Run by Francine Pascal

stir. Things he didn't even know were there.
    Brain cramp! This gorgeous, uptown piece of ass was asking him out? Sure as hell sounded like it. For a moment there was no Gaia.
    "Uh . . . uh . . ." Damn, he had to get it together.
    ""Well?"
    Shit, this one was friendly. She was pressing her palms against his chest now.
    "You don't have plans, do you?" she asked in a husky voice.
    Well, as a matter of fact, he did. He was going to kill Gaia tonight. But then again, maybe he could do both.
    The woman was giving him this very seductive little pout. "Please say you'll meet me tonight. There's a band playing in the park. And I love to dance. . . ." She pushed her hips against his and swayed. "Do you like to dance?"
    CJ nodded. He liked her perfume. It was giving him a little buzz. Smelled like burning flowers or something.
    "Good. So it's a date, then?" She tossed her hair back and looked up at him through her thick lashes. "We'll meet tonight, in the park."
    "Yeah. Yeah." He backed up from her slightly, trying to play off the fact that every inch of his body wanted to pounce on her right now. No use letting the lady know she had the power. "That'd be cool. In the park."
    "I'll meet you at the fountain," she said, making even the word
fountain
sound dirty. "Say ... nine-thirty?"
    "Yeah. sounds good."
    ""Till then . . ."
    "Yeah."
    She turned to walk away, and he remembered that walk. He and Marco used to study it. When she'd gone half a block, he called out to her. "Yo, girl. What's your name?"
    She didn't bother to answer.
TO: L
FROM: E
RE: CJ
    Arrived in NYC early and met with pawn. He'll meet me in the park at nine-thirty.
    If all goes as well as this, he should be dead before the band plays its first set.

What the Kidnapper Said
    LOKI CRUMPLED THE FAXED MEMO AND dropped it into the wastebasket.
    "Dead before the first set?" He smiled sardonically. "That's what I like to hear." His laughter was an ugly, guttural rumble in his throat. He turned to Sam.
    Poor, poor Sam.
    "Dying, really, right before his eyes. A shame.
    Loki walked toward his hostage, who was huddled in a shivering heap on the floor, and studied him in silence for a long moment.
    Well, he could understand what his niece saw in the boy. He was certainly nice-looking. At least, he had been, before that unfortunate incident in which his face collided with that fist. Tsk, tsk. And, of course, his medical condition was really taking its toll.
    "Sam?" Again, louder. "Sam!"
    The boy lifted his head slightly and let out a ragged breath.
    "Sam Moon," said Loki thoughtfully, rolling the name over his taste buds as though it were a new wine he was tasting. "Tell me about yourself, Sam."
    The only reply was the shuddering of Sam's body.
    "Cat got your tongue, boy?" Loki sneered. "Ah, yes. Just as well. I generally prefer to do the talking in situations such as these. I do so enjoy being in control."
    He was circling Sam now, like the predator he was. "You're aware, I imagine, that my niece is quite taken with you?" His eyes turned hard as he stared at the prone form before him.
    Loki stopped walking, folded his arms across his chest, and glared down at Sam. "That, as you must understand, is not an easy thing for an uncle to accept. I wonder, would you be worthy of her? Because an uncle has certain expectations for his only niece, Sam. He wants the best for her, wants only her happiness. I know it may not seem that way, given current circumstances, but it is true. Gaia, you might say, has become my whole world. " Loki lifted his foot and used the toe of one of his three-hundred-dollar wing tips to give Sam's languid body a hard nudge. "So tell me, Sam Moon," he demanded. "Are you the boy who will make Gaia's dreams come true?"
    Loki hovered there another moment, allowing his icy laughter to rain down on Sam.
    Then in a voice so slick and close to silence that Loki barely heard it himself, he asked Sam Moon one last question.
    After that he walked away, the heels of his