Trust (9 page)

ELLA PUFFED FURIOUSLY ON THE cigarette — her third in twenty minutes. The hot smoke warmed her insides. Her strides were swift, deliberate. People stepped aside for her, as well they should have. She was in no mood to be polite tonight. Fortunately she would be home soon. The brownstone was only a few more blocks down West Fourth Street. What she really needed right now was a drink. Yes . . . a soothing, numbing drink to blot out what she had seen back on Mulberry Street.

No matter how hard she tried to forget, or rationalize, or shrug off Loki's dinner with Gaia at Compagno's, her mind kept coming back to the same question: Why hadn't he
told
her that he would be meeting his niece there? What motive could he possibly have? The answer, too, wouldn't go away. And it chilled her with a far greater intensity than the blustery winter night.

Loki was cutting Ella out of his life.

He had a new agenda now, one that didn't involve her in any way. She drew deeply on the cigarette, shaking her head as she rounded the corner onto Perry Street. Once an operative was out of Loki's sphere, then it inevitably followed that he or she would be out of the realm of the living. Ella knew she'd let him down a few times, but his recent behavior with her had been so tender. So forgiving. She swallowed. It had all been an act, obviously. And it would take more than a couple of glasses of wine to help her deal with what lay in store for her.

She stopped short suddenly, debating whether or not to buy a bottle of liquor for herself. Yes. She needed something —
anything
.

She turned and to her utter shock found herself face-to-face with a dark figure. The cigarette dropped from her mouth, tumbling end over end to the sidewalk.

“Loki,” she whispered.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, his cold blue eyes like dead stones in the night.

Immediately she felt a flutter of hope. He must have seen her outside the restaurant. Of course — he'd seen her and followed her home, abandoning Gaia.
Abandoning her for me
, Ella thought. So she
wasn't
in mortal danger. Not yet, anyway. A shaky sigh passed her lips. She reached out to him, running her fingers across his coat sleeve.

“I'm glad you followed me,” she murmured.

He stepped back, out of arm's length. “I . . . I have to go,” he mumbled. His voice sounded strangely high-pitched. He whirled and ran back toward West Fourth Street, melting into the shadows of the park.

Ella gaped after him. What had
that
been all about? What was he trying to do? Did he want her to follow him? She frowned. He was clearly playing some kind of game with her, subjecting her to some kind of test. So maybe he
didn't
want her to follow him. That would be the obvious thing to do. The
weak
thing. Loki prized strength above everything else. If she simply ignored him, if she simply continued on her way, she would be proving to him that she was self-reliant. She would earn his respect again.

That was what he wanted, wasn't it?

Shaking her head, she turned back to the brownstone. A shudder ran down the length of her body. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or unnerved. One thing was for certain, though. She needed that drink now more than ever.

ED HAD NO IDEA WHAT HE WAS feeling as he waited for Gaia to come upstairs. None at all. He was perfectly numb. His mind was blank. Maybe this was what prizefighters felt after they had gone ten rounds in the ring with the heavyweight champion. Or lobotomy patients after their operations. Anyone who had suffered major head trauma. He felt beyond drained. Beyond
anything
. Just . . . zilch.

Normally he would have been thrilled that Gaia had dropped in on him by surprise at midnight. Normally he would have been thrilled that Heather had all but invited herself over and thrown herself at him. Normally, normally, normally —

There was a loud knock on the door.

“It's open,” he mumbled.

Gaia quickly stepped inside, then frowned as she looked Ed up and down. He didn't even care that his shirt was untucked or his fly was unzipped. Caring took too much energy.

“Did I come at a bad time?” she asked tentatively.

Ed grinned and ran a hand through his tousled dark brown hair. “Something like that.”

Gaia frowned.

“Heather was just here,” he stated. Surprisingly, it was a relief to just come out and admit the truth. He was too exhausted to try to put up a front. Besides, Gaia always ended up seeing through his lies, anyway.

Remarkably, she didn't even seem bothered. She peered at him closely. “Ed, are you all right?”

“Me?” He jerked slightly. The question caught him off guard. “Uh . . . yeah.”

Gaia's face softened. She smirked. Then her brow grew furrowed. “Do you know that I can see your underwear right now?”

Ed nodded. His shoulders sagged. He reached down and yanked up the fly on his jeans, then turned and rolled toward the living room. Gaia followed softly behind him.

“I interrupted something between you guys, didn't I?” she asked.

“Not really,” he answered. In a way, that was the truth. Whatever had been going on between them had stopped long before Gaia had showed up.

“Come on, Ed.” She quickly stepped in front of his wheelchair and leaned over him, resting her arms on the rails. “You can talk to me about this.”

Ed blinked at her. Now
this
was a weird turn of events. He was always encouraging
her
to open up — and the one time the roles were actually reversed, he was refusing. An event like this was about as commonplace as a total eclipse of the sun.

“Um . . . aren't we supposed to be in a fight right now?” he joked.

Gaia smiled. “That's why I'm here. To end it.” Her grip tightened on the sides of his chair. “But I'm not letting you move until you tell me what's wrong.”

He swallowed, his gaze roving over her face, but then he bowed his head. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to relive the night again.

“Well, then just answer me this,” Gaia said wryly. “Is everyone on earth getting some except me?”

That made him crack a tiny smile. “You had your chance,” he whispered, unsure of whether he was kidding around or not.

“I know,” she said, playing along. “And I've kicked myself a thousand times. I guess it wasn't meant to be. In the meantime . . . are you in love with Heather?”

Ed flinched. “No,” he snapped, frowning. He shook his head. “No. I can't stand her. I hate her.”

But Gaia just kept grinning. “Ed,” she said as kindly as he'd ever heard her, “we have to work on your lying skills.”

Ed
Fargo. The joker. The guy who has an I Brake for Leprechauns sticker on the back of his wheelchair. The guy (one of the few) who truly appreciates Krispy Kreme doughnuts. The guy who has always been just plain, goofy Ed.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that he s never been an option . . . romantically, that is. But when I walked into his apartment and saw the state he was in, with his shirt out and his hair so messy, I have to tell you objectively, he's good-looking. Really good-looking. And I know that doesn't make any sense, but people always look their best to me when they're sloppy.

But for some reason, I've never even considered that somebody might think of Ed in those terms. Especially Heather Gannis. But I have to admit, there seems to be some actual emotion here on Ed's part.

So where does that leave me? There s Heather and Sam, Sam and Ella (I don't want to think about that), and now Ed and Heather. . . . A pattern seems to be forming. Lots and lots of hookups are going on, and I'm the only one who isn't involved.

These are my teenage years, and while I don't want to go around being a total slut, it would be great if
someone
would show some interest in
me
once in a while.

But that s not the point. The point is, I've made up with Ed. I've even accepted the fact that he likes Heather. I've even (and this is the really big one) accepted the fact that Sam is a total asshole and that I never want to see him again. I'm moving on. And Ed is the only one I'm taking with me. I've got a new mission in life: to become part of a family again.

So in some ways, I guess nothing has really changed.

Sam grabbed Mike's hand to check for a pulse. It was only then that he saw the hypodermic syringe still sticking out of Mike's left forearm.

SATURDAY MORNINGS ALWAYS MADE Tom think of Katia. She had been old-fashioned in many respects, and it had only contributed to her sense of mystery. Even after they had settled in America — traveling in sophisticated circles, privy to top secret governmental information — still, on Saturday mornings Katia always tried to go to synagogue.

When they were in New York, she went to a small, conservative temple on St. Marks Place. Several times, in fact, they had taken Gaia to Shabbat services there . . . all of which made this moment all the more disturbing.

Here he was, on a Saturday morning in New York, and instead of watching Katia prepare herself for religious observance, Tom was trailing Ella Niven, watching as she approached the Little Village Church on Astor Place for a nondenominational ten o'clock service.

There was no way she was going to worship — he could tell
that
from the way she was dressed. She was wrapped up in a thick brown leather car coat, trimmed with fake leopard fur. Her matching spike-heeled leather ankle boots made a rapid
rat-a-tat-tat
on the church steps like an automatic weapon. Not exactly the garb of a pious devotee. She had to be meeting someone.

Loki, probably.

Tom shuddered once. The memory of last night's bizarre encounter still clung to him like a layer of some kind of vile slime. She'd actually believed that
he
was Loki. Of course, that was precisely what he'd wanted her to believe. He was still furious that he'd allowed himself to get caught tailing her — but he'd reacted to the situation in a split second, slipping into a role . . . a role he knew better than any other. His years of training had paid off handsomely in that moment. Yet he felt so many conflicting emotions: shock at the obvious sexual nature of Ella's relationship with his twin, rage at her betrayal of George — but most of all, horror. Horror at the fact that Loki had been so close to Gaia for so long.

None of that mattered at the moment, however. Tom couldn't allow his feelings to cloud his judgment or impede the task at hand. He hadn't last night. He was a professional. He had work to do.

He picked up his pace and followed Ella through the thick double doors.

It took him a moment to get used to the slightly dimmer light. The air was warm and stuffy, and despite the vases of fresh flowers, still, the church had a sad air of neglect. Rich organ music filled the room. There were only about eight people in the pews. But that made it easy to see the dark figure disappearing down a side aisle toward the emergency exit door.

Tom sped after her, ignoring the few startled looks he received. Ella had passed through the emergency exit soundlessly — but as soon as Tom opened it, a huge, clanging alarm sounded.

He froze for a moment, stunned.
Damn!

Now Ella knew that she was being tailed. He shut the door firmly behind him and found himself in a dark, narrow alley that obviously saw daylight only at noon in the middle of summer. Luckily he caught a glimpse of her disappearing behind a brick wall at the end of the passageway. Running as silently as possible, Tom pursued her.

He flew down the alley, dodging garbage cans, startled rats, dank puddles lined with scum and mold. At its end he turned right, almost bouncing off the wall to make the turn fast.
There!
Once more he caught a quick glimpse of her. His nerves immediately started to tingle. That was too neat, just a bit too easy, wasn't it? Maybe she was setting a trap. An experienced agent would have lost him by now . . . and there was no longer any doubt in his mind that Ella was an experienced agent.

He shot out the entrance to the alley — and almost got run over by a truck.

“Whoa!” he gasped.

He flung himself backward at the last second, almost tumbling over a bench. With his breath coming fast and pulse racing, he scanned the street. Ella was nowhere in sight. Of course. She'd drawn him straight into a busy thoroughfare in hopes that he would get flattened. He scowled. She'd toyed with him. She'd managed to lose him as if he were an amateur.

Tom cursed himself for being a fool. Although — wait a minute. He wasn't too far from NYU. He could go check on Sam Moon.

Who knew . . . he might even run into Ella there.

ANOTHER SATURDAY MORNING, ANOTHER sleepless night.

Sam sat on his unmade bed, gazing over the mess that smothered his entire room. It was amazing how one's living conditions worsened in perfect proportion to one's sanity. He sniffed once, then grimaced. He could smell the stink in here. Not a good sign. Saturdays were a lot different now, weren't they? A few months ago he would wake up after a long sleep and think:
All right! Saturday!
No classes, no labs. Just regular homework duties, hanging out, maybe a football game later . . . and of course, a routine phone call to Heather.

A twinge of guilt shot through him.

Heather . . .

All of a sudden he had a flash of the whole ugly scene with Ella last night. He went cold and clammy. He rubbed his hands over his face. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been shit faced the night he'd met her, if he hadn't just found out about Heather and Charlie Salita,
if, if, if
. . . if he wasn't a spineless jerk with the morals of an alley cat, then he wouldn't be in this mess. It was a big “if.” And now Gaia knew the truth, too. Which meant that he was truly and royally screwed with the one person he felt might be his soul mate.

But maybe Ella was just making that up. Maybe she'd just been yanking his chain. That seemed to be a specialty of hers.

And maybe he was just a confused, messed-up kid going through a bad time.

Yeah, right. He was a jerk. But if he could just have a fresh start, a chance to clear everything up, a chance to put things right . . . then everything would be okay.

Sam glanced at the window. Morning light was filtering in through the sagging and bent venetian blinds. He needed a plan. Only, it was hard to prioritize. Grades? They wouldn't be hard to fix. He could study like a madman, not miss a single lecture, take great notes. Yes. He felt a surge of confidence — but that could have just been due to sleep deprivation.

No, no . . . he could do this. He would fix one thing at a time.

What was next? Heather. Of course. He had to break up with her. But in a nice way. Let her down easy. Let her know it wasn't her; it was him. That she deserved someone better. Good. That was a good plan. As soon as he got up and took a shower, he would call her and ask to get together soon. She wouldn't even be that upset. After all, the last time he'd seen her, she'd run away from him. And why not? He'd shown up at her school, looking for Gaia and acting like a madman. Heather would
thank
him for letting her off the hook.

Okay. Heather problem taken care of.

That left Gaia. The tricky part.

Suddenly Sam felt like it was time to go take a cold shower. He needed to be awake, alert, to shake off his sleeplessness. He stood up and lurched toward his door. He'd seen Gaia — was it just yesterday? The day before? But nothing was ever normal between them. It never had been. They'd had nothing but one weird misunderstanding and messed-up communication after another ever since they had met.

He had to get it all straight. He had to see what was going on in her head, how she felt about him. Most important, he had to tell her how he felt about her. And he had to warn her that she was living with a psychotic maniac.

That last part might be a little tricky.

But he could do it. He had to. Somehow he just knew they were supposed to be together, that everything in his life up until now was leading him to her. They were like pieces on a chessboard and the chessboard was the entire city of New York and while each move put them in greater peril, the moves also brought them closer. Yes. It was destiny. Somehow he would convince her to give him a chance. And then she could explain exactly what the hell she had been doing, ignoring all his e-mails, his phone calls, and his chess set.

Yawning and stretching, Sam headed out into the small, dingy common area he shared with his two suite mates. He snickered as he saw Mike Suarez slumped against the ragged foam couch, mouth open. Now
here
was somebody who was enjoying the college life. Evil stalkers and kidnappings played no part in Mike's NYU experience. Nope. He just went out and got so wasted that he couldn't even make it to bed. Good for him . . .

But then Sam paused for a moment.

Mike actually looked
really
bad. Jesus. How much had he drunk last night? Sam hadn't even heard him come in. Sam crouched down beside the couch. His pulse immediately quickened. Mike's eyes were open a tiny slit. There was foam flecking the corner of his mouth. His skin was cold and gray.
Shit
. Sam grabbed Mike's hand to check for a pulse.

It was only then that he saw the hypodermic syringe still sticking out of Mike's left forearm.