Run (12 page)

ELLA WOULD NEVER GET TIRED OF
doing Loki's dirty work.

Especially when it involved her running her hands over the
bare chests
of well-built young men like CJ. Okay, so they were rolling in the dirt behind a bush off some pathway in the park -- not exactly a classy setting. But she knew how to make the best of any situation.

This one was as sexy as he was mean. She'd always liked that combination.

Marco was good. CJ was much, much better.

And he was amazed by her. Well, of course. He was probably used to teenage sluts with grungy hair and too much black eyeliner. He'd never seen actual silk this close before, let alone touched it.

Now, here's where I sigh for him, nice and deep -- make him think I've never had anything this good before.

CJ smiled hungrily.

He's so proud of himself. Look at him showing off!
It was almost cute.

That's right. One more button.

He breathed her name. Or what he thought was her name. So amazed. So grateful. He had no idea there was
a blond assassin
on her way there to murder him.

Well . . . if you've gotta go, this is definitely the way to spend your final hour.

He asked why she was laughing.

"I always laugh when I'm ready," she said seductively. "Are you ready?"

Over his shoulder, she checked her watch. Ten till ten. Then there was a sound from a nearby tree. It was a miracle she even heard it over CJ's moaning and heavy breathing. It was a signal: She's here.

Okay, you darling, dangerous boy . . . let's make this quick.

"Yes, CJ! Yes ...
Yes!"
Perfect timing! And then ...

"CJ, I hear someone. . . ."

He rose to his knees with a nice lazy smile, tugged up his jeans, and peered through the leaves.

"Shit!"

"What is it?" He was looking for his shirt. No luck.

"Shit. It's her. I gotta go. Sorry."

The "sorry" threw her a bit. I suppose I have to act like I care. "Don't go, CJ! Wait!"

He didn't even realize
she'd taken his gun.

He leaned down and gave her a hard kiss on her mouth and told her he'd see her again; he
promised
-- in this rough, almost heartbreaking voice -- that he'd see her again. Then he took off. She sat up, buttoning her blouse, surveying the damage to her skirt.

Gaia, he's all yours.

GAIA ENTERED WASHINGTON SQUARE
Park.

It was nine forty.

The concert was supposed to start at ten. The band was already doing sound checks. The squeal of feedback from the microphones echoed above the gathering crowd. Gaia watched the arriving fans with a combination of interest and longing.

What must it be like, she wondered, to have nothing else to do on a Monday night besides go to a concert in the park? No gangbangers to ice, no hostages to free . . .

What sit like just to be normal?

Well, she decided, looking around at the crowd,
normal
was a relative term -- this was the West Village, after all. Tattoos and navel rings required.

So where the hell was CJ?

It was almost funny that she was looking for him for a change. The problem was, she hadn't expected to actually have to look. He'd been like clockwork in the past, always just sort of there -- lurking, looming, stalking. Tonight, though, when it was absolutely imperative that their paths cross, he was a no-show.

How nauseatingly ironic
was that?

Reasoning that even a brainless wonder like CJ might find the band concert too public a place to hunt his prey, Gaia plunged into the semidarkness of the pathway that led to Washington Square West.

She'd noticed that morning that a few leaves had begun to change. Change. Die. It was all in how you looked at it, but where just weeks ago there had been nothing but thriving greenery, there were now little glimpses of color. Throughout the expanse of billowing green, the brown-red leaves clung like scabs. They drew the eye automatically, as though to remind you that
death refused to go unnoticed.

"The shadows engulfed her, and the trees muffled the sound of the band and the band watchers. It was odd -- even after all the horrific stuff that had happened to her in this park, she still liked it, liked the way it smelled, liked the way it rustled. She marveled at the weird, restless peacefulness of the place.

Even tonight. Even with a .38 in her waistband and CJ on the prowl.

And Sam . . .

Was he here somewhere?
What if the kidnapper wasn't really going to release him? What if ...

No. She couldn't dwell on that possibility. Sam was here. He had to be.

Did the kidnapper have him in a half nelson behind some tree, a rag stuffed in his mouth to keep him quiet? Then again, if Sam was in as bad shape as the last note had indicated, none of that would be necessary, would it?

So maybe he was writhing in the dirt in unbearable agony, clinging to his gorgeous existence by a mere thread, closer -- like the drying leaves -- to death than to life.

Gaia's skin prickled; her heart was practically doing the lambada in her chest. She wouldn't have Sam back until she dealt with CJ.
So where was he?

"C'mon, you dirtbag. Show your ugly face."

Even as she whispered it, she heard him. He was maybe fifteen feet behind her but approaching fast. And then he was on her, his hand slamming down on her shoulder, jerking her around to face him.

She reached out with both hands, grabbed him around the neck, and yanked his face down to connect with her head.

Nose -- busted. No question. Good. It would go nicely with the sling on his arm. He staggered backward, groaning. "You bitch!"

"Whatever." Gaia nailed him with a series of front kicks to his gut, then spun around, swinging her left leg in a high arc that landed like a wrecking ball against the side of his jaw.

He fell sideways, hitting the pavement with a ribbashing thud. Gaia pressed her foot between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground while she reached into the waist of her pants for the gun.

"You know," she said through clenched teeth, pressing the gun into the flesh behind his right ear, "as much as you really do deserve to die a very painful death . . ."

He flinched as the sole of her sneaker dug deeper into his back.

"As much as you deserve it . . ."

She sighed and lifted her foot. It took him a second to recognize he was free. As soon as he did, he leaped to his feet, and Gaia found herself making the very incongruous observation that this idiot was running around the park at night in October without a shirt on.

He stood very still, staring at her. She held the gun about an inch from his chest.

She had to make it look real without actually killing him. Had to make it look as though she'd tried and failed.

She cocked the hammer. "Hit me," she said, slicing her voice down to a whisper.

"Huh?" He was looking at her as though she were nuts.
Maybe she was.

"Hit me," she snarled again, waving the gun.

CJ, obviously, was not very good at following directions.

She leaned closer to him. And wanted to gag.
Smoked rose petals.
Another divergent thought: The freaky witch in Soho is scamming Ella good. Unless ...

Gaia ducked. CJ's heavy fist caught her in the cheekbone, throwing her slightly off balance. Good enough. She aimed the gun into a tree and fired.

Apparently CJ was only just realizing he'd left his own firearm elsewhere. He froze.

Gaia stumbled a little for dramatic effect, then pointed the gun at him. "Look out, asshole. This one's gonna be closer."

She aimed and fired. The bullet passed so close to CJ's face he could have kissed it.

"That's two," she whispered, watching as CJ fell to his knees and covered his head with his arms. He was begging her not to shoot.

Again she pulled the trigger.

CJ winced.

And Gaia whispered, "Bang!"

She had to. Because the bullet that should have been loaded in the third chamber of the gun's barrel was safely hidden in a Duane Reade bag under Gaia's bed.

It was as if eternity made itself visible, swelling around her, slowing the spin of the earth. Gaia swore she saw leaves changing in the chasm of time that elapsed between the steely click of the trigger and CJ's moment of recognition.

No bullet.

She gave him a wicked smile. "Déjà vu, huh?"

That's when he ran.

Gaia let out a huge rush of breath, then swung her gaze across the shadows that shrouded the path. She knew the kidnapper was out there somewhere, watching. "Hope you fell as got all that,
"
she muttered. "Hope you bought it."

Her answer was two heavy hands coming down on her shoulders.
Hard.

Evidently they hadn't bought it at all.

She could fight like a machine, full force, pumped on fury and desire.

OKAY, SO MAYBE LYING RIGHT TO
her face wasn't exactly the best way to make her fall in love with him. But what choice did he have?

"Promise me you will
not
come to the park tonight."

Yeah. Right.

"Sure, she was gutsy. Sure, she was powerful, and capable, and--all right, he'd even give her deadly. But she was his. At least in his heart she was his, and even a -- what was it she'd called him?
A liability?
Yeah. Even a liability like him knew that you absolutely, positively did not let the love of your life do something like this alone.

So he followed her.

The band crowd was a good cover. He had to keep his distance on the path, though.

She still hadn't spotted him.
He was at least twenty yards behind and to her left, in the shadow of a rest room building. He didn't have a weapon; he didn't even have the use of his legs. He did, however, have a cell phone, which he would use to dial 911 the minute it looked like Gaia was in trouble.

What was he thinking? It always looked like Gaia was in trouble. What he meant was, the minute it looked like Gaia was out of her league. That's when he'd call for help.

Ed watched as a figure emerged from the bushes, and when he recognized it, he felt fear more intense than he could ever have imagined. It was that gang punk CJ.
The one who'd tried to kill her.

"Shit!" Keeping his eyes glued to Gaia, he flipped the phone open.
(Power . . . 9 . . . 1. . .)
"Whoa! Nice head butt!"
(End)
Man, could she kick! Bam, bam, bam!

She had the looks of a supermodel and the speed of Jean Claude Van Damme. Ooh! Right in the jaw. Nice.
CJ went down.

Another cramp of fear gripped Ed when he saw Gaia reach into the waistband of her pants. What the hell was she doing with a gun? And what the hell was she standing there
talking
to CJ for?

Ed's heart jerked in his chest, and then he was watching CJ hit her! The bastard!

(9 . . . 1 . . .)

Holy shit! She fired, missed, but ha! The sound had sent CJ to his knees. Okay, she was back in control.
(End)

The next shot was close! And then she was pulling the trigger again. And . . .

No bullet?

(9 . . . 1 . . . 1 . . . Send)

"Ed?"

He looked up. "Heather?"

GAIA'S ARMS WERE PINNED BEHIND
her back when the man appeared from out of the bushes. He was dressed -- appropriately enough, Gaia supposed -- in black. Black slacks, very expensive black sweater, and black shoes, also pricey. She immediately discarded any assumptions that the kidnapper was somehow connected with CJ's scrubby little street gang. These guys were big-time crime. Money.
Maybe even brains.

"You failed!" growled Mr. Monochromatic.

Gaia shrugged as best she could with the compromised use of her arms. "I tried."

"Not good enough!"

"It's not my fault you boneheads loaded the gun wrong!" Gaia reasoned.

"Shut up!"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, I will."

Gaia struck like lightning. She shoved her elbow upward, a nice crack to the underside of her captor's chin, freeing her arms. Before the man in black even had time to advance, she'd delivered one
powerful jab
to the back of guy number one's neck, knocking him out. He hit the ground like a rag doll.

Then, in one graceful sweep, Gaia turned and wrapped the man in black up in a headlock, pressing the gun
the fourth chamber of which did contain a bullet
to his temple. "I'd prefer to let this do my talking for me, anyway."

The guy grunted.

"I want Sam!" she called to the darkness. "Now. Or this guy's dry cleaner is gonna be looking for a way to get brains out of cashmere!"

Somehow, impossibly, this little corner of the park seemed to be deserted. Had they cleared the area or something?

The guy laughed.

Gaia made herself ignore it. "A trade!" she shouted. "Sam for this guy. Right now. Or I blow his freakin' head off."

The guy laughed again. Gaia arched an eyebrow. He wasn't supposed to be laughing. He should have been begging his buddies to make the trade, save his life.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Shoot me," the guy said. "He won't care."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gaia asked. "Who won't care?"

"I mean," gurgled the man in black (because Gaia's forearm was still crushing his esophagus), "my employer won't give a damn."
The mirth had vanished
from his voice now. "He'll probably kill me himself for this."

Damn it! Gaia loosened her grip but didn't release him. She had to think. She had to . . .

Sam!

He was there. Being pushed out from behind a stand of broad oaks by another black-clad villain.

Gaia's heart lurched. Oh, God, Sam!
He looked half dead.
Gaia had never seen skin so pale before in her life. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat that matted his dirty, greasy brown hair to his forehead. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and the other twitched like a dying bee's wing. There was a spot of blood beneath his right nostril. The jerk in the suit was dragging him like a sack of flour.

Gaia was so overwhelmed with grief that she almost let go of her own charge. She caught herself in time, though, gave him a nice whack with the butt of the gun, then let him crumple to the ground, unconscious.

"Sam!" she screamed.

Did he flinch? Had he heard? Hard to tell. She made a move to go to him, but his captor had suddenly produced an automatic weapon.

And he was aiming it
directly at her heart.