Liar (17 page)

There were footsteps in the hall.

She stiffened and peered out into the common room, hoping to catch sight of him breezing through the entranceway. Nope. It was some buffed fraternity type in a sweatshirt who looked like he'd been taking steroids since the age of three. She sighed. The glowing red numbers on Sam's digital clock changed from 11:59 to 12:00. Maybe he'd come back here for lunch.

With her luck, probably not, though.

Her eyes fell to a photo on top of his desk. A photo of a little boy … she squinted at it.
Hold on.
A puzzled smile spread across her face. Was that Sam? It must be:
The boy had the same brownish red hair, the same hazel eyes. He was holding a trophy. Of course. A chess trophy. For some reason, the picture brought a lump to Gaia's throat. He looked so happy, framed by his parents—but a little lost, too. Even as a little child, Sam had a melancholy aura, as if his smile was really concealing something deeper and more complicated—

The phone rang.

Shit.
Gaia dropped the photo. It fell with a dull thud onto the bed. She glanced into the common room again. Obviously she shouldn't answer that. But maybe it was Sam, calling in to check his messages. In that case, she could intercept him and let him know that she was here, that she was waiting for him. Without thinking, she lunged for the receiver—bumping his chair, which slammed into his desk.
Whoops.
A person could hardly move in here.

“Hello?” she panted.

There was a click.

“Hello? Hello?”

No answer. The line was dead.

Gaia pursed her lips. She dropped the phone on the hook.

Then she noticed something. By bumping Sam's desk, she'd knocked his computer out of sleep mode. And there, on the screen, was an open file labeled Unsent Messages.

Her breath stopped short. Her eyes flashed down the list.

Oh my God.

Every single unsent message was addressed to her.

SHE WASN'T IN SCHOOL.

After searching the entire building, scouring every goddamn classroom—not to mention the gym, the cafeteria, and the computer center—he'd finally come to the inevitable conclusion: Gaia wasn't here. Even worse, nobody seemed to know
where
she was. Not Heather. Not Ed. Not even members of the faculty. This was just perfect. On the one day he'd decided to track her down at
school,
where she was pretty much required by law to be, she'd ditched.

He stood just inside the front doors, shaking his head. He didn't exactly relish the thought of going back outside into the freezing cold.

Gaia could be sick, of course. But somehow the thought of Gaia's being bedridden with the flu just didn't seem plausible. Gaia was too
strong
to get sick. On the other hand, she might be faking it.
Maybe she'd decided to feign an illness so she could stay in bed all day.
That
wasn't so farfetched. Sam wanted to do the exact same thing himself.

He flung open the door and flew down the steps of the school building, searching the block for a pay phone.
There.
On the corner. He dashed across the street, fumbling for a quarter as he dodged a couple of cars and a bike messenger. Horns blared; he didn't notice. He snatched up the phone, dropped the coin into the slot, and punched in her number.

After two rings somebody picked up.

“Niven residence.”

It was her foster father. Sam hesitated for a moment. “Um, yes, hello,” he said nervously. “I was just wondering … is Gaia there, please?”

“No, she's at school.” His voice took on a harsher edge. “Who is this?”

“It's … a friend,” he replied lamely. Panicking, he hung up the phone. Gaia was at large. As far as he knew, she wasn't the type to skip school. So maybe she had a good reason. Maybe she was very upset.

Maybe Ella had upset her.

He took a deep breath of frozen air. There was nothing more he could do. It was out of his hands. He should just go home.

GAIA WAS NOT A SNOOP. SHE
HATED
snoops. Her father (may he rot in hell) had made a living out of snooping. He'd devoted his whole miserable life to invading privacy and tearing people's lives apart. The very thought of following in his footsteps made Gaia's stomach turn. Not only was going through somebody's private e-mail unethical, immoral, and
slimy—
it was against the law. Or at least she thought it was.

On the other hand, Gaia had never given much thought to the law. The only rules that had ever applied were her own. She lived her life by her own code of honor. It was inviolate, unbreakable.

You're a hypocrite. And you know it.

Her gaze roved over the computer screen. She couldn't stop staring at the list. It was so
long.
There must be at least ten messages. And they were all addressed to [email protected]. They
were
intended for her eyes. Well, they had been at one point. Right. So in a way, she wasn't snooping. She was simply catching up on what should have been hers in the first place.

You're a hypocrite. And you know it.

She wished she could shut up that stupid voice in her head. Everybody rationalized
something every once in a while, didn't they?

Clenching her jaw, she grabbed the mouse and clicked on the first message.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
5:32
P.M.

Re:
Why I took off

Gaia,

You're probably wondering what happened to me and why I just dumped you on your stoop like that. I never would have left you alone

«UNSENT»

Okay. This wasn't so bad. She relaxed a little. Sam wasn't confessing any deep, dark secrets. There were no major revelations here. And while he wasn't exactly apologizing, he did feel the need to explain himself. That was something. A start. His heart was in the right place—or at least heading there.

She clicked the next message.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
5:33
P.M.

Re:
Why I took off

Gaia,

I'm sorry about what happened Friday night. But there's something you have to know. It involves

«UNSENT»

Hmmm.
He was holding back. She could see that a pattern was forming. These were the beginnings of abandoned thoughts. Fragments. She could definitely relate. She had her
own
Stash of unsent mail to Sam sitting in her hard drive.

That's why you're a hypocrite.

Screw it. She shook her head and scrolled forward.

VISIT NUMBER FIVE. IN FORTY-EIGHT hours. Only this one was lasting a lot longer than usual.

Tom eyed the apartment entrance from his convenient perch in the coffee shop window. Ella had disappeared under the awning nearly an hour ago. She seemed to have developed a rapport with the doorman as well.

The longer she stayed inside, the more certain he became that she was
not
an operative for the agency.

He knew for a fact that the agency wouldn't tolerate such a lax attitude. Her job as a photographer seemed to end sometime in the midmorning. Very poor form. As soon as she'd departed the camera store, she'd headed straight for the subway and proceeded directly uptown on the number-nine train. She didn't even make an
attempt
at losing a potential shadow.

Now that he thought about it,
no
government would tolerate such indiscretion.

That left terrorists. Criminals.

Loki.

A muffled beep rang inside his coat pocket. Tom felt a brief twitter of nervousness. This very well could be the agency, calling to check up on him, to demand why he hadn't been doing his job. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.

“Yes?”

“Gaia's disappeared.”

George.
Tom's heart lurched in his chest. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Some boy just called looking for her,” George answered briskly. “I called the school, and they said she was absent.”

Tom clutched the phone, fighting back panic. “Okay,” he said. “She doesn't usually skip school, does she?”

“To be honest, I have no idea. Like I said before, you trained her well.”

“It could be nothing,” Tom said, mostly to himself. “All teenagers pull these kinds of stunts at some time or another. And if things aren't great at home …” He stopped. He shouldn't have said that last part, but he couldn't help it. Besides, it was the truth. Things
were
bad at home. His thoughts raced. He was having a hard time breathing.

“I just thought you should know,” George remarked. If he was offended, he let it slide. “I'm sorry.”

“No … thank you.” Tom swallowed.

“I'll keep you posted,” George said.

Tom snapped the cell phone shut, staring at the apartment entrance. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Ella might have known that he was trailing her all along. She might have deliberately dragged him up here—leading him on the proverbial wild-goose chase. And all the while he'd left Gaia vulnerable: a target for the plucking.

Loki's
target.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
5:34
P.M.

Re:
Why I took off

Gaia,

I've done something terrible. I know this is no excuse, but I had no idea she was

«UNSENT»

If Gaia had been able to feel fear,
this
message definitely would have frightened her. That's because Sam was clearly afraid. His tone had shifted. He was no longer abject; he was rushed, desperate. What was he scared of, though? And what terrible thing could he have possibly done? But the most troubling part was that one little three-letter word:
she.

Gaia leaned back in his swivel chair.

She glanced out into the empty common room again. Maybe she'd seen enough. Maybe she should just get the hell out of here. She wasn't solving any mysteries; she was just uncovering new ones. This stupid exercise merely proved what she'd known all along: that snooping never resulted in anything positive. She didn't have to look any further than her own screwed-up family to remember that.

The computer hummed for a second.

All of a sudden, a 3-D envelope cascaded to the forefront of the screen.

“You have e-mail,” a computerized voice announced.

Gaia tensed.
“You” doesn't mean “me,”
she furiously reminded herself.
It means Sam.
Still, she was right here … and she'd already answered his phone. She'd already broken into his room. Her “code” was clearly a thing of the past—at least when it came to Sam. She'd thrown her scruples out the window. That was no justification, though. It wasn't even an excuse. It was simply a surrender.

She couldn't help herself. Her hand was already darting toward the mouse, like a snake going after its prey. She double clicked the icon, fighting to ignore the shame and self-loathing that threatened to stop her. The envelope unfolded.

Her eyes flicked to the top of the letter. To: smoon. From: ELJ

Darling
…

Heather,
Gaia thought dismally.

It had to be. In spite of the random initials, it had to be Heather. Gaia had no idea that Heather could be so corny, though. She almost felt like printing this thing out and showing it to Ed. If he saw
this,
he probably wouldn't be so eager to pal around with Heather so much.

I don't have much time. If the owner of this computer knew what I was doing … I know you're trying to avoid me, but if you look deep within your soul, you'll see that you can't deny your attraction to me.

Gaia snickered. Christ. This wasn't corny; it was pitiful. Heather should consider a career as a teen romance novelist. Reading this thing was like watching some horrible accident. Gaia was revolted, but she couldn't turn her eyes away.

Forgive me for the way I acted on the street on Saturday I'm under so much stress. But I must see you again. Name the time and place. I'll be there.

Gaia's eyes reached the sign-off.

At first the name didn't seem to register. It was as if some mechanism in her brain had shut down; she couldn't process the visual information. There was no way that
this
name could be
here.
It was simply impossible. Some glitch in the server. A malfunction. Gaia blinked. She rubbed her eyes.

But the name didn't disappear, or shift, or morph into Heather's name. It remained there on the screen. Mocking her. Tearing what little remained of her self-esteem to shreds.

She began to hyperventilate.

She was practically
gagging.

But at least she was skipping right over the denial stage this time. Right over it. Straight into anger. Into
fury.
Because at that moment the pieces of a terrible puzzle she hadn't even known existed began to slide into place. Sam's behavior now made perfect sense. And the world was that much crueler for it.

Love, Ella

THE GIRL SPRINTING OUT OF HIS dorm was not Gaia. That girl—the one in the cargo pants and wool hat and overcoat, the one running in the opposite direction down Eleventh Street … she was not Gaia. She just
looked
like Gaia.

This had happened to Sam once before. At a party. He'd been drunk. Actually, that was putting it mildly. He'd been plastered. And pissed off. And his thoughts had been so
focused
oh Gaia, so
intent
on her, that when he'd seen a wild mane of long blond hair, he'd just naturally assumed …