Twisted (11 page)

The assigned meeting place for their
little get-together
was the chess tables in the park—neutral ground. But the police still had the park closed off, so that spot was out. Instead Ed was patrolling the sidewalk along the north border, hoping to intercept Sam. And if he missed him, that was
just too bad.

“Ed?”

Ed turned and saw Sam walking toward him. “What's wrong? Don't they have clocks in college? I was about to give up on you.”

Instead of answering the question, Sam hooked his
thumb toward the park. “What's going on? Why the big crowd this morning?”

“Haven't you heard?” Ed asked, glancing at the
organized mayhem.
“The Gentleman made another call last night.”

Sam's eyes flicked toward the trees at the edge of the park, and the tan went out of his square-jawed face. “You don't think . . . I mean, it couldn't have been . . .”

Ed seriously considered letting him stew for a moment, but his conscience got the better of him. “It wasn't Gaia.”

“You're sure?”

“Yep,” Ed said with a nod. “The TV guys say this one happened before eleven last night. I talked to Gaia after that.”

Sam still looked concerned, but the concern was tainted by obvious envy.
Score one for the Ed-man.

“Was she okay?” Sam asked.

“She was fine.” Actually, the conversation had been disappointingly short. Gaia had said she was tired, and she hadn't wanted to talk about the murders. But Ed liked the idea that he knew more about Gaia than Sam did. Sam might be on Gaia's short list for sex, but
Ed was the one Gaia talked to every night.

Sam fiddled with the collar of his oxford shirt. “Are the police any closer to catching this guy?”

Ed shrugged. “If they have any suspects, the papers aren't mentioning it. Except the
Post
—I think they've pinned it on Elvis, or aliens, or a coalition of brunettes jealous of
all that fun
blonds are supposed to have.”

Sam only nodded. “I'm worried about Gaia.”

That was the heart of the matter. That was what had convinced Ed to cut school and meet with a guy who he barely knew—but
who he hated on general principle.

Sam was afraid because of how closely Gaia resembled the first girl killed in the park. For Sam it was about protecting a girl he feared was in danger.

For Ed it was a different story. Ed knew the big secret, and from the way Sam talked, he was pretty sure that Sam didn't. Sam apparently loved Gaia, but he didn't know that Gaia was Wonder Girl. He didn't know she could slice and dice Bruce Lee without breaking a sweat.

Ed was proud to be in on it. But it gave him more reason to be scared for her. Gaia wasn't just the killer's ideal victim; she was actively seeking the killer's attention. She was all set to find this demon, shove his teeth down his throat and his arms up his nether regions, then put in a call to the police. Case over.
City saved.

It had seemed like a good idea. There wasn't much Gaia couldn't handle.

But Ed was no longer so sure. Between the phone call from Sam and his stack of serial killer bios, Ed worried that maybe Gaia was in over her head. Sure, she could land a roundhouse kick with the best of them. He had seen her take out three thugs in one go.
But serial killers were different.
They weren't run-of-the-mill killers who happened to get away with it more than once. These guys were strange, creepy. They were genuine monsters.

Ed was pretty sure that Gaia wasn't experienced in taking on monsters. When it came to these guys, she needed just as much help as the next person. Problem was, Gaia would never recognize the fact that she might need help—let alone
admit it.

“What have you found out?” asked Sam.

Ed nodded toward a bench along the perimeter of the park. “Let's go over there where you can sit down,” he said. “I'm tired of looking up at you.”

Sam followed instructions. He went to the bench, sat, and waited for
the Ed report.

“You know the basics, right?” Ed asked.

“Six victims,” Sam started, then he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. “Seven now, I guess. Connecticut, New Jersey, and here. All of them stabbed, all of them blond, all of them around Gaia's age and size.” He stopped and ran one hand through his ginger-colored hair. “That's about all I know. I don't even know why they call him the Gentleman.”

“I do,” said Ed. “It's from an old movie,
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”

Sam nodded slowly. “I've seen it Marilyn Monroe, right?”

“Bingo.”

Sam looked down at the ground and shook his head. “That's not much help. How are we going to catch this guy before he has a chance at Gaia?”

“We're not,” Ed replied.

Sam's head jerked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Ed rolled slowly back and forth in front of the bench. Wheelchair pacing. “You're the college guy. Isn't it obvious that if three states' worth of cops can't catch this guy, we're not going to do it?”

Sam's frown grew deeper. “Then why are we even talking?”

“Because,” said Ed. “We don't have to find the killer”. He raised one hand and pointed in the direction of the school. “We only have to stick to Gaia.”

GAIA WAS THIRTY MINUTES LATE
to first period. Even compared to some of her previous arrival times, it was a new achievement in nonpunctuality. Even so, her teacher decided to ignore her.

Gaia had barely started at this school, and already she had been the butt of so many jokes, people were getting tired of it

It was a good plan. Give them so much to laugh about that it
wears them out
. Too bad she hadn't actually
planned
to do it.

Gaia settled into her seat and the public address speakers crackled to life.

“May I have your attention, please?” said the voice of an unseen school office worker. “This is a school-wide announcement.”

The last event deemed worthy of a schoolwide announcement had turned out to be a pep rally.
Earth-shattering stuff.

“Due to recent events, the school will be dosing early today. The last period will end at one
P.M
. Additional counselors will be on hand in the lunchroom for any students who feel they would benefit from a counseling session. School hours will return to normal tomorrow. Thank you.” The voice ended with another squirt of static.

The announcement of an early end to the school day drew a few muted cheers but didn't get nearly the reaction that Gaia had expected. She leaned toward a skinny, red-haired guy at a nearby desk.

“What events are they talking about?” she asked. “Why let us out early?”

The redhead nodded his pointy chin toward a desk at the front of the room.
An empty desk.

Gaia stared at the desk, trying to remember whose body normally filled it. It wasn't
Hateful Heather.
Heather was in her usual place of power at the center of the room. It wasn't Ed. Ed wasn't in this class. Gaia frowned as she tried to remember. It was . . . It was . . .

Cassie Greenman. The girl who had told Gaia about the killing the day before. The girl who had said they looked alike.

Gaia turned to the red-haired guy again. “What happened to Cassie?”

Redhead moved his lips to form a single word. Gaia didn't have to be much of a lip-reader to make it out.
Gentleman.

The headache that had only threatened in Gaia's bedroom suddenly came on with full force. “Where?” she asked.

The guy looked toward the teacher and tried to avoid Gaia's attention.

“Where?” she said again, more than a little louder. “Where did it happen?”

“In the park at eleven o'clock,” the redhead shot back. He picked up his book and opened it, angling the pages so they formed a screen to ward off Gaia.

It didn't matter. Gaia had asked all the questions that mattered. She closed her eyes and tried to fight back waves of nausea and confusion. It was too coincidental, too weird. Cassie knew about the
murderer. Why in the world would she be anywhere near the park at eleven o'clock at night?

How could Gaia have failed a second time?
It almost felt like this killer was taunting her. Once again he had struck right under her nose. And this time it had been someone Gaia knew.

Gaia had thought she could catch this guy before he did any more damage. She had maybe hoped there was something good in being fearless. Maybe even something good in being a muscle-bound freak. Something that made her life worthwhile.

Obviously she was wrong.

I
make friends pretty easily. I'm fun. I'm loud. I know how to have a good time.

People are drawn to me.

But I'm not always drawn to them.

But this Gaia person? I genuinely like her. She intrigues me. That's why I gave her my number and told her to call if she ever felt like hanging out.

It's obvious she never will, but it's a gesture. And when you make a gesture, sometimes people feel they owe you something. And when people feel they owe you something . . . Well, that can come in handy from time to time.

The sooner the information reached Sam, the better the chance of saving Gaia.

TOM MOORE TUGGED DOWN ON
his brown cap and did his best shade his face. He had no suspect that anyone would recognize him on the campus of NYU, especially dressed as he was in the brown uniform of a package deliveryman, but
it didn't pay to take chances.

Years of experience had taught Tom that Murphy's Law was always in full operation when you were undercover. If anything could go wrong, it would. Even when
nothing could go wrong,
it went wrong, anyway.

Today's expedition into the city seemed like a simple thing—drop off a package, run, and hope that the person getting the package knew what to do with the information it contained. That only made Tom more cautious.
It was the simple jobs that turned into nightmares.

He felt a little odd, walking between the square buildings along Washington Place. Part of it was the feeling that any older person gets visiting a college or high school.
An out-of-place feeling.
Only Tom didn't need to be surrounded by kids to feel out of place. He was out of place just being alive.

He reached the gray concrete steps of the dorm and hurried inside. Put on the right uniform, and you
can get anywhere. Show a little paperwork, and people will even point out the right door.

Three minutes later, Tom had walked through a disheveled common room and was rapping his knuckles against a dented oak panel marked B4. He'd hand the boy the box and go.

A feeling of guilt added to Tom's uneasiness. This boy's relationship to Gaia had already led him into serious trouble. Involving him further
might well get the boy killed.

Tom shoved away the guilt. He had to do what he could to protect Gaia. It would be impossible to get the information directly to her—Gaia was under almost constant observation. If Tom tried to get close, he would only get himself killed. And more to the point, Gaia as well.

There was no response to his knock. He tried again, rapping a little harder this time.

“Package,” he called through the closed door. “Package for Sam Moon.”

One of the doors on the other side of the common room opened, and an overweight young man, his hair shaved down to
a dark Stubble,
stuck out his head.

“He's not here,” he said, a strong southern accent in his voice. “I saw him leave about half an hour ago.”

Tom frowned. “Do you know where he could be?”

The stubble-haired neighbor shook his head. “He
usually comes back here between classes. You want me to hold on to that for him?”

Tom's fingers
instinctively tightened
around the package. He ran through the possibilities. He could try to find Sam elsewhere. He had pulled the boy's class schedule off the Internet, and he could always wait for Sam outside a classroom. Unfortunately package delivery companies didn't usually ambush people in hallways.

He could try coming back later, but that had its own set of risks. The sooner the information reached Sam, the better the chance of saving Gaia.

Tom looked at the boy with the shaved head. There was no reason to think he couldn't be trusted. No reason except that he appeared to have about as many
brain cells as a ceiling beam.

“If I give it to you, will you be able to give it to him today?” Tom asked.

“As soon as he shows up,” the boy promised.

Tom hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. “Sign here,” he said. He passed a clipboard over, watched the boy sign it, and then—reluctantly—handed him the box.

The boy stepped back and started to close the door.

Tom grabbed the edge of the door and held it open. “This is an important package,” he said. “You need to see that he gets it right away.”

“Yeah,” the boy replied, obviously perplexed. “Sure.” He pulled on the door, and Tom let it go.

“Tell him it's
from Gaia
,” Tom said to the closing door. “An important package from Gaia.”

The door closed with a click, and a moment after, Tom heard the sound of one, two, three locks being set. He stared at the old, scratched wood door for a moment, then turned and started out of the building.

He was aware that he hadn't acted like a delivery-man. It didn't matter. Sam's neighbor could think anything he liked.