F. Paul Wilson: The Tomb

He heard a child's voice shouting as he crossed Sutton Place.

"Jack-Jack-Jack!"

Dark braids flying and arms outstretched, a little slip of a girl with wide blue eyes and a missing front tooth came dashing out the front door and down the sidewalk. She leaped into the air with the reckless abandon of a seven-year-old who had not the slightest doubt she would be caught and lifted and swung around.

Which is exactly what Jack did. Then he hugged her against his chest as she clamped her spindly arms around his neck.

"Where you been, Jack?" she said into his ear. "Where you been all this time?"

Jack's answer was blocked by a lump in his throat the size of an apple. Shocked by the intensity of feeling welling up in him, he could only squeeze her tighter. Vicky ! All the time he had spent missing Gia, never realizing how much he had missed the little one. For the better part of the year he and Gia had been together, Jack had seen Vicky almost every day, becoming a prime focus of her boundless store of affection. Losing Vicky had contributed much more than he had ever imagined to the emptiness inside him these past two months. Love you, little girl .

He had not truly known how much until this very instant. Over Vicky's shoulder he could see Gia standing in the doorway of the house, her face grim. He spun away to hide the tears that had sprung into his eyes. "You're squeezing me awful tight, Jack." He put her down. "Yeah. Sorry, Vicks." He cleared his throat, pulled himself together, then grasped her hand and walked up to the front door and Gia.

She looked good. Hell, she looked great in that light blue T-shirt and jeans. Short blond hair—to call it blond was to say the sun was sort of bright: It gleamed, it glowed. Blue eyes like winter sky after all the snow clouds have blown east. A strong, full mouth. High shoulders, high breasts, fair skin with high coloring along the cheeks. He still found it almost impossible to believe she was Italian.

10

Gia controlled her anger. She had told Vicky not to make a fuss, but at the first sight of Jack crossing the street she had been out the door and on her way before Gia could stop her. She wanted to punish Vicky for disobeying her, yet knew she wouldn't. Vicky loved Jack.

He looked the same as ever. His brown hair was a little longer and he looked as if he had lost a few pounds since she'd last seen him, but no major differences. Still the same incredible vitality, making the very air around him seem to throb with life, the same feline grace to his movements, the same warm brown eyes, the same lopsided smile. The smile looked forced at the moment, and his face was flushed. He looked hot.

"Hello," Jack said as he reached the top step. His voice was husky.

He leaned his face toward her. She wanted to pull away but affected sublime indifference instead. She would be cool. She would be detached. He no longer meant anything to her. She accepted a peck on the cheek.

"Come in," she said, doing her best to sound businesslike. She felt she succeeded. But the brush of his lips against her cheek stirred old unwanted feelings, and she knew her face was coloring. Damn him! She turned away. "Aunt Nellie's waiting."

"You're looking well," he said, standing there and staring at her. Vicky's hand was still clasped in his own.

"Thank you. So are you." She had never felt this way before, but now that she knew the truth about Jack, the sight of him holding hands with her little girl made her skin crawl. She had to get Vicky away from him. "Honey, why don't you go outside and play in your playhouse while Jack and I and Aunt Nellie talk about grown-up things."

"No," she said. "I want to stay with Jack!"

Gia started to speak but Jack raised a hand.

"First thing we do," he said to Vicky as he guided her into the foyer, "is close the door behind us. This may be a ritzy neighborhood, but they still haven't got around to air-conditioning the street." He shut the door, then squatted in front of her. "Listen, Vicks. Your mother's right. We've got some grown-up stuff to discuss and we've got to get down to business. But I'll let you know as soon as we're through."

"Can I show you the playhouse?"

"Sure."

"Neat! And Ms. Jelliroll wants to meet you. I told her all about you."

"Great. I want to meet her, too. But first"—he pointed to the breast pocket of his shirt—"see what's in there."

Vicky reached in and pulled out an orange ball of fur. "A Wuppet!" she screeched. "Oh, ex !"

She kissed him and ran toward the back.

"Who or what is Ms. Jelliroll?" he asked Gia as he rose to his feet.

"A new doll," Gia said as brusquely as she could manage. "Jack, I… I want you to stay away from her."

Gia saw his eyes then and knew that she had cut him deeply. But his mouth smiled.

"I haven't molested a child all week."

"That's not what I mean—"

"I'm a bad influence, right?"

"We've been through this before and I don't want to get going on it again. Vicky was very attached to you. She's just getting used to not having you around anymore, and now you come back and I don't want her to think things are going back to the way they were."

"I'm not the one who walked out."

"Doesn't matter. The result was the same. She was hurt."

"So was I."

"Jack," she sighed, feeling very tired, "this is a pointless conversation."

"Not to me. Gia, I'm crazy about that kid. There was a time when I had hopes of being her father."

The sound of her own laugh was harsh and bitter in her ears. "Forget it! Her real father hasn't been heard from in a year and you wouldn't be much of an improvement. Vicky needs a real person for a father. Someone who lives in the real world. Someone with a last name—do you even remember your last name? The one you were christened with? Jack, you… you don't even exist."

He reached out and touched her arm.

"As real as you."

"You know what I mean!" Gia said, pulling away. The words poured out of her. "What kind of a father could you be to anybody? And what kind of a husband?"

She was being hard on him, she knew, but he deserved it.

Jack's face tightened. "Very well, Ms. DiLauro. Shall we get down to business? After all, I didn't invite myself over."

"Neither did I. It was Nellie's idea. I was just the messenger. 'Get that friend of yours, that Jack fellow, to help.' I tried to tell her you were no longer a friend but she insisted. She remembered that you worked with Mr. Burkes last year."

"That's when we met."

"And the long string of deceptions began. Mr. Burkes called you 'a consultant,' ' a troubleshooter.' "

Jack made a sour face. "But you came up with a better job description, didn't you: thug."

It jolted Gia to hear the pain in Jack's voice as he said the word. Yes, she had called him that the last time she had seen him. She had hurt him then and had been glad of it. But she wasn't glad now to know he was still bleeding from it. She turned away. "Nellie is waiting."

11

With a mixture of pain and resentment rolling through him, Jack followed Gia down the hallway. For months he had nurtured a faint hope that someday soon he would make her understand. As of now he knew with leaden certainty that that would never happen. She had been a warm, passionate woman who had loved him, and unwittingly he had turned her to ice.

He studied the walnut paneling, the portraits on the walls, anything to keep from watching her as she walked ahead of him. Then they were through a pair of sliding doors and into the library. The dark paneling continued in from the hall, and there was lots of dark furniture: overstuffed velvet chairs with antimacassars on the arms, Persian rugs on the floor, Impressionist paintings on the walls, a Sony Trinitron in the corner. It looked lived-in.