Part 11 (1/2)

The other man wore a hat covering his hair despite the day's heat, and sungla.s.ses hiding his eyes despite the fact that the sun was long gone. It was hard to see his face, but he had a tattoo that came up out of his s.h.i.+rt collar, on his neck and even up onto part of his cheek.

She'd seen a lot of tattoos, and would have remembered seeing that one before.

Maybe they weren't weren't looking for her. looking for her.

Still, she stayed where she was, watching them, even though her stomach rumbled with hunger, even though one of the suspicious clerks positioned herself nearby and folded s.h.i.+rts with barely concealed hostility.

And then it happened. The man with the sungla.s.ses nudged the bald man with his elbow, and gestured across the food court with his chin.

The bald man pocketed his phone and led the way toward...

Ben.

At first glance, the boy looked a lot like him-tall and thin with dark hair and a pale face, black s.h.i.+rt, and jeans.

But it wasn't Ben. This boy walked awkwardly, clumsily. Ben flowed when he moved. He had a grace to him that reminded Neesha of one of the dancers she'd watched on TV.

This boy also was part of a pack. He was with four other boys, although they all backed away when they realized the bald man and the sungla.s.ses-wearer were heading directly toward him. boy also was part of a pack. He was with four other boys, although they all backed away when they realized the bald man and the sungla.s.ses-wearer were heading directly toward him.

”You,” the bald man said as he pointed at the boy who looked like Ben, his voice carrying, even across the still-crowded food court. ”Don't move. Las Vegas police. We have some questions we want to ask you.”

Police? Could they really be police? Neesha watched, and sure enough, they both flashed what could have been badges, like the cops did on NYPD Blue NYPD Blue.

She couldn't hear any of the questions, all she could see was the boy's fear as the bald man took him by the arm and pulled him ever farther from his friends, but closer to her. He kept shaking his head. No. Over and over again. Rapidly. Vehemently. No.

And then both men looked up, and Neesha saw, too-it was the security guard who'd approached her and Ben while he was being ha.s.sled by that teen pack, outside of the coffee shop. He was coming toward them now, and she could hear his words as he spoke. He had that kind of voice. Higher-pitched and easy to hear over the din of other conversations.

”That's not him.”

The bald man let go of the boy, said something Neesha couldn't hear, and the boy ran off.

”Don't run in the mall,” the man in the guard uniform called after him, but the boy ignored him. In fact all five boys disappeared very quickly, heading for the main entrance. He laughed. ”I guess you scared him.”

And now the bald man and the sungla.s.ses man shook hands with the guard-as if they were introducing themselves. As if they hadn't met before this.

In fact, Neesha heard the guard say, ”Nice to meet you, Nathan. Jake.”

And the bald man-Jake-drew something from his jacket pocket. It was a piece of paper that he opened like a birthday card. He showed whatever was inside of it to the guard, who was nodding. Yes.

And his voice again carried to Neesha.

”That's definitely the girl I saw here yesterday.”

CHAPTER SEVEN.

LAS V VEGAS.

WEDNESDAY, 6 M MAY 2009.

Closure. Maybe seeing Eden again would would give him closure. give him closure.

Izzy clung to that thought as he maneuvered his piece-of-s.h.i.+t rental car into the steady stream of traffic heading away from the airport and toward the glittering city of pipe dreams and false promises.

There were three kinds of people who made the pilgrimage to Vegas: desperate souls searching for salvation and an easy fix to their financial woes, and desperate souls h.e.l.l-bent on escaping their humdrum little lives and an easy fix to their financial woes.

Izzy had always taken the third approach, coming to the city with a limited amount of cash in his pocket, ready and willing and expecting to lose it all in exchange for some serious entertainment and a short respite from his responsibilities. He usually ended up bringing home more than he'd left with, even after staying in a nice hotel, eating some truly exceptional meals, and drinking copious amounts of beer. And he'd also usually always gotten laid in the process, sharing his happy-fun-time with some equally carefree young lady who'd been brainwashed into believing that hedonistic and incredibly inspired ad campaign-What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Except the last time Izzy was here, he'd gotten married.

And maybe the slogan was true, because the relations.h.i.+p didn't last long outside of the city limits. And here he was, not even a year later, back again, because his wife-soon-to-be-ex-wife-had come home.

She hadn't returned to her literal home, as in the structure where her mother and evil stepfather still resided, and Izzy was grateful for that. If he had discovered from Eden's father that she'd moved back into the house where he'd once found her locked in the bathroom by her stepfather Greg, with no food, trapped there for hours...

Izzy would've been driving a whole lot faster right now. That was for sure.

As it was, he took his time, because he still hadn't figured out what he wanted to say to Eden when he saw her again. And Jenkins was right. He shouldn't wing it. He should go in at least with the talking points highlighted in his mind.

1. Why did you leave like that, without saying good-bye? Do you have even the slightest clue what it felt like to walk into that apartment and find you gone? Erased from my life, vanished without a trace. And okay, I'll cut you miles of slack on this one, because Pinkie'd died and you couldn't have been thinking clearly in the days and weeks that followed.

2. But why did you refuse to see me in Germany, month after month after motherfrakking month? Didn't I deserve at least a little little respect and the common courtesy of the words respect and the common courtesy of the words I need more time alone I need more time alone coming directly from your mouth, instead of your friend Anya's? At some point, the grieving process has to allow for at least occasional moments of rational thought over knee-jerk urges. And okay, I've never lost a baby, but I lost a good friend and I still miss him. I always will. His death changed me, irrevocably. But coming directly from your mouth, instead of your friend Anya's? At some point, the grieving process has to allow for at least occasional moments of rational thought over knee-jerk urges. And okay, I've never lost a baby, but I lost a good friend and I still miss him. I always will. His death changed me, irrevocably. But time heals all wounds time heals all wounds is the cliche that it is because it's true. And the pain changes into something that's not so unbearable-a little at first, and then more and more, and yet you still made Anya send me away, and I don't know why. is the cliche that it is because it's true. And the pain changes into something that's not so unbearable-a little at first, and then more and more, and yet you still made Anya send me away, and I don't know why.

3. Did you ever think, even once, that maybe Pinkie's dying might've hurt me, too? That I might've needed some help and comfort in dealing with the loss? That maybe we could have helped each other, held on to one another, gotten through it together...? And maybe the answer to this one is no, you didn't think about me at all, because you never gave a s.h.i.+t about me. I was just some schmuck you took advantage of-a loser who gave you and your unborn child food and shelter and health care. And as soon as you didn't need those things, you couldn't get away from me fast enough, could you?

4. But if you hate me so much, or if there's something about me that repulses you so completely, then why the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l did you try so hard to get with me during those weeks we were together? Because that is some seriously twisted s.h.i.+t, sweetheart. I made it clear that I wanted to keep s.e.x separate from our matrimonial deal. I told you over and over that my help was not contingent on anyone going down on anyone else. But you worked it, overtime, to make our relations.h.i.+p be all about how badly we both wanted my d.i.c.k inside of you, until it finally happened. And I just can't wrap my brain or my ego around the idea that you didn't honestly want it as much as I did. did you try so hard to get with me during those weeks we were together? Because that is some seriously twisted s.h.i.+t, sweetheart. I made it clear that I wanted to keep s.e.x separate from our matrimonial deal. I told you over and over that my help was not contingent on anyone going down on anyone else. But you worked it, overtime, to make our relations.h.i.+p be all about how badly we both wanted my d.i.c.k inside of you, until it finally happened. And I just can't wrap my brain or my ego around the idea that you didn't honestly want it as much as I did.

5. Maybe I just want you to look me in the eye and tell me to my face that it was all a f.u.c.king lie. That there wasn't a single real, honest moment between us...

Izzy's cell phone had GPS, and he used it now to navigate his way to the apartment building where Eden was living. He drove around the block and then pulled to a stop slightly down the street so he could sit and look and not be noticed.

The building was pretty nice. It was a two-story complex with the apartment doors opening into a center courtyard with a lush garden. There were two entrances into the place-one from a parking lot that was off to one side, and the other from this street. There were probably sixty or seventy apartments or condos altogether.

Eden was in 214-up on that second floor.

Izzy scanned the second-floor windows that faced the street. All but one had blinds that were tightly closed. The one that was open had flowers-bright red-sitting on the sill. But really, 214 could have been around the other side, overlooking the parking lot.

It was stupid to sit here speculating whether that apartment was where Eden was living, when he could figure it out quickly enough by going into the courtyard and looking up at the layout of the second floor.

So he got out of the car, locking the doors behind him. And he approached the entrance to the courtyard on foot.

The early-morning sun was hot on the back of his neck-the day was looking to be a scorcher. Not a big surprise since the city was in the middle of the flipping desert.

There weren't many other people out. A dark-haired girl sitting on a bus-stop bench, across the street. An old lady walking an equally ancient dog. A man in a suit in a hurry, talking on a cell phone.

This part of town wasn't terrible, but it wasn't particularly great, either. Still, the building seemed much nicer than what he'd expected her to be able to afford and-s.h.i.+t!

It was Eden. She was less than ten yards away from him, coming out of the complex's entrance, dressed in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, sneakers on her feet, hair up in a ponytail, with a big, slouchy bag over her shoulder. She was moving fast, and she picked up her pace as she saw that a bus was coming, heading downtown along the busy street.