Rebel (14 page)

Gaia laughed.
Funny.
She hadn't even thought of that. But it didn't concern her very much--and not only because she was fearless. She doubted very much that Skizz would rat her out to the cops. He was probably
scared shitless
of her. And the cops probably wouldn't believe him, anyway. The idea of a seventeen-year-old girl's nearly killing an armed drug dealer was just too preposterous. At least, that was the way it had always worked in the past.

"I guess we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it," Gaia said, patting Mary's shoulder. "But for now, I'd say things are cool."

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
411

Time:
5:03 P.M.

Hey, G$--

Very psyched you came by. I have to say, I'm a little curious about what you said. What did you mean by "things are a little weird"? Can you be more specific? I know you don't like answering these kinds of questions, but a little info would put my mind at ease. Also, what are you doing tomorrow night? I need to escape my family. Thanking you in advance--

Ed

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
No worries, no plans

Time:
6:00 P.M.

Hey, Ed--

Forget about what I said. Things aren't going to get weird. As for tomorrow night, I have no plans. Mary and I were talking about watching TV at her house and stuffing our faces with ice cream. Yes, I know it's lame. But if you feel like being lame, too, consider this an
invitation. We're going to get together around nine.

G$

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Being lame

Time:
7:08 P.M.

Hey, G$--

Count me in. I'll be there.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
[no subject]

Time:
10:01 P.M.

Hi. I'm just writing to tell you that I think you're the biggest jerk I ever met and I can't believe you're back with Heather and I hate you and I never want to talk to you again. And everything I just wrote is a lie. I miss you. I want to call you, but I can't. I can't even bring myself to say your name out loud. I don't know why. I'm not scared of you. I don't get scared, in case you didn't know. I just feel confused. So is this what fear feels like? Can you tell me?

<>

He'd envisioned making out with Gaia countless times, in thousands of different scenarios--but never once had he imagined this.

TOM MOORE'S LEGS WERE PRACTICALLY NUMB.

They always went numb in airplanes, even in first-class seats. But his mind wasn't on his own discomfort. His fingers furiously flew across his laptop, searching the agency's databases for Loki's known associates. He'd been awake for almost thirty-six straight hours--and airborne for about half that time--but there was no chance he could sleep. Not until he figured out who had contacted him.

Search: Loki
--
U.S. Militia Groups.

No match found.

He shook his head. Nothing. Only when he searched for Loki's contacts outside the United States did he come up with any matches: the usual list of terrorists and arms dealers--shadowy characters from groups like Hammas and Shining Path. But the man who had called didn't have the slightest trace of an accent.

So who was he?

Tom rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned back in his chair, staring out the round window at a wall of blackness. The plane was somewhere over the Atlantic now. It would probably be touching down at JFK within the hour. He had to think. Who would Loki employ that could possibly have access to Gaia? One of her friends? Tom thought he knew them: There was that boy Sam

and the kid in the wheelchair ... and that was pretty much it. For the most part Gaia kept to herself. And there was no way either of
them
could be working for Loki. So was it somebody whom Gaia had met recently?

He hunched back over the screen and typed for what must have been the hundredth time:

Search: Loki
--
recent communications

The computer hummed for a split second.

2 matches found.

ELJ (identity unknown)

BFF (identity unknown)

He kept coming up with the same two sets of initials over and over again. And he had no idea who either "ELJ" or "BFF" could possibly be. Neither did the agency, apparently. It was a miracle they had found out
that
much. Loki was meticulous in covering his tracks.

Tom's eyes wandered to the window again. There was a possibility, of course, that he hadn't allowed himself to consider.

It was a very obvious possibility. A
probability,
in fact--which was that the call was a trap. Loki might have even made the call himself, masking the timbre of his voice with an electronic device. Loki might well have wanted to lure Tom out of Russia in order to dispose of him once and for all, so that there would be nothing standing between Loki and his twin brother's daughter....

Tom slammed the laptop shut. Speculation was a

waste of time. He'd know the answers to all these questions soon enough.

Loki might answer them himself.

"ELLA, HONEY?" GEORGE CALLED FROM THE
living room. "Don't you want some wine? I'm just about to crack open another bottle."

Better make that two, Ella thought, groaning silently. She sat at the kitchen table, feeling very much as if her life were draining from her body. What the hell was she even doing here? It was two nights before New Year's Eve, for God's sake. The best time of year for parties. The big end-of-the-year blitz. Almost everyone they knew was out on the town. Yet George had insisted on staying at home every single night since Christmas. Socializing with other people was the only remotely tolerable aspect of their
sham marriage
--but they didn't even have any plans for New Year's Eve itself. Did the old man really believe she
wanted
to be alone with him? Was he really that blind?

Yes. He was. She found herself smiling in spite of her anger. He was that blind because she was such an excellent actress.

"El-la!" he called in a singsong voice.

"Coming!" she answered with false brightness.

He was so goddamned cheerful. She thought of the thirty-eight-caliber pistol hidden behind her night table. It would be so easy to run upstairs and grab it. So easy to twist on the silencer.
So easy to shut him up for good.
On these nights-- the painful, romantic nights, the nights when she had to play the role of a loving wife ... well, she couldn't take them much longer. The years were beginning to take their toll. No payoff could be worth this agony.

She swallowed. No. The payoff
would
be worth it. She would make sure of it. And it would far exceed anything that Loki had envisioned for her. Oh, yes. In fact, her reward would include Loki himself.

Ella took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face, then pushed herself from the table and strode into the living room.

"There you are," George murmured. He was leaning back on the sofa, struggling with a corkscrew and a glistening green bottle. At least she lived luxuriously. In a purely materialistic sense, she had everything she needed. For the time being, anyway. That bottle of chardonnay probably cost seventy bucks. Two crystal glasses sat on the mahogany coffee table. Those weren't cheap, either. Wedding presents. How ironic. The logs burning in the fireplace cast the room in a soft glow; few brownstones in New York had real

working fireplaces. Her life was good. She should just enjoy it while it lasted.

Pop!

"There we go," George whispered. He laid the corkscrew on the table, then filled her glass with the golden liquid.

"Thank you," Ella murmured seductively. She raised her glass as George filled his own. "Cheers."

He put down the bottle and lifted his glass. "Cheers." He leaned forward, then hesitated. "Wait. I want to ask you a question. Do you have any New Year's resolutions?"

She smirked. "It's not even New Year's Eve."

"I know, but I guess I've been thinking a lot these days about the changes I'd like to make. So?" His smile widened. "What's it going to be?"

"Well ..." She edged closer to him. "The only change I'd like to make is to spend more time with my loving and very sexy husband," she whispered. He blushed slightly, as she knew he would. It was so easy to control him. "How about you?"

His face grew serious for a moment. "I want to make sure that Gaia is happy. I want to include her more. To really make her feel like part of the family."

Ella nodded. How sweet. And pathetic.
And infuriating.
It was almost too much. The mere mention of Gaia's name made her insides twist. But her smile didn't falter. She tilted her glass. "A toast. To Gaia."

"To Gaia," George echoed, tapping her glass with his own.

Yes, Ella thought. May she rot in hell.

THE WEEK BETWEEN CHRISTMAS AND
New Year's Eve was Sam's least favorite time of the year--at least when he was in New York. True, he'd been here only once in the past: last year. But he already knew the score. Inevitably the entire week meant going from one lame party to the next, night after night, always trying to track down an elusive great time that never materialized--and winding up each time on the street at 3 A.M., freezing, disappointed, and trying to hail a cab back home.

Clearly
tonight would be no exception.

For starters, he didn't even know where he
was.
Well, he knew he was at some filthy, cramped apartment in the East Village--but he had no idea who lived here. Kelly? Christie? Something like that. Whoever she was, she loved red lights and deafening industrial rock and was a friend of a friend of Heather's sister Phoebe ... and she'd offered some kind of incomprehensible greeting when he and

Heather and Phoebe walked through the door. "Welcome, warriors." At least that was what he thought she'd said. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. And then she'd disappeared.

So now he found himself drinking a warm beer and wondering where his girlfriend and her sister went.
What a blast.
Whoopee. He tried to maneuver his way from the tiny living room to the hall by the closet-sized kitchen--but just ended up getting mushed against a wall by a group of heavily pierced strangers. They were all dressed in black. The wall vibrated in time to the music. He scowled and slurped down his beer. Best just to get drunk. At least he'd be able to forget--

"Sam!
There
you are!"

Phoebe was jumping up and down by the kitchen doorway, trying to make eye contact with him. She waved her hands over the heads of the mob.

"Come here!" she called.

Yeah, right. She was only about ten feet away, but he'd need a battering ram to reach her. He shrugged and tried to smile.

"Hold on a sec," Phoebe shouted. "We're coming out...." Her voice was lost in the din as she ducked back into the kitchen.

Good luck, he thought. He drained the rest of the beer in one long gulp.
Blech.
He made a face and wiped his mouth with his sleeve--but a pleasant, warm

numbness began to spread from his stomach throughout his body. Hopefully if Heather and Phoebe
did
make it out of the kitchen, they'd bring him another drink. It was strange. Usually he wasn't a huge fan of booze. It just made his head swim. It probably made him act a lot more obnoxious, too. A lot of kids in his dorm drank all the time, and if they were any indication of how people acted when they were drunk--

He stiffened. His eyes zeroed in on a tall girl coming out of the kitchen.

Her back was turned to him, but from here
it definitely looked like Gaia.

Yes. That hair. That long, blond tangle. Nobody had hair like that. He stood on his tiptoes. His heart began to race. What was she doing here? What ...

The girl glanced over her shoulder.

Shit.
Excitement fizzled out of him like air hissing from a deflating flat tire. Apparently somebody else
did
have hair like that.
Somebody a lot less attractive
.

He shook his head. Of course Gaia wouldn't come to the same party. And even if she
had,
he would have nothing to say to her. He suddenly found he was extremely pissed off. At everyone. At Heather and Phoebe for bringing him here. At the people in this room. But most of all at Gaia--for dropping off the face of the earth, for finding a new boyfriend, and for dominating his thoughts about ninety-five percent of the time when he
should
be in love with someone else....

"Whoa!" Heather's familiar shriek tore through the crowd. He couldn't see her, but she was obviously close by. He shook his head again, overcome with guilt. What the hell was his problem? He
was
in love with her. Heather was beautiful. Heather was smart. Heather had a cool sister who was
also
beautiful. She was everything a guy could want--

"Excuse me! Sorry!"

A second later Heather burst from between two spaced-out-looking grunge types and nearly fell against Sam. She clutched a plastic cup of beer in each hand. A couple of drops splashed on Sam's flannel shirt.

"Whoops," she murmured, giggling. She handed Sam one of the cups, then used her free hand to try to wipe his shirt. She swayed slightly. Her face was flushed. "Sorry about that. It's just kinda hard to move around in here."

"No kidding," he said.

She took a huge gulp of beer.

"Maybe you've had enough," he muttered.

"Oh, come on." She slapped his arm. Her eyes were heavily lidded. "It's a party. You know, the last time I was this messed up ..." She didn't finish. Her gaze became glassy.

"What?"
Sam demanded impatiently.

She sighed and shook her head. "Never mind." She smiled up at him. "Iss not worth getting into," she slurred. "So are you having fun?"

"The time of my life," he stated flatly.

"Good." She nodded,
somehow oblivious to the biting sarcasm in his voice.

"So where's Phoebe?" he asked, struggling to keep a lid on his annoyance.

Heather shrugged dramatically. "Who knows? She's a ... she's a free spirit." She burst out laughing, as if that were the funniest joke anyone had ever made.

That was it.
Something snapped.
He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was Heather's drunkenness, or the crowd, or the stale stink of beer ... but he'd had enough. He brushed past her and tried to force his way to the door.

"Hey!" she cried, still laughing. She grabbed his shoulder from behind. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he muttered, shoving through the grunge kids. "I just want to go home."

"What?" she yelled. "I can't hear you--"

"I want to go
home,"
he snapped, turning back around.

She blinked. Then she raised her hands, grinning crookedly. "All right, all right," she said. "Whew. No need to yell. Lemme just get my coat. I'll tell Phoebe we're leaving. This party's kind of lame, anyway."

He opened his mouth--but before he could say anything, she stepped past him and snaked her way into the kitchen. He was going to tell her that she should just stay here, that he didn't want to ruin her good time, that he was just feeling lousy ... but those all would

have been lies.
The truth was that he didn't want to be with her.
No matter
where
they were. Not tonight. He wanted to be with someone else.