Trust (15 page)

ELLA STUMBLED A BIT AS SHE LET herself in the front door of the brownstone. It was pitch black in here. But that was a good thing. It meant that George had already left. It meant that she wouldn't have to deal with his insufferable puppy dog eyes — or even worse, his anger. But thankfully, that was a relatively new development. She stuck out her hands into the abyss, groping for the light switch like a blind person.

A blind drunk person
, she thought.

She laughed out loud. The sound echoed off the cold walls of the house. She was still pretty tipsy, wasn't she? All of a sudden her fingers bumped into the wall. After a few unsuccessful swipes she found the switch and flicked it.

Whoa. That light was pretty damn bright. Brighter than she remembered. She shambled into the living room to pour herself one last drink. Sure, she'd probably be hungover tomorrow . . . but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight without a nightcap. She was too wound up. The memory of Pearl clung to her like a fuzzy blanket. She smiled as she crouched beside the oak wet bar and opened the doors. God, why couldn't she meet more women like Pearl? Women of
her
caliber,
her
intelligence? Ella knew she needed to get out more. She'd been playing this bubblehead act far too long.

So what was she in the mood for? The bottles and crystal decanters swam before her eyes. So many options; so much fine liquor. There was
one
thing she would miss about this place. The luxury. But then again, Loki had expensive tastes, too. He'd keep her happy. Finally she decided on scotch. She sloshed some into a tumbler, then stood — a little too fast. Her head swam. She nearly keeled over. Laughing, she managed to grab onto the top of the wet bar. She didn't even spill.

“Here's to me,” she whispered out loud, toasting herself in the empty house. She took a quick belt, wincing as the fiery liquid coursed down her throat. “May the living hell that is my life end soon —”

The front door clicked. Ella's eyes shot to the hall. The latch was turning.
Oh, shit
. Had George forgotten something? This was all she needed. . . .

But her blood went cold the moment she saw the tall figure with the long, fairy-tale blond hair. Of course. She should have known.

“It's you,” Ella spat, unable and unwilling to keep the disgust out of her voice. If Ella had played her cards right, the little brat would have been dead by now. But miraculously Gaia had managed to jump out of the way of the falling chimney. Those reflexes were sharper than Ella had guessed.

“Nice to see you, too,” Gaia muttered.

Ella frowned. That was it? She had to admit, she was a little disappointed. She'd been expecting more anger, more rage. After all, the last time they'd seen each other, they'd both left with cuts and bruises. But Gaia didn't even seem particularly bothered. She simply headed upstairs.

“Hol' it right there!” Ella barked. Her words were slightly slurred. But she couldn't care less. She was drunk and pissed off. She wouldn't let Gaia get away with a little snide comment like that and not have to answer for it. . . .

“What, Ella?” Gaia asked flatly.

Ella lumbered out into the hall. “Where the hell have you been?”

Gaia paused on the stairs. She cocked an eyebrow and smirked at the glass in Ella's hand. “Well, I haven't been out drinking,” she said sarcastically. “Unlike some people.”

Ella's eyes burned. Her jaw tightened. “You little . . .” Without a moment's thought she tossed her drink in Gaia's face:
splat!

Gaia's mouth fell open.

Brown liquid dripped from her porcelain features and onto the carpet. She blinked a few times and wiped her face with her sleeve. Her eyes narrowed.

“You bitch,” she whispered.

Ella started to smile — until Gaia jumped off the stairs and pounced on her with an overhand karate chop to the shoulder. Unfortunately the booze had impaired Ella's reflexes. Normally she would have been able to block that strike, but instead it connected — and connected painfully. She dropped the tumbler and staggered. Shards of glass exploded across the floor. But before she had a chance to orient herself and regain her balance, Gaia lashed out again — this time with a kick to the stomach.

The breath exploded from Ella's lungs. She collapsed onto the floor — clutching her belly, writhing, eyes bulging. Hot desperation consumed her. She couldn't breathe! She felt like she was drowning. . . .
Damn it!
She was squirming like a worm, unable to control herself. How could she have been so careless? She
knew
Gaia was a good fighter. A sickening nausea began to rise in her guts, creeping up to her throat. All the booze, no doubt. With every ounce of energy she focused on not vomiting. That would be just a little
too
humiliating.

Gaia stood over her, breathing heavily. “You're shit faced, Ella,” she said with maddening calm. “So I forgive you. Now, can I go upstairs?”

Ella tried to hurl an insult at her, but all she managed was a pathetic, wheezing gasp. She rolled over. Bad idea. Broken glass sliced into her sides, puncturing the skin. She glanced down and saw that she was bleeding from at least four different cuts. The blood was a deep, almost blackish red.

“Better clean that up,” Gaia muttered, then turned and clomped up the stairs in those hideous construction worker boots.

Gathering all her strength, Ella forced herself to sit up straight. She finally managed to catch her breath. “No wonder Sam doesn't love you!” she shouted hoarsely, lashing out with the most powerful ammo she had. She wanted to
hurt
Gaia now — hurt the girl down to her very soul. “You're more man than woman!”

Gaia paused on the top step, then glanced over her shoulder. “Tell you what,” she said — evenly, tonelessly. “If Sam loves you so much, then you and he can have my room. Because I won't be living in this house much longer. I'm going to go live with my uncle. He's taking me away from here. And he'll make sure I never have to look at either of your sick faces again in my life.”

Uncle?
Whatever pain Ella felt at being kicked in the stomach, it didn't compared to the utter horror she felt now. All at once she started gagging, choking back her own vomit. So that's what Gaia's cozy little dinner with Loki had been about. Loki was planning on fleeing with Gaia. And Ella wasn't part of the equation. It was a good thing she was so drunk right now. Because there was no way she could deal with this revelation sober. All those years, toiling away in this house for Loki's sake . . . all those years had been a lie. He'd been manipulating her the way he manipulated everyone else. And she'd been too blind with awe and love to see it.

The ultimate betrayal.

Ella sat amid the broken glass.
Think, think!
she cried to herself. Far upstairs, Gaia opened the door to her room and clomped around some more. Ella supposed she
could
just get her gun right now, march up there, and pump several holes into Loki's newest prize — thereby ending everyone's misery once and for all. But the sad truth of the matter was that she didn't think she could make it up to the top floor. She was too hurt, too drunk . . . too exhausted. Besides, Gaia wasn't going anywhere tonight.

No, Ella would take care of Gaia tomorrow. Blackness crept up on the corners of her vision, slowly enveloping her. The brownstone faded to nothingness.

Right now, she needed to sleep.

After
four months I've finally sort of gotten used to Ed hanging on me like a coat on a rack. Meeting me in the hallway between classes. Asking me for coffee after school. Persuading me to ditch the school lunch and go for doughnuts somewhere.

Now the only question in his life seems to be: to Heather or not to Heather? And I hate to admit it, but I actually miss him. Already. And the thing that really bites about the whole situation is that I still haven't told him about my uncle. He has no idea that I even
have
an uncle. So, obviously he has no idea that I've decided to go for option number two. Leaving town. Living on the lam.

That's right. I've thought about it and thought about it, and I really have no choice. Especially after that pathetic little incident with Ella in the front hall. I can't go on living like this. There's nothing for me here. School is a waste. I figured
that
out last week. I knew it at dinner: There's nothing to hold on to in New York except Ed. Of course, in an ideal world I would have both Ed
and
Uncle Oliver. And I would finally figure out what the deal is between Sam Moon and me . . .

Actually, in an ideal world I would still be living the boring life of a suburban teenager with both parents in upstate New York. But let's not change the subject.

Anyway. Ed is the only thing I'll miss from my life here. That and Krispy Kreme doughnuts. But who knows? Maybe I'll be able to dig up some of those in Europe or South America or wherever else I end up.

In a way, I almost hope Ed and Heather do get together because that will make it easier for me to leave. I'll know he needs me so much less. Because he has her. And I will have Uncle Oliver. This is my destiny: to be part of a family.

And then we'll all be happy. Right?

With her thumb, she clicked off the safety. A tingle of anticipation shot down her spine. This moment had been a long time coming.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG while the weather was actually warm enough to make chess in the park tolerable. So as soon as the final bell rang, Gaia headed straight for her old tables in Washington Square. She didn't even know why she bothered
going
to school that day. Well, actually that wasn't quite true. She had to go
somewhere
— at least to get the hell out of the house. And the thought of spending all day in a coffee shop or a diner just didn't sound appealing. Besides, she was pretty much broke. She couldn't afford to eat anything but cafeteria food. And she'd wanted to see Ed, too, of course.

Luckily Ella had still been passed out on the front hall floor this morning. Gaia had merely stepped over her and left. Of course, Gaia had also entertained a fantasy about sweeping up the broken glass and mopping up the dried blood and putting all the garbage into a huge plastic bag — with Ella, too, obviously — and tossing everything in a Dumpster. But no . . . that was too petty and would take too much effort. Ella would be out of her life soon enough.

“Hello, Ceendy!” Zolov cried as Gaia approached.

Gaia waved, then quickly stuck her hand back in her coat pocket, squinting in the harsh afternoon sunlight. As usual, Zolov was facing off against Mr. Haq — and as usual, Zolov's ever present red-helmeted Mighty Morphin Power Ranger sat by the side of the board. A strange, wistful feeling passed through Gaia's chest as she stared at it. Depending on when Oliver wanted to leave, this might very well be the last time that she saw Zolov and Mr. Haq . . . that she came here to play. It was sad, in a way.

But not
that
sad.

“Looks like Mr. Haq's got you cornered,” Gaia said as she stood over them.

Zolov sneered. “Ha! I beat him. You see. I beat everyone.”

Gaia laughed — then froze. Wait. What was that? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she sharpened her gaze. That flash of burgundy. Across the park, among the crowd . . . There was no mistaking it. Gaia followed it with her eyes. Her fists clenched at her sides. It was her, all right. Ella. She was moving fast down a park path and toward Waverly. So she'd managed to haul herself off the floor. But what was she doing
here?

And then it struck her.

Yes.
Duh
. Ella was on her way to see her little boy toy, Sam Moon.

“. . . next game, Ceendy?” Zolov was asking. Gaia blinked and shook her head, but she couldn't tear her gaze from Ella. “Huh? I'm sorry, what?”

“Do you want next game?”

“No, thanks,” she answered, and found herself leaving the table — chasing after the woman she so hated. She had some unfinished business to attend to. Yes. She had to confront Ella and Sam together. She had to see it with her own eyes.

And then she'd never have to see them again.

THE PLAN WAS WORKING PERFECTLY. Using a car's passenger-side window as a mirror, Ella scanned the park behind her. Sure enough, Gaia was following her — and closing fast.

No doubt the little bitch figured that Ella was going to meet Sam. Just as Ella had intended.

Gaia's pathetic predictability was about the only thing that could make Ella feel better right now. Painkillers certainly weren't working — and she'd taken several different brands, both prescription and nonprescription. When her eyes had popped open about two hours ago, she'd experienced such an instantaneous, overwhelming wave of agony that she'd actually been
scared
. And the agony came from more than one source. Her brain was swollen, several sizes too big for her skull. Her stomach was burning, raw. Food had been impossible. And then there had been the broken glass in which she'd found herself lying. Some of it had cut her pretty deeply. She was still bleeding, in fact. She would probably need stitches.

But first she had to dispose of Gaia.

Besides, she could handle pain. Even the pain of being betrayed by Loki. Of being
used
. Of sacrificing everything for him, only to be discarded like a piece of broken or obsolete equipment. She knew now that in his eyes, she was exactly that. But still, she could handle it. He would suffer plenty when Gaia no longer existed.

Yes, pain was controllable — as was Gaia, much to her delight. Ella swallowed, her throat still dry, as she crossed the street. Each step sent another wave of queasiness through her body. But she didn't mind. She shot another quick glance at the window of a parked car; Gaia was now probably less than fifteen feet behind her. This was ridiculously easy. Ella slipped her hand into her open shoulder bag. Her fingers brushed against the cold steel of the silencer, screwed tightly into her thirty-eight-caliber pistol. A smile spread across her face. There was something undeniably sexy about a gun. There was power, mystique.

With her thumb, she clicked off the safety. A tingle of anticipation shot down her spine. This moment had been a long time coming.
Too
long.

She hesitated for a moment on the opposite side of the street. The sun was at a low angle — bright, glaring, disorienting. Night was preferable, but Ella could wait no longer. Anyway, the risk was minimal. Nobody was looking at her. The streets were relatively empty, as was the park. And there was a convenient little alley where she could duck after the deed was finished. Within seconds she would lose the gun, slip on a wig, and emerge on Eighth Street . . . a different person, with no idea of the murder that had just been committed. A visit to her trusty plastic surgeon would complete the transformation. And victory would be hers.