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stated wryly. Her amber-streaked eyes shone as she checked herself out.
    Suddenly Ed found himself reaching for her hand. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
    She glanced down at him, her brow furrowing. “What? Here?”
    â€œYeah,” he said, affecting a macho slouch. “And make it good.”
    For a second she stared at him. Her eyes darted to Simone. Then she started laughing. “You’re weird, Fargo.”
    He shrugged. “I’m waiting.”
    Heather’s smile widened. Ed’s heart picked up a beat. He was joking, sure. But it was strange; this was the very first time he actually felt in
charge,
in
control
with her—the way he had when he’d been able to use his legs and jump and skate and dance. He wasn’t even conscious of the chair. At least, not until she leaned forward and put her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers—
    Simone cleared her throat.
    Heather pulled away, grinning wryly.
    So much for the moment. Then again, this wasn’t exactly a darkened storage room at the Plaza Hotel. Ed sighed and turned to the saleswoman.
    â€œWe’ll take the dress,” he said.
    Heather’s jaw dropped. She started shaking herhead. “No way. I was just trying it on. Ed, this dress costs, like, four hundred bucks—”
    â€œI told you I was going to buy you a dress today,” he interrupted. “So let me get this for you.”
    â€œBut I . . .” Heather bit her lip.
    Poor Heather,
he thought. With him, at least, she never tried to hide her feelings. Ed could practically see the thoughts racing through her brain, as if they were posted on some kind of electronic billboard. (
a
) She didn’t want to take advantage of him. (
b
) She really wanted something new. (
c
) She hadn’t actually
bought
a new item of clothing in several months. For Heather, that was like going without oxygen.
    â€œHeather, come on,” he prodded. “I insist. It’s no big deal.”
    And it wasn’t. No, sir. Not that Heather had any real idea of Ed’s financial status. But he had twenty-six million bucks coming his way. The accident might have robbed him of his legs—but he’d be able to buy as many dresses in as many boutiques as Heather wanted. And that counted for something. Didn’t it?
    â€œOkay,” she said finally. She winked. “But I want to figure out a way to pay you back.” She paused dramatically. “An
imaginative
way.”
    â€œUh . . . s-sounds good,” he stammered. He could feel blood rushing to his face as he rolled to the cash register. Maybe he wasn’t as in control withher as he would have liked to believe. But it was always nice to pretend.
    THE STUFFED DUFFEL BAG KNOCKED against Gaia’s hip as she headed toward Washington Square Park. The strap dug into her shoulder. But the pain didn’t bother her. She was on her way to Sam’s dorm room.
Nothing
could bother her.
    The Drill
    It was closing in on five o’clock, and the sun was long hidden behind the apartment buildings on the West Side. A chilly wind swept through the leafless trees. Gaia picked up her pace. Aside from a few joggers and NYU students, the park was nearly empty. Surprisingly, even the chess tables were deserted. But that was fine with her. Fewer people around meant fewer slow-moving bodies to dodge on her way to meet Sam.
    In ten minutes Sam would get out of his last class of the day, and Gaia would meet him in front of his dorm. They would go up to his room. They would be
together.
Again, for the hundredth time that day, she felt like this was happening to someone else, that this couldn’t be part of
her
life . . . a life pretty muchdefined by misery, with an occasional ass kicking thrown in — doled out by Gaia to various sick and depraved individuals.
    Gaia felt a strange stirring deep inside her gut. It wasn’t nervousness, exactly. And it sure as hell wasn’t fear. But what was