Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(22)

‘FBI?’

‘That’s right. So there’s nothing to worry about.’

She takes a deep breath. ‘I thought he might do something to you.’

She might not be wrong. I shrug. ‘It’s OK. I don’t think he’s like that.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, how can you know so soon?’

I have to keep up the facade that I have just met him. ‘You’re right, I guess, but he doesn’t seem like that.’

‘You’re sure?’

I nod, and I must have finally reassured her because she relaxes as she smiles.

‘I think I’ll have that cup of tea now, thanks, Nicole.’

I don’t want to have tea, but I can’t tell her no, so I go into the kitchen and put the water on to boil. She follows me and watches me take two mugs and the box of peppermint tea out of the cabinet.

‘Steve says you got a computer.’ It is said matter-of-factly, and she doesn’t seem to notice that I tense up.

I smile. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

Her face lights up. ‘Will you let me help you set up a website for your paintings? We can work it out so you can sell them through the gallery, if you like.’ It’s what she would like, to have the opportunity to make money off me even though my work might not be in her gallery. She realizes that I have her number, and she gives me a sheepish look. ‘It would make you look more professional to go through a gallery,’ she tries. ‘I’ve done this for a couple of the other artists.’

I think about the word artist. I’ve never really thought of myself that way, but Veronica has always referred to me as an artist. I should be used to it by now.

‘Anyway,’ she says awkwardly when I do not answer, ‘it’s up to you.’

‘It’s OK,’ I assure her. ‘Let’s set it up. Why don’t we plan to do it sometime next week?’

‘That would be great, but can we do it after hours? I’m trying to get everything ready for the season.’

‘Sure. I’ll let you know which day.’ She doesn’t have to know that a website for my paintings isn’t at the top of my priority list at the moment.

The teakettle whistles, and I pour the water into our mugs, the peppermint scent sudden and strong.

Veronica takes her mug and sips. ‘So what is he like?’ she asks then.

I know what she’s looking for: the same thing Jeanine was.

‘He’s nice,’ I say, hoping I sound enthusiastic enough about him. I surprise myself by conjuring up an old memory: holding hands as we walked through the gardens at Viscaya, the scent of roses and a spring rain hanging in the air. His smile playful as he snapped pictures with an old Polaroid camera, waving them in front of my face as they developed, teasing me that they would come out perfect because I had a special magic power to make everything more beautiful.

Veronica is talking, and I shake myself out of the memory.

‘What did you fight about? I mean, it seems that maybe you two—’ Her voice trails off, and she gives me a wink.

I shrug, taking a sip from my own mug, the hot liquid burning my tongue. ‘Just a little disagreement. No big deal.’ But as I think about it, it is a big deal. He is no longer that boy with the camera. He is looking for me. I glance out the window and see nothing but the sea and the horizon, white clouds dancing in the sky. Even though I left his room, I can’t really escape. I am trapped here.

My hand holding the mug shakes slightly, the tea spilling a little, but Veronica doesn’t notice.





TWELVE


After Veronica leaves, I pace my living room, my heart pounding. He must have seen her leave. He must know I am here alone. So when the knock comes at the door half an hour later, I actually feel relieved that the waiting is over, except I then hear the familiar ‘Hello, hello!’ and Steve comes in.

‘Are you OK?’ Steve asks, the worry etched in his forehead. ‘I ran into Veronica.’

So word is already out that he is FBI. Not something he’d want advertised, but what did he expect me to tell people, carrying the gun?

‘I’m fine,’ I say, patting his arm. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Is he really with the FBI?’ A tone of incredulity laces his words.

‘That’s what he says.’

Steve makes a face and strokes the side of his beard. ‘Not what I would have expected.’

‘Why?’ I can’t help but ask.

‘Doesn’t seem the type.’

He says this so seriously that I chuckle. ‘And what do you know of FBI agents, Steve?’

He raises his eyebrows and gives me a grin. ‘You’d be surprised.’

Nothing about Steve should surprise me after all this time, and my first instinct is to think he is teasing me. But there is something in his expression that makes me ask, ‘Were you FBI in another life or something?’

‘Now, Nicole, you know I was a geologist.’

I think now that I have been wrong, that this is our usual banter, so I say, ‘A geologist who is really MI5? A British agent who comes to Block Island to track down a wanted man?’

‘Who says it has to be a man?’ Steve teases.

His words catch me off guard, and paranoia spreads through me. I have been living here under the radar, or so I’ve thought. What if someone has been watching me all this time? What if he had help in finding me?