The Collector (31 page)

She frowned, not making a move. “How
old
are you?”

“Pretty damn old, I’d say. I think you know that I care about your mom. I want to help, okay?”

She kept that stern expression, her arms crossed over her chest. But her hands were shaking. “I’m supposed to figure this thing out,” she said. “That’s not going to happen drinking a Coke.”

“You never know,” he said.
Time to turn logic on its head
. “Maybe you need a break.”

He headed to the door. When she didn’t follow, he stopped and turned around.

“I’m a Pepsi man myself, but Coke will do in a pinch.”

She stood there, all four feet eleven inches of her, staring him down. She couldn’t weigh more than eighty-five pounds. Everyone else in the room watched, frozen in place.

After a few seconds, she shook her head and walked for the door. She gave him one of those you’re-such-a-moron looks only a teenager could pull off, then said, “Suit yourself,” and led the way to the kitchen.

Once there, Seven sat down at the small table, acting as if this were no big thing. At the same time, he could feel his heart hammering in the vicinity of his throat, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Like her mother, Stella was a take-charge sort of girl. She grabbed a Coke and a Dr. Pepper out of the refrigerator. “Glass or can?” she asked.

“Can will do just fine.”

She handed him the Coke and popped open her Dr. Pepper. “I’ve never seen my mom kiss a guy.” She took a drink. “But I saw her kiss you.”

He knew what she was thinking. He was special…maybe even someone she could trust.
If only I shared your youthful optimism,
he thought.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, putting down the Coke. “You know, I’m the one who thought there was a clue in the painting. But I could be wrong.”

“No. You’re not. She did that a lot, painted to interpret her visions. I was usually pretty good at seeing stuff in her paintings.” Stella looked up, an exact replica of her mother’s blue eyes meeting his. “I never told her, but I think she guessed I could see stuff in her art.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to be like her.”

“Really?” He took a casual drink from the can. “She seems pretty cool to me.”

She frowned. “My mom is a freak. She, like, lives her life obsessed with these dreams and her paintings. Ever since I can remember, people have come here, crying, begging my mom to somehow fix this big hole in their hearts.”

“And did she?”

Stella looked away. “Sometimes. Yeah, she could do it. She would make these magic paintings that somehow…healed.”

“But her talent didn’t help you very much? Is that it?”

“I was okay with it.” But she still wasn’t looking at him. “I just saw what it did to her. I always sleep with her, you know? She thinks it’s because I’m scared. That’s what I always told her.”

“So if you weren’t scared, why do it?”

He could see that she didn’t want to tell him. But she didn’t have anyone else to trust.

“Sometimes she stops breathing.” She took a quick drink of the soda. “But you probably know that already. You stayed here that one night.” She glanced up at him. “I know it happened then.”

“That’s right,” he said.

Gia did stop breathing the night they’d slept together. But the door to the guest room had been locked. The last thing Gia wanted was Stella walking in on them.

Which meant Stella knew what happened behind locked doors.

He took a quick gulp of the Coke, trying not to choke on it. “So you have a real connection with your mom.”

“Yup.”

“Does it piss you off that I like her?” He stumbled over the question, not exactly used to this. “I mean, are you mad that I stayed over that night?”

She shook her head. “I just want my mom to be happy.”

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. When he thought he could speak without emotion, he looked her straight in the eyes. “That makes two of us, Stella.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. He tried with everything he had to convey confidence. Stella just needed to buck up a little, be the brave soldier for her mother. He’d be right there at her side, the guy who kissed her mom.

“You know,” he said, “the first time I saw Gia, I thought she was crazy. All that stuff she was saying about demons and her visions. But then, I looked at her again, and it was like
pow!
Honest to God, I didn’t know what hit me. I just knew I wanted to be close to her.” He gave Stella’s shoulder a squeeze and let go. “If you have even a touch of that inside you, I think that if you look at that painting again, and try not to be scared…I think you can help your mom.”

She put down her soda. He wasn’t sure what she would say or do, but he wanted to give her some space, so he waited. She turned the can on the glass table, round and round. And then, she put the soda can aside and let out a deep sigh.

“Come on,” she said.

She grabbed his hand and walked back to the studio.

They were all waiting there, standing almost exactly where they’d left them, like toy soldiers. Seven wondered if Tyrell and Agent Barnes had this all figured out. They knew how to manipulate a little girl into digging deep inside. He was just part of the equation. She’ll connect with Detective Bushard….

Stella didn’t seem to notice. Still holding his hand, she walked right to the painting.

The girl stared up at the black holes where the eyes should have been. Seven had no idea how much the kid knew about her past, but he squeezed her hand tightly.

“That’s my grandmother,” she said.

She kept staring at the painting. After a minute, he noticed her eyes blinking rapidly.

“Stella?” he asked.

“Detective,” Tyrell warned.

Stella’s eyes rolled back in her head; she was clearly having a seizure. Seven grabbed her shoulders, holding on to her, hoping that once again this wasn’t some sort of betrayal.

Stella collapsed to the floor.

Seven immediately picked her up, taking her to a chaise lounge set in the far corner. The kid was still breathing, but she was completely limp, like maybe she’d passed out.

Once he put her on the chaise, he knelt down beside her. Both Tyrell and Agent Barnes came to stand over her. Stella’s eyes opened.

“One-eight-nine-five-one,” she said. “One-eight-nine-five-one.”

He looked at Barnes and Tyrell. Agent Barnes immediately had out her BlackBerry. But Tyrell shook his head.

“It could mean anything.”

Seven looked back at Stella. She was staring straight up at the ceiling, unblinking, repeating the same set of numbers over and over.

“One-eight-nine-five-one, one-eight-nine-five-one…”

G
ia woke up inside the trunk of a car, every muscle in her body aching. Especially her shoulders. Thomas had tied her hands together behind her back. Probably with the same duct tape he’d used to seal her mouth.

She could feel that they were on the move. She tried to slow down her breathing. If she hyperventilated—if she passed out again—she would lose whatever advantage she had.

Soon enough, the car came to a stop.

She had seen all this before. She had dreamed this very moment so many times, each and every vision a nightmare. She had tried her best to prepare herself.

But it was all a gamble. And Morgan’s revelations earlier, the fact that he no longer believed Thomas had killed Estelle…if Gia was wrong about that, she could be wrong about everything.

The trunk popped open. He stood over her. She could see he was holding a gun.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the trunk. They were in an underground garage. He draped a hooded jacket over her shoulders and popped the hood up over her head. He held her tied hands high up her back, making her almost scream with pain.

“Come on,” he told her, shoving her forward.

He took her to an apartment on the first floor. With the blinds closed, she couldn’t see outside. She could be anywhere.

He pushed her inside and bolted the door. He hooked his arm through hers and dragged her into the room, then shoved her into a chair and grabbed another chair from the cheap, particle-board dining room set. He sat just across from her, knee-to-knee, and stroked the side of her cheek with the muzzle of the gun.

Before she knew what he was going to do, he grabbed the edge of the duct tape and ripped it off her mouth. She bit back a scream of pain.

He had the gun on his lap. He looked a lot older than Gia remembered. The last twelve years had not been kind. Gia had a theory, how certain spirits could drain you. That’s the kind of demon Thomas had carried around all these years.

He smiled. “What are you thinking about, witch?”

She didn’t reply.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s make this a little more fun.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Beg.”

He sat back with a smile, waiting. He started to whistle, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Not gonna beg for your life, sweetie?” He cocked his head. “Why the hell not? Your mother did.”

She hazarded a smile. “Liar—”

He struck her across the mouth with the back of his hand.

“I said,
beg.
”

She licked blood from the corner of her mouth, but stayed silent.

“Well, you’re not bringing much to the party.
Just get it over with and kill me
—is that what you really want?” He shook his head. “You look so much like her. When I first saw you in Greece, you took my breath away. When I strangled her, I closed my eyes and imagined it was you. I pressed my mouth to hers right at the end, sucking in that last breath.”

“Thomas?” she whispered.

She kept her voice very soft, so that he had to lean forward to hear her, that horrible smile on his face.

“Yes, darling,” he said in total anticipation.

“You were always such an asshole,” she told him.

In that moment, she threw her head back, then slammed her forehead straight into his face like a hammer. The force and shock of the blow sent him backward, his chair tipping over.

The gun landed on the floor. Immediately, Gia kicked it away across the linoleum. As Thomas gained his feet, she launched a roundhouse kick across his chin. He fell to the floor with a groan of pain.

Gia dropped to the floor. She wiggled her taped wrists out from behind her back, then slipped her wrists over her heels. Her hands still taped together, she raced for the gun.

He tackled her from behind. Kicking as she crawled forward on her elbows, she tried to reach the gun. Thomas threw himself on her. He flipped her over and straddled her.

“It was no easy thing, killing Estelle,” he said, the words coming as if he were out of breath. “I respected her. I even offered to split the money with her. But I knew she’d never sell the Eye.”

Gia tried digging in her heels, hoping to inch back toward the weapon. But he kept her pinned with his body weight.

“Later, I understood. You see, I held the Eye in my hands. I felt the warmth of the crystal against my skin. Man, could I spend hours looking into that pale blue. I had it almost two days. You know, I never would have sold the Eye to Gospel. But by then, the cops had me and I needed the money.” He leaned in close. “No, I didn’t enjoy killing Estelle. But you know what, darling? It’s going to be a thing of beauty to snuff the life out of you.”

She was still inching back, trying to make some progress toward the gun.

“I left plenty of evidence at your apartment,” he continued. “I can see the headlines now. Serial Killer Takes Out Police Psychic.”

Gia closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. She pushed back with all her strength, finally managing that last inch. She reached over her head with her tied hands, knowing it would be there. It had to be.

She grabbed the muzzle of the gun, the only part she could reach. With the weapon squarely locked between her hands, she pistol-whipped Thomas across the head.

In that moment, as he let out a guttural cry, she slipped out from under him and jumped to her feet. She fumbled with the gun until she held it by the handle, a finger on the trigger. She pointed the barrel straight at him.

She walked backward toward the door, watching as he stood, rubbing his cheek where she’d struck him.

“Well, you’ve learned a thing or two over the years.”

“I’ve had time to practice,” she said.

“But there’s one tiny problem. I don’t believe you’ll kill me, baby. The father of your child? What are you going to tell Stella? ‘Sorry, darling? I killed Daddy?’”

“Maybe I don’t have to kill you, Tommy. How about I just hurt you
real
bad?”

He shook his head, still advancing on her. “Not good enough. You’ll have to kill me, and you know it. She begged for your life, Estelle did. She didn’t care about herself. But her little girl? Oh, you bet she begged.”

Gia knew he had waited a long time for this moment. He liked the drama, drawing out the moment. It made the kill more thrilling. He would want to savor every second.

“She knew you were pregnant and in love. But I forgot she was a witch. That damn note she left, pointing the finger straight at me.”

Gia kept the gun aimed on Thomas.

“Remember the night you found her note?” he asked. “For two whole days, you let her murderer comfort you. You even agreed to marry me, the father of your child. Your mother’s killer.”

“Of course I agreed to marry you. I loved you, Tommy.” She was almost to the door. “By the way, how are the seizures?”

He looked surprised. But then he chuckled. “I’m betting they’re going to get a hell of lot better once you’re dead and gone.”

“You’re wrong, Tommy. If you kill me, you’ll only fall faster and deeper into that black hole. That’s how the Eye works. It gets inside you. If you don’t know how to manage that power, it will kill you.”

“Really?” he said in a bemused tone. “Well, as long as you’re going first. All these years I’ve had to hold back, worried that you’d show up one day, another finger pointing at me. But now, finally, I’ll be free.”

He kept walking toward her. She slowly inched to the door.

He halted, then started to laugh. “It’s
locked,
Gina. And your hands are taped together. You’ll have to put down the gun to unlock it.”

Her back touched the door.

“That’s when I’ll make my move, see? When you turn for that lock. I have something very special planned for you, my love. It involves an old Vietnamese story. Unfortunately, I will have to cut off those lovely fingers. Maybe I’ll do it while you’re still alive.”

She could feel her breath coming hard, her hands shaking.

“Well, this
is
exciting,” he said. “A standoff. I’m almost sorry to put an end to it. So what’s it going to be?” He raised his hands in question. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“No,” she said very firmly.

He started to laugh. “See? I knew it! I may not be a psychic, but I know character.” He walked toward her now, more confident. “You can’t kill me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

She raised the gun and fired into the ceiling. He stopped walking, stunned.

“Catch,” she said, throwing the gun at him as she rolled to the floor.

The door burst open.

With Thomas holding the gun, the police had no problem shooting him dead.