Tracers (15 page)

And he was starting to see why she might be reluctant to tell a powerful, rich man
no.
Another rich man who could ruin her brother's life, take away everything.

He pulled away and looked at her. “Nikki. Do you want to leave Miller?”

She didn't answer. He felt like a cold hand was squeezing his heart.

He stepped away from her. That was his answer. Maybe there was no coming back from the chain of events that had started that terrible day in Florida.

Nikki put a hand on his arm. “I'm afraid to want . . .” she whispered.

Cam lowered his head to rest against hers. Then slowly, very cautiously, he found her lips. The kiss started out careful, gentle, but soon she was clutching at his arms, her need matching his.

He hated what he had to do next. Again moving gently and slowly, he pushed her away and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Go home,” he told her. When she looked wounded by his words, he added an explanation: “We can't do anything to spook Miller tonight. You have to go home.”

He didn't tell her the other reason he was sending her back to Miller. If the Tong had noticed his attachment to Nikki, it was actually a very good idea for her to stay close to a DEA agent.

After all, Miller wasn't the only one they needed to be afraid of.

Nikki stared at him for a few more seconds. “I don't have a home,” she told him.

Cam pulled her hard against him again, buried his face in her hair. “I know. But we
will,
” he promised, his voice fierce.

He pushed her a little, out into the night, back toward Miller, the cold hand closing even tighter around his heart.

At that moment, Cam was pretty sure he couldn't sink any lower. He was now exactly 100 percent like his father.

A petty crook who made promises he could probably never keep.

CAM SAT ALONE
on a roof a few blocks from the Laundromat. Even though he'd left her hours ago, he couldn't stop thinking about Nikki's story. He'd seen it all unfold in his mind's eye, unfortunately—and it kept replaying on a loop in his head. He felt angry, and powerless. Cam didn't even know the guy's name. There was nothing he could do.

There was no undoing that day—that one day that had changed Nikki. Probably it had defined her.

One day could do that. He remembered his own. The first time he'd broken the law. The first time he'd started down the path his father had laid out for him—the one he'd promised himself he'd never follow.

But then he'd found out about his mom's diagnosis. So much anger had been coursing through him. He couldn't drink it away. No matter how many fights he picked—win or lose—he couldn't get past it. So when his friend Adrian from his old neighborhood in Queens had shown up with a job, Cam said yes. He'd said no to his old friend dozens of times. But not that day.

They drove all the way out to Elizabeth, New Jersey, in Adrian's old Mustang. The target he'd picked was a sandwich shop in a crappy strip mall. Adrian said he knew the alarm code. Cam hadn't asked how he knew.

The only thought he'd allowed himself as they crouched in the dark outside the shop was that if he came home with some money, then at least his poor mother would have one less thing to worry about that week.

The job had gone off without a hitch. The code worked, they crept in, found the safe in the back. It was one of those cheap ones they have in hotel rooms, where you can pass a credit card through the slot to open it. The card Adrian mysteriously produced worked to open the safe. Cam kept lookout while his friend emptied it.

On the way home, Cam asked Adrian about the code, and the card. His friend told him casually that the shop was his uncle's.

The sick feeling that had come over him then was one he'd never forget. That moment was burned into his memory. But it hadn't stopped him from pulling the next job (though he never said yes to Adrian again). His mother was still sick; they needed money.

Once you've helped some loser steal from his own family, what was the point in even trying to be a better person? That had been his logic back then. It got even worse when he was sent away, and couldn't help his mom—couldn't even be there for her. He got used to living with the shame. Until finally his mom forced him to face his shame head-on—and start to let it go.

It had been in her final weeks. She was so weak she couldn't leave her bed. He fell asleep in the chair beside her, which had started to become a habit. When he woke up, he found her studying his face in the dark. “You need anything?” he asked her.

“I'm fine,” she told him. She was lying, of course. She wasn't even close to fine. But he knew she never wanted him to worry.

“You've done things you're not proud of,” she whispered, without preamble. They hadn't done much talking about the “career” he'd been pursuing for the past couple of years, since she'd started to get sick.

He met her eyes. It was the middle of the night and he was too tired to lie. “Yes.”

“You have to forgive yourself,” she told him.

He held her unblinking gaze, then looked away first. He focused on a loose thread in her bedspread while he spoke. “Thanks for that, Ma. But I don't deserve to be let off the hook for anything.”

“Don't you? I know why you did what you did.”

He looked back up at her. “You do?”

She nodded. “To help us. To help me. That's why you have to forgive yourself.”

He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “It's a nice thought,” he admitted, “but I'm not sure it was as noble as you make it seem.” One particular incident when he'd boosted a car came to mind—a Mustang he'd stolen as much for the rush as for the money. There was no way to blame that bad choice on her.

“Of course it wasn't noble. I'm not a fool, Cameron.” She smiled gently to take the sting out of her words. “But it started out that way. And that's enough reason for you to let it go. Choose a new path.”

He picked at the thread, wrapping it around his finger, cutting off the circulation. Fighting back tears. “It's not that easy. I've got a record now.”

“I never said it would be easy. But it's my dying wish. I wouldn't waste it on something easy.”

His eyes had flown up to meet hers. “Don't say that!” He heard the panic in his voice. She was all he had.

She smiled at him again. “I wish I didn't have to, baby. But there's no getting out of it. I have to tell you now—make you understand. We all screw up. Make bad choices. They don't have to define you forever.”

“You never made any bad choices.”

“Ha! I married your father. He was different when we first met. But he changed—he started down a different road. That's what happened to you too, son. That's why
you
have to pick a new road, Cam. You have to promise me.”

“I promise.”

He hugged her then. She felt so small and light, as though a part of her was already gone. She only lasted a few more days.

He'd kept his promise to her for two years. He'd found a legit job, kept his nose clean. Until he'd fallen behind in his payments to the Tong. Until they started threatening Angie and Joey. Until Nikki showed up.

His mother had been right about starting down a road—and how hard it was to change direction.

Cam looked up at the cloudy night sky and silently made his mother another promise. He'd find his way back to the right road somehow. If she was up there looking down at him, he wanted her to be proud of him.

• • •

Finally, Cam reached the point where he couldn't sit anymore, just waiting for Miller to contact him. It could happen at any moment, or it could be hours away.

He didn't dare go back to his new place, and he sure as hell needed to avoid Chinatown.

Nikki was (hopefully) safe at Miller's, and if he'd believed in praying, he'd have asked to be sure Angie and Joey were okay too.

There was no one else for him to protect or worry about, and nowhere else to go.

He started walking again, this time saying good-bye to the city. Because one way or another, it was going to be good-bye.

Cam thought about how his mom always used to get on him for negative thinking. She'd tell him he had to ask for what he wanted. Think positive.

But another part of him knew he was just being practical. He wasn't sure what Miller was planning, but if his “exit plan” went sideways, Cam would be headed upstate, or he'd be dead. And if it didn't . . . well, then he could actually keep the promise he'd made to Nikki and help her escape with him, find a new home for the two of them somewhere else.

Cam stayed away from Lafayette Messenger, and the fish store where Jerry and Hu hung out, but he wouldn't miss either of those places.

He started his tour at Seward Park, where he'd taken his first clumsy stabs at parkour. Then he took the train out to Elmhurst, and said good-bye to the street he'd lived on as a boy, imagined the GTO, in its former faded glory, parked in its old spot on the street. He remembered how his dad had taught him to drive it long before he was sixteen. He'd thought his dad was putting such trust in him, but then his mom explained that his dad didn't like having to wake up early to move the car on days when the street sweepers were coming through. Cam might have been the youngest kid in Queens to master parallel parking. Or maybe lots of dads were too lazy to wake up to move their cars.

As he gazed at his childhood home, Cam realized that he didn't know much about how a regular—a
real
—family was supposed to work. His dad had never been around consistently. Before she got sick, his mom had worked two, sometimes three jobs, just to pay the rent and keep them fed.

There had to be a better way to live, somewhere. Cam started running, attacking every obstacle in his path. Jumping over cars, doing tic-tacs off the sides of buildings.

His heart felt bigger, all of a sudden. He felt alive.

It was one of the first lessons he'd learned: in tracing, you didn't need
anything
—no special gear, nothing that money could buy.

Just your head and body and heart. Just the breath in your lungs. You didn't even really need shoes.

He knew in his bones he was leaving this city, his city, tomorrow, one way or another. A place he hated and loved at the same time.

And it
was
a giant playground. That was the part he knew he'd actually miss.

The first light of dawn was creeping in around the edges of the city, and Cam kept running.

THE CALL
came at seven thirty the next morning. Cam got the address from Miller and made his way to the pickup spot. He started pacing the length of the corner where he waited, too full of pent-up energy to stand still.

It was incredibly stupid but the theme from
Rocky
kept playing in his head.

Whatever worked, he figured. Because he knew today was make-or-break. He couldn't control most of it, but he could stay in the moment and, if his shot came, he would take it.

The usual van pulled up in front of him, and he opened the side door. Nikki was sitting in the passenger seat. Tate was driving, for a change. Dylan and Miller were in the back.

Jax's absence was like an open wound. No one said much.

“Where are we going?” Cam finally asked, looking down at the huge duffels filling the entire back of the van.

“We've got a plane to catch as soon as we're finished. This job's in and out. Then we're gone for good.”

Cam didn't ask who was included in Miller's
we.
The key point was who
wasn't
included: Cam. Nikki caught his eye, but quickly looked away.

“We'll drop you on the way to the airport,” Miller told him. He paused and smiled that empty smile of his. “After you get your ten grand, of course.”

“Of course,” Cam said, keeping his voice completely flat. He felt detached. He was reciting the expected lines—the expected lies. He and Miller were playing their parts, like actors in a horrible, deadly play.

Dylan handed him a pair of coveralls, like a repair guy might wear. “Put those on,” Miller directed. Cam saw that Dylan, Tate, and Miller were wearing the same outfit.

They drove in silence for a few minutes until they reached their destination. The van stopped on a quiet street near Astor Place, in front of an expensive-looking brick apartment building. Again, Cam was reminded of what Nikki had said about the people in this city who were driven from door to door, living in a world where everything was new and neat and clean. This seemed like the kind of place where those people lived.

Cam forced himself to tune in to what Miller was saying. He had to focus, today of all days. “Tate and Nikki are pulling lookout,” Miller said. “Me and Cam are making the pickup.”

Cam let himself look at Nikki once more on the way out of the van. She looked scared, almost sick. Miller slid the van door shut, and tapped on the side. Tate drove away.

Cam tried not to let himself think about the possibility that he might never see her again.

Dylan went first up the fire escape on the side of the building, Cam went next, and Miller brought up the rear.

When they reached the roof, Miller walked to the center and pointed out the skylight of the penthouse unit just below them. “Where are we?” Cam asked.

“Safe house. The Russians put their VIPs here when they visit.” He smiled his oily smile. “They stash other things here too.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, as if the group wouldn't have gotten his point without the theatrics. Cam groaned inwardly. He was starting to actively hate Miller—and not even just because of Nikki.

“What do you need me for?”

“It's a two-man job,” Miller answered.

“Why isn't Dylan going in with you?”

“Dylan's watching our exit.” Cam felt like he'd heard Miller's voice harden as he'd shared that last part.

Dylan shot Cam a strange look, then busied himself looking for something in his pack.

Inside Cam's head, the
Rocky
theme had faded out, replaced by a sort of dull roar. Maybe it was the sound of fear.

“How are we getting in? Through the skylight?”

Miller nodded. “Copy that.”

“But what's
inside
?” Cam pressed.

Miller's smile widened. “Thought you'd have already guessed, Cam. You've proven such a tracing prodigy. Student has nearly surpassed the master. Down there,
that's
a new plateau.”

With those words, Miller handed Cam a gun.

“I don't really know what I'm doing with this,” Cam told him, trying to raise his voice over the roaring sound that suddenly seemed to clog his ears.

“It's not loaded.”

“You want to drop me in there . . . with an
unloaded
gun? No way.”

“I'm going in with you. It's you and me together this time.”

Cam gave Dylan a hard look. “You really down with this, Dylan?”

“How about you just do your job, all right?” Dylan snapped, still not meeting his eyes.

Miller grabbed Cam's arm. “Get your head in the game, Cam. Right now. We're doing this for
Nikki,
remember?”

Miller pulled on his mask—Cam recognized it as the one he'd worn for Cam's initiation into the group. He wondered briefly where he'd be at this moment if he hadn't passed. Maybe dead in the trunk of the GTO.

That was the great thing about his life: it full of
almost
-comforting thoughts. Rock/hard place: it wasn't like either of the choices had been all that attractive.

“Let's go,” Miller said, his voice muffled by the mask. “Once we're inside, just do everything I say, okay? I've got this all worked out.”

The skylight was massive, maybe six feet on each side. Cam risked a glance down at the scene below. The décor was garish—the room was filled with heavy, ornate furniture, and the carpet appeared to be leopard print. He could make out a few people lying on a sectional sofa, possibly watching television. Whoever they were, they clearly didn't know there were uninvited guests about to crash in on them.

“On three, okay?” Beside him, Miller got ready to jump. He rolled up on the balls of his feet. Cam did likewise—he leapt up, and hit the glass with enough force to break it.

Cam crashed through, huge chunks of glass raining down beside him. He landed in a crouch, but he didn't dare roll onto the broken glass. He already felt a wet heat on his left upper arm; he knew he was cut. He didn't stop to find out how bad.

A woman stood up from the couch and started screaming the moment he broke through the skylight. The noise and confusion gave Cam a few seconds to retrieve the gun from his waistband and level it toward the people he'd surprised. There were two men in rumpled suits and two heavily made-up women wearing very tight dresses.

The next moment, Cam experienced a surprise of his own. He realized he was standing there alone.

Miller hadn't jumped.

“Be quiet. Don't move!” Cam yelled, brandishing his unloaded gun with as much fake confidence as he could muster. The screaming woman was still on her feet, and for some reason she took a step toward him.

“Sit down!” Cam told her. A shot rang out behind him, and he heard the thud of a body hitting the floor. Keeping his gun as steady as his shaking hands could manage, Cam glanced back, then up. Miller had shot the man who'd been coming up behind him. He'd been a big guy—probably a bodyguard.

Miller hadn't had any trouble dropping the guy from his safe spot on the roof.

At that moment, Cam understood.

He'd been sent in as bait.

Just as Cam was processing this fact, Miller jumped down and landed a few feet from him. He seemed to land with his AK-47 raised and at the ready. And why not? Cam had already done the hard part and broken through the glass.

“What's going on?” Cam demanded.

Miller nodded toward the crying woman and her friends. “Watch them.”

Cam kept his (freaking
unloaded
) gun trained on the two men in rumpled suits. One of them backhanded the screaming woman, and she fell silent. Cam took a step forward, feeling helpless. At least the woman had stopped shrieking.

Miller was behind him; Cam backed up so he was still facing the people on the sofa, but could see Miller too.

Cam saw that Miller was crouching in front of a safe, turning the dial. After a few seconds, he started stuffing stacks of cash into his bag. His movements became slower and more careful as he pulled a small velvet pouch out of the safe.

And then Miller broke one of his own rules: right there in the middle of the heist, he looked inside the bag.

Whatever he saw inside made the bastard smile.

As usual, Cam didn't care what was in the bag. At that moment, all he cared about was finding a way out. “What's the exit plan?” he shouted at Miller.

Miller stood up. Instead of answering, he stalked forward a few paces until he stood beside Cam, just a few feet away. Methodically, in a line from left to right, he shot each of the four people Cam had been guarding.

“This is the exit plan, Cam.”

Still calm, like he was ordering a coffee or reading a newspaper, Miller began to change the magazine on the AK. When he was done, he trained the weapon on Cam.

“This was always the plan,” Cam said. “The unloaded gun. The jump you didn't make.” He didn't necessarily expect his words to change the outcome of the situation, but he wanted Miller to know he understood, at least. Bad enough to be the bait—worse to be a complete chump too.

Miller's only response was a smile.

The moment seemed to stretch as Cam stared back at him. It wasn't that the betrayal was a compete shock. He knew Miller was responding to what he perceived as Cam's own betrayal with Nikki. He knew Miller believed his one-alpha-per-pack mantra.

Cam looked around wildly for a way out, then suddenly a second huge man—he had to be another bodyguard—came barreling around the corner. He threw Miller up against the wall; a mirror shattered behind his back, and Cam forced aside the nasty thought that maybe Miller would get cut today after all.

The man must have heard the shots, Cam reasoned. He watched Miller hold his own with the much-larger bodyguard, blocking his punches, kneeing him hard in the groin.

And then Cam spotted the third bodyguard coming around the corner, his own AK-47 held confidently aloft.

Cam didn't have time to think; he threw his empty gun at the bodyguard, then tic-tacked off the wall as the bullets started flying toward where he'd been standing just seconds before.

The third bodyguard was a lot smaller than the guy who was still on Miller. An image of Nikki's face flashed into Cam's mind, and he put all his anger and resolution into his right hook. The guy crumpled.

He turned to see that the other bodyguard had Miller pinned to the ground. The small velvet bag went flying; one of them kicked it farther across the floor. Cam reached for the bag, and, for the first time in his messenger (or criminal) career, he looked inside.

It was filled with diamonds.

Cam had never been a lucky guy, but he knew how to take a break when he found one.
This
was Cam's exit plan. He gripped the bag tightly in his hand, closing his eyes for a moment, again thinking of Nikki.

Moving quickly, he made his way back up to the skylight. The glass had been supported by two steel beams; he used an end table to gain some extra height, leapt, and caught one of the beams, pulling himself up as if the beams were parallel bars.

He emerged just a few feet from Dylan, and couldn't help but notice the surprise on his face when he saw Cam standing there, still breathing.

Dylan drew his gun. “Don't . . . don't move,” he stammered.

“Shoot him!” Miller called up to Dylan. “He's got the package.” Cam looked down and saw that the bodyguard had Miller in a choke hold on the floor.

Dylan's hand shook as he aimed his gun. Cam could see the sweat on his forehead.

“Shoot him!” Miller yelled again.

Dylan and Cam exchanged a look. Decision time for Dylan. “Dylan, put the gun down,” Cam said, reaching a hand toward him, trying to reason with him—this guy he'd thought of as a friend.

Dylan kept staring at him, clearly conflicted. Slowly, Dylan lowered his weapon.

They heard shots. Miller was back on his feet. The guy he'd been fighting wasn't moving. Miller had crossed the room and was standing below the skylight now, ready to fire on both of them.

Just then, the apartment door burst open with a loud crack. Miller turned to fire, quickly dropping at least three of his new attackers. Cam motioned to Dylan, and they both backed away from the skylight. Cam searched for the best way out. After a few seconds, he decided to leap across to the next building's roof. The sounds of gunfire were audible but fading as he landed.

He heard a thud behind him and glanced back to make sure it was Dylan who'd followed him.

But it was Miller.

The guy had been right about one thing: today would be a new plateau for Cam's tracing. He raced across the roof, covering it in seconds. The next roof was a bit lower; Cam jumped and rolled smoothly, rising up to keep running. He didn't spare another glance behind him, though he still heard footsteps.

Remembering his first job with the “family”—his initiation—Cam knew how hard Miller would be to shake. But he didn't have a choice. This wasn't a test or a game.

The next building had a narrow ledge he'd have to aim for, but Cam didn't waver or look down—just kept running. He caught a glimpse of Miller's dark blue coveralls as the older man made an impressive leap down, closing the distance between them.

Cam barely slowed as he spotted an open window on the side of the next building, just vaulted in and kept running—right through someone's apartment, up and over the couch, and out their front door. He found himself in the building's stairwell; he took the stairs five, six at a time, using the metal railings to stay on his feet.

Finally, Cam burst out through the service entrance and hit the street at a run. Even though he was sprinting full out, a plan was starting to form in his head.

He had only one chance.

He knew the city pretty well after being a bike messenger for so long. He would head south—and hope that Miller wouldn't see it coming.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted a parked police cruiser. The cop had been getting back in the car, but he paused when he saw Cam race past.