Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(29)

‘You OK?’ he asks.

I shake my head. Of course I am not OK, but I cannot open my mouth to say the words.

I hear muffled voices from within as Frank and the other officer, his name is Bob, take in the destruction. Suddenly, Frank’s head pops around the door.

‘Is anything missing, Nicole?’

‘My bike,’ I whisper. ‘It was outside.’

‘Anything else?’ It is as if he knows. As if the spot in the pantry underneath the potatoes has told him that something was there and now it’s gone.

‘My laptop computer,’ I say, more loudly this time. ‘It’s new. I just got it.’ I remember that I’m supposed to be in the chat room with Tracker tomorrow morning. How am I going to do that now? It will be like before. I won’t be there, and he will suspect the worst and won’t hear from me for another fifteen years.

Somehow I have to be there.

‘Nicole?’ Frank is talking to me.

I give him a small, sad smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why do you think he would take your computer and bike and nothing else?’ Frank asks.

‘Maybe he needed a way around the island?’ I try, ignoring the part about the computer.

Frank grins. ‘OK, maybe. But what about the computer?’

I cannot tell Frank that it was a present. That he gave it to me. That would open me up to too many questions I won’t answer. I have also told Steve that I ordered it myself. I have to keep my lies consistent.

‘It was new,’ I say again. ‘Who wouldn’t want a new laptop?’

‘Was there anything on it? I mean, could he steal your identity or anything with what’s on it?’ Frank is serious, yet his words make me want to laugh out loud.

I shake my head. ‘No. I barely had time to get it booted up. There’s nothing on there.’

‘No passwords saved or anything?’

Again I remind myself that they have no idea who I am. That wiping out my tracks on a computer is second nature, and no one will be able to see where I’ve been because I am so thorough.

‘No,’ I said flatly.

Frank flashes a relieved grin. ‘Good. That’s good to know. You wouldn’t want anyone to get any of your information. It takes years to clear up identity theft.’

Again, I resist the urge to laugh.

It takes an hour. Steve and I sit in the wicker chairs outside my house, not saying anything. He seems to know that I don’t want to talk, and I am grateful for that. Finally, Frank and Bob come out of the house, Bob carrying some sort of kit that I assume has whatever evidence they feel they could collect.

Frank approaches me as Bob goes to his cruiser. I have never seen so many police on this island as I have today.

‘Nicole, I’m sorry about the mess.’

Steve stands up. ‘I’ll help her clean up, Frank.’

‘That’s not the only thing,’ Frank says, and I can see he’s trying to choose his words carefully. ‘Nicole, you shouldn’t stay here. He might come back. You can’t be here alone.’

‘He’s probably off the island by now,’ I try.

‘You don’t know that.’

‘She’s going to stay with me,’ Steve tells Frank. ‘I’ll take care of her.’

I am no longer in control of my own person, but I cannot argue. ‘That’s right, Frank. I’ll stay with Steve.’

Frank looks from me to Steve and back to me again. ‘I’ll send a cruiser past every now and then, just to make sure everything’s OK. I’ll send someone by here, too, in case he comes back. I checked with the ferry company, and the last two captains have not seen anyone fitting Zeke Chapman’s description on board. And he wasn’t on either of the flights that went out today. No one’s seen him at the marinas, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, since we can’t keep tabs on all the boats out there and who’s on them. Unless we find out different, though, you should assume he’s still on the island, and you are not safe.’

I have never been safe. I know that now.

‘I’ll be with Steve,’ I say again.

Frank shakes Steve’s hand, leans in and gives me a little peck on the cheek. ‘You’ll be OK, as long as you’re aware of your surroundings.’

I will not be OK, but to appease him, I say, ‘Thanks, Frank.’

We watch him drive away, and then Steve and I step into my house. He has not seen it before, and he gasps loudly. ‘Oh, Nicole, this is awful.’

I cannot argue, going to the utility closet and pulling out cleaning supplies. No time to waste.





SIXTEEN


I would rather go to the Yellow Kittens for a drink, but settle instead for a cognac with Steve at his house. I don’t want to be out in public. He is somewhere on the island, and Carmine is here, too. It wouldn’t take much to find me here at Steve’s. But I don’t quite know how to get out of staying here without telling Steve everything, so I settle into the folds of his big sofa in his den, trying to look relaxed, but I am about as relaxed as a cat perched under a bird feeder. Steve sits across from me, nursing his own glass. When we left my house, it was spotless, the bags of trash outside in the bins for pickup.

‘I’ll help you get that couch to the dump on the weekend,’ Steve promises, ‘and then you can find another one.’