Killer by Francine Pascal Page A

was actually shaking. She
was
nervous. But this was a momentous occasion. Finally her fingers touched the familiar inner ledge and grazed a small iron box.
    Her heart caught in her throat. It was still there.
    My way out.
    Shaking, she placed the soot-covered box onthe floor, then gingerly opened the top. A smile spread across her face. The contents were still in perfect condition. Inside were handwritten copies of the passwords to a few of Loki’s numerous bank accounts, stashed in strategic locations around the globe. But some of the accounts, if transferred properly, could be accessed in this very city . . . from a foreign bank, maybe—like the Bank of Switzerland in Midtown or the Bank of Tunisia in Gramercy Park. It was all a matter of being clever.
    Loki had been excruciatingly protective of his money. But there were moments—in bed—when Loki had let his guard down. No doubt these weren’t his biggest stashes. He was too smart to reveal everything to her.
    Still, Ella had found all sorts of subtle ways of finding out what she needed to know.
    Of course, she never believed that a day would come when she’d actually
use
these passwords. She liked to think of them only as insurance. Something she would turn to when disaster struck. In fact, Loki had given her the information as protection in case he was killed.
    It was kind of ironic, wasn’t it?
    No, it was something far more meaningful than ironic. It was life threatening.
    A violent shudder seized her entire body. She swallowed. Her fingers were moist as she removed the papers. This
was
undeniably scary. Crossing Loki in this way would ensure that she became a marked woman. But she didn’t care. If she stayed here—trapped in this house, in this life—well, then she would die, too.
    Thrusting fear aside, Ella sat down at George’s desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, logging on to the Internet and accessing the offshore accounts. Furiously she pounded out Loki’s account information . . . followed by her own—moving quickly for fear of losing the sliver of courage that rage had granted her.
    Loki would know immediately it was her. But then again, she wanted him to know.
    Amount to transfer: $300,000.
    Ella gazed at the screen. Her soot-covered finger hovered over the enter key. It trembled like a leaf in the wind. All that remained was a press of a single button. Then the theft would be complete.
This could be a huge mistake.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remember the smitten look on Sam’s face when Gaia walked into the restaurant. If she didn’t go through with this, she’d never be free. Of anyone.
    Ella hit the key.
    Â 
    THERE WAS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT. UNCLE Oliver’s cell phone number was definitely not working. Gaia slammed down the pay phone receiver for the tenth time and retrieved her change as it clanged into the coin return. So much for his promises to take her away from this hell-hole. For now, it looked like she was stuck here. She grabbed the box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and took a seat at a table near the window, watching the traffic on Eighth Street pass by.
    Nervous Breakdown
    The sidewalk was packed with the usual rush of college girls—carrying heavy shopping bags, laughing, talking about spring break, or finals, or whatever the hell it was that college girls talked about when they were together. There were clusters of boys hanging out together, too. Some smiled at the girls. Some did more. Some whistled, even. How cheesy was that? But the girls flirted back. To Gaia, watching the mating ritualsof college kidswaslike watching a documentary about orangutans on The Discovery Channel . It was equally as foreign and mysterious—but primitive and ridiculous, too.
    Did anyone ever end up in a real relationship?And when it was finally over, did the broken-hearted women of the world drown their sorrows in a warm box of Original Glazed Krispy Kreme