Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(74)

‘You’ve got one more chance,’ he says.

‘For what?’

‘Run away with me.’

I want to. I can’t stand the thought of leaving him here. Especially like this. But I can’t. My silence gives him the answer. I pull away and give him a sad smile.

‘You have to promise to call me. Tell me that you’re all right,’ he says.

I shake my head. ‘It’s bad enough that you’re helping me leave. They’ll question you for hours. Days, maybe.’

‘I have nothing else to do with my time. No one to meet at Club Soda.’

‘Don’t rub it in.’

He is still waiting for me to change my mind. About him going with me, not about me calling. Instead, I help him back on with his shirt. He winces as he moves his shoulder, but tries to cover it up with a grin that turns into more of a grimace. I touch his beard and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘I wish I could stay,’ I whisper. ‘I wish it could all go back the way it used to be.’ Scrabble games and burgers and onion rings and walks at the Bluffs. Gossip and clam chowder. My life. The life I have built. The life that has slipped away every minute since Ian showed up.

In the days before I was Nicole, those things wouldn’t have meant anything to me. The only things that mattered were Ian and my computers.

I hear something outside, and I realize it’s a siren. It’s still in the distance. I glance at Steve. ‘Who knows we’re here?’

He shakes his head. ‘Only you and me and Chip.’

Chip. ‘I don’t think he’s as sweet on me as you’ve always said,’ I say. ‘I have to get out of here.’ I sling the backpack over my shoulder, feel the weight of the money and the laptop inside, and pick up the duffel bag.

‘Where are you going?’

‘You don’t know.’

He struggles to his feet, but he is unsteady. I touch his good shoulder. ‘No. Stay.’ I brush his white, coarse beard with my lips, lingering for just a moment, breathing in his scent. He smells of the salt that hangs in the air. And before he can say another word, I slip out the door and back into the night. Chip is standing on the gravel road near Steve’s SUV, so I go in the opposite direction. He can’t hear my footsteps because the sirens are closer now, and by the time he looks around again, I will be on the other side of the building, gone.

I am disappointed that he called Frank Cooper, but not surprised. I have had little contact with Chip Parsons, and maybe he is just a little bit upset that I never expressed any interest in him. But it is probably more that he is from the island and even though I have made a niche for myself here, I am still a newcomer in his eyes.

It will not take Frank Cooper and the FBI long to know that I have gone and in which direction. The island is small, and they will be able to close in on me quickly if I don’t find a place to hide. But it can’t be too far from the ferry, because that is truly my only way off the island at this point and, even though the odds are against me, I have to try.

I think about how I got away from the FBI agents when I was supposed to meet Ian at the Painted Rock, and Charleston Beach is not far from here. I can go to the beach and make my way around the island that way. It is the long way around but I have all night, and it seems doable, even carrying the two bags.

Soon the sirens are in the distance, and I begin my trek along the perimeter of the island. It is dark and peaceful, the water slapping against the beach, the moon high in the sky, which is dotted with millions of stars. It is the kind of night that calls for some wine and cheese and a blanket on the beach, being thankful for my life. Instead, I am running for my life.

I reach Grace Cove and then Dorry’s Cove. I have to make my way around the rocky shore, but it is not daunting. I have done this so many times under better circumstances, as if in preparation for tonight. I don’t stop, just keep moving. I try not to think about Steve, about leaving him, about how I shot him.

I can’t help but think now about Zeke. About what happened that night in Paris, how Ian has not exactly lied to the FBI.

I am responsible for Zeke’s death.

Ian had disappeared somewhere. He did that often, showing back up again a few hours later with wine and cheese or chocolate and we would make love to the sway of the boat in the river. I would turn on the radio and sing softly in French to him. But he wasn’t there that day, and instead I was singing along with Edith Piaf when the knock came at the door and Zeke came in.

He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His suit was mussed and he wasn’t wearing a tie. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck.

I didn’t quite know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Zeke stepped toward me, but then stopped when he saw the look on my face.

‘Surprised?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘How did you find me?’

‘You can’t hide behind your computer forever, Tina. Sooner or later the computer will give you up.’ Zeke smiled. ‘All that money. The bank. Did you think you could get away with it?’

I had, but I didn’t want to admit it to him.

‘You have to know about server raids – how we can trace those paths you think you got rid of. They still exist, Tina, do you know that?’

I was too good leave a trail. But he knew somehow, and he’d known for at least a month before Ian and I left.