Tracers (9 page)

She looked up and smiled, but her eyes were on Cam as she said, “Not sure yet.”

• • •

Cam pretended he was still eating and stayed behind when Dylan, Tate, and Jax rose to go. The waitress had just refilled Nikki's coffee, and she sat back down after letting Tate out of her side of the booth.

“You coming?” Dylan asked her.

Nikki stirred her coffee slowly. “I'll catch up with you later,” she said, without looking up. Her voice sounded casual. Or like she was trying to make it
sound
casual. Dylan shot his sister a look, but he didn't say anything, just nodded.

“You did good,” he told Cam. “Later.”

“Thanks, man.”

Why am I still sitting here?
Cam wondered. As far as he could tell, he was sitting there trying to figure out the
motivation
behind Nikki's choice to stay. The rational part of his brain knew he should have gotten up from the booth and followed Dylan out of the diner.

He was an addict. That had to be it. He'd resisted alcohol, never fallen into the drug habit, but here he was, waiting to see what she would say next. Waiting for his next hit.

Nikki was still stirring her coffee instead of drinking it. She didn't look up as she observed, “So it's true. You never look inside the package?” She raised her eyes to meet his. Morning sunlight was streaming in through the dirty windows of the diner. Cam noticed how long her lashes were as she blinked, then scooted a little farther into the booth, out of the blinding rays.

“Nope,” he told her. “Never. Guess it's a good thing too, or I'd be dead now instead of having pancakes with a pretty girl.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in surprise at that one. “Come on,” he told her. “You know you're pretty. Don't act surprised.”

She opened her mouth, but didn't say anything right away, and closed it again. She started stirring again, though there couldn't possibly be any sugar crystals left undissolved in that mug. “I looked inside. Once.” So she was skipping right over his calling her pretty.

He leaned forward across the table. “Oh yeah? Hopefully not on
your
initiation day? Or maybe you did, but Miller just thought you were too cute to shoot.”

Nikki frowned at his words, but then quickly shook her head. “No—I never had an initiation,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. Her voice sounded a little breathless.

“Too cute for that requirement?” he pressed.

“What is this obsession you have with my level of cuteness?”

Cam grinned at her.
Addict.

“I wouldn't say obsession,” he began. “Maybe more of an . . . interest.”

Nikki was shaking her head. She took a sip of her now-cold coffee, and Cam thought her hands seemed unsteady as they held the mug—though he might have been imagining things. “Don't you want to know what I saw in the package?” she asked.

He didn't, actually, but he was starting to get used to Nikki's method of misdirection. He decided to play along. “Sure. What was in the package?”

“It was a solo job—Miller sent me alone to this guy's place.”

Cam felt his jaw tighten.

Nikki noticed his reaction. “It's not what it sounds like—the guy was having a party. Anyway, it was this loft, in the Flatiron District. The guy had these paintings all over his walls. Really . . . they were just . . . beautiful. I've never seen anybody's actual home that looked like that. The thing I was supposed to grab, it was in this little cardboard tube, about this long.” Nikki held her hands about two feet apart. “I figured that what was inside had to be another painting. And I'm leaving his place, and suddenly I just have this overwhelming urge to
see
it. So once I was clear of the place, I did—I opened the tube, unrolled what was inside.”

“What was it?” Cam asked, when she didn't say anything more.

Nikki closed her eyes. “It was the ocean—just after a storm. All dark blues and yellows and purples. You know how the sky turns almost purple right after a storm? It looked like that.” She opened her eyes. “I checked online, after I dropped it off with Miller. There was a missing Van Gogh that looked just like it . . .”

“No,” Cam breathed. “Even
I
know who that is, and I'm not exactly an art guy. You're saying Miller actually
stole
a Van Gogh?”

She shrugged. “Well, first this art guy stole it. Or maybe I'm wrong. It's just a cool story now. One you can't
ever
tell Miller. Actually, don't tell anyone.”

“You didn't tell your brother?”

“I've never told anybody.”

“Thanks for picking me.” he said.

Nikki nodded, her eyes on the table once more. “It's good you passed their test and all, but you're so set on just following orders, keeping your head down. You might be missing something—if you never look.”

“I'm looking,” he told her, and this time her gaze rose to meet his.

She understood, Cam could tell. Nikki didn't come up with one of her conversational detours right away, like she usually did—she just returned his stare. He felt a heat that had nothing to do with the morning sun filling their booth.

Nikki's voice was a little hoarse when she finally spoke: “On second thought, don't listen to me, Cam. You
should
keep your head down. You should stay safe.”

She was out of the booth and gone from the diner before he could react. Cam stared at her empty coffee mug for a long time before heaving himself out of the booth and back onto the street.

THE VAN
screeched to a halt a few feet from where Cam was sitting on the curb the next morning. He stood up and opened the door. Nikki was at the wheel, but she wasn't looking at him.

“Hey,” he said.

He got a fairly frosty “hey” in return, but she still didn't turn his way, just put the van back in gear and started driving.

It definitely felt like the temperature had dropped overnight. Well, the
weather
was about the same as yesterday: it was Nikki who was suddenly a lot colder.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“Busy.”

One-word answers weren't very encouraging, but Cam kept pushing. “Well, you wanna grab a coffee or something?”

“This isn't a date.”

“I didn't mean . . . I didn't mean it like a date.”

And then he disgusted himself by stuttering.

“Let's just get this done,” Nikki said, slamming her foot down on the accelerator, and steering the van toward the Queensboro Bridge.

“Where are we going?” Cam asked.

As they stopped at the first red light in Manhattan, she finally turned to face him. “Does it matter?”

Okay, he was definitely not imagining the ice. What the hell had happened since yesterday, when she'd told him about the painting?

“Do you mean, like, existentially?”

The light had turned green, but she glanced back over at him without accelerating. “‘Existentially'? Thought you dropped out of high school.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah. But my brain still works.” He leaned toward her across the seat and thumped his chest a few times. “Cam. Can. Read,” he added in his best Tarzan voice.

The ghost of a smile almost cracked through her frozen exterior, but she mastered it fast. “We're here,” she said, steering the van through the open door of a warehouse.

A compact, wiry man with a maze of scars crisscrossing his face stepped out of the shadows and nodded toward them. Nikki jumped down, went around to the back of the van, and opened the doors. The man began to silently unload the boxes they'd brought. Nikki walked a few paces away and made no move to help the guy, so Cam shrugged and went to stand beside her.

He decided to test the icy waters. “So did you grow up in the city?” he asked.

“No.”

Back to monosyllables. Not that she'd believe he knew what that word meant, Cam reflected. He decided to keep pushing. “So you and Dylan both decided to move here?”

“Yes.”

“
Yes,
huh? Wow, that's very enlightening. So you moved to the city with your brother, but you guys don't live together. You've got that roommate, right? The one who's allergic to dogs . . .”

Nikki whirled to face him. “Enough questions, okay?”

“I'm just making conversation.”

She cut him off. “You wanted to be in. Guess what? You're in.” She sounded almost angry now. She started pacing away from him. “There's nothing left to discuss.”

Cam didn't take time to think about his next words; they just burst out of him: “What's your deal?”

“My
deal
?” She spun on her heel and faced him. There was no mistaking the anger now. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrow, her voice shook just a little.

Cam took a step closer to her; he was beginning to feel pretty angry himself. “Yeah.”

“There's no deal.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like a freaking ice queen!”

“
Ice queen?
” Nikki repeated. Her voice was definitely shaking now. For a few seconds, she glared at him, her nostrils flaring, her chest heaving. Finally she took a deep breath, let it out, and resumed her pacing. Without warning, she strode up to him. They stood just a few feet apart. “I'm not the one who has a
deal,
” she nearly snarled at him.

Cam decided to try a different tack. Lowering his voice, he said, “I don't know, I just thought we . . .”

Nikki cut him off. “I didn't ask you to come find me.”

Cam took another step closer to her. He wanted to make her look at him. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice still low. She met his eyes, but quickly looked away again.

He put a hand on her arm. “You gave me that bike,” he pressed.

Her eyes met his again, and at that moment he saw a flash of pain. She looked as confused as she was making him feel. But then she stepped back away from him. Cam let his hand drop.

“I'll tell Miller you can work on your own next time,” she said, her voice wooden. “You don't need a babysitter.”

He stared after her as she stomped back toward the van. The guy had finished unloading, and she slammed the back doors with more force than was necessary. Nikki climbed back into the driver's seat. Cam heard the van start back up, and wondered briefly if she'd leave him behind if he didn't run to catch up.

It felt like he was always running to catch up to her.

He took his seat and reached for the door, but the unloading guy closed it for him and tapped on the door. “This the new guy?” he asked Nikki.

“Yeah,” she told him. At least Nikki offered equal-opportunity monosyllabic communication. But it didn't exactly make Cam feel any better.

The scarred man leaned his head through the open window and grinned at him. “Good luck, new guy.”

For some reason, the words sounded like a warning.

As they drove back over the bridge, a silence filled the van, threatening to choke Cam. When they stopped near his place, he reached for the door and started to push it open, but then thought better of it. He pulled the door toward him again, closing it with a loud thud.

That got Nikki's attention. For just one second, he saw fear flare in her eyes. Was she scared of him?

That thought made him angrier than any of the rest of it. He kept his eyes down on his hands, which were balled into fists in his lap. He spoke slowly, trying to control his anger. “I don't know what happened to you . . . why you're . . . shut down. And you're right, I
did
come to find you. I can't change that. But I need this . . . my messenger job wasn't going to save . . . it wasn't cutting it, moneywise. So I guess you're stuck with me now. I'm sorry that's pissing you off.” He looked over at her. She was staring at him with a miserable expression on her face, but she still didn't speak. “On second thought: forget that last part. I'm not sorry,” he said, pushing open the door and jumping down to the street. “By the way, I got you this.” He put the little canvas bag that held the birdcage necklace on the passenger seat. He'd kept it with him. Some part of him had been waiting until the right moment to give it to her. But it was starting to become clear that the moment was never going to be right.

He didn't look back as the van pulled away from the curb and down the street.

• • •

Cam made it all the way upstairs before he realized his brain was missing.

Today was payday, the day he'd been waiting for, and he'd just let his ride down to the docks drive away.

Dramatic exit: 1. Free ride: 0.

Trying to figure out Nikki's sudden frost had distracted him. Unfortunately, he couldn't
afford
to be distracted. There was the small matter of his massive debt. His repoed car. And now he needed to refill his MetroCard just so he could go get paid.

He vaguely remembered something his father had told him a long time ago—a warning that girls can make you stupid.

On the ride across town, Cam glared at the floor of the train, making plans. He decided the first debt he needed to pay was the rent he owed Angie. She needed the money, he knew, and it wasn't her fault she'd rented her garage to a guy who was in debt to the Chinese Mafia.

When he arrived at the ship, Cam saw Jax sitting on the curb, legs crossed and head down. The guy was just staring at his shoelaces.

“What's up, man?” Cam asked, walking up to him.

Jax looked up. “Oh. Hey, Cam. Not much. Miller was looking for you. It's payday.”

“So I heard. You don't sound excited.”

He shrugged. “I'm excited.”

Cam sat down beside him. “Then why do you sound like somebody swiped your puppy?”

Jax tried to smile. “Wouldn't mind another puppy.” He shook his head. “No big thing. Just been . . . thinking.”

“About?”

Jax scrubbed his hand through his bright red-orange hair, making it stand up in crazy spikes. “It's just, this guy I used to see sometimes working out . . . before I met Dylan and them. Today I see online that he's gonna be in a
movie.
An actual movie. He's tracing—like doing the stunts.” When Cam didn't respond right away, Jax hurried on, talking fast. “It's not like I'm jealous or anything. But it sort of makes me wonder . . . if maybe I'd gone down a different route . . . I don't know . . .”

“I hear ya,” Cam said, nodding. They sat in silence for a minute. “So you thinking of going straight?” he asked.

Jax's head twitched, and he laughed nervously. “No, man. Just having a moment. Don't . . . could you maybe not say anything about this? To Miller . . . or anybody?”

Cam met his eyes. “Course not. Besides, what's to tell? You're not the only one, Jax. I mean . . . I wish
I
could go straight. But I turned left when I should have turned right a long time ago.”

Jax sighed. “Yeah. Know what you mean. See you later, Cam.” He jumped up and started walking away, then turned back. “I'm glad you're in the group now. I mean,
I'm
glad . . . for, like, selfish reasons. Not that you're
in,
but . . . you know what I mean.”

Cam smiled, but Jax was already walking away. The weird part was that Cam knew exactly what he'd meant.

Once Jax was gone, Cam made his way onto the ship. As he stepped into the clubhouse, Miller greeted him, then pulled out a stack of hundreds and counted out Cam's share.

“Membership has its privileges,” Miller told him, handing him the stack. Cam forced himself to smile at Miller's comment. The guy didn't seem to like it when people failed to appreciate his cheesy sound bites.

“Thanks,” Cam grunted. As he walked away, he looked down at the money in his hand, imagining what it would be like to hold on to it for longer than an hour. At least he could knock another two grand off what he owed to the Tong, after settling up with Angie for the rent. But when he took the interest into account, the possibility of getting out from under the debt still seemed very far away.

• • •

Angie's job made Cam's problems look fractionally less depressing: the place was literally a sweatshop; everyone inside was constantly wiping their streaming foreheads. Angie was seated in front of a sewing machine—the factory floor was crammed so full of tables and machines that he could barely make his way through the maze to get to her.

The moment she spotted him, Cam saw her stiffen.

“What are you doing here, Cam? I'm working.”

“I brought you rent money.”

He didn't miss her look of surprise.

Always nice to have people's low expectations of him confirmed.

Cam reached for his wallet. “I don't care what you brought,” Angie spit out.

She got up and started walking fast, deeper into the interior of the factory. Cam followed her. Angie jerked open a door and stalked into what looked like some kind of break room. All the chairs were the plastic kind, like you find in high school classrooms. This place made Lafayette Messenger look like a country club.

Angie whirled around to face Cam as he pulled the cash out of his wallet. “Please take it,” he pleaded. The thought of letting Angie down was more than he could take. Whenever he thought about the mess he'd gotten her and Joey into, he just kept picturing his mom looking at him in disappointment. She'd really liked Angie.

A massive sigh escaped Angie's lips as she accepted the stack and quickly counted the bills. “This is too much.”

Cam let out his breath too, in relief. She was going to take the money. “It'll hold you until you find someone else to move in.”

Angie looked up at him. “Oh, Cam. Your mom always told me what a good kid you were. I thought . . . forgive me, but I knew about . . . some of what you'd gotten into. I thought she was probably a little bit blind when it came to her baby. But she was right after all. You
are
a good kid.”

Cam swallowed hard. Her words about his mom sliced through his heart. It hurt to breathe, all of a sudden.

“What kind of trouble are you in?” Angie asked, in a quiet voice.

Cam sighed. Jerry and the always-charming Hu had picked up Angie's kid and delivered him home as a warning to Cam. He owed her an explanation of why he was in trouble, at least.

He recited the bare bones of the story, fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice. He couldn't bear for her, or anybody, to pity him. What was done was done. “After Mom got sick, I borrowed some money off the street to try and help her keep the house. It wasn't enough. The bank foreclosed on it a week before she died.”

Angie took a small step closer to him. Just as he'd feared, her eyes were filled with pity now, and it was almost worse than the distrust and anger from a few minutes ago. “You got a good heart, Cam. But you gotta be careful. The farther you go down the wrong road, the harder it is to find your way back.”

Her words struck him like a slap. His mom had said almost the exact same thing to him in the last week of her life. No wonder they had gotten along so well.

And, to his shame, this past week had been all about finding a new road to lead him out from under his debt. An
illegal
road.

Another wrong path.

“I gotta get back to work,” Angie told him.