Trust (13 page)

I
left Ed at five-thirty. It was already dark, and I swore at myself all the way from Astor Place to Sixth Avenue. I was supposed to go up on the Nivens' roof to check out why two hundred pounds of brick and cement narrowly avoided crushing me.

But I forgot all about it.

My brain feels so crowded lately. It's not like my life is simple most of the time — it isn't. I have one of the weirder lives I know. But lately it's almost impossible to have any downtime when my gut is twisting up about somebody in the orbit of my existence: Ella, Sam, Ed, Heather, Uncle Oliver . . . the guy who yelled at me yesterday.

Note to myself: Check roof tomorrow.

Gaia stared at him. This had to be a joke. A sick, cruel joke. But he seemed to be dead serious.

 

MANY PEOPLE UNDERESTIMATED Frederick's, in Ella's opinion. Sure, sometimes the quality of workmanship wasn't quite what it should be, and sometimes the fabrics were less than superior. But their designs were very fresh. Comfortable and practical. And Ella appreciated their designers' sense of humor. Ever since this store had opened on Fifty-seventh Street, Ella's wardrobe had grown dramatically. It was a treat to be able to come here, try things on, chat with the salespeople. And she'd met all kinds of interesting people. Not the kind that ran in George's boring Agency circles. No . . . the kind that led secret lives that were actually worth exploring.

As Ella examined a black cashmere bodysuit, she wondered what Sam would think of it. His eyes would pop. Any idea of resistance would fade from his mind. That was all she needed, really — the right
look
. She smiled to herself. Boys were so predictable —

“That would look stunning on you,” a melodious female voice said.

Ella glanced up. A woman was standing beside her — a woman about her age, who had the most extraordinary topaz eyes.
Do I know you?
she wondered. Quickly Ella swept her from head to foot. The woman was dressed conservatively, in a gray, chalk-stripe business suit, white silk blouse, pearl choker. Her hair was in a bun: simple and elegant — and her face was fresh and unlined, with hardly any discernible makeup. Almost immediately Ella's curiosity waned. Aside from the woman's eyes, she appeared drab and dull. It was doubtful she had any excitement to offer.

“Really,” the woman said. “Stunning.”

Ella let the bodysuit trail through her fingers. “You think so?”

The woman nodded, a hint of a smile playing around her full lips. She glanced around the store. “I just love this stuff, don't you? It makes me feel so feminine.”

Hmmm
. Yes, Ella's curiosity was definitely slipping down the drain.
Feminine
was
not
the word Ella would use to describe this kind of clothing. For her, it was more empowering, more aggressive. Almost dominating.

Turning, she moved to another rack. Oh, well. It appeared that she wouldn't make any new friends today. But just as she glanced at a row of dresses, she caught a glimpse of the woman's skirt. A long slit had parted, revealing her leg up to her thigh — and Ella saw an expanse of black fishnet stocking, stopped midthigh by a black leather garter studded with tiny silver spikes. Her eyes widened. She couldn't help glancing up.

The woman was staring straight at her, smirking slightly. Her topaz eyes glittered.

Ella felt a twitter of excitement. It was as if this woman were sharing a dark secret, a secret meant only for them:
There's more to me than what the untrained eye can see.

“Hi,” Ella found herself saying. “My name's Ella.”

“My name's Pearl,” said the woman, smoothing her hands over her hips before offering one to Ella to shake. “Delightful to meet you.”

“Yes,” Ella murmured. “Perhaps it will be.”

GAIA APPROACHED THE BROWNSTONE cautiously, remaining in the street behind a line of parked cars until she was almost at the front door. Then she crouched for a few very cold seconds, surveying the area — checking out the roof for movement, listening intently. The sun had long since set. In the darkness she heard and saw nothing. So it appeared that no chimneys would be falling on her — at least not today. She quickly scurried to the door and unlocked it, then slipped inside and slammed the door as fast as she could.

Jesus
. How many kids had to run a security check before they walked into their own houses? How many kids had to live like this?

“Hi, Gaia,” George called from the kitchen. “I'm whipping up some spaghetti. Are you hungry?”

Poor George. Tonight, clearly, he'd planned on having one of those painful meals where he actually tried to be a father. The guy's timing was terrible. So was his cooking, for that matter. Now Gaia was even
more
thankful to be meeting her uncle.

“Oh, gee, George,” she answered as politely as she could. She tiptoed toward the stairwell, hoping she wouldn't have to face him. “I'm sorry. I'm eating dinner out tonight.”

“Really?” He sounded disappointed. There was a clatter of dishes in the sink. “Ella's still out somewhere, and I was hoping you and I could have a chance to catch up on things. I know I've been working a lot lately.”

Gaia hesitated, biting her lip. She didn't want to make life worse for George. He had it hard enough, living with that witch. But she couldn't blow off meeting Oliver. This was her chance to get out of this hellish place. If George were smart, he'd get out, too.

“I'm sorry,” she said finally. “I made this date last week.”

“A date?” His tone lightened. “Anyone I know?”

“No, not that kind of date,” Gaia clarified, laughing. “It's just a friend.”
And relative
, she added silently.
Hopefully someone who will set me free
.

“Oh. Well, some other time,” George said. “I probably won't see you when you get back. I'm going out of town tonight, and I'll be back the day after tomorrow. But don't be out too late, okay? It's a school night.”

“Okay,” Gaia answered, escaping up the stairs to her lair. Something about the plaintive sound of George's voice sent a shudder of sadness through her. He was a lonely man — and a man who had no idea of how horrible his life really was. Maybe someday she would try to do something nice for him. In the meantime, however, she had her own problems to worry about.

“I'M HERE,” SAID A VOICE.

“Busy tonight?” George asked. He leaned out into the hallway just to double-check that Gaia was upstairs.

“Just the usual,” came the reply. “What's up?”

“I've got an odd feeling,” said George quietly into the receiver. “I thought if you had a chance, you could keep an eye on yellow bird tonight.”

“Something going down?” The voice sounded alert, tense. There was a slight clicking noise in the background.

“Not that I know of,” George mumbled. “It's just a feeling.”

“Sometimes feelings are all we can trust,” said the voice.

George sighed. “Sometimes.”

“I'll keep an eye on her.” “Thanks.” George hung up just as Gaia thundered back down the stairs.

“Bye, George!” she called.

“Have a good time!” he called back. “Be careful!”

The door slammed.

For a moment George stood silently in the brightly lit kitchen, ruminating over thoughts, details, facts. Something was bothering him, some sound . . . a tiny click. Yes. While he'd been speaking just now. What
was
that? George looked at the phone — a white wall phone that had come with the house. George regularly ran a sweep of the whole brownstone, and he knew all the lines were secure. But there
had
been a click.

His face darkened. He was alive because he had listened to his gut a million times. Instinctively he took the handset off its hook and quickly unscrewed the mouthpiece. What he saw was so astonishing that he actually gasped out loud. There was a bug in the phone. A high-tech, professional bug. The kind the Agency used. Jesus.

On the stove, the spaghetti started to boil over.

GAIA COULD BARELY TOUCH HER food. She was too restless, too insecure. Uncle Oliver had chosen another cozy, secluded restaurant — the Cloisters, in the West Village — but tonight the candlelit dining room was stifling. They'd already been here for almost half an hour, gone through their appetizers, drunk wine (which for some reason only made Gaia feel
more
anxious) — but Oliver hadn't brought up the idea of her moving in once. Instead they'd talked about school, the weather, New York . . .
anything
but what was on Gaia's mind. In other words, they'd bullshitted. And Gaia was getting tired of it.

“What's wrong?” he asked, peering over at her plate of lamb chops. His dark suit made a soft swishing sound whenever he moved. “Lost your appetite?”

Gaia shook her head. “I . . . I just.” She closed her mouth. Was he waiting for
her
to bring it up? Or was he hoping she wouldn't so he could just forget about the whole thing? Maybe he'd gotten cold feet. Maybe tonight would be the last time she ever saw him. It certainly would be in keeping with the rest of the Moore family. Here today, gone tomorrow. And how could she blame him? He did secret work, traveled the world, wore stylish suits, knew everything. Maybe he even had a family somewhere. And a real daughter, not a screwed-up niece. But even if he didn't, the sad truth was that he was too glamorous for a freak like her. It was that simple —

“I've given a lot of thought to your question,” he said suddenly.

She jerked. Her pulse immediately doubled. It was as if he'd read her mind.

A tired smile crossed his face. “It wouldn't be the simplest thing in the world,” he stated, placing his silverware on the tablecloth and looking into her eyes. “You're still a minor. As foolish as that sounds, I would have to gain legal custody of you.”

“I know,” Gaia said, struggling in vain to keep the desperation out of her voice. “But you're my
uncle
. Doesn't that mean anything?”

Oliver shrugged. “We would have to go to court and testify before a judge,” he said. “It helps that I'm a family member, but unfortunately, your father probably signed a document stating that he intended you to live with the Nivens. His word would be hard to challenge.”

Gaia nodded, feeling her heart sinking. The world turned black around her. To come this close, this tantalizingly close to escape . . . It just wasn't fair.

“I'm not saying that it's impossible,” he soothed. “It'll just take some time. Would you be willing to make such a commitment?”

“Of
course
,” she whispered, praying that she wouldn't do something idiotic like start crying. “I'll do whatever it takes.”

Oliver smiled again, more easily this time. “Good,” he said. “It's so nice to see such responsibility and maturity in a person so young.” He hesitated for a moment, as if he were about to add something else, then shook his head.

“What is it?” she pressed.

“There is . . . one other option.”

She nodded eagerly.

“Well, actually, it would be for both you and me simply to go away.” He raised his eyebrows. “We could go live abroad. Legally you would be classified as a runaway, but that would only last until you're eighteen. Which is in August, if I remember correctly.” He grinned. “The two of us could live in South America or Europe; wherever we want. We could travel from place to place. Then, once you are eighteen, everything would be legal . . . and we could settle back in the States. Or anyplace else, for that matter.”

Gaia stared at him. This had to be a joke. A sick, cruel joke. But her uncle seemed to be dead serious.

“You mean . . . leave in the middle of the school year?” Gaia finally asked. Of course, she'd pretty much dropped out, anyway. The only thing that kept her going back was seeing Ed.

“Pah!” He waved his hand impatiently. “You are probably learning nothing. You're much too advanced for a local high school. You should be learning from the school of life. If you are traveling to the world's most beautiful places, seeing great works of art, seeing where history took place, living in different cultures . . . wouldn't that be a better education than what you're receiving at the hands of a bunch of lightweight bureaucrats?”

Gaia laughed. The dread that had all but consumed her suddenly transformed into euphoria. She couldn't believe it. Ha! If her principal could see her now . . . It was amazing. Her uncle had practically read her thoughts. School
was
a waste of time, at least this particular school. She and her uncle had more in common than she'd ever dreamed. Her mind began to race. She felt like she was about to burst right out of her chair. The idea was too overwhelming to take in all at once. Just picking up and leaving now, leaving everything behind: Ella, George, Sam, Heather . . . Ed. Okay,
that
would suck. But that was pretty much the only thing. Besides, she could get back in touch with Ed when she was eighteen. And she could always write letters, make phone calls, send e-mails . . . Damn. To pack up and take off, to get on a plane with her uncle, to go to new and exciting places — doing whatever she wished, living freely . . .

“It sounds incredible,” she said slowly.

Uncle Oliver raised his hands. “I know it's a lot to think about right now. It's just a thought that occurred to me, and I wanted to put it out on the table. You take your time and think it through. The only thing is, if we decide to do it, we can't really change our minds — at least, not until you turn eighteen.”

Gaia shook her head. Did he really think she had any doubts at all? He had to be kidding. “But what would you do overseas?” she asked. “What about your job?”

Uncle Oliver shook his head dismissively. “I can work pretty much wherever I go. My company has offices all over, and they're very flexible about accommodating me.”

“Wow,” Gaia said. The word was lame, but it was all she could manage. Her heart rattled like a jackhammer.

Uncle Oliver smiled, and just for the first time ever, Gaia saw
him
— just him and not the ghostly reflection of her father. He'd changed tonight . . . at least in her eyes. He
wasn't
her father. No, he had nothing to do with Tom Moore. He was her uncle. Her very own uncle. Her blood relative. And in her mind, she and Uncle Oliver were already on a plane together, toasting each other as New York City fell away behind them.