Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(24)

‘Your parents, are they alive?’

I shake my head. This is not a lie.

‘No brothers or sisters?’

‘No.’ Again, not a lie. It feels better to tell the truth about something, a vindication in a way that my life isn’t all smoke and mirrors. I smile more broadly now. ‘You are my family, Steve. You and Veronica and Jeanine. I’ve never been happier in my life than I have been here. I like to pretend that I’ve always been here.’

These truths buoy me. It makes him happy. He grins back, the worry gone, pleased that I have told him about a little bit of my past.

‘I feel that way about the island too, even after losing Dotty. But we had some good years here,’ he shares.

‘Do you want to get some food? I’m starving. Bethany’s? Clam chowder?’ I ask, although I am wound as tight as a rubber band. I don’t think I can eat anything, but I have to let Steve think everything’s OK, that I am the same as always.

But he gets up, shaking his head. ‘I really just wanted to make sure you were OK,’ he explains, looking at his watch for the first time. ‘I’ve got a tour scheduled in about fifteen minutes. Couple who’re here for the first time.’

Steve and I have always liked first-timers, to see the beauty of the island through their eyes. To be able to show them this little piece of what truly is paradise.

I walk him to the door. ‘Tomorrow, then?’

‘How about dinner tonight?’

I hesitate. He is going to show up here sooner or later, and I have to deal with him. Steve sees me struggling with myself over this, and he guesses right what’s going through my head.

‘Don’t worry about it. Lunch tomorrow.’ He gives me a small salute and a wide smile as he goes out the door. I watch him go down to his Explorer, waving his hand over his head at me, but he doesn’t turn around.

I shut the door and go to the pantry, where I pull out the laptop. I do it without thinking and put it on the table, turning it on. I know I have no Internet access here, but I need to feel the keys beneath my fingers.

When it is booted up, I have a thought. I go into the systems folder and find the Internet access. I don’t know why I haven’t done this before, because I see that there are wireless networks to choose from. All of them are locked, but a locked portal has never stopped me before.





THIRTEEN


I have no idea whose wireless I’m stealing, but it doesn’t matter. I have used a VPN, so even if he or she discovers someone poaching, they won’t have a clue where I am. It only took me ten minutes to get in. I am getting my legs back, so to speak.

The first thing I do is a search, something simple that anyone can do. I scan the information I find. It has been so long now that I manage to find only a couple of news stories about what happened. My name is there, my real name, and how the FBI was looking for me, but there is nothing about Paris. It is as though Paris never happened.

The username and password he gave me earlier are imprinted in my memory. I’d asked him to write them down, but I didn’t need him to. I didn’t want him to know that I would remember them as clearly as my own name. I go to the bank site and type them in, my heart pounding in my chest.

Despite my instinct that they would belong here, they don’t. The site tells me that either one of them or both are wrong. I have no idea where they belong or what exactly he wants me to do with them. I hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out.

By walking away, I have told him I won’t do what he wants, but being here, now, makes me want it. Not for him, not because I owe him or want to help him, but just to prove that I can still do it.

I push away my frustration, go to the chat room and sign on. Even though I don’t know any of the names here, it feels more like home than Miami ever did.

I long for Tracker, his wisdom and skills. He was better than me, even though he denied it. But without Tracker, I would know nothing.

I follow some of the chats and discover that someone named Angel seems to be a leader. He is involved in several discussions, dispensing advice. It doesn’t take me long to know that Angel is the new Tracker here, someone I might make use of. I invite him to a private chat.

Me: I’m new here.

Angel: I noticed. What’s with the privacy?

Me: I need some help. Thought maybe you could give me some tips. It’s been a long time for me.

Angel: I’m not sure what I can help with.

Me: I may need to get through a very secure portal and firewall. But like I said, it’s been a long time.

Angel: I don’t know you.

Me: I know that. But I used to know someone named Tracker. Do you know who he is?

Several minutes go by, and I am afraid that I’ve scared Angel away. Before, I was a part of the community. When I needed help, I knew who to go to and how to ask. I am rusty at this, but time is not on my side if he is right about others being on my trail, so I have to be more aggressive. Dropping Tracker’s name, though, seems to have been a mistake. Angel is still quiet.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to let Angel off the hook, when he finally responds.

Tracker doesn’t know anyone named BikerGirl27.

My heart jumps into my throat, and I cannot breathe for a second. He has checked with Tracker. Tracker is still here somewhere.

Tell him it’s Tiny. My fourteen-year-old self had thought it clever to replace the last letter of my name with another to create what my forty-year-old self now realizes is a stupid nickname. But Tracker will know it. He will vouch for me. And maybe, even, if I dare to hope, he will emerge and he and I can join forces again.