Rebel

  FEARLESS

  #1 Fearless

  #2 Sam

  #3 Run

  #4 Twisted

  #5 Kiss

  #6 Payback

  #7 Rebel

  Available from POCKET PULSE

  FEARLESS

  REBEL

  FRANCINE PASCAL

  To Thomas John Pascal Wenk

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET PULSE, published by

  Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Produced by 17th Street Productions, Inc.

  33 West 17th Street

  New York, NY 10011

  Copyright © 2000 by Francine Pascal

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address 17th Street Productions, Inc., 33 West 17th Street, New York, NY 10011, or Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  ISBN 0-7434-3411-0

  eISBN-13: 978-0-74343411-9

  First Pocket Pulse Paperback printing April 2000

  Fearless™ is a trademark of Francine Pascal.

  POCKET PULSE and colophon are

  trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GAIA

  Honesty is a funny thing. People always tell you that they want you to be honest with them. But they're lying. Nobody wants that. Honesty sucks. That's why the word honesty is always preceded by other words, like brutal and painful.

  I keep all of my secrets for just that reason. They'd hurt too much if anybody knew. And I don't mean they would just hurt the people I told. I mean they would hurt me, too.

  So I keep them to myself. And it's not all that hard. After all, dishonesty kind of runs in my family.

  Just look at my father. He ditched me without ever telling me where he was going or why--and he did it on the worst night of my life. And my uncle has apparently been watching over me my entire life, but he never even bothered to introduce himself. He only shows up when I'm about to get shot in the head or stabbed

  by some crazed serial killer. Great, thanks. But I can take care of myself.

  Come to think of it, everybody I know seems to hide the truth somehow. Sam. Ella. Even Mary. In fact, the only person I can think of who doesn't hide the truth is Ed Fargo. He's honest about everything.

  But as far as keeping secrets goes, I have to admit, I really take first prize. I've never told Sam how I feel about him. And that's just scratching the surface. I've never told him or anyone else about my total inability to feel fear. Or why I'm trained to kick almost anyone's ass in about three seconds flat. Or why I'm stuck with George and Ella.

  And here's the biggest one of all. I've never told anyone about my dad or about my mother's death. But I have a good reason. If I were totally honest with my friends about my past ... well, I'd put their lives in danger. I

  already have. More than once.

  Maybe everyone has a reason for hiding the truth. After all, honesty seems to create more problems than it solves. It can hurt. It can even kill. I guess that's why people are afraid of the truth.

  But I wouldn't know about that. I'm not afraid of anything.

  CHAPTER 1her kind of game

  His body went limp. He wouldn't try to move. She knew it. He'd tasted an excruciating pain....

  SKELETONS.

  The Three Wise Men

  That's exactly what the trees in Washington Square Park looked like at this time of night: spindly, grotesque skeletons. At least that was how they looked to Gaia Moore. It was amazing how a place could feel like an amusement park one month and a cemetery the next. But that was New York City. It was constantly changing, and often not for the better. That could be said of a lot of things, actually--Gaia's life included.

  "Why does this park totally die right before Christmas?" Mary suddenly asked of nobody in particular.

  Gaia smirked. One of the coolest things about Mary Moss was that she had an uncanny knack for saying exactly what Gaia was thinking. She also shared the same intolerance for bullshit.

  "Because there's no action down here," Ed said. His breath made little white clouds in the frigid December air. "The real action is in Midtown. I say we buy some little red suits and pom-pom hats, then go volunteer to be elves outside some big megastore, like Macy's."

  "I'm too tall to be an elf," Gaia replied.

  "Me too," Mary added.

  Ed shrugged. Dead leaves crunched under his

  wheelchair. "Then we'll get some fake beards for you guys. Instead of being elves we'll be the three wise men."

  Gaia had to laugh. The three wise men. That was funny. A wheelchair-bound ex-skate rat, a female ex-coke addict, and ... her. Whatever Gaia was. She probably could pass for a man. Easily. She wasn't beautiful and skinny like Mary. Nope. Forget a wise man; Gaia had the body of a prizefighter. She didn't even need the beard. All she needed was a little five o'clock shadow. Now that she thought about it, the only remotely feminine aspect of her appearance was her unkempt mane of blond hair. But there was probably a direct correlation between one's freakish looks and the swirling mess inside one's head, wasn't there?

  "I guess it's too cold for any Christmas pageantry, anyway," Ed mumbled.

  Ed was right. It was too cold for anything. Even chess. Gaia had never seen the park this quiet or deserted. Usually some die-hard chess fanatic was out at the tables, trying to hustle a game, no matter what the weather. Like Mr. Haq. Or her old friend Zolov. But Gaia hadn't seen a whole lot of Zolov since he'd been slashed by those neo-Nazi idiots who used to hang around the miniature Arc de Triomphe on the north side.

  She almost wished a few skinheads were around

  just so the place would feel more like home. In fact, she wouldn't mind at all if one of them jumped out of the shadows and tried to attack her. She'd walked this park many times for that exact reason. But seeking combat wasn't a group activity. It was something she did on her own. In secrecy. Besides, at this moment she wasn't really craving a good fight. No, what she really missed right now were the sounds and smells of months past: the gurgling of the fountain, the laughter of the NYU students, the sweet odor of roasted peanuts....

  Mary abruptly stopped in her tracks.

  "You know what? We should do something to liven things up." She adjusted her black wool cap and brushed a few wayward red curls out of her eyes. "It's winter break. We're free. I say we create a little excitement of our own."

  Gaia met Mary's gaze. She knew that gleam in Mary's green eyes all too well. It whispered: Let's do something crazy. And in a way, Gaia could empathize. After all, courting danger was one of her favorite pastimes, too. But Mary's reckless tendencies led down a much more self-destructive path than Gaia's own.

  Then again, some people might argue that deliberately looking for fights was a hell of a lot worse than snorting a big fat line of white powder up your nose. But Gaia had never paid any attention to other people's opinions. Ever.

  "Why don't I like the sound of that at all?" Ed muttered.

  Mary laughed. "Come on, you guys. We're here in New York City. By the looks of things, we basically have the place to ourselves." She waved her hands at the empty benches and frozen pavement. "I mean, everyone else is holed up in their apartments or vacationing in the Hamptons or doing whatever it is that normal people do."

  "Your point being?" Ed asked.

  "That I'm bored!" Mary cried. "I don't do drugs anymore, so I h
ave to find something to do, right?" She laughed.

  Gaia kept quiet. Unfortunately, the joke wasn't very funny. Mary had only been off cocaine since Thanksgiving, and Gaia knew enough about drugs to know that a lot of addicts relapsed in those first precarious weeks of clean living. Especially when they were bored.

  "I don't know," Ed said quietly. He fidgeted in his wheelchair, tapping his gloved fingers on the armrests. "If you ask me, a little boredom is a good thing. Anyway, aren't we supposed to be going to Gaia's house right now?"

  Ed was right. They were on their way to the Nivens' house (Gaia never thought of it as her own, and she never would), but there was really nothing to do there. Gaia shook her head. Poor Ed. Part of her agreed with

  him. Ever since he'd met Gaia, Ed's life had been a little too exciting. Kidnappings. Serial killers. Random acts of violence. Part of her wanted to protect him--to shield him from the danger that surrounded her at all times.

  But the other part of her--she couldn't ignore-- was just as bored as Mary. Besides, if Mary was looking for a way to keep her mind off drugs, Gaia was all for it. After all, Mary had appointed her to help out with getting involved in "good, clean fun." Whatever that was.

  "What do you have in mind?" Gaia asked Mary.

  Mary raised her eyebrows. "A little game," she said. She smiled down at Ed, then back at Gaia. "What do you guys think about truth or dare?"

  Ed snickered. "Ooh. That sounds really exciting. Can we play spin the bottle next?"

  Mary ignored him. "Gaia?" she prompted. "What do you say?"

  "Sure," Gaia said. It actually did sound exciting--at least to her. The fact of the matter was that she had never played truth or dare before. Or spin the bottle. Or any other games that normal kids would have played, the ones who didn't have twisted secret agents for fathers.

  But that was the great thing about hanging out with Mary. She introduced Gaia to all kinds of normal experiences. And always in a very abnormal way.

  ED FARGO'S BIGGEST PROBLEM WASN'T what most people might think: namely, that his legs would never work again. No. He'd learned to deal with that. Or at least accept it. It was just another part of his life now. An unpleasant part, sure--like suffering through history class, or seeing his ex-girlfriend Heather Gannis every single day, or forcing himself to smile back at all the phony bastards who pretended to take pity on him. But it wasn't torture. No, Ed Fargo's biggest problem was that he couldn't say no to Gaia Moore.

  Woof, Woof

  That was torture.

  Even more tortuous (or pathetic) was that he was completely, utterly, one hundred percent in love with her. And she had absolutely no clue.

  On more than one occasion he'd almost mustered the courage to tell her. He'd even gone so far as to compose a few e-mails and letters, but he always tore them up or deleted them at the last minute. A voice inside inevitably reminded him that it was better to live with delusional hope than crushing rejection.

  God. One of these days he was really going to have to shut that voice up.

  But for now, it looked like he was resigned to following Gaia around like a dog and catering to her every whim. Unfortunately, this frequently involved

  getting into fights, or ducking bullets, or discovering secrets that were probably best left buried.

  As every lame-ass soap opera was quick to point out, love sucked.

  "So what do you say we get started?" Mary asked.

  "Can we at least play at Gaia's house?" Ed groaned. His teeth started chattering. It wasn't from cold, either. The park didn't exactly fill him with a sense of safety and well-being. He'd almost been murdered here. He peered into the shadowy tangle of barren tree limbs that lined the path on either side. "We're all freezing our butts off, in case you forgot."

  Mary shook her head. "I say we start here. Gaia?"

  "No better time than the present," Gaia agreed.

  It figured neither of them would listen to him. And he wasn't about to leave without them, either. He really was a dog. Woof, woof.

  "So who goes first?" he grumbled.

  "We'll shoot for it," Mary said. "Rock, scissors, paper." She stuck her hand behind her back. "On three ..."

  Great, Ed thought. He hated rock, scissors, paper almost as much as truth or dare. With his luck, he'd probably lose--and they would dare him to strip naked and streak up Fifth Avenue in his wheelchair.

  Mary smiled. "One ...two ...three ..."

  Ed extended a fist: rock. It always seemed safest, although somebody smarter--like Gaia--might disagree.

  His eyes flashed to Gaia's hand. Ha! Scissors. He glanced at Mary. Rock, too. Unbelievable.

  Gaia Moore had actually lost.

  It was probably the first time he'd seen Gaia lose at anything. He couldn't help but smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. It would be nice to see her do something ridiculous, wouldn't it?

  "Oh, Jesus." Gaia moaned.

  "Now, don't be a sore loser," Mary teased, winking at Ed.

  "So which is it?" Ed asked gleefully. "Truth or dare?"

  Gaia pursed her lips. "Dare. And you don't have to ask me again. It's dare for the duration of the game."

  Mary clapped. "Perfect."

  She turned back toward the arch. A solitary figure was sitting on one of the benches, wrapped in a scarf with a hat pulled low over his eyes--a skinny and grizzled older man Ed had never seen before. Ed's excitement began to fade. He could see where this was going. He should have known Gaia would never pick truth. He also should have known Mary would dare Gaia to take some inane, meaningless risk. Why did the two of them have to create trouble? Why did they have to pluck it out of thin air? He held his breath as Mary raised her hand and pointed at the figure.

  "I dare you to go kiss that guy," she said.

  TRUTH OR DARE WAS RIGHT UP GAIA'S alley. She could tell right away that she would be able to add it to that short list of loves that made her life tolerable. Everything else on the list was food related. Well, she loved a good chess match. And Sam. But there was no point in dwelling on that.

  The Good Thing about Rats

  What she really loved were diversions.

  She loved anything that distracted her from the dismal specifics of her existence. And kissing some random stranger in the park certainly qualified as a diversion, didn't it?

  She walked toward him on the darkened path, waiting for him to look up and notice her. But he didn't move. He was slumped on the bench. His legs were spread in front of him, his skeletal chest rising and falling in the even rhythm of sleep. Icy puffs of breath drifted away from his open mouth. Gaia's nose wrinkled. Yuck. Maybe he was drunk. Or something. She'd be sure to ask him if she could just kiss him on the forehead--

  Wait a second.

  He wasn't asleep. He was just pretending.

  Only someone with Gaia's acute awareness in sizing up a potential opponent could detect the subtle clues of consciousness: the exaggerated way he exhaled, the concentrated stillness of his eyelids. So he was lying in wait. Setting a trap. The asshole was waiting to attack her.

  A familiar electric energy shot through Gaia's body--the jolt that always came in place of fear. This was going to be even more fun than she had expected. How come she'd never thought of playing this game before? It was tailor-made for somebody with Gaia's unique condition: somebody who felt only a sublime emptiness in the face of any threat.

  Let's see what you can do, she silently taunted as she stepped in front of him.

  She placed her feet squarely between his own. A smile played on her lips. Yes, she could see the tension building in his arms as they lay at his sides. His breathing quickened--just a little. He was getting ready to make his move. To take her by surprise.

  Gaia glanced back at Mary and Ed. They were a good thirty yards away, silhouetted against the leafless trees. Their expressions were unreadable in the darkness. She gave them a quick thumbs-up. Then she caught a whiff of bourbon and winced. Disgusting. But she had to get it over with. Otherwise
she would

  lose--and losing was something she was not prepared to do. Fearlessness had to serve some purpose, even if it was for a game. And besides, this jerk needed to be taught a lesson. Gaia lived for teaching bullies lessons. She was committed.

  "Excuse me, sir?" Gaia bent over to look into his eyes.

  Two hands clasped around her wrists.

  "Gotcha!" the man cried.

  She almost laughed. "Give me a break," she mumbled disappointedly. It figured he would grab her by the arms. It was the most obvious and idiotic form of attack. But she'd let him enjoy the illusion of control for a second or two. His thick fingers dug through the fibers of her coat.

  "Now what do you think you're doing?" he asked.

  She didn't answer. Instead she just gazed into his haggard face. Talk about disgusting. His skin looked like an oil field. He must have been fifty years old. His beady black eyes were rheumy with alcohol.

  "You wanna play with me?" he hissed, laughing. He gave her arms a sudden yank, pulling her closer. "Well, it's your lucky night, sugar. I'm gonna warm you up. I'm gonna give you something you'll never forget."

  Gaia rolled her eyes. She only had to remember creeps like Charlie Salita and his rapist friend,

  Sideburns Tim, to feel a surge of anger. But this guy was just too pathetic for any kind of major confrontation. And even though she wanted to prolong this encounter--just for the sake of excitement--the stink of this guy's breath and body were enough to make her puke. Too bad. Sighing, she stamped the heel of her combat boot on the man's toes.

  "What the--"

  A shocked whimper escaped his lips. His hold on her instantly loosened. Quick as a flash, she clasped his right hand against her left forearm. His eyes bulged. With a single deft maneuver she flipped him off the bench to the ground at her feet--flat on his back.

  "What the hell?" he gasped.

  He tried to wriggle free, but Gaia held his hand fast. She bent it back slightly.

  "Ow!" he screamed.

  His body went limp. He wouldn't try to move. She knew it. He'd tasted an excruciating pain. That was the beauty of this particular grip. She could snap his wrist in a second, but there was no need to injure him. It was the essence of true kung fu and one of the first lessons her father had taught her: the art of intimidation --the art of threatening torture without actually having to inflict it more than once.