Killer (9 page)

Pearl rushed back across the street and peered through the restaurant window. Gaia was still there and still upright. But in a flash, panic seized Pearl.

Gaia was lifting the glass to her lips.

No!

Okay. Maybe Pearl was afraid of Loki. Admitting this wasn't a sign of weakness; it was an acknowledgment of reality. The memory of Loki's menacing eyes
ripped deep into her very core. She had to do something fast. Right. She grabbed her handbag and tossed it in the nearest trash can. Then she ran back into the restaurant as fast as her legs would carry her.

 

GAIA TILTED BACK HER HEAD AND
opened her throat, ready to drink the entire glass in one long gulp.
Please,
she whispered silently to herself.
Let the pain go away
....

Coping with Loss

But as the ruby liquid flowed toward her lips, a hysterical voice shattered the dull murmur of the restaurant: “I've been mugged! Someone please help—he took my purse!”

Frowning, Gaia set down the full glass, dribbling some wine on her chin. She wiped her face with her sleeve and glanced up to see an impeccably groomed woman standing at the door. She looked frantic. Shit. Gaia really didn't want to deal with this.
But against her will, adrenaline was already gushing through her system and raising her temperature—priming her senses for action.
She waited a beat or two to see if someone
else would pick up the slack for once, but everybody continued stuffing their faces with pasta as if nothing was happening. Typical. No one ever wanted to get involved.

Then again, no one besides Gaia was fearless.

“Hey, I know her . . . ,” Sam mumbled, craning his neck at the woman.

Gaia sniffed. Her jaw tightened. Sure, he did. He'd probably slept with her. He had a thing for older women, right? Or maybe he was just lying. That was certainly a possibility, too. Pretty soon she'd find out that he wasn't even a premed student at NYU but one of those guys who salvaged books out of trash cans and sold them at the flea market on Saturdays. Whatever.
Now wasasgood a time asany to say good-bye to Sam Moon forever.
She slid out of the booth.

“Hey—where are you going?” he protested.

“Where do you think?” she muttered, without even bothering to look behind her. “I'm going to help that woman out.”

Gaia was already at the door before Sam could utter another word. Maybe this was the start of her new life. Yes. Right here and now. Or a return to her old life. Her pre-Sam life, when she roamed the city, looking for a fight. Being away from Sam might have the effect of lessening the pain of his betrayal. Right now, however, it simply hurt. But it didn't lessen her
resolve. She had to get as far away from Sam as she possibly could. She had to forget him.

“. . . I was standing at the light, and this man bumped my shoulder,” the woman was babbling, trying to catch her breath. She was clearly shaken, unable to stand still. “The bag slid down my arm—and suddenly it was gone....”

A purse snatching. Gaia frowned. Yup. Another reason New York City sucked.
Another reason she had to get in touch with Uncle Oliver as soon as possible and get the hell out.
This woman must have been carrying some fussy little designer number that made her an especially easy target. Gaia stepped forward.

“Did you see the person who took it?” she demanded.

The woman glanced at Gaia and blinked, then shook her head. The hostess, seizing the opportunity not to be further involved, vanished back into the kitchen. Gaia resisted the temptation to snicker.

“I—I . . . don't think so,” the woman stammered. “When I turned around, he was gone. Come outside—I'll show you.”

At this point there was little hope that the bag would ever be recovered, but Gaia followed, anyway. The drama was a welcome distraction. Anything was a welcome distraction at this point.

The woman stopped.“I was right here at this corner....”

Gaia nodded patiently as the woman ran through her
story again—but she was hardly listening. Her steely blue eyes performed a radar sweep of the immediate area. That's when she spotted a trash can on the opposite side of the street. A trash can with a purse in it. It was every mugger's favorite trick: Swipe the money; ditch the bag.

“Is your purse a black leather shoulder bag with a silver clasp?” Gaia asked.

The woman stared at her. She seemed slightly taken aback—almost suspicious. “How did you know?”

Gaia smiled, then gently took the woman's arm and led her across the street to the trash can. “Here it is,” she announced, flicking aside a few ancient french fries and pulling the bag out of the garbage.

The woman's face registered some emotion between relief and revulsion. Gaia could just imagine what was going through her mind:
Taking a purse out of the trash? Eww
. . . She flashed Gaia a pained smile, then delicately took the purse between her thumb and forefinger and opened it with her other hand, touching as little as possible. She sighed deeply. “My cash is missing, but everything else seems to be in there....”

“Well, that's good,” Gaia said. “You're lucky. Most people never get it back at all.”

The woman nodded gratefully. “I'd like to give you a little reward. I really appreciate—”

“Oh, no, please,” Gaia interrupted as politely as she could. “It's no big deal. Believe me. Really. I know what it feels like to lose something.”

 

People
I Trust . . . or
Once Trusted: (a shrinking list)

5.
My Father

4. Uncle Oliver—if his phone worked

3.
Ed

2.
Sam

1. Myself

But there were moments—in bed—when Loki had let his guard down.

 

PEARL WAS A VERY LUCKY WOMAN.

Loki knew she probably didn't even realize
how
lucky. But that was quite all right. She was brave; he had to credit her for that. Few others would have come directly to him after failing him twice. But even that couldn't sour his mood. Pearl had already repeated the story of how Gaia had unexpectedly showed up at the restaurant, but Loki made her tell it again.
The tale sang in hisearslike a symphony.

Lucky

“The girl is an absolute genius!” Loki cried, clapping and beaming like a proud father. She was definitely Katia's child. And his . . . through the unfortunate vehicle of Tom, of course. But he and Tom were made of the same genetic material. The exact same stock. Gaia
was
his. She was a Moore, first and foremost.

Finally he sighed. He leaned back in the white sofa of his sparsely furnished Upper West Side apartment and glanced up at Pearl. The woman refused to sit. She looked very calm, very collected ...except for one telltale sign: a tiny muscle in her jaw that kept twitching. She was afraid. And he drank in her fear. It was like an oasis in the desert. It sustained him. All powerful people should fear him.

“Let's get down to business,” he said.

Pearl nodded wordlessly.

“As I understand it, Ella's still breathing,” Loki stated. His gaze flashed to the window, to the Manhattan skyline, glittering in the twilight of the setting sun. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Yes,”
Loki repeated, imitating her meek voice. “You sound like a mouse, not a murderer. If you were in my position, what would you do?”

Pearl shrugged. The muscle twitched again.

Before she could answer, Loki reached inside his jacket and pulled out a custom-made nine-millimeter pistol. The silencer glinted in the fading sunlight. “I was thinking of putting a bullet through your skull.”

“I realize I didn't deliver my part of the agreement,” she stated stiffly, her poise crumbling, “but I'm sure you understand that there were extenuating circumstances—”

“I'm not an understanding man, Pearl,” he interrupted. The safety latch released with a satisfying
click
.

She took a few steps back, her gaze riveted to the shiny metal in his hand. “Everything was going according to our plan,” she insisted. “If Gaia hadn't shown up . . .”

He paused. “Are you blaming my niece for your mistake?”

“No.”

“Good.” Loki raised the gun and aimed the barrel
directly at Pearl's forehead. Pity she would make a mess on his nice hardwood floors. That was something even
she
could appreciate. “You're sweating, Pearl. It's not very ladylike—”

“Give me another chance!” Pearl cried. “No one is closer to Ella than me right now. I have an idea that absolutely
cannot
fail.”

Loki hesitated . . . then lowered his arm by his side. Well.
Hiring another assassin
would
be an inconvenience. Aswould cleaning thisplace up after he killed her.
So he'd wait—then kill her after the job was done. Yes. She was lucky enough to have caught him in a good mood. She probably didn't even know
how
lucky.

“Let's hear it,” he said.

 

A Way Out

ELLA BLEW THROUGH THE PERRY

Street brownstone with a force that rattled every hinge and musty floorboard. But in spite of her flailing limbs and pounding feet, in spite of her wild fantasies of smashing Gaia's smarmy little face with an ax, a part of her mind was surprisingly calm. It was the part that
pictured Loki's cold, arrogant eyes. The time had come to make him pay—to make them
all
pay. Loki. Gaia. Sam.

But now there would be hell to pay. For all of them.

“You don't control my life anymore,” Ella whispered. Her words drifted off the walls of George's office, off the glass doors of his antique bookcases. Loki thought he'd molded her into some sort of puppet that couldn't think for herself.
One of hisminions.
And maybe he had, in the past. Which was all well and good. That's precisely what she wanted him to believe about the present.

He was powerful, and he'd controlled her. Yes . . . she had to admit that to herself. She remembered thinking only very recently that she craved him the way an addict craved a drug. She was powerless to resist. But not anymore.

Bending over beside George's desk, she reached into the unused fireplace, her frantic hand feeling along the inside of the chimney. Shit . . . she was actually shaking. She
was
nervous.
But this was a momentous occasion.
Finally her fingers touched the familiar inner ledge and grazed a small iron box.

Her heart caught in her throat. It was still there.

My way out.

Shaking, she placed the soot-covered box on
the floor, then gingerly opened the top. A smile spread across her face. The contents were still in perfect condition. Inside were handwritten copies of the passwords to a few of Loki's numerous bank accounts, stashed in strategic locations around the globe. But some of the accounts, if transferred properly, could be accessed in this very city . . . from a foreign bank, maybe—like the Bank of Switzerland in Midtown or the Bank of Tunisia in Gramercy Park. It was all a matter of being clever.

Loki had been excruciatingly protective of his money.
But there were moments—in bed—when Loki had let his guard down. No doubt these weren't his biggest stashes. He was too smart to reveal everything to her.

Still, Ella had found all sorts of subtle ways of finding out what she needed to know.

Of course, she never believed that a day would come when she'd actually
use
these passwords. She liked to think of them only as insurance.
Something she would turn to when disaster struck. In fact, Loki had given her the information as protection in case he was killed.

It was kind of ironic, wasn't it?

No, it was something far more meaningful than ironic. It was life threatening.

A violent shudder seized her entire body. She swallowed. Her fingers were moist as she removed the papers. This
was
undeniably scary. Crossing Loki in this way would ensure that she became a marked woman. But she didn't care. If she stayed here—trapped in this house, in this life—well, then she would die, too.

Thrusting fear aside, Ella sat down at George's desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, logging on to the Internet and accessing the offshore accounts. Furiously she pounded out Loki's account information . . . followed by her own—moving quickly for fear of losing the sliver of courage that rage had granted her.

Loki would know immediately it was her. But then again, she wanted him to know.

Amount to transfer: $300,000.

Ella gazed at the screen. Her soot-covered finger hovered over the enter key. It trembled like a leaf in the wind. All that remained was a press of a single button. Then the theft would be complete.
This could be a huge mistake.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remember the smitten look on Sam's face when Gaia walked into the restaurant.
If she didn't go through with this, she'd never be free. Of anyone.

Ella hit the key.

 

THERE WAS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT. UNCLE
Oliver's cell phone number was definitely not working. Gaia slammed down the pay phone receiver for the tenth time and retrieved her change as it clanged into the coin return. So much for his promises to take her away from this hell-hole. For now, it looked like she was stuck here. She grabbed the box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and took a seat at a table near the window, watching the traffic on Eighth Street pass by.