Killer (15 page)

“What are you talking about?” Gaia found herself shrieking. “He sent you that e-mail to meet him at La Focaccia! I
saw
it!”

Ella shook her head. “It was a setup.” Her voice grew strained. She looked like she was on the verge of crying. “That would explain why Pearl was at the restaurant. Think about it. I doubt Sam knew what was going on. He's in love with you, Gaia. That's what destroyed me. That's what tore me apart.”

 

Okay,
so I lied.

I said as long as I got a chance to tell Gaia that I love her, it doesn't matter if she goes on hating me for the rest of her life. But that's not true.

It does matter.

I don't want Gaia hating me at all. When she thinks of me, I don't want her to get all tense and agitated. I don't want the thought of me to bring her any stress or pain or discomfort.

But even worse than hate would be indifference.

I'd rather have her loathe me than feel nothing at all. If Gaia just wrote me off and shut me out of her mind—well, I just can't imagine a worse fate than being some microscopic void in the history of her life. Being totally forgotten.

What I want—at the bare minimum—is to be a small, perfect memory etched alongside some
of her most treasured memories, a piece of something good for her to call on when life got her down. And if I can't at least give her that, then my life will add up to nothing.

The memories were like a thousand needles, pricking her all over at once: the ransom notes, the bizarre demands, the chases . . . .

 

The Horror

GAIA STARED AT ELLA . . . WAITING
for the punch line, waiting for the devastating blow that would suddenly end this sick game. But none came. A piercing ache drove itself deep into her very core.

Sam is in love with me.

The words squeezed her heart. Gaia wanted to believe it. She
had
to believe it.

“I ... what are you saying?” Gaia asked weakly.

“Sam loves you,” Ella repeated.

Without warning, Ella reached across the table and put her hand on top of Gaia's.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Ella is touching me.

Touching. Not kicking, not scratching, not yelling, just . . . touching. In all these months it was the only maternal gesture Ella had ever made. And some strange part of Gaia—a part she never knew existed or at least hadn't felt in years—longed for the hand to linger that way, to let herself be mothered. But she tensed and pulled away. She didn't want to go down this path. She wasn't quite ready to forgive.
Once more she was perched on that precipice, overlooking that dark chasm . . . and she knew she would be a goner if she dove in.
She needed to learn more. About
everything.

“So let's get back to
you,”
Gaia forced herself to say. But she couldn't hide the emotion that clogged her voice. “Who are you?”

Ella leaned back in her chair. “I don't know,” she said in a faraway voice. A wistful smile crossed her face, then vanished. “It's funny. Once . . . when I was your age, I was a photographer.”

Whoops.
Gaia tried not to grimace at the memory of those awful black-and-white photos hanging in the hallway at George's brownstone. With everything else about Ella turning out to be fake, it was a kind of a shame that
those
had been real.

“Here, I'll show you some of the stuff I did,” Ella suggested. She jumped up and pulled a box of photographs out of a milk crate.

All right. This was beyond weird; it was embarrassing and awkward and just plain freaky. Maybe now would be a good time to leave.

But as soon as Ella removed the lid, Gaia found herself frozen in place.

Instead of saccharine snapshots of kittens and touristy pictures of skyscrapers, Ella's photographs were intimate color portraits of people on the street. An old woman tugging at the hem of her skirt outside a bakery. The flash of anger on a businessman's face as someone else stole his cab. A melting pot of strangers huddled together under a deli awning during a rainstorm.

In a way,
this
revelation was the most shocking of them all.
Ella had actually once had a talent—aside from kicking ass and ruining people's lives and seducing men.
Incredible.

“These are amazing, Ella,” Gaia whispered.

Ella shook her head wistfully. “Just before I married George, a gallery in SoHo was putting together a show for me. But Loki thought it was a bad idea for me to be too successful. He thought if I was in the spotlight, it might blow my cover with George.” Her voice turned bitter. “Now I think it was because Loki's massive ego couldn't handle my success.”

Gaia's eyes narrowed at the mention of her father's code name. Suddenly all the old venom and anger came flooding back. Not only had Ella lied to her all these years; so had
he.

“You two must have been quite a pair,” she spat.

Ella stared at her. “Loki is a dangerous man, Gaia.”

“No shit.” Gaia's anger turned to white-hot rage.

“He's using you,” Ella went on. “You're nothing more than a commodity to him.”

A fire seared Gaia's insides like a branding iron. So there it was. The truth. In plain English. Her father no longer loved her.

“I'm out of here,” Gaia announced. She stood up so violently that the table nearly toppled over. “I don't think—”

“No, no,” Ella interrupted. “Not until you hear the whole story. Then you can do whatever you want. I swear it. Look, remember a few months back, when Sam was kidnapped?”

Gaia hesitated. Silence engulfed the room. In the flickering light of the candle, Ella's pained face suddenly looked grotesque. A cockroach skittered across the wall.

“You know about that?” Gaia whispered.

“I was there,” Ella said gently. “Loki made you jump through all of these hoops to test your loyalty.”

What the
—Gaia's mind spun. The memories were like a thousand needles, pricking her all over at once: the ransom notes, the bizarre demands, the chases. . . . There was the mysterious videotape that appeared on her doorstep that she had to play in class. Then the public humiliation of Ed. The kidnapper had also forced her to steal something of George's.

“My loyalty?” Gaia found herself asking. “To who?”

“Sam. He said it was a test to see how far you'd go to save the person that mattered most to you—”

“No, no, no.” Gaia shook her head, her tangled blond locks cascading around her face. “I don't buy it. Sam could have told you about—”

“Well, then, what about your friend Mary Moss?”

The room spun. Gaia's legs turned to jelly. “How do you know about Mary?”

“Loki decided you two were getting too close,” Ella said. “It bothered him.”

Now Gaia had to laugh. This had degenerated into the theater of the absurd.
This wasn't a human being Ella wasdescribing; it wassome kind of omnipotent, insane, vengeful
god.
“You're telling me he was behind that, too?” she cried. “No way.”

“He tapped your phones and had you followed—”

“Mary was killed by her drug dealer,” Gaia corrected, her voice growing louder.

“That's what he wanted you to believe.” Ella paused. “You probably feel like you've been born under some dark cloud, that tragedy follows you everywhere. You're not cursed, Gaia. It's Loki.”

Gaia couldn't move, even if she wanted to. The strange and hideous room had trapped her. It was an inferno, one of the circles of hell; she was certain there would be no escape. “He kidnapped Sam and killed Mary because of me?” she asked hoarsely.

Slowly Ella nodded. “He was afraid you'd find out the truth about your past.”

Her body went slack, as if she had finally surrendered. “And what
is
the truth?”

Ella took a long, deep breath. “Loki killed your mother.”

A nuclear bomb detonated inside Gaia's head.
The shock wave blasted through every cell
of her body, driving her to the brink of a meltdown.
Time gapped and seconds slipped into a black hole, spinning her back to that terrible night when she was twelve years old.

My father killed my mother ....

What Gaia remembered most was the snow. The way it fell soundlessly in a great silent wall of white. They were at their home in the mountains. Her mother was in the kitchen, and her father was setting up the chessboard. A fire blazed in the fireplace.

It was the last happy moment of Gaia's life.

Then came the twang. The mysterious, tiny sound from the kitchen. The one Gaia hardly noticed at all but that filled her father with panic, shoving her under the table for cover. He drew his gun. Shots were fired.

My father killed my mother ....

When it was all over, Gaia found her mom lying in a pool of blood.

The rest of the memory came in fragments. The ambulance. The night spent in the waiting room. Her father hugging her and walking down the hall. Then never coming back. In piecing together the events of that night, Gaia had come up with her own theory to explain the confusing events. There had been an intruder—either a burglar or a criminal her father had been tracking as a member of the CIA—and her
father was simply protecting his family. And her mother got caught in the cross fire.

There was something fundamentally unsatisfying with her theory, something that didn't quite fit into place. First of all, Gaia had never actually seen
or
heard the intruder. And second, it still didn't explain why her father ran off. Disappeared.

Then there was Ella's version.

If Gaia'sfather killed her mother, then there had been no intruder to begin with.
And it explained his disappearance. He had fled to avoid prison. He had fled to avoid facing his daughter after that horrible deed ....

It all made sense now.

My father killed my mother.

Suddenly she found she was no longer standing. She was curled up into a tight little ball, her knees pressed against her mouth, shivering. Tears poured down her cheeks. Every fiber of her being felt like it was slowly being torn apart.

And Ella was right beside her. But Gaia was too tired to fight her off. Even postcombat exhaustion was nothing compared to what she felt now.

“I'm so sorry, Gaia,” Ella whispered, stroking her hair. “I'm so sorry ....”

Gaia was a little girl again. Twelve years old. Just like on that fateful night.
All of her strength and badass abilities had trickled
between the musty floorboards of this slum.
She hugged her knees tight, hoping that if she made herself small enough, she might just disappear. “Why did he do it?”

“I don't know. He won't talk about it.”

“I want to see him—”

“You can't,” Ella said. “It's too dangerous for you.”

“I have to,” Gaia persisted. “I want to hear it from him.”

For a long while Ella was silent. She wasn't even breathing. Finally she sighed. “Well, then I'm going with you. I owe you that much.”

 

THE PHONE HAD NOT RUNG FOR HOURS.

Another Matter

Loki grabbed his cell phone and hurled it at one of the walls of his Upper West Side apartment. Bits of electronics and plastic rained down on the hardwood floor. Pearl wasn't going to call. That meant only one thing—Ella was still on the loose.

How she managed to survive this long was hardly a mystery. It wasn't that Ella had been too clever; it was that Pearl had blown her chance at every turn. Ella
should've been the easiest of targets—hardly a challenge. She had been brilliant at following orders. Then again, so was his Doberman. There was a vast difference between doing what you're told and thinking for yourself. And Ella didn't have the brains to think her way out of a cardboard box.

It was Gaia who had saved her. That was the only explanation—

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Loki barked.

A squat man with an utterly unremarkable face and thick chest walked through the door. He was wearing a leather jacket. It was Bernard—or BFF, as Loki had always referred to him.
One of the few Loki could still trust. Absolutely.

“We received a report that Ella has been spotted in the East Village,” he stated. “Shall I give orders for Pearl to be executed?”

“Yes. You may go.”

Bernard hesitated. “There's another matter that has been brought to our attention ....”

One dark eyebrow arched suspiciously. Loki didn't like surprises. “Concerning ...?”

“One of the Cayman Island accounts. Apparently three hundred thousand has been transferred to a bank in Africa.”

Loki turned to keep his angry, balled fists hidden from Bernard's view. “Do you have the number?”

“According to our information, the account belongs to Ella Niven.”

“I understand.” Loki kept his voice and manner as cool as steel; meanwhile, his blood was boiling with rage.

“Is there anything you'd like me to do?” Bernard asked.

“No,” Loki said, gritting his teeth. “This time I'm going to have to take care of it myself.”

 

GAIA WAS AWOKEN BY A GENTLE
nudge on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find Ella standing over her with a paper takeout cup of coffee. There was no brief moment of confusion as she woke up, no sudden rush of the events that had been gently wiped away by sleep. No. She didn't even know how long she had dozed. An hour, maybe less. And her nap had been plagued by awful, formless nightmares.