-shaped booth. It was nestled in a cozy back corner. Very romantic. The kind of booth where young lovers nuzzled each other while their dinners grew cold. Ella's stomach tingled as she slid into her seat. Once again, Sam Moon had miraculously stepped in to save her from her miserable sham of a life. Too bad Gaia couldn't be here with them to see it. Maybe Ella should videotape it and send her a copy. Gaia could have her dear uncle Loki, but Ella would have Sam. Ella would be the winner. And Gaia would know it. She
had
to know it—

“Can I get you a drink while you wait?” the hostess asked.

Ella nodded brusquely. “A glass of red wine,” she stated. “Oh—and I'm expecting someone. A young man. His name is Sam Moon. Can you send him this way when he arrives?”

“Certainly.” The hostess smiled, then turned and left. Ella eased back in the cushions. There were so many plans to make. Now that Sam had finally come to his senses, the execution of those plans was going to be a lot more smooth. First, Ella would divorce George—a given—and then she and Sam would get the hell out of the country. Maybe Paris. Definitely somewhere in Europe.
Because after a few blissful weeks together, they would turn to business. They would hunt down Loki and Gaia. They would have their revenge.
They would be like . . . what? A modern-day Bonnie and Clyde? Something along those lines . . .

It was going to be so beautiful.

A minute later the waitress returned with a large glass of merlot.

“Thank you,” Ella murmured. She took a long, deep sip—savoring the heavy liquid as it filled her stomach with a delicious warmth. Her mind was spinning wild with possibility.
Hurry up, Sam
, she thought impatiently.
Everything depends on you.

 

GAIA RAN ACROSS FOURTEENTH
Street into Union Square Park, her long, muscular legs pumped full of anger and adrenaline. It was farmers' market day, which meant a poky crowd of shoppers was meandering through the maze of tents at maddeningly slow speeds, weighing heavy decisions like whether they should buy a bouquet of wildflowers or a freshly baked apple pie.

Melting Pot of Gawkers

What would life be like if
that
was the hardest decision
she
had to make?

Whatever. Gaia shook the question from her mind as she darted through the crowd. On most days she made a point of circumventing the entire scene, but the quickest way to La Focaccia was through the park. She didn't want to be late. Not for this.

A speech of sorts hummed through her mind, fragments and digs she wanted to get in when she finally had the chance to confront Sam and Ella together. But all she could seem to think of were lame clichés, scenes out of made-for-TV romance movies, like, “You disgust me,” and, “I hope you both rot in hell.” Still, those could be keepers.
Gaia even toyed with the idea of violence. She was open to a little spontaneity.

The real satisfaction, though, was going to be in seeing the look of utter shock on their faces when she walked in. Gaia didn't care if it was dangerous. How could she? She was fearless. Ella could do anything. Pull a gun. Attack with kung fu. Call the police. Whatever happened, the confrontation was going to be worth it.

Gaia picked up her pace, dodging booths of plants and fruit and baked goods. A bulldog on a leash darted unexpectedly in front of her path. She vaulted the animal smoothly, hardly missing a step. For a moment she almost smiled. Soon she would be there. Soon she would extract her revenge.

From several yards away, Gaia's acutely sensitive ears began picking up the tuneless strumming of the old blind Caribbean man who sang and played guitar in the middle of the market. She had seen him there a couple of times before. He always sat on the same rickety folding chair, his red-velvet-lined guitar case open to receive donations from passing shoppers. His voice was as flat and lazy as his guitar playing—but his music had an easy, lovable style to it. As far as Gaia was concerned, the old guy's singing was the best thing the farmers' market had to offer. Well, that and those oversized, homemade chocolate chip cookies.