The Collector

by Cameron

  And still, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

  By the time he reached her porch, he was out of breath.

  “How do you do it?” he demanded, thinking about Beth. “How do you believe that you can raise your kid and take her to school and make macaroni and cheese and everything will be okay? How can you even…imagine those things you paint and still think that life goes on?”

  He wanted so badly to have those answers. He wanted to explain it all to Nick and Beth and make them whole again.

  Gia looked up at him. He thought maybe she would tell him to get lost. It’s what she should do. Every minute he stood here, he was breaking all the rules.

  But that’s exactly what he wanted. To break the rules. Breaking the rules was normal. The way life used to be way back when…. He wanted to be the bad son to Ricky’s perfection, just like before.

  Break the rules!

  Before he could change his mind, he took her face in his hands, almost grabbing her. He kissed her hard on the mouth.

  He could feel her pushing him away, but he didn’t care. He was breaking the rules. So he forced it, trying to convince her. It didn’t take long. Her arms came up around his neck and she kissed him back. He wanted to make her as breathless as he felt.

  Crazy. So crazy. Just like Ricky….

  Just like Ricky.

  Jesus!

  Seven forced himself to pull away. He was still breathing hard. What the hell did he think he was doing?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He shoved his hand through his hair, taking another step back. “I’m sorry.”

  But Gia was having none of it. She followed him, the move just like a dance step. She put her fingers over his mouth and shook her head. “It’s okay,” she whispered, those eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Some things are meant to be. No matter how much we want to change them.”

  He thought about that image of them in bed together. But he shook his head. “I’m not sure I believe in the things you do. Fate. Destiny. That we lack control over our lives.”

  Her smile was beautiful and mischievous and alluring all at the same time. “Well, then. How about it’s just sex…or two lonely people holding each other through the night? You choose.”

  She held out her hand toward his, waiting.

  “See?” she said. “You’re in control.”

  He sighed, realizing it was bullshit. He wasn’t in control…because there was no way in hell he could walk away from her.

  His heart racing, he placed his hand in hers. He followed her inside, watched as she shut the door quietly behind them. He wondered about her daughter, for a moment hesitating.

  “Stella is asleep in my room,” she said, holding his hand tighter. “But there’s a guest room down the hall.”

  “Do you always answer questions before they’re asked?”

  She frowned, thinking about it. “No. You’re…different. I hear you, but I can’t read you.”

  He shook his head. “Why does that make perfect sense?”

  She gave him that same smile, the one that made his heart catch right there in his chest. She led him down the hall.

  Once they were inside the guest room, she shut the door and locked it. Her eyes on his, she pulled off her T-shirt. She shimmied out of the drawstring pants. She looked so vulnerable standing there in only her bra and panties.

  “You choose,” she whispered.

  He took off his shirt, giving in—giving up.

  He closed his eyes, taking her into his arms, kissing her. He told himself it wouldn’t last. Soon enough, he’d have all those demons hammering at him. Beth and Nick. Ricky and his parents. The Tran case.

  But for now, he had Gia in his arms. With his mouth against hers, the last thing he was thinking about was breaking the rules.

  Sam was having dinner with Trudy H. A long, dull dinner, like so many they’d shared before.

  The restaurant was called S. Trudy H. was downing a lychee tini, her third, while he sipped on a more pedantic martini.

  Sam had been drinking Grey Goose martinis ever since he’d read somewhere that it was David Gospel’s favorite. Of course, he never did it in front of David. Sam didn’t want to give the old man the idea that he was somehow modeling himself after David. Hell, no.

  Only he was. Very much so.

  Gospel was a winner. Sam Vi planned to be a winner, too. In California, it was all about real estate and development. That’s where the real money came from.

  Like Sam, the restaurant S straddled two worlds. Enormous silk lanterns hung like gossamer webs over white tablecloths. The light combined with hardwood floors to give the place a warm, amber glow. Modernist pastels of lilies decorated the walls, alongside screens lit up like neon bamboo.

  The decor was serene but modern, the food delectably the same. Really, the place was a thing of beauty, representing to Sam what was best about the community here. Set just outside of Little Saigon in the Westminster Mall, the restaurant held an equal mix of Asian and Caucasian diners. Sam knew that had been the idea. To bring Vietnamese cuisine to the white community that might not venture into Little Saigon.

  Trudy looked bored with the food. Trudy, Sam noticed, was easily bored. Lately, he was beginning to wonder if she was bored with him.

  That worried Sam. In fact, a lot of things were beginning to bother him about his “engagement.” Like the fact that Trudy constantly denied the relationship to the stalkarrazi that followed her every move. Whenever a photograph of the two of them got printed in the tabloids, it appeared with a caveat attached, some comment from Trudy or her publicist about their “rumored” romance. Sam’s engagement was starting to feel like a box of cigarettes with a warning from the surgeon general. Do not believe what you see.

  Rumor my ass, he thought. A fucking six-carat diamond in a rare blue color wasn’t a fucking rumor.

  Tonight, she wasn’t even wearing his ring. Sam took a swig from the martini. But, hey, maybe she was bored with that, too?

  And here he was, trying to make himself over for her family? Well, Sam was starting to get the idea that Trudy didn’t give a shit about Sam the business mogul. She much preferred Sam the gangster.

  These were the thoughts nagging Sam as he ate a perfect Chilean sea bass, wondering what Velvet would say if she could see him now.

  Velvet, he was certain, would be telling him that Trudy was just part of the package: Sam’s attempt to make himself over into the image of David Gospel, the mogul on high. Sam had the money, sure, but now he needed legitimacy.

  Velvet, Sam believed, would let him know that—like the Vietnamese businessmen who spoke only French, trying to become one with their colonial masters—he, too, was only mimicking David. Hadn’t he bought a construction company? Wasn’t he using Gospel to get coveted city contracts? Getting engaged to Trudy, a hot celebutante, was just another step in his transformation.

  Well, fuck, Sam thought. Maybe she’s right.

  Velvet didn’t approve of his relationship with Trudy. She’d told Sam more than once that Trudy was just pretty poison.

  Just like David, she’d said, making the comparison more than once. To Velvet’s way of thinking, Sam and she needed to stick to their community. They were outsiders in the world of people like David Gospel and Trudy H. And no matter how much they tried—no matter how many degrees she earned or blue diamonds he bought—they’d never fit in.

  Velvet, Sam realized, wasn’t bored with that old geezer, David Gospel. Quite the opposite. She was falling in love. And unlike Trudy, for Velvet, that wouldn’t change.

  So he was trying to figure out how to get her advice without the lecture he’d have coming right along with it, when he spotted his bodyguard coming toward his table.

  The muscle that traveled with Sam kept their distance. Sam didn’t care about being seen with an entourage—hell, he loved it. But that was part of it, see? The fact that they stayed behind the scenes made it classy. And Sam was all ab
out class.

  Trudy didn’t even look up when his bodyguard leaned over to whisper in his ear. With no little irritation, he again noticed she hadn’t touched her food. He’d ordered for her, knowing she would take only a few dejected bites of the tom hum nuong, grilled lobster tail topped with tamarind sauce. She didn’t like Vietnamese food, even the gourmet feast prepared at S. Hell, who was he kidding? Trudy didn’t like food.

  But she liked her booze. She’d just sucked down her third cocktail, leaving only the lychee fruit at the bottom of her martini glass—damn thing looked like an eyeball, Sam thought. She was no doubt counting the minutes until they left for some hot club in downtown L.A. far away from Little Saigon…while Sam had been hoping for a quiet night at home.

  That was another thing he wanted to talk over with Vee. Sam liked the community here. Okay, maybe it had all started as some dumb-ass attempt to become another David Gospel, but he was building an empire in Little Saigon. And it worried him plenty that Trudy, the woman he loved, wanted no part of it.

  That’s what had been going on in his head, how maybe he should start listening more to Velvet and less to David, when his bodyguard whispered in his ear that he had an urgent call. Sam almost rolled his eyes at the annoyance, but took the phone handed to him—he always turned off his cell phone at dinner with Trudy. Any emergency would come through his bodyguard.

  He’d been sitting there, staring at that damn lychee at the bottom of Trudy’s martini glass, when he’d heard the news.

  Sam. It’s bad. Velvet. She’s dead.

  At first, Sam didn’t know how to feel. It was a joke, right? Some sort of mistake. Velvet was like a sister to him, the one person who wasn’t afraid to tell him what a piece of shit he’d turned out to be and how he should do better. Be better. Over the years, he’d come to think of her as his conscience.

  And now she was dead?

  No, not just dead, the voice on the cell phone informed him. She’d been slaughtered. Gutted like the damn Chilean bass on his plate.

  “What’s wrong, Sam?”

  He looked across the table at Trudy H. Suddenly, she was every bit the woman Velvet had warned him about: a spoiled, too-thin celebutante who would never, ever, marry him.

  Sam stood. He swept the dishes off the table, sending everything crashing to the floor. He raised his face to the ceiling and howled.

  Trudy stood as well. She wasn’t scared. But she was embarrassed, looking around at the other diners.

  The restaurant was family-run. Immediately, one of the owners, a woman, came over, completely solicitous. A busboy was cleaning up the mess on the floor. But the muscle didn’t let anyone near Sam as he dropped back into his chair, the cell phone still in his hand.

  “Go,” Sam said to Trudy.

  He didn’t have to tell her twice.

  What Trudy didn’t know was how long he’d waited to say those words. Too long. Because her dismissal wasn’t just for tonight.

  Dong-bao. Born of the same womb. That was Vee.

  Sam Vi. Velvet—Vee.

  He could feel the tears roll down his cheeks. In that moment, watching Trudy H. tottering out of the restaurant on her heels, drunk and uncaring, dragging on the floor a mink that she didn’t need, Sam Vi felt his life come into vivid focus. The one person who really mattered had been taken from him.

  From now on, Sam would focus only on his lost sister, Vee. He needed to find the dumb fuck who’d killed her. He needed to make sure he paid.

  38

  You dream of Corinth.

  In Corinth, there is a fountain named the Well of Glauce. It is a monument to the beautiful daughter of King Creon, Princess Glauce, who so famously donned the poisonous wedding dress given to her by husband-to-be Jason of the Argonauts, after he returned triumphant from his quest for the Golden Fleece. The gown was a gift from her rival in love, Medea, the mother of Jason’s children, his barbarian bride.

  It is said that Glauce threw herself in the well, believing that the waters there might cure her of the poison from the wedding gown.

  There are holes in the porous rock of the fountain. The people of Corinth make offerings to Glauce, deified in death, stuffing them into the crevices of the rock.

  Glauce, it is said, was named for her blue eyes, glaukos being the ancient Greek word for blue. Glaukos refers to man’s fear of blindness—glaucoma and cataracts often giving that pale hue to the eye of the infirmed.

  In a healthy eye, the color is seen as unnatural…something to be feared. Foreigners from the north often have blue eyes. It is something strange and maligned in the ancient world. Only Athena, the great protector, can possess such a color. And thus her eyes are the amulet against the Evil Eye. The blue eye of Athena.

  Whenever you dream of Corinth, you remember the Eye. How you cradle it in your hands. The heat of it against your skin, branding you. You’re reluctant to give it back. She believes it belongs to the people and is unwilling to listen to your plans.

  So you make your own plans.

  The anticipation is nice. Working alongside her, sharing her smiles—but knowing, just knowing.

  Next week. Tomorrow. Tonight!

  She tries to fight. That excites you. You’re like Apollo fighting the Python, earning your treasure. When you loop the garrote around her neck, she falls to her knees. Her arms and legs flail like a trout on a rock. You hold on, pulling tighter.

  That’s right, you whisper to her. You’ve seen this all before.

  Go easy. Die.

  You kill her. You take the Eye, her eyes.

  At long last, you begin your collection.

  Gia sat straight up in bed. She clawed at her neck. She could feel the garrote around her throat, a man’s body straddling her.

  Beside her, Seven immediately woke up, the hair-trigger instincts of a cop kicking in.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  It was just like the time before, in the studio. Just like every time this demon brought her into his vision. Only it was getting worse.

  I…can’t…breathe!

  Seven grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her to face him in the bed. “Gia?”

  With the moonlight coming through the window behind her, she could see him perfectly. She remembered what it was like to make love to him, how soft his lips felt against hers. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him. She hadn’t made love to a man since she’d conceived her daughter. All these years of loneliness seemed to catch up with her in that moment of release, the surprise of that desire sweeping over her.

  But now, she couldn’t even move. Every muscle in her body remained caught in a vise.

  “Oh, Jesus. Gia!”

  He laid her out on the bed. Tilting back her head, he began to give her mouth-to-mouth.

  She felt the air in his mouth fill her lungs. The action struck her so much like the act of making love that the same wave of desire swept over her.

  Suddenly, every muscle in her body came to life. She sat up, pushing him away. She sucked in a lungful of air then collapsed back against the headboard.

  She rested her cheek against the cool wood, waiting for the motion of breathing to come more naturally.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  Seven was naked, kneeling on the sheets crumpled beneath him. She could see she’d frightened him, his breath coming deep from his abdomen. A man who dealt with death probably knew what she’d just experienced.

  She pushed the hair from her face and sat up straighter, taking comfort in that normal rhythm: breath in, breath out.

  “Gia, what…the fuck…just happened?”

  She shook her head, biding her time. When she was ready, when she could speak without struggling for oxygen, she told him, “I had a vision.”

  Only this time, what she’d lived through had been all too personal. Her spirit guides had taken her to the brink of death—her mother’s death.

  The vision had been so powerful. She felt as if she’d grabbed hold of a live wire.<
br />
  Gia let out a long sigh. Seven was kneeling at the foot of the bed. She leaned forward, reaching for him. She placed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat against her fingertips.

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Jesus, you scared me.”

  She closed her eyes, ashamed. He couldn’t see the future. He wouldn’t know what lay ahead. But she did.

  He was still holding her hand when she said, “I think you should go.”

  He cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her right. “You almost died just now. You stopped breathing.”

  She held up her hand, cutting him off. “It’s happened before. It’s part of the process. I know you think I’m crazy, but I would have been fine.”

  “Bullshit,” he said.

  She smiled, giving him a mental thumbs-up for his instincts.

  “Stella, my daughter.” She knew enough about him to understand that only her daughter would be reason enough. “I don’t want you to be here when she wakes up for school.” Gia bit her lip, hating the lie. “Okay?”

  She stood and took his hand. She picked up his shirt off the floor and slipped his arms into the sleeves. As she buttoned the front, she felt a warmth in her chest. She wondered what it would be like to have a normal life, one that allowed a man like Seven.

  When he tried to speak, to tell her what he was feeling, she placed her finger across his lips. She shook her head.

  Once they were both dressed, she again took his hand and led him to the front door. She rested her head against his chest.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was the only explanation she could give him.

  “Gia?” His voice sounded soft and vulnerable. “If you know who killed these women…If you’re somehow involved—”

  “No.”

  She looked up at him, trying to leave it as ambiguous as possible. No, I don’t know anything. No, don’t ask me.

  She kissed him, pretending for both of them that they could live in this moment and forget what lay ahead.

  “Call me later,” she said, hugging him.