Twist of Fate (9 page)

“I'm not sure.” His fingers flexed lightly on her knee. “Give me a little counseling?”

“Why? What's bothering you about this whole situation, anyway? It's the way your world works. You must understand it better than anyone. You've chosen it, you're good at what you do, and you don't want to change things. Why come to me for advice?”

She knew she was challenging him, pushing him harder than she should have but she couldn't seem to stop. The damned internal logic of the situation, she decided glumly. After having let him make a fool of her, she was compelled to reap what small retaliation might be available.

“Maybe,” said Gideon slowly, “I came to you because I wanted an objective viewpoint.”

“Objective! After what you did to me how could I possibly be objective? Try again, Gideon.”

“Jesus Christ!” He released her leg, got to his feet and stalked across the room to peer out at the tiny balcony. “I don't know anyone else I can talk to about it. I wanted a little professional advice. Maybe I came to you because I don't want to have to crush Hugh Ballantine.”

“Why not?” This was getting dangerous and Hannah sensed it. And she missed the soothing touch on her knee.

He swung around, his voice turning harsh. “Don't you understand? I know where he's coming from. I sat across from him in a bar last night and I knew exactly what he was thinking. I knew every emotion that was driving him.”

Hannah understood. She simply hadn't wanted to admit it. Understanding too often led to sympathy and she couldn't afford compassion with this man. “He's where you were nine years ago, isn't he, Gideon? You're seeing not just the image of the man who betrayed you, you're seeing yourself when you look at him.”

“Damn right!” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as if unknotting muscles that had bunched in preparation for a battle. “It's starting to eat at me. I know it's asinine to let myself think like this. Much simpler to just wipe Ballantine off the map. Safer, too.”

This time Hannah couldn't repress the flicker of compassion. Talk about asinine! She had long ago learned to accept the softness in herself even though there were times, such as now, when it was wholly unwarranted.

“I think it must be the season for it.” She leaned her head back against the cushion.

“The season for what?”

“Seeing ourselves in someone else. You look at Ballantine and see a man at the same crossroads you were at nine years ago. It bothers you because you know what happened after the first big, satisfying kill. If it's any consolation, I've recently met someone who disturbs me in a slightly different way. I see her and I see the bright, professional cultural anthropologist I could have been if I'd taken a different path a few years ago. It's an odd sensation. Up until now I've always told myself I made the right choice when I dropped out of graduate school. But when I see Vicky Armitage I'm not so sure. Maybe we're both going through a midlife crisis, Gideon.”

“Maybe we both need a vacation.”

“You've just had yours, remember? You were in Vegas,” she pointed out.

“I mean a real vacation. A change of pace.”

Hannah ran her palm lightly over the arm of the sofa, unsure of where this was going. “Personally, I plan on taking one. Tomorrow.”

Gideon gave her a whimsical smile. “I don't suppose you'd invite me along on your trip?”

“Are you kidding? That would be rather like a goldfish inviting a shark to go swimming, wouldn't it? Not at all relaxing for the goldfish. Besides, you wouldn't enjoy it. There aren't any casinos on Santa Inez.”

“I don't feel like gambling this year. I just spent a day trying it and it didn't work.” Gideon moved back toward her, sinking down on one knee beside her again. “Is the leg any better?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“What's so surprising about it?” He went back to work on the muscles, sending another wave of relaxation through her.

Unconsciously Hannah let out a long sigh of relief and closed her eyes again. “I didn't think a man with your hands would have any gentleness in his fingers.”

“You think I wash my hands in blood every day?”

“No, just a couple of times a week.”

He let that ride, kneading and gentling for another few minutes before asking, “How did the accident happen?”

“I don't have much recollection of it. The doctors said that was normal. I was unconscious for a while and probably lost a few minutes of memory. It's quite common, I'm told. I was coming back late at night from a friend's house. She and her husband live east of here, up in the mountains. I know it was raining and that I probably swerved to miss another car. The police said I may have drifted over the white line and panicked when I saw someone else's headlights coming at me, then overcorrected and sent myself off the road. I'll never know for sure, and the rain was so heavy that it made the accident difficult to reconstruct afterward. Wiped out most of the tire tracks. There is, however, a rather gaping hole in the guard rail where it happened.”

“That's your Toyota parked on the street downstairs? The red one?”

Hannah nodded, not opening her eyes. The bliss of an ache-free knee was overtaking her common sense. Funny what pain, or conversely, the lack of it could do to you. Anyone who had the ability to remove physical pain must have some redeeming qualities. “That's it. The one with all the primer on it. Finally got it back from the body shop last week. They're going to paint it while I'm in the Caribbean.”

“From the locations of the primer coating I would have guessed you'd been sideswiped,” Gideon remarked.

Hannah found the energy to open her eyes. Her mouth tilted slightly at the corners. “That's what Tommy said, too.”

“Tommy?”

“The guy at the body shop who pounded out the dents. But the police think I did the damage going through the guard rail and sideswiping a tree, not another car.”

“Did the cops spend a lot of time on the case?”

“No. It seemed to them a pretty clear-cut example of a single-car accident. They were more concerned with whether I'd been drinking.”

Gideon's fingers tightened fractionally, just enough to remind Hannah that underneath the new comfort zone there was still a lot of sore tissue. “Had you?”

“Only a considerable quantity of unfiltered apple juice. My friends in the mountains are back-to-nature freaks.” Hannah wondered how long Gideon would be willing to go on massaging the leg. She would be willing to pay a very high fee for this kind of service. “You've got good hands,” she murmured after a bit. “Maybe you missed your calling.”

“That thought's been worrying me a lot lately,” he told her. “Think I could have made it in the field of massage?”

“Either that or the field of hand-to-hand combat.” She stretched luxuriously, sitting up with reluctance. “There's a fine line between the two. I'll give you credit for knowing where the boundary is. Vicky Armitage sure as hell didn't.”

Gideon eyed her as she carefully swung her feet off the sofa. He sat down beside her. “Would you have dinner with me this evening, Hannah?”

She blinked owlishly, instant suspicion flaring in her. “I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Can't,” she told him firmly. “My brother and some friends are giving me a bon voyage party this evening.”

“You look grateful for the excuse.”

“I am.” She smiled faintly. “We goldfish learn early that when a shark invites one of us to dinner, chances are we're the entrée.”

H
E WASN'T DRUNK
, Gideon decided, considering the matter objectively as he pushed open the glass door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He'd had enough Scotch to relax him, help him unwind, but he wasn't drunk. Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling particularly relaxed or unwound, either. Gideon shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and wondered how Hannah's bon voyage party was proceeding. Probably quite nicely. Hannah undoubtedly had a lot of good friends. Gideon reminded himself that he wasn't among them.

Behind him the restaurant's glass door hissed shut, cutting off the warmth and sophisticated ambience inside as neatly as if imprisoning it under a bell jar. Not a bad analogy, Gideon told himself as he turned and walked toward the street corner. The entire restaurant seemed to have been made of glass, although he hadn't gotten any farther than the stylish salmon-and-gray toned bar. The view had been spectacular, each gigantic glass window framing a scene of Elliott Bay at night.

From the cozy bar area with its gleaming machine that dispensed any number of exotic wines by the glass, Gideon had been able to watch the lights on the ferries that plied the night-darkened water. Occasionally a huge cargo ship had coasted slowly past, moving toward port with a litter of small tugs hovering anxiously around it. Very scenic and a little unreal when viewed from the safe confines of the upscale bar.

Now, if he wanted atmosphere with more of a touch of reality he could try one of the places on First or Second Avenue that he had walked past earlier that evening. Those places weren't made of glass. They tended to be black holes in the old buildings that were making a last stand against the downtown revitalization programs. Defiantly, the worn, brick facades held their own against the expensive condos and office buildings that were slowly but steadily encroaching. The black holes would provide lots of interesting, highly realistic atmosphere, all right. Gideon was willing to bet that Hannah had never actually been inside a place like one of those. It would be interesting to see her practice her guidance counseling techniques on some of the inhabitants.

There was a biting nip in the early summer air. A real change from the June heat of Vegas and Tucson. The lightweight linen sport jacket Gideon wore wasn't much protection. The garment would be just right for an evening out on a Caribbean island, however. Gideon thought about that, turning the idea over in his mind as he crossed the cobbled street that led through the Pike Place Market. It wasn't the first time the notion had slipped into his mind. A part of his brain had been playing with the idea all afternoon, ever since he had left Hannah's apartment. It was probably her import shop decor that had started him thinking about islands. That and the fact that he'd seen her airline tickets lying on the kitchen counter when he'd made coffee. It was easy to make reservations on an airline. All a man had to do was pick up the phone.

The cobbled street was lined with imported cars whose trendy owners were safely tucked away inside the equally trendy restaurants that dotted the Market. When said owners returned to their vehicles they would get inside, lock the doors, and drive quickly through the black-hole sections of town until they reached the welcoming security garages of their fashionable apartments or condos.

Gideon knew he had a lot of nerve being so damned condescending. After all, he drove an expensive import himself, and for a long time now he had patronized expensive, trendy restaurants, not black holes.

Gideon walked the length of the Market, passing the vegetable stalls that were closed for the night. There was a slight, lurching movement in a doorway. Gideon identified the cause: someone who in the past would have been referred to as a bum but who now came under the more socially acceptable label
street person
. Apparently the guy had missed the free city bus ride back to one of the missions in Pioneer Square. The mission doors were closed now. Anyone left out in the cold had to seek the shelter of a doorway or a stairwell.

Gideon mused on his own prospective shelter for the night. The hotel room was expensive, luxurious, and lonely. On the other hand, there was a nice lounge where he could have one more Scotch before going to bed. Once more he thought of Hannah at her party. He didn't really like parties, especially those filled with strangers, but if he were there with Hannah the two of them could ignore the others.

He wanted to talk to her again, Gideon realized as he left the Market behind and crossed First Avenue. There was something appealing about talking to Hannah, even though she was more or less hostile toward him now. He'd like some more of her idealistic advice, even though he knew that he couldn't act on it. He was too far gone down another road. In the past nine years he'd closed off too many of his options and he knew it.

The morbid feeling grew as he walked another block toward the hotel. The morbid sensation turned grim and the grim mood turned aggressive and belligerent. Hands still thrust into his pockets, Gideon kept walking. There were others on the street. A few young prostitutes, male and female, watched him from the shelter of their doorways but something about him kept them from calling out. Gideon could smell the acrid scents of marijuana and cloves and urine as he passed the alleys. A couple of groups of cruising toughs sauntered past. They eyed him with the cold, voracious gaze of young piranhas but they didn't get in his way.

Gideon turned the corner at the next block, heading in the general direction of the expensive, luxurious, lonely hotel room that awaited him, and found himself on a much less active street. Here there were no prostitutes revealed in the streetlights, and the loose gangs of leather-jacketed teenagers weren't prowling. Gideon kept walking.

The man with the knife stepped out of the dark mouth of an alley next to a video rental shop that was closed for the night. Gideon felt the movement a second before he found the blade of the knife in front of him. The aggressive, belligerent feeling surged to the surface of his consciousness. Normally he got rid of the frustrated, angry sensations by swimming. But there were other ways to do it, ways he hadn't used in a long time. He stared at the haggard face of the man holding the knife.

“You want something?” Gideon asked very politely.

“Yeah, dude. I want something. A lot of things. I'll start with the wallet.” He made a quick, upwardly arcing motion with the blade and held out his other hand. There was a glittering wildness in his eyes. “Let's have it.”

“Don't let the sportcoat fool you. You're not the only one who's had the advantage of a street education. You want the wallet? Come and take it.”

The glittering eyes narrowed. “This ain't no game, slick. I can cut you open 'fore you get a chance to yell.”

“Show me.”

“Son of a bitch. Give me the wallet!”

Gideon said nothing. He waited with a sense of gathering excitement. This was what he needed tonight. But the need must have been showing in his eyes because the younger man wasn't moving in on him.

“I ain't bullshittin', slick. Hand over the wallet or I'll…” The knife wavered as a car turned the corner and started down the street. The man glanced past Gideon, swore crudely and vanished down the alley.

Gideon didn't need to look around to know what kind of vehicle had turned the corner. He resumed walking. A few seconds later the police car cruised past. It slowed and the cop on the passenger side rolled down his window. He took one look at the expensive linen sport jacket and the Italian leather shoes and made his identification at once. Tourist.

“You lost, buddy?”

Gideon sighed. “No. I'm on my way back to my hotel.” He named it.

“This isn't the best route.”

“The hotel's only three blocks from here.” He tried to keep the hostility out of his voice. His whole body was seething with unreleased tension and adrenaline.

“Walk up to the next block and then turn right. It's a little healthier than following this street.”

“Thank you, officer. I'll do that.”

The police car managed to stay within sight until Gideon had obediently walked up to the more active thoroughfare. It was a thoughtful gesture on the part of the Seattle police department but Gideon didn't feel much like thanking anyone. He wondered how he was going to get rid of this restless, frustrated aggression. The hotel didn't have a pool.

The hotel did, however, have that nice lounge, Gideon reminded himself as he walked into the heavily carpeted lobby. Without any hesitation he started toward it. One hour and two Scotches later he left the padded stool to find the lobby telephones. There was no answer in Hannah's apartment. Still partying. Gideon hung up and dialed the airline on which she was booked to Santa Inez. A man had a right to a decent vacation. There would be unlimited swimming available in the Caribbean.

 

H
ANNAH KNEW
she should have been more astonished to see Gideon pacing the departure lounge at SeaTac airport the next morning. She couldn't quite figure out why she wasn't. She must have spent too much of last night thinking about him. She collected her boarding pass from the agent and hitched the strap of the many-buckled leather flight bag over one shoulder. She put her weight on the cane and walked toward Gideon with a sense of inevitability.

“I suppose you've got a good reason for being here.” She planted herself aggressively in front of him. She was wearing a swashbuckling military-style shirt and pants in khaki twill. The clothing had arrived the day before from the mail order house from which Hannah ordered most of her things. Her favorite two-inch wide belt of British harness leather completed the rakish look. The clothes gave her a sense of bravado she found useful around people such as Gideon Cage.

He winced. “Could you keep your voice down? My head hurts like hell.”

“Hangover?”

“Don't sound so damned pleased.” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “Where the hell have you been? They're already boarding.”

“I'm not much good at rushing these days.” She tapped the cane on the floor to emphasize the reason. “And even when I am in good running form, I make it a practice not to run just because somebody else thinks I should. I'm perverse that way. I'd make a lousy corporate employee. You haven't answered my question, Gideon. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I didn't come to wave goodbye.”

“I'm not surprised. You don't strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Here, give me that.” He took the flight bag from her shoulder and reached down to pick up his own leather carry-on bag. “Let's get moving. We've got a plane to catch.”

“Isn't this pushing your desire for guidance counseling a little too far? Gideon, I didn't invite you along on this trip.”

“On the other hand, you don't look real startled to see me.” He led the way toward the boarding tunnel.

The man was a little too perceptive, even in his hungover state. Hannah trailed down the boarding ramp after him, aware that she was leaning too heavily on the cane. Her leg seemed especially uncomfortable and she guessed it was because she had spent too much time on her feet at the party.

“Here,” Gideon said as he paused beside a row and began stuffing their flight bags into the overhead bins. “You can have the aisle seat. It'll be easier on that leg.”

“Your thoughtfulness overwhelms me.”

“Yeah, I thought it might.” He slid into the window seat and reached for her elbow as she lowered herself onto the cushion. “Are you okay? You look a little beat.”

“Since mornings are my best time, I'm not likely to get much better as the day progresses.” Hannah leaned her head back and closed her eyes, buckling the seat belt blindly. “Talk, Gideon.”

She had her eyes closed, so she didn't see him shrug but she sensed the vague gesture in his voice. “I told you. I need a vacation. I've never been to Santa Inez.”

“And where do you propose to stay on Santa Inez?”

“There'll be hotels. There are always hotels.”

“Just tell me why you're doing this, Gideon.”

“If I knew, I'd tell you.”

Hannah opened her eyes as the jet crouched at the head of the runway, its engines roaring to life. “You don't know why you're here? Other than the fact that you want a vacation?”

Gideon massaged his forehead, looking deeply pained. “Does there have to be more of a reason?”

She was about to tell him that there definitely had to be more of a reason, much more, but the jet was rolling very quickly now, straining for lift-off. Hannah didn't feel like pitching her voice above the grinding noise. She eyed him covertly as the green hills of Seattle dropped away beneath the plane. Gideon Cage did indeed look hungover. She found the thought curiously interesting. It didn't quite fit the mosaic she had mentally constructed.

“Do you get drunk often?” Hannah inquired politely as the jet leveled off.

He slanted her a hard-edged glance. “What do you think?”

“I think you don't do it too frequently,” she responded honestly. “Being that out of control wouldn't fit your personality. Where did you go last night?”