Liar (2 page)

“What's that?” Ed's voice registered both surprise and happiness. Not that there was something wrong, but that Gaia was telling him so.

“Ella.”

“Something new?” Ed asked.

“She told me she's sorry about Mary.”

Ed was silent. “And that is bad because …?”

“Come on, Ed. I would have felt better if she'd punched me in the face. I'm comfortable with our mutual hatred. Her pretending to care really gave me the creeps.”

Ed fell silent again.

“Hello? Ed?”

“Maybe she
is
sorry” he suggested.

Gaia rolled her eyes. “Believe me, she isn't. The woman is completely evil.”

“Mmmm,” he said equivocally.

“What, mmmm?” Gaia asked, frowning. If she was going to be open and honest, the least Ed could do was agree with everything she said.

“Listen to me, Gaia,” Ed said. “Nobody's completely evil.”

“Oh, no?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Why's that?”

“Well, I guess there's Charles Manson. But ninety-nine-point-nine percent of people aren't completely anything. See, it's like … you've got Charles Manson on one side of the spectrum and Mother Teresa on the other. The rest of us are in between. Aside from a very few extremes, nobody's
all
good or
all
bad.”

“I didn't know you were such a philosopher, Ed.”

“Being in a wheelchair makes a person philosophical,” he replied. His tone wasn't self-pitying; it was matter-of-fact. That was one of the things Gaia loved
about Ed most: He never let people feel sorry for him because of his accident. He took people's pity and threw it right back in their teeth.

“So you're saying that everybody's got a little Manson and a little Mother Teresa inside them?” Gaia asked.

“Exactly,” Ed stated confidently.

“I'd say Ella's snuggled up pretty close to Charles Manson,” Gaia theorized.

“Maybe Ella is mostly Manson,” he agreed. “But today she let her pinprick of Mother Teresa shine through.”

Yeah, right.
As much as Gaia wanted to tell Ed that he was full of crap, she laughed instead. That was the beauty of Ed. He could take any asinine theory and improve a person's mood with it.

“So are we gonna rent a movie or what?” Gaia asked cheerfully.

“Sure. Meet me at the Blockbuster by Thirteenth and Broadway.”

“Yup.”

“And maybe after that we can go to Alice Underground and buy me a blazer.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Gaia asked.

“Because I need to wear a jacket and tie to an engagement party.”

Gaia picked at her thumbnail. “Who's getting engaged?”

“My sister. She's marrying a guy named Blane.”

Gaia sat up on the bed. “Your sister? Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. Ed hardly ever talked about his sister. Gaia got the feeling the mysterious other Fargo sibling didn't take many opportunities to hang around Ed.

“Yeah. Blane.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, so I'll see you at Blockbuster in twenty minutes,” Ed said.

“You got it.” Gaia hung up the phone. She sat on her bed for a few seconds, staring into space.

Amazing. She couldn't even remember why Ella had freaked her out so much. Maybe Ella
was
letting her Mother Teresa shine through.

Sure. And maybe Gaia would end up marrying a guy named Blane, too. It was great to be back in the denial stage again.

SAM MOON EXHALED DEEPLY, WATCHING his breath billow in the frigid January air. He'd been freezing his ass off in the alley by Gaia's brownstone for almost half an hour, and his toes were beginning to burn. He stomped his boots on
the pavement to get the circulation going. But all
that
did was rattle his bones—

“Whoa!”

His legs went out from under him. All of a sudden he was slipping wildly out of control. His overcoat flapped like a cape. His arms flailed. He lunged for a nearby railing to steady himself, just barely keeping balance, and hoisted himself to his feet.

A scowl crossed his face.

Jesus.
His lungs heaved. He ran his frozen fingers through his tousled hair and shook his head, then glanced down at the ground. He couldn't even see any ice—just a layer of glistening blackness over the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Great. Even the
sidewalk
seemed to be laying a trap for him.

Traps.
He shook his head and glanced up at Gaia's front door. He knew all about them. All about deception. Oh, yes. A sickening queasiness began to gnaw at his insides. The last time he'd opened that door, he'd felt like he'd walked into the biggest trap of his life….

“No,” he whispered out loud.

That image was so clearly etched into his mind: the image of Gaia's foster mother, standing just inside the doorway, smiling seductively at him over Gaia's shoulder. Just
thinking
about her made him want to vomit. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to be seduced by her. He couldn't believe she would
want
to seduce
him. He couldn't believe she'd continued to hound him with e-mails and calls and all the rest of it….

But the most nauseating part was that the blame didn't fall solely on her. No. He was to blame, too. After all, their sordid encounter fit the stupid cliché, didn't it?
It takes two to tango.
He'd slept with Ella willingly. He'd allowed her to sweet-talk him at that bar, to dance … to take his mind and body to some other place. Of course, at the time he'd had no idea that she was Gaia's legal guardian—but still, he'd consciously cheated on his girlfriend. His beautiful, unsuspecting girlfriend. The one he should love but couldn't.

For a moment Sam's mind changed gears. That very beautiful unsuspecting girlfriend may or may not have cheated on him. That was partly why he'd been at the bar in the first place.
Bullshit,
he growled at himself impatiently. Heather wasn't the cause of his torment. Gaia was. Gaia always was.

His jaw tightened. Now he had to confront Ella. He had to make sure she left him alone, that she stopped hassling him—and most of all, that she never,
ever
told Gaia what had happened.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam caught a glimpse of an NYPD cruiser, rounding the corner and turning onto Perry Street. It slowed as it rumbled past him. Two craggy, tough-looking members of New York's finest gave him a once-over. Sam averted his eyes. Maybe they thought he was a stalker. He almost
laughed. He
did
look a little sketchy—disheveled after his near fall. But suspecting him would be pretty ironic, wouldn't it? He was here to
stop
a stalker: the woman who was harassing him with e-mails and phone calls. He was here to insist that she stop, to issue his own version of … what was it called? A restraining order. That was it. He was going to demand that Ella leave him alone. Forever.

Yes. For once in his life Sam Moon was going to set everything straight. He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the closed door. He was tired of waffling and wavering, of dating Heather but desiring Gaia, of acting out his anger and frustration by behaving in ways he only regretted. It was time to make some decisions. To go after what he wanted. To follow his heart—

His heart nearly stopped as the front door swung open. He sucked in his breath.

It wasn't Ella. It was Gaia. She bounded down the steps … right past him, without even so much as a glance in his direction.

Gaia!

He wanted to shout her name. But he couldn't. He'd been robbed of speech. He stood there, paralyzed—unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she trotted down the street, her blond mane streaming from under her ratty black wool hat. Even from behind, she was like some kind of … well,
vision
—not like any other girl he'd ever seen or known.

Every time he laid eyes on her, he was entranced by that intangible quality that separated her from everyone else—the way she carried herself that he could never quite place. It wasn't just that she was beautiful: tall and strong, like those mythical women of the Amazon. It was more that she had no
idea
she was beautiful.

Generally speaking, girls in Manhattan tended to know they were hot. They strutted around in the latest trends, self-possessed and perfectly put together … like Heather, in a way. Or Ella. Not Gaia, though. Gaia—

The front door opened again.

Without thinking, Sam ducked behind the railing.

It was Ella, of course. Sam shook his head, furious at himself. He was here to
confront
her! So why the hell was he crouched down, hiding from her in the freezing cold like a frightened animal? Actually, he didn't want to answer that question.

TOM MOORE SAT PERFECTLY RIGID AS Gaia strolled past his parked brown Lexus. If she turned her head only the slightest bit, she might see him. He silently swore under his breath. He knew he shouldn't have driven here. And he shouldn't have parked so close to
the Nivens' house. But he'd had no choice. This was the only spot available in an eight-block radius. In New York City parking spaces were like taxicabs: They were impossible to find when you needed one. Besides, the car was equipped with certain devices essential for today's mission—a satellite link and fax machine—that he couldn't carry on his person.

Don't look at me, Gaia. Don't look….

He slouched down low in the driver's seat, staring at her.

Every day she looked more and more like her mother.

A lump formed in Tom's throat. He shook his head. Here he was, not ten feet away from his daughter, and he still couldn't touch her. He couldn't call her name. But that was nothing new. He'd learned to live with frustration. That was part of the job. He was a professional. Not a day went by when an agent didn't suffer in some way. But the best of them compartmentalized the suffering—locking it safely away with the rest of their souls, where it couldn't affect other matters.

Tom was an expert at compartmentalizing.

Gaia crossed to the opposite corner. Tom couldn't help but notice that her walk was like a taller, lankier version of Katia's—strong and sensual at the same time….

His eyes flashed back to the house. Ella was leaving. George would be home in a matter of minutes.
But maybe he could follow Gaia for a little while, just to make sure she was okay. Yes. There was no telling when Loki would strike—

What am I thinking?

Following her would be inconceivably stupid. For one thing, he'd lose his parking space. For another, Gaia might notice him. No, she
would
notice him. She'd been trained to detect tails; he himself had conducted the relentless drills, day after day in their old home in their old life … so long ago.

But George's words from their last meeting kept echoing through his head. They blasted away at his common sense, reducing it to rubble.
“Loki's interest in our girl has taken on a new twist There's reason to believe he wants her—for himself.”

Tom shook his head. Screw common sense. No way would he let Gaia out of his sight. He grabbed the key out of his pocket and jammed it into the ignition.

ELLA PAUSED ON THE SIDEWALK. SHE was fumbling for something in the pocket of her faux fur coat … a cell phone. She flipped it open and began walking briskly in the opposite
direction Gaia had headed, away from Washington Square Park.

“… doesn't need to be monitored every second,” she was saying.

At least that's what Sam
thought
she was saying. Her voice trailed off, lost in the ambient noise of the city.

He hesitated. This was stupid. Even worse, it was shameful. He was
going
to confront her. Summoning his courage, he stood up straight and marched purposefully after her.

Ella suddenly stopped in midstep.

“The dead girl's not an issue anymore,” she stated. “Gaia's problem was solved.
You
solved it.”

Sam's pace slowed … then he stopped altogether. At the mention of Gaia's name, he found he couldn't continue. His face twisted in a scowl.
The dead girl? Gaia's problem?
He shook his head. Could it be that Ella was talking about Mary? No. No way. Mary wasn't Gaia's
problem.
On the other hand … what could she possibly mean?

Ella snapped the cell phone shut and scurried across the street.

Sam swallowed.
Follow her, dammit!
He clenched his fists at his sides and darted after her, splashing into a puddle of brownish slush as he leaped off the curb.

GAIA PAUSED ON THE OPPOSITE CORNER, struck by the sound of an engine. She'd noticed it a few seconds ago—loud at first, which meant that the driver was in a hurry, then very soft. Which meant that the driver was being cautious.

Or following someone.

The chances that the driver was following
her
were probably small. Still, it was good to have a healthy paranoia. She turned and peered through the early evening twilight at a brown car, idling on the opposite curb. Her eyes narrowed. The driver was a man…. She couldn't make out any of his features, just a shadowy silhouette.

Instinctively she stepped forward. The car suddenly jumped to life, pulling out into the street. Shit. But then her eyes zeroed in on something else.

No,
somebody
else.

What the—

A HORN BLAST TORE THROUGH THE AIR.

Sam snapped his head around. His feet became jelly. He hadn't looked before he'd rushed into the street. He heard the
tires screeching and perceived only a massive blur, framed by the dark gray drabness of the winter landscape. He knew it was a car, though, and that it was going too fast to stop in time. In seeming slow motion the blur consumed his entire field of vision … drowning out all other sights and sounds until there was nothing.