Tracers (11 page)

“Hey, Cam—you need anything at all, you call me, all right?”

Cam forced himself to nod. Forced a casual smile.

A casual robot smile.

Cam wished he really were made of metal, just then. That he could turn off the pain that sliced through him the moment he understood what was actually going on.

Miller was still staring at him in that shrewd way of his. After a moment, he straddled his bike.

“Ready to go, Niks?” Miller asked. Cam watched as she climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around Miller's waist.

Nikki shot him a look before they drove away. It seemed like she felt sorry for him.

That just made it so much worse. Cam stood staring, long after the bike had disappeared. He realized at some point that Dylan was standing beside him.

“You coming back in?” Dylan asked.

Cam shook his head. “No. I'm tired. I'm gonna hit it.”

Dylan nodded, but didn't say anything.

Cam walked the whole way home.

@%&#!!!

IT WAS PROBABLY
a mistake for a squatter paying zero rent to blast music outdoors.

But the amount Cam cared just then: zero percent.

He'd been back from the club for maybe two hours. Sleep wasn't even something he bothered to attempt. His head was too full. As he sat on the roof, looking out into the dark, he couldn't stop seeing her climb onto the back of Miller's bike; the moment replayed itself in his mind's eye, over and over.

Now it all made sense: the way she kept pushing him away, all the things she didn't say.

Nikki was with Miller.

Cam felt another wave of anger wash over him. The idea of her being
with
him—as upsetting as it was—wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was the way Nikki had kept on
not
telling him, letting him follow her around like some lovesick parkour puppy. The way he'd invented all kinds of reasons for her reserved, closed-off attitude. Maybe someone had hurt her. Maybe she was getting over something from her past.

Maybe she was shacking up with their boss.

The night was clear, almost cool. It was the end of summer—the perfect season for Led Zeppelin. He sat on the roof, drinking iced tea mixed with lemonade; he closed his eyes and let the bridge of “Stairway to Heaven” wash over him.

The others had to have known, of course. He understood now why the mood had gotten so tense at the guys' loft when the subject of Nikki's “roommate” came up.

It wasn't like he'd tried very hard to hide his interest in her.

Only one good thing had come from watching Nikki climb onto the back of Miller's bike: at least the truth was out now. He could stop trying to figure out her whole hot-and-cold routine, the hundred times she'd bitten her lip, afraid to speak. The way she'd run away from him over and over. It was because she was dating Miller. She lived with him. Maybe she even loved him.

The song ended, and apparently so did the playlist. Cam's phone was lying a few feet away and he heaved himself to his feet to go check on it. That's when he heard the crash. It sounded like it had come from the stairs. Curious, he made his way carefully down through the almost pitch-black stairwell.

He heard swearing.

Rounding the next set of stairs, Cam almost tripped over her.

“Nikki?”

She was still letting loose with a highly colorful series of words. He bent to offer her a hand. She glared up at him and groaned, but then took it.

“What . . . happened?” he asked.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but she seemed to glare even harder at him. “I fell.”

“I got that part. How . . . ?”

What he wanted to say was, you jumped off a five-story building the day I met you, and you landed on your feet, so what's with the tripping-
up
-the-stairs routine? But he restrained himself.

She was here. He hated the feeling that was swelling in his chest, because he thought it was probably hope. And he knew from hard experience how dangerous that stuff could be.

Nikki blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Well, if it weren't pitch-black in here, maybe I wouldn't have.”

He smiled. “I'll look into having some motion-sensor lights installed,” he said. “You know, in this building I'm occupying illegally.”

She seemed to realize then that she was still holding on to his arm, and she let go, stumbling slightly but grabbing on to the railing at the last second.

Cam shook his head at her. “And I used to think you were so graceful.” When she didn't respond, he changed the subject, keeping his voice neutral. “How did you find me?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Cam crossed his arms. He felt a spark of anger edging out his happiness at seeing her. The time when he'd wanted—no,
needed
—her to talk to him, that time had passed. He asked the only question that was left between them. “Why didn't you tell me you were with Miller?”

He had the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. “It's not . . . I didn't. Just . . . it's complicated, is the thing.”

“Complicated?” he echoed.

“Dylan—he got into some bad trouble a while back. And Miller made it go away.”

The spark of anger grew into a fire at her words. So much for trying not to care. “Your brother pimped you out to the boss. Seems pretty simple to me.”

She tried to back away from him, but her back was already against the railing. “Miller doesn't own me,” she shot back defensively.

Cam stepped closer. “Is that right?” he demanded. “Why are you here, Nikki? What's the point?” With considerable effort, he managed to keep his voice low, because otherwise he'd be shouting at her. He was so mad, he felt almost sick.

“I should've told you. It's my fault. But, Cam . . .” She raised her eyes to his. “You wouldn't be here if I didn't . . . if I hadn't . . .”

“You're right. I wouldn't. So . . . you want me to quit?”

“You can still walk away . . .”

He grabbed her arm. “Is that what you want?”

She looked down again. Her voice was nearly a whisper. “I don't want you to owe Miller like we do . . .”

He felt his grip on her arm tighten, but she didn't pull away. He lowered his face to hers. He spat out each word very precisely: “
Do you want me to go?
”

Nikki shook her head. Finally, she spoke, the word escaping as though it were painful: “No.”

Cam closed his eyes. She'd said it—that one small word:
no.
She didn't want him to go. And yet he knew that moving one step closer to her would not,
could not
end well. He'd already made a terrible mess of every part of his life. Why would he take another step toward Nikki and all the trouble she was guaranteed to bring him?

He opened his eyes. There was no reason. This wasn't about reason, and never had been.

So he took that step, closed the small distance between them.

And then he was kissing her, finally. She didn't push him away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed even closer to him, deepening the kiss. A small sound like a sigh escaped her lips. He pulled away for a second, breathing hard, and looked into her eyes. He didn't ask the question out loud, but that moment was her chance to get away.

She didn't take it—she pulled his head down to hers again. He lowered his hands, picking her up, lifting her against the wall. He moaned, low in his throat. Both of them were breathing hard, eyes still locked. She pushed up at the hem of his T-shirt, and he helped her peel it off.

It was still very dark in the stairwell, but his footing was sure as he carried her up to his makeshift bedroom, and they fell together onto his bed.

He laid her down in the tangle of sheets. “Sorry about the mess.”

She reached up, ruffling his hair, and smiled crookedly up at him. “I think that's my line.”

He smiled, then leaned down to nuzzle her neck. He must have hit a ticklish spot because she giggled.

“Hey, you're kind of ruining the moment for me here,” he said, mock-frowning.

She sat up slightly, biting her lower lip and looking up at him through her lashes. “Really? Are you sure?”

His face broke out into a grin. “Nah.” He took great pleasure in stopping her from biting that lip by taking over the job himself.

• • •

They lay tangled together in his messy bedclothes, listening to music. Nikki surprised him by knowing all the words to his favorite Zeppelin song, “Over the Hills and Far Away.”

“You've got a nice voice,” he said, lazily tracing his hand in circles over her bare back.

She arched her neck to look back at him. “Thanks. I was the vice president of the chorus in middle school.”

Cam raised an eyebrow. “Vice president of the chorus, huh? How sweet. Who knew you were so heavy into school activities?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It was seventh grade, Cam. I'm sure you were supercool in seventh grade.”

“Baby, I was always cool,” he said, lying back and crossing his arms behind his neck. She shifted position, holding herself up on one elbow and peering down to look into his eyes.

“Always cool, huh? How come when I met you, you were biting it on the hood of a cab?”

He sat up abruptly, pushing her away from him. “Maybe because someone jumped off a building and landed
on top of me.
” He tackled her then, moving so he was propped up on his elbows, looking down at her. Her hair was spread out over the pillow and he couldn't resist running a hand through it.

“I guess it
was
sort of my fault . . .” She started biting her lip again, driving him crazy.

“
Sort of
your fault?” He tightened his grip on her arms. “Nik . . .” He pretended to glare at her.

“Maybe mostly my fault.”

“Uh-huh. Well, tonight it was
you
doing the falling.”

“What?”

He grinned. “Do I need to remind you that I found you flat on your butt in my stairwell not two hours ago?”

“I can't believe you're reminding me of that.”

“I'm just glad you fell for me.” He grinned harder, but stopped when she kicked him. Luckily it was in the shin.

He retaliated by tickling her again, which once more proved highly effective. When she finally gave up and promised no more kicking, he gathered her against him, resting his head on her shoulder.

“I love this song,” Nikki said; this time, it was “Kashmir.”

“A beautiful girl who loves Zeppelin,” he said. “You're never leaving this room.”

“It reminds me of home,” she told him. “My mom had this old radio, and she used to bring it out on the porch and listen to the classic-rock station. She'd just listen for hours. She said Zeppelin reminded her of summers at the beach.”

“Where's home?”

“Very far away,” Nikki said. “This little nothing town in Florida.” She put a hand on his chest, propped her chin up to look at him. “I never saw a town bigger than, like, five hundred people before I left home.”

“Well, you're lucky. All I've ever seen is this jungle.”

“You've never been outside the city?”

He sighed. “I don't count my jail time . . . I was going to leave . . . right after my mom died. I found out she still had my dad's old car. She'd had it all along; she never told me. I'm sure she was afraid I'd sell it to help her out. I would have too. So she kept it a secret. She wrote me a letter, said she wanted me to fix it up, get it running again, and go somewhere. Just get in and drive . . . as far away from here as I could get. California, maybe. That was the plan.”

“Where's the car now?”

“The bank took it.”

“The bank . . .” Nikki frowned at him. “Cam, you can tell me.”

“Okay, it wasn't the bank. I do owe money. Just not to the bank.”

“I kind of got that part. Who, though? The Tong?”

Cam felt a stab of apprehension go through him. “How did you know that?”

She smiled her crooked smile again. “Lucky guess. Relax. You just seemed oddly knowledgeable about the mob in Chinatown the other night. I put two and two together.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So you borrowed money to help your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry, Cam.”

He gathered her closer to him, resting his head on top of hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

“So how much do you owe?” she asked, her voice very quiet.

He sighed deeply. “I'm still in for seventy-five hundred.”

“What's the interest rate?”

Cam chuckled. “The vig? It varies. Well, it goes
up.
If you don't pay your debt down fast enough. Or if the guy who holds the marker is a jerk . . . which is
definitely
true in this case. Anyway, last I checked, it was up to thirty-five percent.”

Nikki sat up. “Thirty-five? Cam! That's twenty-six twenty-five—on top of the principal.”

He smiled at her. “Wow, so you're a math whiz too?”

She smiled back, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “I've always been really good with numbers.”

“Should have hooked up with you sooner.”

“Well, I wouldn't have let you make a deal for thirty-five percent. You might still have your car.”

“Guess I'm just one of those people who can't hold on to anything nice.”

Nikki nestled in closer to him. “Maybe you just need practice.”

EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT
 . . . until the morning. Until he realized it was time for Nikki to go home.

Home,
as in where she lived with Miller.

Cam's arms were wrapped around her, and he couldn't make himself let go. “You can't go back there.”

“I don't have a choice, Cam. It's where I live.”

“Yeah, well. People move every day, Nik.”

She sighed. “That's not what I mean and you know it.”

“I don't
know
why you need to stay there. Not if you don't . . . feel the same anymore. You don't, do you? Feel . . .” Cam tried to finish the sentence, but couldn't quite manage to get the words out.

Nikki leaned in close to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I don't. But James is . . . he's not somebody you wanna mess with.”

Cam groaned.
James.
He so did not want to know the guy's first name.

More than that, he didn't want to imagine Nikki
saying
his first name. He shook himself, literally, and Nikki frowned.

“Cam. You have to hang in there. Until . . .”

“Until what, Nik? What's gonna change for us, huh?”

She stared at him for a few seconds. “I bought a lottery ticket the other day,” she said, trying to smile.

He smiled back, in spite of himself. “Maybe we should hit Atlantic City instead. How are you at counting cards, math whiz?”

“I'll Google it,” she promised. Then she kissed him on the cheek and snuggled against him.

They dozed for a little while. Cam was awakened by the sensation of Nikki tracing his infinity tattoo with her fingers. Her voice was sleepy as she asked him, “I heard once that tattoos are scars you give yourself, to show people the pain that's on the inside. Is that true?”

Cam opened his eyes and looked at her. Her hair was a wild, adorable mess. “I don't know. How come you don't have any?”

“'Cause I don't want anybody to know.” Her eyes slid away from his.

Cam looked at her. She was always doing that: opening the door, just a crack, then slamming it shut.

“What's this one?” Nikki was searching through his ink and found an image that was almost always hidden. “Is this a
flower
?”

“It's a rose, yes.”

“Roses are flowers, smart guy,” she shot back, though her voice was playful. “Isn't that kind of girly?”

He sat up, glaring at her. “If you must know, I got that one to impress a girl.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Do tell.”

“You sure you want to hear this story?”

She nodded, but her voice was less certain. “Yeah, tell me.”

“She was my first serious girlfriend. Her name was Mel—”

“No names!” Nikki broke in.

“You're the one who wanted to hear the story.”

“Yeah, okay, keep going.”

“Well . . .
her
favorite movie was
Romeo and Juliet.
You know the one with Leonardo what's-his-name?”

“DiCaprio, yeah.”

“Yeah. Anyway, there's this line in
Romeo and Juliet
about how a rose would smell as sweet as Romeo's name or something. So she talked me into getting it.”

Nikki started laughing. “A rose would smell as sweet as his name!” She lay back against the bed, her hand on her stomach. “That's not how it goes. It's ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' It's because their families are enemies, and Juliet's saying that if he were named something else—if he wasn't part of this rival family—he'd still be the guy she loves.”

“Oh, well, that's actually sort of romantic,” Cam said, nuzzling her neck.

Nikki jumped as the wail of a siren pierced the air just outside the open window.

“Ah, the lovely sounds of summer in the city,” she said, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to lighter topics.

“It's the worst,” Cam agreed.

“Yeah. But only if you're like us. For people with money, this city's cake, right? They get picked up in a black car—air-con, heat, probably soundproof windows. They get dropped off and picked up, door to door. It's like they float above the surface of the city, you know?”

“You mean guys like Miller? Jax told me he's got a penthouse in the Village.”

A strange expression crossed her face, and she rolled away from him. “Miller's not floating. He gets his hands dirty.”

Cam closed his eyes. “Yeah, you're right—he doesn't float. I'd say it's more like he slithers.” When Nikki didn't respond, he opened his eyes. “You know, like a snake.”

“I know what
slither
means. I just don't get why you'd say that.”

“I don't trust the guy. Why—do you?”

“He's done a lot for us.”

“Guess we'll see. But I get what you mean about this city. Someday, I'm gonna live in a place where you don't need a limo and driver. Somewhere less crowded. My mom's from this little town in Southern California—Lone Pine. I've seen pictures. There's, like, open spaces. Mountains. Trees.”

“There are trees in Central Park.”

“Not the same thing, Nik.”

“What would you do there? In this little town?”

He felt his eyes closing again. “Something with cars, probably. I'd like to be my own boss for once. You know? Maybe sales,” he added sleepily. “I can be charming when I want to be.”

Nikki rolled her eyes, but she nestled in close to him. “Much
too
charming,” she agreed.

The light was streaming in through the curtainless windows, and neither of them drifted back to sleep. Nikki sat up first. “I have to get back.”

Cam sat up too. “Will he know? That you were out all night?”

Nikki shook her head. “He had to go to Philly for a deal last night. But he'll be back this afternoon.” She pulled the tangled sheet against her chest like she was suddenly feeling shy.

Cam balled up his own corner of the sheet in his fist. It was suddenly hard to speak. “You want me to go back with you? Just back downtown, I mean . . .” His voice trailed off.

She shook her head. “No, Cam. It's not a good idea.”

She kissed him quickly—a good-bye.

Without saying anything more, Nikki grabbed her clothes, dressed quickly, then slipped back downstairs.

As Cam lay there, trying not to think about the place she was headed to, her words echoed in his head.

It's not a good idea.

• • •

Nikki had been right about Miller being back in town; a few hours after she left, he called Cam about a job, giving him just half an hour before he had to meet the others. Cam pushed everything except the job to the back of his mind. He had to focus; he and Dylan were taking the lead on this one.

Six hours later, Cam and Dylan landed on the roof of the van as it pulled away from the scene of the crime. The job had gone perfectly—apparently Cam was better than he thought at clearing his mind. Moving one after the other, the friends swung through the van's open cargo doors. They each grabbed a door and slammed it shut.

Now, that was a getaway,
Cam thought, grinning, lying on the floor of the van. He sat up and saw that Nikki was driving. Miller was in the passenger seat, holding a police scanner; he winked at Cam. Everyone was peeling off their ski masks.

Miller held up the scanner. “All clear. Good job, boys and girls.”

“That's what I'm talking about.” Tate was high-fiving everyone.

In the driver's seat, Nikki was quiet. She glanced back toward Cam in the rearview. Miller was regarding her in that watchful way of his. The van rolled on through the dark and quiet streets.

A few minutes later, Nikki steered the van into a deserted garage; Miller led the group out onto the street and pulled the garage doors shut, securing them with a padlock.

“Talk later,” he said, patting Dylan on the back and nodding to the rest of them.

Cam called out, “What do you mean? What about our money?”

Miller stopped walking. “Payday's next week, Cam. Same as usual.”

Cam pressed on. He couldn't stop himself. With Miller standing in front of him, it felt like someone's fist had closed around his heart, and it was squeezing tight. “When's the next gig?”

“Soon.” Miller spat the word out. Then he seemed to change his mind and patted Cam on the back, an almost fatherly gesture. “You did a good job. Now get some rest.” He turned to get on his bike.

Cam took a step forward. “You don't understand. I need that money.”

In a flash, Miller had him on the ground. He'd grabbed Cam's arm, bent it back, and pinned him. It was a practiced move, but not from parkour. Cam knew the move himself, but he hadn't had a chance to practice it in a long time: it was jujitsu. And, judging from the way his arm felt like it was about to snap off, Miller was very good at it.

Great—add hand-to-hand fighting to the long list of skills on
James's
résumé.

“Is there a problem?” Miller asked, his voice low in Cam's ear.

“No. No problem.” Cam had done time. He knew when to swallow his pride and wait for a better opening.

Miller paused for a beat, then let go. Cam sat up, rubbing the feeling back into his hand. Stepping back to address the group, Miller announced, “We've got a big score coming next week. We pull it off, it's bonus time. Fifteen—maybe twenty grand each. That work for you guys?”

Miller was asking everyone, but his eyes were on Cam.

“Hell yeah!” Jax cheered, and Cam remembered his conversation with him the other night. He wondered if Jax would use the bonus to go legit.

Cam found himself seriously hoping that he would.

“Sounds good. Hell, sounds
great,
” Tate exclaimed.

Miller was still staring at Cam. “How about it, Cam? That work for you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. That works.” He might be up on his feet, but it was still time to keep his head down.

Miller nodded and got on his bike. Nikki followed.

Cam stood staring after them, not noticing or caring that Dylan was staring at
him.

He nearly jumped when Dylan touched his shoulder a moment later. “Come on, man. Let's get some breakfast.” It was almost nine o'clock at night, but Cam was getting used to the group's fondness for breakfast at any hour.

Cam followed Dylan like a zombie. It was tough to wrap his head around the fact that he and Nikki had been together only a few short hours ago. As hard as it had been to let her go then, watching her climb on the back of Miller's bike just now was even worse.

Dylan led them down into the subway, and Cam let Jax and Tate—mostly Jax—fill in the silence as they rode a few stops to the diner near Union Square. “This place has the best pancakes,” Dylan promised.

The others kept talking about nothing as they ordered (pancakes all around, except for Jax's waffle), and they ate in companionable silence. The food was good—Cam had to admit. He'd been afraid that the scene playing on continuous loop in his head—Nikki going home to Miller's place (and bed)—would prevent him from being able to chew and swallow. But hunger got the best of him, and he put the scene on pause. Compartmentalizing to the rescue, once again. Cam figured his brain probably looked like that Suffolk County evidence locker they'd broken into: a series of locked cages, keeping all the evidence cataloged and separated.

When they finished eating, Tate spent some time flirting with the waitress at the diner's front counter, and Jax curled up in his seat and started to snore.

“Guy can sleep anywhere,” Dylan observed. “He's like a giant baby.”

“So how did you guys hook up with Miller?” Cam asked. He knew Nikki's version of the story, but he wanted to hear it from her brother.

“Niks and I were living on the streets when we found parkour. We got hooked—I mean, you understand. We were kids with the whole city as our playground. Miller taught us everything we know. Got us off the streets. We'd be nowhere without him.” Dylan's voice was fierce.

It seemed pretty clear that Dylan really did feel like they owed the guy their lives.

“Nikki said he took care of some trouble for you.”

Dylan gave him a sharp look, then tried to play it cool by taking a sip of soda. But his hand on the cup shook a little, betraying him. “She told you that?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What
exactly
did she tell you?”

“Just that you got in some trouble and Miller took care of it.”

Dylan was staring at him. He looked upset, so Cam tried to smooth things over. “She really cares about you—doesn't want to see you get hurt.”

Dylan still hadn't looked away. “Are
you
in some kind of trouble, Cam? Because if you are, and Miller finds out, it's not just your problem. It's trouble for
all
of us. You get that, right?”

Cam nodded.

“And, Cam? Miller always finds out.”

Cam met Dylan's gaze. “I'm good.”

Dylan stood up from the booth. “Great.” He picked the check up from his end of the table and put it down in front of Cam. “This one's on you.” He walked out, pulling Tate along with him.

Cam stared at the check for a few minutes, listening to Jax's snores. Eventually it hit him: he could pay the check, or he could get up and walk out. Jax might be on the hook for the money, or he might not be, but it didn't have to matter to Cam. He sighed and threw a pair of twenties down on the table, even though there was no reason to pay . . . no reason to do the right thing or care.

He walked out of the diner and onto the street, one anonymous face among millions. Ever since his mom died, Cam had drifted through this city, rootless, not tethered to anyone or anything. His jobs were all under the table—real jobs that called for a Social Security number and a W-2, those weren't for ex-cons. And it's not like things were getting any better for him. In the past couple of weeks, he'd lost his (rented) home, his (legal) job, his bike—two of them—and his car.