Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(48)

As I put the helmet on and climb onto the moped, I see Steve is still talking to Reggie, but Reggie is backing away now. Clearly Steve has outstayed his welcome. I can almost hear him say, ‘I thought she was meeting me here. Really.’

I decide not to take my chances and drive past them, but go back up the hill and around the turn. I am still wearing the backpack and the weight of it vibrates against my back. I have no idea how much money I’ve managed to salvage. I can only hope it’s going to be enough.

I find myself coming up on the Bluffs. I slow down and pull in near the wooden staircase. I have such an urge to go down there, to sit on the rocks, feel the wind in my hair, against my face and watch the water. To hear it rush through the stones.

I get a catch in my throat when I think of the stones I’d so carefully collected through the years.

I shut down the engine, climb off and put the helmet in the basket. I push the moped to the side, hiding it amid the brush. I don’t have a lock, and I don’t want to run the risk of anyone stealing it.

With the backpack secure against my body, I begin the descent. With each step, I feel freer; I take deep breaths, tasting the salt in the air. The backpack becomes heavier, a burden I’m forced to carry, but a necessary one. I need this money. I cannot start a new life without it.

The tears spill down my cheeks as I finally reach the bottom. I don’t even bother to wipe them away. I make my way along the rocky beach to the sand until I find the spot where I can look up and see the majestic Bluffs hovering over me, their beauty overwhelming. Because it is twilight, they are dark shadows against the sky. I drop down onto the beach and cross my legs, settling in as the sky darkens further and the edge of the Bluffs disappears into the night. The wind whips around me as if in a frenzy; it fills my ears with a white noise.

I think about the driver’s license and passport. Neither of them would be particularly useful, because their expiration dates are long past. But I might be able to get the license past a rental car employee, especially if they are distracted by something. I was always good at distraction.

I know I’ll need a credit card to rent a car or catch a plane. But I’m lucky. Amelie Renaud is a real person with a real credit card, and the credit card number is just a few keystrokes away. I don’t look much like Amelie, not anymore, but if I take off my glasses and straighten my hair, I can say that I’ve cut it and that’s why my face looks a little fuller in the picture. A haircut can change everything.

While before my actions were frivolous, I need to do this now to survive. I do not want to get caught. I have lasted this long, and I would like to live the rest of my life being free. I don’t like thinking what this means. That I will disappear off this island as I once disappeared from Miami, leaving people behind who I love.

Zeke should never have followed me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, my fingers touching the soft stones at my feet. I scoop a couple up and stick them in the front pocket of the backpack. Wherever I am going, they will go in a jar so I can remember.

Finally, the sky is black, the only light from the bright moon that’s risen over the horizon. Stars speckle the sky, winking at me, telling me it’s time to go.

I stand up and wobble a little. My feet have fallen asleep. I shake them out and make my way tentatively back to the stairs. My eyes are adjusted to the dark, so I can make out shadows, which is how I see an odd-looking shape beyond the stairs on the other side. It does not look like an animal, but something else. Something familiar, but my brain isn’t registering it as anything in particular.

Until I get up close and I almost trip over it.

It is a bicycle.

The frame is bent and broken, as though it has been tossed from the stairs. I look up, half expecting to see the person who has done such a thing, but there is no one there. I lean down and touch the metal, then pull my hand back as though it is on fire. It may be dark, but I know this bike.

It’s mine.

I cannot grasp why someone would do this. Why steal the bike and then destroy it? They had already destroyed my belongings. Why not just damage it at my house and leave it there for me to find? Granted, someone was bound to find the bike here. This is a highlight of the island; everyone comes here, tourists and residents alike. The police would be alerted, and I would eventually find out – yet another way to hurt me.

I lift up the broken frame and carry it over to the stairs, where I lean it up against the railing. It is mangled beyond repair. A sob catches in my throat as I step around it to go back up, but before the tears can come the moon moves out from behind a cloud and illuminates the beach in front of me.

The bike is not the only thing left abandoned here.

I am afraid to move toward the body that lies just beyond the path I took to come back.

I wait for it to move, but it doesn’t. It just lies there. The moon slips behind a cloud again, and it’s darker.

I take a step. And then another. By the time I reach it, the moon is peeking out again and I can see his face.

I take a gulp of air, unaware that I’d been holding my breath.

Carmine Loffredo looks peaceful. His eyes are open, as if he is admiring the stars above him. He does not move his head. He does not see me. He is clearly dead, although how, I’m not entirely sure. It’s too dark, even with the moon shining, to tell. And I am not about to poke around the body to find out.

It surprises me a little that I am not panicking, but I chalk that up to the fact that I know what kind of man he was and that this was probably the only way he would meet his end. I am merely relieved that he is gone and is no longer a threat to me or my friends.