His jaw tightened. Now he had to confront Ella. He had to make sure she left him alone, that she stopped hassling him—and most of all, that she never, ever told Gaia what had happened.
Out of the corner of his eye Sam caught a glimpse of an NYPD cruiser, rounding the corner and turning onto Perry Street. It slowed as it rumbled past him. Two craggy, tough-looking members of New York’s finest gave him a once-over. Sam averted his eyes. Maybe they thought he was a stalker. He almost laughed. He did look a little sketchy—disheveled after his near fall. But suspecting him would be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it? He was here to stop a stalker: the woman who was harassing him with e-mails and phone calls. He was here to insist that she stop, to issue his own version of … what was it called? A restraining order. That was it. He was going to demand that Ella leave him alone. Forever.
Yes. For once in his life Sam Moon was going to set everything straight. He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the closed door. He was tired of waffling and wavering, of dating Heather but desiring Gaia, of acting out his anger and frustration by behaving in ways he only regretted. It was time to make some decisions. To go after what he wanted. To follow his heart—
His heart nearly stopped as the front door swung open. He sucked in his breath.
It wasn’t Ella. It was Gaia. She bounded down the steps … right past him, without even so much as a glance in his direction.
Gaia!
He wanted to shout her name. But he couldn’t. He’d been robbed of speech. He stood there, paralyzed—unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she trotted down the street, her blond mane streaming from under her ratty black wool hat. Even from behind, she was like some kind of … well, vision—not like any other girl he’d ever seen or known.
Every time he laid eyes on her, he was entranced by that intangible quality that separated her from everyone else—the way she carried herself that he could never quite place. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful: tall and strong, like those mythical women of the Amazon. It was more that she had no idea she was beautiful.
Generally speaking, girls in Manhattan tended to know they were hot. They strutted around in the latest trends, self-possessed and perfectly put together … like Heather, in a way. Or Ella. Not Gaia, though. Gaia—
The front door opened again.
Without thinking, Sam ducked behind the railing.
It was Ella, of course. Sam shook his head, furious at himself. He was here to confront her! So why the hell was he crouched down, hiding from her in the freezing cold like a frightened animal? Actually, he didn’t want to answer that question.
An Expert
TOM MOORE SAT PERFECTLY RIGID AS Gaia strolled past his parked brown Lexus. If she turned her head only the slightest bit, she might see him. He silently swore under his breath. He knew he shouldn’t have driven here. And he shouldn’t have parked so close to the Nivens’ house. But he’d had no choice. This was the only spot available in an eight-block radius. In New York City parking spaces were like taxicabs: They were impossible to find when you needed one. Besides, the car was equipped with certain devices essential for today’s mission—a satellite link and fax machine—that he couldn’t carry on his person.
Don’t look at me, Gaia. Don’t look….
He slouched down low in the driver’s seat, staring at her.
Every day she looked more and more like her mother.
A lump formed in Tom’s throat. He shook his head. Here he was, not ten feet away from his daughter, and he still couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t call her name. But that was nothing new. He’d learned to live with frustration. That was part of the job. He was a professional. Not a day went by when an agent didn’t suffer in some way. But the best of them compartmentalized the suffering—locking it safely away with the rest of their souls, where it couldn’t affect other matters.
Tom was an expert at compartmentalizing.
Gaia crossed to the opposite corner. Tom couldn’t help but notice that her walk was like a taller, lankier version of Katia’s—strong and sensual at the same time….
His eyes flashed back to the house. Ella was leaving. George would be home in a matter of minutes. But maybe he could follow Gaia for a little while, just to make sure she was okay. Yes. There was no telling when Loki would strike—
What am I thinking?
Following her would be inconceivably stupid. For one thing, he’d lose his parking space. For another, Gaia might notice him. No, she would notice him. She’d been trained to detect tails; he himself had conducted the relentless drills, day after day in their old home in their old life … so long ago.
But George’s words from their last meeting kept echoing through his head. They blasted away at his common sense, reducing it to rubble. “Loki’s interest in our girl has taken on a new twist There’s reason to believe he wants her—for himself.”
Tom shook his head. Screw common sense. No way would he let Gaia out of his sight. He grabbed the key out of his pocket and jammed it into the ignition.
The Dead Girl
ELLA PAUSED ON THE SIDEWALK. SHE was fumbling for something in the pocket of her faux fur coat … a cell phone. She flipped it open and began walking briskly in the opposite direction Gaia had headed, away from Washington Square Park.
“… doesn’t need to be monitored every second,” she was saying.
At least that’s what Sam thought she was saying. Her voice trailed off, lost in the ambient noise of the city.
He hesitated. This was stupid. Even worse, it was shameful. He was going to confront her. Summoning his courage, he stood up straight and marched purposefully after her.
Ella suddenly stopped in midstep.
“The dead girl’s not an issue anymore,” she stated. “Gaia’s problem was solved. You solved it.”
Sam’s pace slowed … then he stopped altogether. At the mention of Gaia’s name, he found he couldn’t continue. His face twisted in a scowl. The dead girl? Gaia’s problem? He shook his head. Could it be that Ella was talking about Mary? No. No way. Mary wasn’t Gaia’s problem. On the other hand … what could she possibly mean?
Ella snapped the cell phone shut and scurried across the street.
Sam swallowed. Follow her, dammit! He clenched his fists at his sides and darted after her, splashing into a puddle of brownish slush as he leaped off the curb.
Shadowy
GAIA PAUSED ON THE OPPOSITE CORNER, struck by the sound of an engine. She’d noticed it a few seconds ago—loud at first, which meant that the driver was in a hurry, then very soft. Which meant that the driver was being cautious.
Or following someone.
The chances that the driver was following her were probably small. Still, it was good to have a healthy paranoia. She turned and peered through the early evening twilight at a brown car, idling on the opposite curb. Her eyes narrowed. The driver was a man…. She couldn’t make out any of his features, just a shadowy silhouette.
Instinctively she stepped forward. The car suddenly jumped to life, pulling out into the street. Shit. But then her eyes zeroed in on something else.
No, somebody else.
What the—
Inanswered Question
A HORN BLAST TORE THROUGH THE AIR.
Sam snapped his head around. His feet became jelly. He hadn’t looked before he’d rushed into the street. He heard the tires screeching and perceived only a massive blur, framed by the dark gray drabness of the winter landscape. He knew it was a car, though, and that it was going too fast to stop in time. In seeming slow motion the blur consumed his entire field of vision … drowning out all other sights and sounds until there was nothing.
He was about to ask himself a question, but he never had the chance.
Idiot Kid
“JESUS CHRIST!”
Tom Moore furiously stamped the brake, but the pavement was too slick. No, no, no. The car wouldn’t stop. It was careening out of control. That kid, that idiot
kid—why had he run out into the middle of the street? The tires whined. Tom cringed involuntarily. But at the moment of impact he was struck by two simultaneous realizations: one, that he recognized the kid; two, that Gaia was flinging herself in front of the car and shoving the kid to safety.
“No!”
The word erupted from Tom’s mouth the instant the hood struck his daughter. Flesh and metal connected with a sickening thud. Tom watched dumbstruck as Gaia’s body hurtled up into the air and then slammed into the windshield. He threw his hands in front of his face. But miraculously the car lurched to a stop.
Gaia rolled onto the pavement, disappearing from his view.
Silence.
Time came to an instant standstill. The world ceased to turn. Tom didn’t hear a sound. He couldn’t breathe. His mind shut down but for one horrible thought.
I’ve just killed my own daughter.
But then something else crept into his consciousness … a noise. Shouting. The kid. He was back in the street, grabbing Gaia and propping up her head. Tom could just barely see her over the hood. His heart rattled like a machine gun. His body felt like it was on fire.
What have I done? What have I—
And then he saw it. Yes! Oh God, she was alive. A warm rush of relief seeped through his veins as he saw the wisp of frozen vapor drift up from under his daughter’s nose. She was breathing. She was alive. Thank God she knew how to relax during a collision, to let the force of impact throw her body as if she were a sack of potatoes. One of the first lessons of martial arts was minimizing injury. She would be bruised, maybe even have a few cracked bones … but she would survive.
He gazed at her transfixed, watching in blessed relief as Gaia lifted her head and blinked her eyelids, pulling the world into focus. He read the single word on her lips:
“Shit?”
He let his breath go. That was his Gaia.
He shoved his panic aside and thrust the car into reverse, simultaneously reaching for the car phone. As the car jumped backward, he punched in three numbers: 911.
“Emergency,” a voice answered.
“I’d like to report a hit and run at the corner of West Fourth and Perry Street,” Tom hissed. “You better call an ambulance.”
He pulled the car around the corner. He’d abandon the car just west of Bleecker and return to the scene of the accident to make certain Gaia was all right. It wasn’t a hit and run exactly. More of a hit and hide.
The Horror
AT FIRST THE SEQUENCE OF EVENTS didn’t register in Sam’s brain. Everything seemed to swirl together like some nightmarish impressionist painting. One moment he was about to get hit by a car; the next he was lying on the sidewalk, staring at Gaia as she lay in a heap on the street. And now he was holding her. Cradling her in his arms. Praying that she was alive, that the bastard who’d hit her hadn’t killed her …
“Come on, Gaia,” he heard himself whisper. But the words seemed to come from some other place—as if he were standing off to the side, watching the horror as it unfolded. “Come on—”
She moaned. A flicker of hope sparked inside him. He pushed tangled hair away from her lovely face. “Gaia, please be okay,” he whispered. She had a cut along her cheekbone. He held her closer, bending so close to her, his lips nearly touched her forehead. “Please,” he whispered again.
Suddenly he felt her body stiffen. Slowly, mercifully, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. Oh, Christ, she was going to be okay. His heart seemed to levitate above his chest.
“Shit,” she muttered, curling her body in pain.
Sam’s head snapped up at the noisy strain of a car engine backing up in a hurry. Before he could clear his head, the car had disappeared around the corner, speeding crazily in reverse down West Fourth Street. Dammit. He wished he’d had the sense to get the bastard’s license plate number. What kind of shameless asshole would hit an innocent girl and speed away?
Plenty of people in New York City, Sam answered his own question. People ran over each other every single goddamn day. And nobody cared. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody wanted to take responsibility.
He urgently scanned the street for Ella, for an onlooker, for anyone. Gaia needed an ambulance. But the sidewalks were deserted.
“Sam?” Gaia whispered.
He gazed down at her, startled. A drop of blood trickled over the ledge of her chin onto the sleeve of his coat.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just hold on….”
Sirens were approaching. He could hear the distant wail, drawing closer and closer.
“Sam?” Gaia repeated. She squirmed in his arms.
He hugged her as tightly as he could. “Shhh,” he whispered. “They’ll be here—”
“Do you think you could let go of me?” she finally managed.
His eyes widened. She squirmed harder.
“But I—I—just … I didn’t,” he started stammering incoherently.
“I’m fine,” she grunted. Her eyes were open now—alert, awake, fixed on him with a cold intensity. “Just let me go.”
The sirens grew louder.
Let you go? Sam stared at her, slack jawed. Didn’t she know that she’d almost been killed? His grip on her loosened—and in that instant Gaia pushed herself away and staggered back toward her house.
“Gaia!” he shouted. “Gaia, please don’t go—I need to—Gaia!”
But if she heard him, she didn’t show it. She stumbled up the stoop and through the door and slammed it behind her, leaving Sam alone on the frozen pavement.
The street was eerily silent. “I need to thank you,” he finished to nobody at all. “Thank you for saving my life.”
ED
So my wildest fantasy finally came true. Yup. The impossible happened. I told Gaia Moore that I loved her. And she told me that she loved me. I mean, this is the moment I’ve been dreaming of nonstop for four months.
I don’t even think I can explain it. Imagine this: You know the very first guy who ever walked on the moon? Neil Armstrong? I’m pretty sure that’s his name. Anyway, picture him as a little boy, looking up at the night sky (and remember, this was probably back in the thirties, when airplanes were still brand-new) and telling his mom: “Mommy, I’m gonna fly to the moon someday.” She probably laughed and patted him on the back and thought: Little boys can be so stupid sometimes.
And then—a mere thirty years later—he does it. Ha! Bite me, Mom!
Well, for the record: Having Gaia Moore tell you that she loves you is way more impressive than flying to the moon.
Right. Of course, the fact that Gaia Moore made this confession to me doesn’t mean squat. Oh, yeah. Did I forget to mention that there was a shitty element to the whole equation?
See, I always knew that she loved me—on a certain level. As a friend. A best friend, even. Just not in … “that way.” She never will, either. When she hugged me on the subway steps after nearly killing me and when she made that speech at Mary’s funeral, we reached a new understanding. We can share things now. We can afford to be vulnerable around each other. I know all of this sounds like I ripped it off from some made-for-TV movie on the Lifetime channel, but it’s true. It’s a whole new level.
The flip side is that this whole new level makes it painfully clear that we’re never going to be involved in … “that way.”
Don’t get me wrong. The new level is great. Maybe I’ll finally find out what those deep, dark secrets of hers are, anyway. Which would be awesome. Amazing. Radical, as I used to say—when my legs worked and I went by the name of Shred and kicked serious butt on a skateboard.
But even if she does bare her soul, she still won’t think of me in … “that way.” In fact, the more she does confide in me, the less likely she’ll ever be attracted to me. Generally speaking, people don’t date their best friends.
Which kind of sucks.
sexual frustration
Her flesh burned; her body ached—but the agony was tolerable.
The
Gaia Effect
ED FARGO WHEELED BACK AND FORTH down the aisles of the Village Blockbuster: his version of pacing. He was starting to get impatient. Scratch that. He was starting to get seriously annoyed. Gaia was supposed to meet him—when? Forty-seven minutes ago?
She’d probably gotten held up by Ella. Or maybe she’d decided to stop in the park for a quick game of ice-cold, subzero chess on her way up to meet him. No, what probably happened was this: She’d decided to pick a fight with a gang of demented serial killers and ended up getting blown away with a machine gun—but not before kicking eight guys’ asses at once.
Ed smiled queasily as he passed the long row of new releases. That wasn’t very funny, actually. Something like that could happen to Gaia. Something like that happened to Gaia almost every freaking week.
Okay. There was no point in speculating. He’d give her a few more minutes, and then he’d call her. Right. In the meantime he’d pick a movie for them. His eyes roved over some big-budget comedy starring Mike Myers (nah) … then to the tearjerkers (would Gaia submit to a chick flick?) … after that the Tom Hanks vehicles (that guy probably counted as a genre unto himself by now) … but he was unable to focus on anything. There was no way he could pick a movie.
The thing was, he didn’t even really want to watch a movie. The movie was just an excuse. What he really wanted to do was ask Gaia if she wanted to come to his sister’s stupid engagement party with him.
It wouldn’t be a date, of course. Not technically. Ed just wanted some company, somebody to share in his misery. On the other hand, it would provide a convenient excuse to see Gaia in some sexy formal wear—
Wait a second.
He knew exactly what to rent. Duh. The Great Gatsby. It sure as hell beat reading the book. And his mom had mentioned that they made a movie of it a long time ago, starring Robert Redford. She’d even said it was good. If he provided Gaia with an alternative to doing her homework, then she’d owe him. She’d have to go to the party with him.
Liar Page 2