Tracers (12 page)

That was why parkour was perfect, he thought, not for the first time. It required nothing but his own body and breath and nerve. Cam didn't have anything else, nothing to care about.

Except now there was her.

It would be so much easier if he didn't care. If he'd been able to be with her last night, satisfy the urge that had been growing inside him since the day they'd first met, then just walk away.

It would be easier if she didn't make him want things: a place to belong, a future.

He heard a crack of thunder, and it started to rain, but still Cam kept walking. If she lived alone, or with her brother, or some random roommates, he'd have a destination right now. He'd walk over to her place and stand out in the rain if he had to, waiting for her. Like the lovesick fool he was.

His arm still stung where Miller had twisted it a few hours ago. Standing on the street in front of the place Miller shared with Nikki could definitely lead to a lot worse.

Suddenly, Cam didn't care. After all, as he'd just been realizing, he didn't actually have anything left to lose.

• • •

A little over an hour later, she found him sitting on the curb outside Miller's swank apartment; he was soaked and shivering. Though it had been a hot day, the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. Nikki put her hand in his—she felt so warm after his long wait in the rain.

“Where is he?” Cam didn't let go of her hand, but he didn't move either.

Nikki gave him a small, sad smile. “He's not here, thank God. Told me he'd see me tomorrow night. But, Cam . . . what were you thinking?”

He sighed. “I wasn't.” He let her help him to his feet.

She led him up the street to the bus stop. He figured she was going to put him on a bus and wave good-bye, but she paid two fares, not letting go of his hand. She sat in the seat beside him, her head on his shoulder, not seeming to mind that he was soaked. Between the motion of the bus and Nikki's body warm beside him, Cam let himself be rocked gently to sleep.

In the dream, everything was dry and warm—and safe. Nikki was bustling around a kitchen, setting a table, pulling something out of an oven. He smelled roasted chicken, and he sat down at the table. “What's for dinner?” Cam asked dream-Nikki, and she pulled off the lid of the pan.

She smiled down at him, but when he looked in the pan, it wasn't a roast chicken. It was one of the fish from Chinatown—head and all. Cam looked up to ask her why the fish smelled like chicken, but, instead of Nikki, he was staring into the cold, dark eyes of the Chinese woman from the fish store. He woke with a jolt, almost knocking Nikki off the bus seat.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded, feeling embarrassed.

“Hell of a dream,” she observed. “You were talking.”

Cam was too wet, cold, and tired to pretend to be cool. “What did I say?” he asked warily.

She was grinning at him. “You said, ‘I hope it's chicken.'”

He closed his eyes. “I'm just really hungry,” he said.

The bus lurched to a stop, and Nikki stood up, pulling him along. “Come on. Let's find you some chicken.”

• • •

One bucket of chicken and a set of dry clothes later, they sat on Cam's rooftop and looked out over the city. He was still shivering a little. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down to cover his hands, like he remembered doing when he was a kid.

A pigeon landed on the ledge, moving close to Nikki's arm as she lay sprawled with her head on Cam's lap.

“Stupid bird,” she said.

“What did he do to you?” Cam asked.

“He's just stupid is all. It offends me.”

Cam laughed. “The pigeon
offends
you?”

“His stupidity,” Nikki clarified. “I mean, the thing can
fly.
What the hell is it doing
here
?”

“Is this a dis on my neighborhood? I know it's not as fashionable as the West Village,” Cam said, referring to Miller's fancy address.

Nikki sat up, rolling her eyes. “I mean the city, loser. He's a bird. Maybe there are reasons to live here if you're a human—like if you have a great job, or if you're obsessed with Broadway shows or museums or something.”

“I didn't know you were so anti-bird when I got you that necklace,” Cam observed.

“No! I'm not anti . . . I mean, I love the necklace!” Nikki was blushing.

Cam smiled. “Well, as for your pigeon theory, remember: there are
also
tons of people here, all dropping lots of crumbs and scraps. Perfect for birds.”

“Yeah. Living on scraps. What a life.”

“Well, somehow I make it work,” Cam said, but even though he'd meant his voice to be light, the words came out sounding pretty grim. He looked down at the alley below, his mouth set in a line.

Nikki tugged on his arm, trying to get him to face her. “Hey. It's not forever, you know.”

He stared into her huge blue eyes. “It's not?” he asked, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.

Right away, he knew he'd crossed the line. He saw her pull away from him, saw her eyes slide away from his.

And yet Nikki had been the one to actually say the word
forever.

She tried her misdirection trick again. “I meant you'll be able to pay back your debt. Miller said this next job . . .”

“Don't.”

Her eyes flew up to his. “Don't what?”

“Don't say his name to me. Not here.”

Nikki stood up. “I'm sorry . . .”

Cam stood too, reaching out and pulling her back to him. “No. I'm sorry. I just, I . . .
can't . . .
”

“I get it,” Nikki said, rising up on her toes to kiss him lightly. “Pit stop. I'll be right back.”

Cam sighed and sat back down on the edge of the roof. Trust Nik to run when the conversation turned heavy. In his hand, he noticed the toy GTO his father had given him—he didn't even remember bringing it up here. He stared at the toy for a while, then pulled the photo of his parents out of his pocket and sat, lost in thought.

“You look like your dad,” she said, sitting back down beside him.

They talked about their families, and Nikki got a faraway look in her eyes—the one he often noticed when she talked about home. He wondered if she missed Florida, but some instinct told him not to push her on the subject.

He hadn't planned to steer the conversation back to the future, but she seemed to guess his thoughts. His hand closed tight around the toy GTO. Cam raised his head to look at Nikki—she was sitting so close to him, but was still so far out of reach. She put her hand in his.

“You're leaving,” she said, in a flat voice. “Aren't you?”

Cam let go of her hand, only to put his arm around her waist and pull her closer. He stared at her for a few seconds. Her eyes were almost silver in the moonlight, and filling up with tears. One blink and she'd be crying. He nodded slowly.

She blinked.

Cam pulled her even closer to him, and lowered his forehead to hers, hearing her breath, as ragged as his own. “Come with me,” he whispered.

“I can't . . .” she whispered back, another catch in her voice.

“Don't think. Just . . . come with me.”

Nikki pulled a little away from him. She wiped her eyes and opened her mouth to speak—to tell him all the reasons she couldn't leave this place. But before she said the words, he needed to tell her one more thing.

“I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me your brother needs you, that Miller won't let the two of you—won't let
any
of us—go.” Cam pulled her back to him, holding on tight. She didn't push him away. “But, Nikki, I'm telling you. I don't care. I don't care if any of that's true—or if it's all true. Because ever since you fell out of the sky and crashed into my life, the only thing I care about is you. I'm not leaving without
you.
”

They both knew that they could never be together, that they'd never find a way out. But Cam told himself it didn't matter.

If everything else in his life had been a lie, she was the truth. The way he felt about this girl, in this moment.
That
was true.

Cam took a deep breath. Then he stood, and offered his hand to her.

She looked up at him, a miserable expression on her face. Cam let his hand fall.

He held the toy GTO out to her. “Hold on to this for me?” he asked.

Nikki nodded, tears in her eyes again. “I will.”

It wasn't the promise he wanted, but, as usual, he made do with the scraps.

Nikki stepped into the circle of his arms, and he held on tight, wishing, like always, for more.

He stood up on the roof and watched her walk out of the building. She looked up at him, smiling, but then all of a sudden she was crying. A second later, she disappeared from his sight. He realized she must have come back inside the building, or he'd still be able to see her.

Cam ran down the stairs and met her on the first landing. She fell into his arms. She really was crying. “It'll be okay,” he told her. He ran his hand through her hair and stroked her head.

After a moment, she pulled away from him. “I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I was fine, and then I looked up at you, and I just had this feeling . . . it hit me so hard. It felt like I was seeing the future.”

“Seeing the future?” he teased. “I didn't know you were psychic.”

“I'm not.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt and hit him lightly on the arm. “It just felt so real.”

She was still standing close enough that he could tell she was shaking. He put his hands on her shoulders. “What felt real? Tell me.”

She shook her head. “No. I'm being stupid.”

“Nik.” He gave her a look. “After all this, you pretty much have to tell me.”

She took a breath and blew it out. “Okay, but it's nothing. I must be like sleep deprived or something. It's just—I looked up at you, and it was like I had this vision or something. Of you. Dead.” She bit her lip. “I told you it was stupid,” she added in a rush. “I'm going crazy. Just ignore me.”

Cam felt a cold chill at her words. Maybe a different person living a different life could laugh something like that off. But he was behind in his payments to the Tong. And now he was sleeping with his boss's girlfriend.

Maybe Nikki really could see the future.

“Cam? You okay? God, I shouldn't have told you. It was stupid. I don't know where any of that even came from. Everything's going to be okay, I promise.”

She moved closer to him, put her arms around his shoulders. He held on to her, still feeling cold.

He was struck by a memory of something his mother had told him once. She had been very practical—she'd never been one to go in for astrology or tarot cards or superstitions of any kind. But once she'd told him a story about a friend of hers who'd left work and rushed home to check on her kids because she'd had a vision that they were in trouble. The woman found the babysitter asleep and a small fire burning in the kitchen.

His mom had told him, “People are psychic when they have to be.”

• • •

He passed the following day in a fog, missing Nikki, waiting for the next call about a job from Miller or Dylan. When it grew dark again, he sat alone on the roof. It was warmer than last night—clear with no rain. But, despite the warmth of the summer night, he still felt cold.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the chill he felt. He kept thinking about Nikki crying, and what she'd seen, standing there looking up at him.

CAM FINALLY
drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

After he woke up, he walked out to his spot on the roof, holding the coffee he'd bought at the bodega downstairs, and there was Miller.

“Great view, Cam. I can see all the way into the future from up here.”

Cam tried not to react to Miller's cheesy line. The guy might say stupid stuff, like he thought he was starring in some kind of action movie, but Cam's arm still ached from his last reminder that it wasn't smart to mess with Miller.

“How'd you know where to find me?” Cam asked. It wasn't like he'd filled out an application; one of the benefits of working for Miller was no paperwork.

Miller gave him one of his considering looks. “Dylan told me. You staying here wasn't supposed to be some kind of secret, was it?”

Exhaling, Cam struggled to keep his tone light. “This isn't permanent. Anyway, I thought you were all about staying in the moment.”

Miller grinned, jumping down from the upper level of the roof to join Cam on his ledge. “You're a good student, Cam. You pay attention. Take direction. And the best part: you get right back up after you fall.”

“Story of my life,” Cam said. “The falling part, I mean.”

Miller gave him a strange look. “Yeah, well, the important part's what you do after you fall, yeah?” He squinted off into the distance for a moment before turning back to face Cam. “Parkour doesn't have any rules, Cam, but there's a natural order to things. A law that even dogs follow.” Miller took a step closer to him, his head cocked just a bit to one side—the way he always looked when he was about to make a Really Important Speech. Cam focused on making his Interested Student face.

“There's only one alpha in every pack,” Miller told him. “I learned that the hard way when I was younger. In the back of a Chinese restaurant, trying to beg for my life with a gun in my mouth.”

Cam swallowed hard. It was the closest he'd come to finding out the reason behind Miller's second rule: stay out of Chinatown. Apparently there was more to the story than a deal that “went sideways,” as Dylan had put it. Usually Miller's eyes were strangely empty, but Cam didn't miss the flash of pain that crossed his face when he mentioned his “lesson” in the Chinese restaurant.

Miller took another step closer. “Is there something you need to tell me, Cam?”

Cam forced himself to hold Miller's gaze, keep his voice level. “You asked me before, and I told you. No.”

The older man didn't break eye contact. Great, now they were having a staring contest.

Miller's cold brown eyes bored through him. “Well, I'm asking you again. One last time. Man to man. Is there anything going on that I should know about? Anything that could compromise the integrity of this family?”

Family.
When he thought about the word applying to Miller and Nikki, he felt sick.

Cam returned Miller's stare for several long seconds. “There's nothing.”

Miller finally broke eye contact, his face falling back into that smile that never quite reached his eyes. He looked around the rooftop, putting his hands in his pockets. “You should get a few plants up here. You know, warm the place up.”

“Not really a plant guy.”

Miller barked a short laugh. “See you tomorrow, Cam. Pickup's at nine thirty
A.M
. Don't be late.”

“Wouldn't think of it,” Cam said, taking a long sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. He watched Miller vault his way down to the street.

Cam stood thinking, clutching his paper cup, wondering why Miller had dropped by.

In the end, he decided it didn't matter. The fact was, Miller had control over the only two things Cam wanted—
needed
—in this world: Nikki, and the payoff on this big job. The money that could buy his life back.

As he finished his coffee, he thought about the look on Miller's face as he'd told the story about his younger self, begging for his life in Chinatown with a gun in his mouth.

It was almost like he and Miller were brothers, they had so much in common.

If only,
Cam reflected. He was pretty sure his new brother would kill him in a heartbeat if he gave him half a reason.

Or, if Miller found out about the truly excellent reason Cam had
already
given him.

• • •

It was only 9:10, but Cam was on the street, pacing. He couldn't wait to see Nikki, even though he would have to pretend not to care about her in front of Miller.

The van pulled up seven minutes early and the door slid open. Miller was driving (Alpha Dog at the wheel). As Cam hopped in, he swept his gaze past Tate, Jax, and Dylan. Before he could think better of it, he asked “Where's Nikki?”

Miller shot him a look in the rearview. “Gave her the day off.”

Cam felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, but then he told himself that maybe it would have been weirder
not
to ask where she was.

Oh my God, what the hell is the matter with you? You are
actually
turning into a girl.

“You okay, dude?” Jax asked. “Because you're acting pretty weird.”

Cam punched Jax in the shoulder. Hard. “That normal enough for ya?”

Jax let out a pained breath. “Dude! I was just asking.”

“Play nice, children,” Miller called from the front seat. “Save it for showtime.”

The job was across the river, in New Jersey. As the van moved through the tunnel, Dylan unzipped a big black duffel and began handing out masks. His jaw was set; he didn't meet Cam's eyes.

Cam accepted his mask, but looked down at it with a sick feeling in his gut. He tried to shake it, but that proved impossible as he watched Dylan pull a semiautomatic out of the bag and hand it to Tate.

“We're going in strong?” he heard himself ask. He couldn't shake that queasy feeling that came over him when things started going horrifically wrong.

It was Miller who answered him, his black eyes meeting Cam's in the mirror. “Told you it was big, my friend.”

“We're getting a
cut,
man,” Jax reminded him, accepting another weapon from Dylan's bag.

The lump in Cam's throat made it hard to swallow. He pushed the words out with difficulty: “I didn't sign up for this.” There was a promise he'd made to himself long ago, and it was one he'd never broken. He'd come awfully close to becoming his dad—but he'd never pulled a gun on anyone.

“You wanted in, now you're in,” Miller reminded him.

Cam noticed that Dylan was closing the bag. Everyone was carrying
except
him? The sick feeling in his gut suddenly got a whole lot worse.

“Where's my piece?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“You're carrying the package,” Tate answered. “You'll be fine,” he added, patting Cam's arm. “We do this all the time. We never shoot these things.”

The van slowed as they pulled off the expressway, and came to a stop a few minutes later. Looking out the window, Cam saw they were outside a bank. “We're doing a
bank
?”

“It's an old bank,” Dylan said. “New money. Belongs to the BTK now.”

“What's the BTK?”

Miller jumped in: “Vietnamese bangers. This is their Laundromat—they keep a big stack on hand. Couple hundred K.”

“Money comes out nice and clean,” Tate said, grinning.

“How do you know all this?” Cam asked.

“It's my job to know,” Miller shot back.

“How are we getting in?”

Dylan grinned. “Through the front door.” He nodded toward the Vietnamese guy who was sauntering up to the driver's side of the van.

Miller rolled down the window and nodded at him. The guy was tall and thin, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was wearing skinny jeans and way too much gold jewelry. “Miller,” he said. “Tell your boys to make this look good.”

Miller nodded. “They'll make it look good. You sell your part.”

Skinny Jeans smiled, revealing a smattering of gold teeth. “Trust me.”

Miller turned back to his crew. “Okay. Game time, kids.”

He stayed behind the wheel as his team filed out of the van.

“Be safe,” Miller cautioned. “Stay out of trouble.”

Odd choice of words,
Cam thought. As much as he disliked guns, he felt vulnerable walking between Dylan and Tate, who were both armed to the teeth.

“Masks on,” Dylan barked. They stopped by the side of the building and pulled on their black ski masks. Dylan turned to Cam. “Just use your head and follow my lead.”

Cam nodded and started following. The other three backed against the wall, out of sight of the door, so he did the same.

Skinny Jeans hit the intercom button beside the door, then said something in Vietnamese. The door buzzed and clicked open.

Dylan pretended to charge Skinny then, putting a gun to his head, pushing him inside the bank. The guy was a lousy actor—Cam could have sworn he caught him smiling.

Cam's sick feeling was starting to take on a life of its own. He imagined it was some kind of live animal down there in his stomach, maybe one of those spiny fish from the store in Chinatown. The thing was swimming around, stabbing him in the gut, over and over. He was glad he hadn't eaten any breakfast, because he felt a strong urge to hurl.

They burst in on two more BTK bangers, interrupting their chill time. The lobby of the bank had been turned into the gang's hangout. The bangers had been sitting in front of a flat-screen TV. Someone had paused their game of
Halo.

They took the time to pause their game.
That fact bothered Cam. The gut fish swam faster. The two bangers were already on their feet, reaching for their guns. Tate managed to grab the smaller one, hitting the back of his head hard with the barrel of his gun and sending him to his knees.

The larger banger was aiming a Glock at them. He stared at Dylan with dead, black eyes that made Miller's look like the eyes of a warm puppy. “Toss the gun,” Dylan yelled.

The big guy didn't even blink.

“I said toss it!” Dylan's voice grew louder.

Cam watched the scene as though from a distance. Dylan's voice seemed to slow and echo through the former bank's lobby. The big guy's face broke out into an awful smile.

At that moment, Cam felt everything begin to slide sideways.

He'd heard his father use that term all his life—slang for when a job went bad—and the official reason for Miller's ban on Chinatown was a deal that had gone
sideways.
But it wasn't until that moment that Cam understood how perfect the word really was. Right now, the four of them were trying to push
forward,
follow the plan, but this giant kid—with his lifeless eyes, three-hundred-pound body, and stoic face— wasn't budging. There was no way to go forward without disarming him. The ground beneath their feet had shifted, and everything was starting to slide.

Cam watched Dylan shift his mask to wipe the sweat from his forehead; to his eyes, it was as if Dylan were moving in slo-mo. Everything took on a terrible clarity: the twisted smile on the big banger's face, the terrified look in Jax's eyes. The carefully paused game of
Halo.

“On the floor!” Dylan yelled again, but his voice had really started to betray his panic by that point.

“Come
on
!” Jax yelled.

“We gotta move, man,” Tate added.

Dylan raised his gun, aimed it at the big guy.

The kid spoke slowly, deliberately. “You're not gonna pull that trigger.”

“GET ON THE GODDAMN FLOOR!” Dylan was screaming at the top of his lungs now.

Cam wasn't close enough to hear the kid's response, but he smiled as he said it, and from Dylan's face Cam knew it had been filthy.

Dylan turned to face Cam, his desperation plain. Something in his expression reminded Cam of Nikki, and suddenly everything snapped back to normal speed.

He caught Tate's eye and motioned for him to toss him his piece. Tate understood, and complied. Cam stepped forward and surprised the big guy by cracking him on the head with the butt of Tate's gun. The element of surprise had worked; the kid crumpled.

The others looked shocked. Cam crossed the lobby toward the wall of glass teller windows. The windows were all sealed shut; it was clear the bank had closed for business a long time ago. Dylan and Tate followed Cam, while Jax kept his gun trained on the guys they'd dropped.

The door was locked, and the only way to open it was a keypad. Miller hadn't said anything about a keypad.

They all looked over at Skinny Jeans, but he looked more panicked than anyone. Any trace of a smile was now gone.

“What's the combination?” Cam demanded.

Dylan stalked over and soon had Skinny in a choke hold—this time for real. He echoed Cam's demand.

“I don't have it,” Skinny coughed.

Cam kicked at the door, more out of frustration than out of any real hope of opening it. “Screw this,” he said, stepping back and looking for another way in. He was sure there had to be one.

Finally, he spotted it. “I can get in,” he told Tate, pulling off his mask.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I can't see anything with this mask on.”

Cam took a few steps back to give himself leverage, then vaulted up onto the long counter that ran along the bank of teller windows. He jumped again, pushing off the counter as hard as he could, propelling himself up through the flimsy ceiling tiles and coming down on the other side of the wall. Now he was past the locked door that led from the lobby to the secure part of the bank. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the wide metal door of the vault hanging open.

But . . . it was immediately clear that the stacks of cash Miller had promised were nowhere to be found. The inside of the vault was a mess, and Cam made it worse, ripping drawers out of the wall, opening every bag and safe-deposit box. He stalked back out of the vault, scanning the hallways and offices. The whole place was empty except for a few pieces of broken furniture. “There's nothing!” he yelled. “It's empty.”