Alone (11 page)

THE COUNTRYSIDE WHIZZED PAST
Tom at an alarming rate as he raced through it on the saddle of a borrowed Harley. It was a little macho, maybe even smacking of a slight midlife crisis, but there was no denying that it was the quickest way to get from point A (the resort) to point B (the airport).

They had frozen Loki's assets. Now they had to get the hell out of Dodge. Once Loki found out what Tom had done, he would strike where he was most vulnerable: Gaia. It killed Tom not to be close enough to protect her. On a normal day, Loki was dangerous. When threatened, the danger factor was raised exponentially.

The 500 ccs of power hummed beneath his saddle while Natasha held on around his waist. He veered down every back road imaginable, finally seeing the airport in the hazy distance. There was a back entrance that he remembered from a long-ago assignment here,
and he shot for it, hoping against hope it hadn't been fenced in.

It hadn't. All was well as he buzzed across the wide tarmac, heading for the chartered plane parked at a short distance from the tiny airport. The gangway was lowered; the pilot was already aboard: All was ready to get him out of this country and back to New York.

He pulled the bike up short, allowed Natasha to hop off the back, and stepped off, throwing down the kickstand and yanking off his helmet in one fluid motion.

“Nick!” he shouted up to the pilot, an old friend from other operations. “Are you going to get me the hell out of this godforsaken paradise?”

“Before you can say ‘piña colada,'” Nick responded. “Now, get your sorry ass up here before I have to take off without you.”

Tom was halfway up the gangway, and Natasha was already strapped into her seat, when his cell phone rang. “Go,” he told her.

“Tom, it's George,” he heard. “Did I catch you in time?”

“In time for what? We're taxiing down the runway in about eight seconds,” Tom said.

“Stop! Don't leave the island,” George insisted. His voice held a desperate urgency. “Loki is there. He found out what you were doing and where you are,
and he's on the island now. You can't leave there—you've got to neutralize him first.”

“What?” He grabbed Nick's arm, stopping him from pulling the air lock closed. “Loki is here?”

Natasha leapt from her seat, already prepared for the change of plans.

“He's there,” George repeated. “At the estate on the south fork of the island—I've sent the address to your Blackberry.”

Tom looked at the e-mail and noted the location.

“What about Gaia?” Tom asked. “Please tell me she's still okay. George?”

But the phone was cutting out. He could only make out every other word George was saying.

“George! Is Gaia safe?”

The phone's connection was failing. The last thing he heard was George saying, “Good-bye, old friend. Just go.”

Something felt wrong. Very wrong. There must have been a leak the size of the Holland Tunnel within the operation. How could Loki have found him so quickly?

“We've got to go,” he said. “Or I should say, I have to go. Natasha, Nick can take you back to New York right now.”

“Nick can take himself back to New York,” Natasha responded. “I'm going with you.”

Tom's nagging misgivings were shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. He had no time to
wonder what was going on. He was an agent, and it was time to follow instructions. And never had he so looked forward to an assignment. Neutralize Loki? The phrase sounded so neat and polite. As he fired up the Harley again and peeled out on the tarmac, Tom could practically feel his brother's throat beneath his ever-tightening fingers.

HEATHER TRIED TO ACT LIKE SHE
was already fearless as she climbed the wide, wooden stairs, but she wasn't having too much luck. She was a city girl, and she had certain instincts. Instincts that reminded her to walk in the street rather than inside an enclosed underpass—better to be hit by a car than lose her wallet to a mugger. Instincts that made her stay within sight of the token-booth operator and spot the conductor's car if she were taking the subway at night. Instincts that told her never to take a friendly ride, even from a cop. And instincts that were wary of the outer-borough address and absolutely desolate location of this abandoned warehouse.

She was in Queens, for God's sake. Long Island

The place even smelled dangerous. Like it hadn't been mopped since time began. If a marauding pack of homeless gang members didn't get her, the Ebola virus probably would.

Still, when Josh squeezed her hand and turned to smile at her, Heather felt her body ooze with reassurance,
as if his gaze were filled with warm wax, pouring into her insides
. She squeezed back and smiled in a way that, she hoped, at least successfully faked some confidence.

When they got to the third floor, Josh unhooked a massive sliding door, yanking it sideways so that it whined in protest, gray paint flaking onto the concrete floor. Inside, it was a whole other story.

She stepped into a long, wide room, as big as a city block, the walls stripped to bare brick and hung with large and weird oil paintings. The floor was a freshly sanded wood that gleamed with a recent coat of wax. A friendly kitchen stood out in stark white to her left, and the only interruption to the flow of the room was a white raised loft off in the corner. It was, in a word, stunning.

“What a great place to throw a New Year's Eve party,” she said. “I don't suppose I could rent this out?”

“Heather,” Josh said, ignoring her insouciant question. “I want you to meet Oliver. Gaia's father.”

Heather turned to face this mysterious man.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” she said, sizing him up. “But I can't exactly say Gaia and I are best buddies.”

Wow. For an old guy he was kind of. . . dashing? Was that the word? Heather usually didn't go in for dinosaurs. That said, this guy was cool looking. He was in great shape, for one thing. He had to be at least forty-five, but she could tell his athletic, lanky frame was flawless. And he was dressed impeccably, in a custom-tailored Brooks Brothers suit. His hair was reddish blond, just enough to give his face an aura of brightness, and his deep-set eyes were the most reassuring
liquid blue.

In short, Gaia's dad was a major babe.

“Well, it's certainly my pleasure to meet you,” he said, gazing intently into her eyes with a look that clearly said, “You are the only person on this planet at this moment.” He shook her hand with a two-handed grip and gave her a sincere, knowing nod. “I'm aware that Gaia can be difficult. It is one of the more tragic chapters in my life, the fact that I can't repair my relationship with her. I hope she hasn't caused you too much discomfort.”

So Heather wasn't the only one who'd had more than a fair share of Gaia trouble. She'd turned her back on her own damn father. Heather shook her head, wondering at the many people Gaia had shit on in her life. It never occurred to her not to believe
everything he was saying to her. It never occurred to her that Gaia might have excellent reason to detest the man who claimed to be her father.

Meanwhile, Heather felt self-conscious. This guy was so much cooler than she'd thought he was going to be! She'd expected
some kind of weird, bald mad scientist.
But apart from her greedy need for the fearless injection, all of a sudden Heather genuinely wanted to make this charismatic man happy. “No worries,” she said. “I mean, I can handle Gaia, no problem. She's not so bad.”

He smiled gratefully, as if he knew she was fibbing on his account, and let go of her hand. It suddenly felt cold and lonely outside of his grip.

“I can see where Gaia gets her looks from, anyway,” Heather added, then recoiled at how stupid that sounded.

“That's kind of you, thank you,” Oliver said. “But Gaia really resembles her mother.”

“So, uh. . . are we going to do this?” Josh interrupted.

“Of course. Heather, won't you come in? Have a seat at the table here? Would you like something to drink—a Diet Coke or something?” Oliver asked.

“No, that's all right,” Heather said, sitting at a large oak table that had a big metal suitcase sitting on top of it. “I'm really looking forward to this. I've been taking the pills that Josh gave me, and I am really, really ready to go through with this.”

“I wanted to make sure that was the case,” Oliver said. He took the seat next to her. “There's no turning back from this. And I don't think you've ever had to make a decision this serious in your life. It's a bigger commitment than a short haircut or a tattoo,” Oliver said with a smile. “Like when Keanu Reeves chooses
the blue pill
in
The Matrix.
Except this is not a movie. This is your life. Do you understand what we're undertaking?”

“You underestimate me,” Heather responded, looking deeply into the older man's eyes. “There's no need to call up some pop-culture reference to soften me up. I'm not your average high-school girl.”

“That's what I thought,” Oliver said. “I'm glad my feeling about you was correct. Josh,” he said, glancing across the room, “everything you said about her was true.”

Heather flushed with pride as she beamed at Josh. Oddly, his smile back at her was a bit uncertain.

“Why don't you take a moment, go to the ladies' room if you like,” Oliver said. “It'll take me a few minutes to get the injection ready.” He opened the big metal suitcase, and Heather blanched at the sight of a bunch of glass bottles and
a hypodermic needle so big, it could have been a tube of toothpaste.

Josh brought her to the other end of the loft and showed her to a little alcove where the bathroom was.

“Hey,” he said, taking her by the arm before she could enter. “It's not too late to change your mind.”

“Josh,” Heather said. “Is this another one of your little tests? Because I'm really not in the mood.”

“Actually, this is just me being your boyfriend and making sure you're okay with all this.”

“Well, stop,” Heather said.

“You're right.” Josh gave her a nod. “I'm sorry. Go ahead, I'll be waiting for you here.”

Heather paused, finally giving him a reassuring smile. “That's all right,” she told him. “I'm glad you care enough to check up on me. But really, you should just be happy for me.”

“I am,” Josh said. He gave her a peck on the cheek, and he stepped aside and let her go into the bathroom.

Inside, she studied herself in the dim glow of the pinkish lightbulbs.
So long, wimpy girl,
she thought.
And hello, warrior princess
.

“All right, boys,” she called as she stepped back into the loft. “Let's do this.” She strode over to the table and held out the soft white expanse of her inner arm.

Oliver smiled indulgently. “That's very nice,” he said. “But I need an area with a little more. . . muscle.”

“Oh! You mean my. . . Oh!” Heather blushed. “Well, whatever floats your boat,” she said teasingly, and turned around.

“If you wouldn't mind?” he asked.

“I usually get dinner and a movie first,” she joked, then unbuttoned her jeans and lowered them so the top half of her butt was exposed.

“Just a moment now,” Oliver's voice floated from behind her.

Heather's face burned with embarrassment,
but she placed her hands firmly on the table, gripping its sides with nervousness. Josh was facing her, sitting on an overstuffed chair and watching intently. It was hard to read his expression, but she smiled reassuringly.

Then she felt a fiery sting that lit up her whole right side. Her body gave a jolt, and for a moment she could see absolutely nothing.

“Oh,
ow!
” she yelped.

And then the most extraordinary feeling shot through her, like a lightning bolt but weirder. Everything went black, and then
red tendrils crept like wiggling worms across her field of vision.
It was sort of like what she saw when she pressed her fingers against her closed eyes—fantastic swirls of color and light—but everything was moving so much more quickly. And the feeling? Pure adrenaline. She imagined this was what bungee jumping would feel like. It was as if she'd been shoved off the top of a building and she was falling, except instead of terror she felt only
excitement—excitement, pleasure, euphoria, but no fear. No fear at all.

The fantastic shadows parted, and she was suddenly aware of the hard surface of the wooden table beneath her hands. And of the fact that
she hadn't taken a breath in almost a minute.
She gave a loud gasp, snapping back into the present, and then heard a long, throaty laugh erupt from her mouth.

“Whoa,” was all she could say. Her vision cleared, and the first thing that floated into her consciousness was Josh's gorgeous face, his forehead creased with worry.

“Heather?” she heard him say.

“Mmm. Yes?” she answered, floating in a haze of endorphins.

“Wait. No!” he said.

Heather heard an odd click, then felt pressure at her temple: cool, hard steel. From his spot behind her, Oliver had put down his needle—and was holding a gun to Heather's head. She'd seen enough episodes of “Law & Order” to know what was happening. The safety was off, and he was ready to
splatter her brains
all over the freshly finished hardwood floor.