Trust (6 page)

She took a second to reflect on how his sour expression might change if she suddenly pivoted, knocked him off balance, and threw him backward over a neighboring table.

IT WAS AMAZING HOW GRACEFULLY Ed shifted himself onto the bed. Watching him was like watching a gymnast. Not that Heather was particularly surprised. Ed had always been naturally coordinated, a gifted athlete. Still, Heather couldn't help but stare at the taut, sinewy muscles in his arms. They weren't too big or bulging; they were just . . . perfect. He was no longer the boy she'd once dated. No. He was a
man
.

And she was a woman.

Right. She was having an epiphany. She was looking at the two of them in a whole new light. They'd both changed. They'd both matured. It was time to move forward. Together. He probably felt the same way.

She scooted back on the bed so he would have plenty of room next to her.

“What are you thinking?” Ed whispered, leaning back to make himself comfortable.

“That it was really nice to kiss you,” she said simply. She lay beside him, nestling against his body, soaking in his warmth. She could hear his heart beating under his T-shirt.

He chuckled. “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

Heather smirked. “That it was really nice to kiss yourself?” she joked.

“I . . . I mean, no — you know,” he stammered. “I — ”

“I know what you mean,” she murmured. She patted him gently on the chest and closed her eyes. Ed was so wonderfully insecure. Not in an annoying, self-pitying way — but in a perfectly charming way. How could any girl resist him?

Her eyes opened.

Actually, that was a good question. Maybe some girls
hadn't
resisted him. Had he been with anyone since the accident? Probably not. She would have found out. The rumor mill at their incestuous little school was surprisingly fast and accurate, largely due to Heather and her friends. But even the mere
thought
of him making out with someone else made her feel cold and shivery.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she lied. She patted his chest again and closed her eyes. “You know, this may sound kind of weird, but you seem a lot bigger. You must weigh more.”

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just stroked her hair.
Like old times
, she thought, too content to worry about thinking in cheesy clichés.

“Actually, I weigh almost ten pounds less,” he finally answered. “My chest and arms are bigger, but I've lost a lot of leg muscle.”

There was a catch in his voice — and it sent a pain through Heather's heart. For one brief instant she had a mental image of Ed two years ago, when he was Shred, king of the New York skateboarding scene. As if she were looking at a photo, she pictured the way his shaggy hair whipped through the wind, the way his oversized pants flapped as he jumped staircases. . . . It was best not to think about the past, though. She'd made a decision to sever herself from it. To prevent her lips from trembling, Heather leaned closer and kissed him again.

She felt his hesitation, his reserve. She couldn't blame him for that. All she could do was try to break through it . . . try to make him see how much he meant to her, how much she cared about him.

But Sam is my boyfriend
.

No. Heather tried to block Sam's face out of her mind. It was surprisingly easy to do. Being with Ed felt so good, so right. Feeling this surge of strong emotions only showed Heather how weird and false her relationship with Sam was. She'd liked Sam Moon a lot; that was undeniable — but still, being his girlfriend had always felt so forced and uncomfortable, so unsatisfying. Sam was a great person. Heather knew that. But together they were no good, not anymore. She couldn't be herself around him. And she had to tell him how she felt. . . .

But right now all she felt capable of doing was kissing Ed, of sharing this moment. Sam was a billion miles away — part of another life, another world, another universe.

ONE OF SAM'S BEST QUALITIES WAS his predictability, Ella thought as she glanced at her watch. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays he staggered out of his dorm, sleepy and rumpled, no later than nine forty-five. He got home around four-thirty, then went out to eat no later than six-fifteen. On Tuesdays he was out by eight and not home until nine at night. On Thursday he was out also at eight but came home at eleven, then went out again at one and came home at three. On Fridays he was usually in the library most of the day. He went out at night.

And here it was, nine forty-five on Friday night . . . and here
he
was, in the Olive Tree Café on MacDougal Street. Luckily he wasn't meeting his supposed “girlfriend” (Ella was beginning to suspect that he'd just made her up) or freakish Gaia. He was with three boys — a bunch of regular college guys, also fairly cute — all of whom Ella had seen before.

Drawing her long, bloodred nails through her red hair, Ella crossed the street to the cafe. Her heels made a sharp tapping sound up the six worn steps. Once again the January night was bitter cold, but inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of frying meat and beer.

Ella hesitated for a moment in the doorway. Sam was at a booth on the far side. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of excitement as she approached. It was strange: This boy — this peculiar, deluded
boy
— was the one pleasure she had in her life. Except for Loki, of course. But she wouldn't call Loki a pleasure. She would call him more of a . . . force. One that had consumed her for her entire adulthood.

But until Loki ceased his ridiculous obsession over Gaia, she needed her own distractions. Sam had served her well in that capacity on their one glorious night together — but he'd chosen to blow her off. Or he'd tried to, anyway. And that was unacceptable. He needed to take her seriously. No one had ever rejected Ella. This was
her
game, not his. The sooner he saw that, the easier it would be for both of them.

“So anyway,” one of the guys was saying. “I've got this wicked —”

“Hello, Sam,” she murmured, standing before them.

Conversation at the table came to a dead halt.

Four pairs of startled eyes glanced up at Ella. Three pairs were curious, appraising . . . even a little lecherous. Not Sam's, though. He actually looked shocked. Ella's lips pursed in a frown. No, he looked
horrified
. His skin was pale. What was his problem? In one instant Ella was ablaze with a burning anger — but her face remained inscrutable. Sam would learn his lesson. He didn't have a choice. He belonged to her now.

“Oh my God,” Sam finally managed. His voice was little more than a gasp.

Ella reached out with one slim white finger, still bruised and sore from her encounter with Gaia, and trailed it along Sam's neck.

He flinched visibly and drew away. Ella's smile hardened.

“I've missed you,” she said.

Three jaws dropped. Now, instead of staring at Ella, Sam's friends were gaping at
him
. He started shaking his head. His jaw twitched.

“What's the matter, sweetie?” Ella cooed. She drew back her fur jacket to rest one hand on her miniskirted hip. “Haven't you missed
me?
”

“Go away,” he whispered. “Get out of here —”

“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?” Ella asked cheerily. Her gaze swept the table. One of the boys smiled. Another one started choking on his french fries.

Abruptly Sam stood. The silverware on the table rattled as he pushed himself up and seized Ella roughly by the arm. “We need to talk,” he growled without looking at her.

“Okay,” Ella said calmly. She took a second to reflect on how his sour expression might change if she suddenly pivoted, knocked him off balance, and threw him backward over a neighboring table. But there was no point in creating a scene. Not yet, anyway.

Sam threw some bills down on the table and steered the two of them toward the door. It was too bad he insisted on leaving. Ella was just starting to warm up. Outside, the cold night air hit her like a slap in the face. She shoved her hands in her pockets as she clattered back down the steps to the sidewalk.

“What's the matter?” Ella asked, but this time her voice was colder, more strident. “You're not
ashamed
of me, are you? Come on, Sam. I'm —”

“Shut up!” he barked, jerking her around so that his face was now inches from her own. Ella grimaced. This close, in the glow of the streetlights, Sam didn't look quite as good as he had before. His eyes were wide, burning. His lips trembled. His hair and clothing were in complete disarray. If she didn't know better, she would say that he looked less like a college student and more like a junkie, a homeless teenager.

“I thought you said we needed to talk,” Ella whispered, smirking.

Sam nodded, swallowing audibly. “Yeah. We do. But this is the last conversation we're ever going to have.
Ever
.”

Ella couldn't help but smile. There was just something so cute about Sam's attempt to be threatening.

THIS WAS THE SECOND TIME IN TWO weeks that Tom had seen Ella with the boy, Sam Moon. It was all the proof he needed that their meeting again was more than a coincidence. They were somehow involved together in whatever danger lay in store for Gaia.

A bitter bile rose in Tom's throat. To think that he'd once
trusted
this kid . . . that he had even gone so far as to contact Sam a few months ago in an effort to save Gaia's life. But what was Sam's role in this whole sordid business? Tom had no idea. Clearly, though, the boy was unhappy about something. He and Ella were arguing. From his vantage point in the shadows of a stoop across the street, Tom could see Sam stomping his feet and waving his hands.

Tom turned slightly so the broad-span microphone clipped to his collar could catch more of their conversation. So far, all the passersby and the street noise had totally obscured what Sam and Ella were saying.

He shook his head. He needed at least another day to plant more bugs on Ella's coats and jackets. She changed clothes too much. Not only was she cheating on George; she was robbing him blind with her shopping sprees. With Ella, every damn thing had to match some other damn thing. And she tossed out a lot of outfits after one use. Not even. Tom figured he would have to waste about twenty-five chips just second-guessing what she
felt
like wearing that day.

There was no point in getting angry over something that was out of his control, however. Right now he had to listen as best he could. But he could catch only the occasional word: “Forget . . . no . . . please . . . hassle . . . damn it . . . course . . . mean it . . .”

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Tom pulled his wool cap farther down, over his ears. This was no good. He would have to get closer. Or he would just have to call it a night before he froze to death.

WITH ANY LUCK AT ALL, SAM WOULDN'T puke all over himself right now. Of all the screwed-up things in his life . . . He'd thought that cheating on Heather was bad enough. But to have this psycho, this
crazy
woman come after him, confronting him in front of his friends — it was too much. He was drawing the line. Tonight. It could go no further.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let me make myself perfectly clear,” he stated, finally letting go of Ella's fur coat. “
For the last time
. You're not going to follow me around anymore.”

Ella shrugged. “If you returned my calls or my e-mails, I wouldn't
have
to follow you around,” she said.

Incredible. The woman just didn't get it. Sam shook his head, suddenly oblivious to the cold, oblivious to the humiliation he'd just suffered back in the restaurant. . . . He was overcome by a strange sort of
fear
. No matter what he said, Ella chose to hear what she wanted to hear. He had a lunatic on his hands. A certifiable lunatic.

So maybe it was time to take a different approach — less anger, more understanding. He had to try
something
. He was beyond desperate.

“Look,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm and even. “I know this is my fault, okay? That night we were together . . . I mean, I was there just as much as you. And I'm sorry if you feel I was leading you on. But I was in a bad mental state. I was angry and depressed. And bombed — not that being drunk is an excuse. And you were there . . . and — and it just happened. But it can't go on. It can't happen again.”

Ella blinked at him. “That's where you're wrong,” she said.

God, help me
. Sam felt like he was drowning. He didn't want to piss her off, though. Who knew what she could do?

“The thing is . . .,” Sam started to say, but he couldn't finish. He could only stare into those deranged green eyes, leering at him.

“I know you're angry for some reason,” Ella said sweetly, coming closer. She raked her fingernails gently over his chest. A shudder shot down his spine. “But why does it have to be that way? You enjoyed it. You know you did. So did I. So why can't we continue to enjoy each other?”

Sam took a step back. He was starting to feel dizzy. She was too close. He could
smell
her — that dizzying, musky, perfumed odor.

“I — I can't,” he stammered. “For one thing, I have a girlfriend. I feel bad about cheating on her, and I don't want to do it again —”

“Bullshit,” Ella interrupted. She laughed, but there was a harsh undertone. In one second her eyes had changed from being soft and feminine to being cold, lifeless. “You don't care about your
girlfriend
. You hardly ever see her, Sam. That's not what's bothering you.”

Sam stiffened. Ella was smart; he couldn't lie to her. “It's none of your business what's bothering me,” he choked out.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Ella whispered, closing the gap between them once again. “Because what's bothering you is
my
business, too. What's bothering you lives in
my
house.”

All at once Sam's blood started seething. “Leave Gaia out of this,” he hissed.

“Why should I?” Ella asked, raising her voice. She laughed again, without humor. “Don't you know how pathetic you're acting? Gaia doesn't
care
about you, Sam. You know that chess set you gave her for Christmas?
That
went in the trash December twenty-sixth. She
told
me to screen her calls because she doesn't want to talk to you. Don't you know anything?”

Sam was breathing fast, staring at Ella so hard that it seemed like he had tunnel vision. Everything else — the bright lights of MacDougal, the music coming from the used-record shop next door — it all faded away into an unintelligible blur.
She's lying
, he told himself quickly.
She's nuts, and she's lying. Don't believe her
.

Ella's face took on a look of pity and condescension. “Poor Sam,” she mused.

“You're sick,” Sam whispered, his voice trembling.

“Am I?” Ella asked. “Sam,
she
was the one who tried to beat me up when I told her the truth about us.”

Sam gasped.
Told her the truth . . .

At that moment the world went black. Sam couldn't answer her. His insides seemed to melt into acid.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh . . .
His worst nightmare had finally come true. Just as he knew it inevitably would. Gaia knew. About
them
. This was too much . . . too much information for him to begin to process, standing here on MacDougal Street. He needed to get the hell out of here.
Now
.

“Sam, what you need is a real woman,” Ella said. “And I'm here for you . . .”

Ella kept talking, but Sam didn't hear the rest of it. He'd simply turned and started running — without any destination or direction, without even the slightest care of whether he lived or died. Because in a very real sense, his life was already over.

To:
L
From:
BFF
Date:
January 19
File:
780808
Subject:
ELJ
Last seen:
MacDougal Street, 9:58 P.M.

Update:
Subject observed arguing with Sam Moon. The boy fled. Advise.

To:
BFF
From:
L
Date:
January 19
File:
780808
Subject:
ELJ

Directives:
Tail the boy. Tail subject. If subject is not home by midnight, contact me.