Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(14)

He asked me to do a job for him before. And I did, because he wanted me to, because I was crazy in love with him and would’ve gone off the edge of the world for him. Which I did, in a way. It’s how I ended up here.

But what he didn’t know was that I hadn’t been lured by the money. It had been the power.

I had no idea someone would die.

I stare out across the water, envisioning the mainland. I barely remember the ferry ride out here. I wonder what happened to the car, abandoned in the terminal parking lot. I only had a duffel bag with two days’ change of clothes and a toothbrush on me when I stepped onto the island. I walked along the beach in Old Harbor; a small yellow boat was upside down on the sand, resting against a rock. When I close my eyes, the image is still so vivid. I shed my identity before arriving, but this is where I first told someone my new name. The first time I spoke it out loud. This is my haven, the place I could heal. The place I call home.

What bothers me now is not what he has asked of me, but that I’m considering it.





EIGHT


When I return home, the answering machine winks at me with its red eye. I hit the button to hear Steve asking how I am – he’s worried, he hasn’t heard from me all day. I should have called him, so I pick up the phone.

‘You’re OK?’ he asks.

‘I went up to Rodman’s Hollow,’ I say. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’ Not that I have really noticed.

‘You know, you can’t take your tour there. No bikes on the trails,’ he reminds me playfully.

I force myself to concentrate. ‘Maybe I’ll offer a bike and hike tour.’ For a moment, I wonder why I haven’t done this before. My head starts spinning with the idea of it, until I turn around and see the laptop still sitting on my table. Immediately my brain shuts down again, paralyzed.

‘So you haven’t seen him?’ Steve asks tentatively.

‘The guy?’ I ask. ‘No.’ The lie again trips off my tongue with no effort. I wait for the guilt to settle in, but it doesn’t. I blame him for this. I had no guilt for a long time, until the end. I try to make up for it by asking, ‘Dinner again tonight?’

‘Sorry, Nic, but I’m going to the mainland. Sox game tonight.’ He pauses. ‘Want to come with me? I could rustle up another ticket.’

I chuckle. ‘I won’t have you paying two hundred dollars for a baseball ticket. I know how much those tickets cost, especially from scalpers.’

‘We could make a day out of it in Boston,’ Steve tries again.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Like the ladies used to say, I’m going to stay home and wash my hair.’

But I don’t stay home. I call Jeanine and make a date for dinner. I put the laptop into its box and place it carefully on the floor in the pantry, under the shelf that holds the pots and pans, next to a bag of potatoes. I hear nothing from him all day, and as I dress for dinner in a pair of slacks and jersey top, I can only hope that he does not show up anywhere tonight. I know he is waiting for my decision, which I am not yet ready to make.

Jeanine kisses me on each cheek as she greets me just outside the Beachead on Corn Neck Road. It is a comfortable place, cozy and warm. My mouth is salivating for chowder and Thai curry shrimp. We are seated at a window table, near the bar, and we both order glasses of Pinot Grigio.

She leans toward me, her elbows on the table, a conspiratorial smile tugging at her lips. ‘So, tell me about him,’ she says.

‘Who?’ I ask, trying to postpone the inevitable.

She shakes her head. ‘That guy, Veronica told me, the one who commissioned your painting and asked you out.’

‘I didn’t go out with him.’ I fold my arms across my chest.

‘Abby saw you with him at Club Soda.’

‘Steve and I ditched him. He’s a jerk,’ I say.

The waitress brings our drinks, and I take the glass and sip. Suddenly I wish I’d ordered something stronger. We give her our dinner orders, and she walks away. As soon as she does, Jeanine continues.

‘How do you know that he’s a jerk?’ Jeanine asks.

‘He was really pushy. Arrogant. Obnoxious.’ I try to think of more adjectives to put him in a bad light, but instead I drink more wine. ‘Steve came over to my house to make sure he didn’t follow us or anything. He was worried.’

Jeanine’s expression changes slightly at that. Steve is known for his easygoing personality. ‘If Steve was worried,’ she says, ‘then I guess, well …’ Her voice trails off.

‘You guess that it’s not me,’ I finish for her, swallowing the last of my wine. It has gone down too easily, and I want another. I gesture to the waitress, who nods.

Jeanine is staring at me. ‘I don’t want to pick a fight.’

‘Then don’t,’ I snap, immediately regretting it. Her face falls, and she looks as though she might cry. I reach across the table, pat her hand. I have to do something. I am not acting like Nicole. ‘If you want to know,’ I say, my voice barely above a whisper, ‘I did find him attractive. But it’s just been so long …’

Jeanine’s face brightens as if she understands. I have let her believe that I came here after a bad divorce. I have never said anything about any man or my past, but she has just assumed that because I don’t date it is because I’ve been burned. ‘Oh, Nicole, it’s so understandable. But maybe you should just take a chance. He might not be that bad.’