Who was she working for? Tom wondered for the ten billionth time since he’d learned that Natasha was, in fact, the enemy. She had to be working for someone. Who was it? The Russian Mafia? The Russian Secret Service? One of the newer spy organizations?
He entered the park and passed by a few empty benches, not ready to sit yet. He had too much pent-up energy to expend. He’d walk the whole way to the other side and back if he had to. Whatever it took for him to figure this out.
Of course, the problem was, he was fairly certain he already had it figured out. As much as Gaia wanted to believe otherwise, Tom knew that Loki had to have been the one pulling the strings. It was the only scenario that made sense. No one had questioned him while he was in Russia. No one had tortured him or demanded he divulge his secrets. There didn’t seem to be any point to him being there other than to keep him from being here. Who would go to all those lengths to remove him from his daughter other than Loki?
“Damn it,” Tom said through his teeth. He stuffed his hands under his arms and clamped his elbows down, coiling in on himself. How had Loki done it? That was what he wanted to know. How had he faked a coma? How had he given orders from a hospital room? How had he convinced Gaia that he was Oliver again?
I need to talk to Natasha. She’s the only one who knows, Tom thought, trying not to notice the mother who was pulling her toddler to her as he passed by, clearly disturbed by his whacked-out demeanor. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let her get to me?
The answer, he knew, was simple. He let her get to him because he was in love with her. And her betrayal stung more than anything he’d suffered in the past. She’d fooled him into opening a heart that had been dosed for a decade, and then she’d turned on him. If he was ever going to figure out what was going on with her and her daughter and Loki, he was going to have to get past that.
Tom paused at a fork in the paved pathway. He forced himself to uncurl his arms. Forced himself to look up at the oncoming dusk. He breathed in and out, expanding his chest and closing his eyes. He breathed in and out and told himself to let go. He had to. For his daughter. For his own sanity.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked at the two paths that lay ahead. One wound up and into the budding bushes and trees, the other was straight and sloped down toward the center of the park. Tom turned right and took the easier path. He wanted to stroll. He wanted to relax. It was time to let go.
He’d only taken a few long strides when the trill of his cell phone surprised him. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open in one smooth motion.
“Moore here,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“Agent Moore, it’s Director Vance. There’s been a development.”
Tom blinked and stepped off the pathway to let a pair of skateboarders pass. “What kind of development?” he asked, his pulse beginning to race.
“We need you to come in,” the deep, throaty voice replied. “Now.”
“What about taking some time off?” Tom said, unabashedly enjoying this. They needed him. He knew they needed him.
“I’m ending it,” Vance replied firmly. “I expect to see you in fifteen.”
Used Undies
GAIA SAT ON THE COUCH ON SATURDAY evening, brooding over her meeting with Dmitri. For the last hour she’d been alternating between obsessive irritation and obsessive brainstorming—trying to think of other ways to help her dad. He’d left her a message saying he was going back to work, which was good, but that didn’t mean they were putting him back on the case. He might still need her, and even if he didn’t, there was no way to stop her mind from obsessing.
When the doorbell rang, however, her thoughts came to a screeching stop. She jumped up, crossed the living room, and slipped the cover on the peephole aside.
Jake, she thought, her heart responding with the usual thump, much to her chagrin.
“I know you’re there. I heard the peephole thing move,” Jake said.
Gaia rolled her eyes and opened the door. Jake looked even more perfect in full, undistorted size than he had through the peephole. He was wearing black pants and shoes and a formfitting burgundy T-shirt that made his olive skin look even darker. His black leather jacket was new—at least she hadn’t seen it before—and his hair was slightly gelled.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Gaia asked, stepping aside so that he could come in.
“It’s Saturday night,” Jake replied, opening his hands. “I think the more appropriate question is why are you dressed like that?”
Gaia flushed and crossed her arms over her chest. After she had returned from Dmitri’s that afternoon, she’d taken a shower and braided her still-wet hair down her back. Then she’d slipped into her most comfortable cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and a black hooded sweatshirt for her night on the couch. What did Jake expect her to do, lounge around in silk and cashmere?
“So, you came here to insult my wardrobe?” Gaia asked.
“You started it,” Jake said. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “Actually, I came here to take you out. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go.”
Gaia blinked and drew herself up straight. Wait. Had he just asked her out? Where was the awkwardness? The agonizing silence? How was she supposed to have the time to get all mortified and embarrassed and confused if he just sprung it on her like that?
“I . . . uh . . . ”
Okay, there it was. Total loss of communication skills. This felt more familiar.
“Come on, what do you do for fun?” Jake asked, his high energy bursting out of him and ricocheting off the walls. Gaia had a mental vision of herself ducking and dodging to avoid being hit by a shot of Jake oomph.
“What do I do for fun . . . ?” Gaia repeated, stalling.
This is pathetic, she thought, racking her brain. I don’t have an answer to that question. But when had she ever had the chance to think about it? When had she ever been misery-free long enough to even consider having fun? Yeah, she’d had a few laughs with Ed, but she couldn’t exactly tell Jake that she hung out with Ed for fun. Besides, hanging out with him was not an option. Not anymore.
“Um . . . chess?” Gaia said finally, pathetically.
Jake, understandably, laughed. “You have to be kidding me,” he said, walking over and standing across from her. “You live in one of the most kickass cities in the world. There are a million things to do here and you pick chess.”
“It’s . . . challenging,” Gaia said, defeated. She let her shoulders slump and looked up into his eyes. She felt like the biggest geek in the world, standing in front of some popular, fun-loving guru and begging him to help her become functional in society.
“Okay, you need help,” Jake said, as if reading her mind.
He abruptly turned left and walked down the hall toward her bedroom. Gaia followed, somehow resisting the urge to tackle him to the floor before he got there. Her room was a constant mess, with tangles of clothes, cupcake wrappers, soda cans, and who knew what else littering the floor. If he went in there, he was sure to get a glimpse of something embarrassing, like socks with holes in them or bras with fraying straps or worst of all, used undies.
Please don’t let him see any used underwear, Gaia thought, squeezing her eyes shut as she entered the room.
But Jake didn’t even look around. He went straight to her closet and pulled out a slim-fitting black turtle-neck. He tossed it at her and then started going through a pile of jeans—Tatiana’s jeans.
“I’m not wearing her clothes,” Gaia said. She grabbed a pair of white cotton panties off the floor and stuffed it under her new pillows.
“Understood,” Jake replied, turning to her side of the closet again. “Do you own anything that isn’t army green?”
Gaia flushed. Why had he come over here? To remind her of how unappealing she was? To show her that she didn’t even own one single piece of clothing that a guy would find attractive? Jake was turning out to have some serious nerve.
&nb
sp; “You know . . . ,” Gaia began, but she never got to finish. Jake gave up on the closet and stepped so close to Gaia her nose was practically pressed into his chest. He reached around behind her and she felt a tug at the bottom of her braid. She held her breath as she felt his fingers running through her hair, fanning it out over her shoulders.
Jake pulled back and looked down at her, smiling almost gently. “Wear whatever you want,” he said. “But I am taking you out of here.”
Then he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Still struggling to breathe, Gaia stepped in front of the full-length mirror that Tatiana had secured to the back of their door. Her hair was dry now and the haphazard braid had woven it in hundreds of loose waves. Gaia ran her fingers through it, trying to see whatever it was that had made Jake smile like that. She pulled it all over one shoulder and turned to the side.
Street rat, she thought.
“You coming?” Jake called out.
And right in front of her own reflection, Gaia smiled. Instantly. Purely. Without thinking about it. It was so odd, this actual spontaneous emotion. Could she really do this? Could she really just take off on the spur of the moment, forgo a night of obsessing and just have fun?
As she stood there, staring at herself, Gaia realized that she wanted to try.
She ripped off her sweatshirt and tee, pulled on the turtleneck, and yanked her hair out of the collar. Then she grabbed her denim jacket and her messenger bag and strode out of her room.
It was time to see what this fun thing was all about.
Getting There
“THANKS, MAN. I OWE YOU ONE,” Jake said, slapping hands with his friend Derek Simms at the entrance to section 79 at Madison Square Garden.
Derek worked as a security guard at the Garden and had just smuggled Jake and Gaia in through a back entrance. The Knicks were playing a crappy team, so there were empty seats all over the arena and Derek was giving them two of the best.
“Yeah, when are you going to get a job I can take advantage of?” Derek asked, laughing as he gripped Jake’s hand.
“We’ll see,” Jake said. They slapped each other’s backs and then Derek loped off to return to his post.
Jake looked around and found Gaia standing at the top of the stairs, watching the action on the court. Her hair looked so touchable with all those waves, its million shades of blond shifting every time she moved. He could still feel its softness under his fingertips.
Get a grip, man, Jake told himself, rolling his shoulders back. Gaia was definitely a closed book and he knew it was going to take a lot of patience before he got to touch that hair again. He should count himself lucky that she didn’t knee him in the groin the first time.
“Pretty sick, huh?” he asked, stepping up next to Gaia. Even with an undercapacity crowd, the place seemed to be filled with screaming fans in blue and orange. The butter-colored boards of the court gleamed under the bright lights and the loudspeaker blared a cavalry horn recording, prompting everyone in the arena to shout, “Charge!”
“I’ve never been to a game here,” Gaia said, her eyes trained on Allan Houston as he drove down the court.
“Never? Well then, you’ll need to have the full experience,” Jake said. “I’ll meet you at the seats.”
“Where are you going?” Gaia asked, her blue eyes wide.
“Trust me,” Jake said with a grin.
He waited until Gaia had settled into one of the seats Derek had pointed out, then turned and jogged over to the nearest souvenir stand. He picked out a blue-and-orange Knicks visor, a white tank top with a small logo on the chest, two huge foam fingers, and a tan fisherman-style cap for himself. The girl behind the counter eyed him like he was a crazy person as she handed over the goods and took a major wad of his cash. Then Jake hit the food counter and bought a couple of hot dogs and sodas. Balancing everything in his arms on the way back down the stairs, Jake thanked God that he had an aisle seat. Anyone he had to walk over would have killed him.
“What is all that?” Gaia asked as everyone around them stood up and cheered a killer three-point shot.
Jake placed the food tray down on his empty seat and handed the tank top, the visor, and the foam finger to Gaia, one by one.
“I’m not putting this stuff on,” Gaia said flatly.
“Live a little, G,” Jake told her, pulling the fisherman’s cap down over his own eyes. He knew he probably looked like a tool, but that was the point. Gaia was going to have fun tonight if it killed him. Even if he had to embarrass the hell out of himself to make it happen.
He slipped the other foam finger on over his hand and raised it in the air. “Go, Knicks!” he shouted, tipping his head back. The fans all around him let out a huge cheer.
Gaia laughed and shook her head, her eyes dancing. Jake’s heart flipped over. She’d laughed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen that before. Suddenly Gaia cleared her throat and looked away, flushing as if she’d done something wrong. Was it possible that she had actually never laughed before? Okay, probably not. But she obviously didn’t do it much.
“Just put the tank top on over your shirt,” he told her.
“What is it with you and dressing me?” Gaia asked. “Do you miss your Barbie dolls?”
Jake tucked his chin and looked up at her past the brim of his hat. “Put it on or you don’t get the hot dog.”
Gaia sighed and tilted her head so she could see the foot-long waiting for her in the cardboard tray. He could tell she was caving.
“Fine,” she said finally. She took off her jacket, pulled the shirt on over her turtleneck, then slipped her jacket back on. While she was still adjusting herself, Jake placed the visor on her head and put the foam finger in her lap. Gaia rolled her eyes up and looked at the visor, then shook her head again, trying not to smile. She yanked the foam finger on and looked at Jake expectantly.
“Hot dog,” she said, holding out her free hand.
Jake finally sat down, lifting the tray onto his lap, and handed her the goods. Gaia consumed a third of the hot dog in one huge bite.
“I’m good now,” she said, chewing. And she actually did look good. She looked comfortable . . . content. And ridiculously cute. She lifted her foam finger to shoulder level. “Go, Knicks,” she said quietly.
Jake smiled and bit into his own hot dog. “You’re getting there.”
Get It Done
TOM STOOD IN ONE OF THE DEBRIEFING rooms at the CIA’s New York headquarters, completely calm and composed. He’d changed into a clean, starched suit and a tie and made sure there was no stray stubble on his face, no hair out of place on his head. Whatever he’d been called in to do, he was going to do it. He was going to prove that he was back on his game.
The door opened noiselessly and Director Vance entered the room, followed by two other agents—a young woman Tom had met two days ago named Clarissa Rosenberg, who was a behavioral specialist, and Trey Frenz, an agent Tom had trained with as a neophyte whom he’d never much liked. Tom ignored the presence of the other two and trained his eyes on Vance.
“Agent Moore, we’ve cut your leave of absence short—”
“Very short,” Tom couldn’t resist saying. Vance ignored his joke.
“Because since you left on Thursday afternoon, the prisoners have refused to speak to anyone,” Vance continued.
Tom blinked. “What does that have to do with me?”
“They’ve refused to speak to anyone . . . but you,” Vance said, averting his gaze for a split second. Tom felt a twitch on his lips and forced it away. He was not going to smile. He was not going to rub his triumph in his director’s face. Vance was not the type of man who would find it amusing.
“We even took your daughter’s advice, Agent Moore, offering each the other’s freedom, but they didn’t bite,” Agent Rosenberg said. “At least not until now.”
“Wait a second—Gaia was here?” Tom asked, baffled.
“She didn’t tell you?” Agent Rosenberg asked.
“Natasha,” Agent Rosenberg said. “Call it a motherly instinct.”
“So you’re going back in there,” Vance said. “Agent Rosenberg will be monitoring the prisoners’ behavior, looking for body language, expressions, anything to indicate subterfuge.”
“I’m sure I can—”
“I just want a second eye,” Vance said. “These women know how to beat a lie detector but no one has ever snowed Agent Rosenberg.”
The woman smiled slightly at the compliment, then quickly rearranged her sharp features.
“He’s right. Your reputation precedes you,” Tom told her.
“Thank you, Agent Moore,” she said, a slight blush working its way across her high cheekbones.
“Agent Frenz is here to keep an eye on you, when I’m not in the observation area, and make sure you don’t screw up again,” Vance continued. Frenz smirked and Tom didn’t give him the satisfaction of noticing.
“Agent Moore, I don’t think I have to remind you of how delicate a situation this is,” Director Vance said, stepping so close to Tom he could smell what the man had eaten for dinner. “Do you think you’re ready for this?”
“I am, sir,” Tom said, filled with conviction.
He did an internal systems check and was relieved to find that he was telling the truth. His pulse was slow, his body temperature normal. He didn’t feel in the least bit stressed or excited or angry. All he wanted was to get it done.
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