Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(77)

The backpack really isn’t heavier than it was before, since I have shed the towels. I consider using one as a turban, to hide my short locks, but that will draw more attention so I abandon the idea. I do take off my glasses and smooth out my hair as much as I can, cursing my curls for the first time.

There are a couple of cars already lined up to get on the ferry. In the first, an old Honda, the driver is drinking a cup of coffee from a Styrofoam cup and smoking a cigarette, the smoke drifting out the window. The second is a Volvo with a woman at the wheel. She is familiar, and it takes me a few seconds but I finally place her. She has taken my bike tour, but she is not a tourist. She is new to the island, just here this past year, and owns a small shop where she sells jewelry made out of shells. I take a chance and go over to the car, knocking on the window on the passenger side. It whirrs down and I lean in.

‘Hi there,’ I say, forgetting her name.

‘Nicole! So good to see you!’ I rub my arms, and she takes the bait. The door unlocks. ‘Hop in, it’s cold out there.’

I do as asked and slid onto the heated seat. ‘Thanks,’ I say, closing the door.

‘You headed to the mainland?’

I nod.

‘I’m going to Boston for a girls’ weekend with my friends,’ she says. ‘It’s the last chance I’ve got before the big tourist push, and my husband can deal with the business for the weekend.’ She gives me a wink.

I remember now that her husband commutes to the mainland every day. They moved here after their youngest child graduated college, giving her the chance to start this business that she’d always wanted. I try to figure out a good excuse for me to go to the mainland, but it turns out I don’t need to. She chatters on and on about her husband and her business, and giving me all the gossip about the women she’s meeting but whom I don’t know.

In the sideview mirror, I see a police car slide past us, going up the hill.

I am relieved that it does not stop as the ferry’s gangplank begins to come down.

‘Do you have your ticket?’ the woman whose name I can’t remember asks.

‘I have to get one,’ I say.

‘Oh, I have commuter tickets,’ she says. ‘Want one?’

I insist on paying her for it, discreetly pulling a twenty out of my bag and handing it to her.

‘It doesn’t cost that much,’ she protests.

‘Consider it payment for giving me a warm place to wait,’ I say with a smile. I am not insincere. Once we are on board, I will miss these heated seats.

A few more cars have lined up behind us now. I constantly check the mirrors but still have not seen another police car. I can only hope they are at the airport, waiting for me. When they start letting the cars on the ferry, my heart beats harder, and I force myself to continue to smile and nod as the woman babbles on about her weekend plans.

The cars begin to move forward onto the ferry. We hand over our tickets, and once we’ve parked on board, we get out of the car.

‘Cup of coffee?’ the woman asks.

‘Just going to use the facilities,’ I say and make a beeline upstairs. Instead of going into the ladies’ room, I slip into the men’s room and lock the door. I lean against the wall and take some deep breaths, letting the backpack drop to the floor. I am hardly home free, but I have made it this far, thanks to the good luck of meeting up with what’s-her-name. I keep hoping her name will come to me, but I seem to have blocked it completely.

I am in the men’s room for about five minutes when someone knocks. ‘Taken,’ I say, lowering my voice.

Whoever it is walks away.

I have been in here for twenty minutes before I feel the boat begin to move. I still don’t feel like I can breathe. Frank Cooper could have someone on board who will grab me when I emerge.

When another knock comes on the door, I know I have to come out. I feel the man’s eyes on me when I open the door. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘Wrong one.’ I sidle past him and take inventory of where I am.

A few people sit at tables near the snack bar, holding coffee cups and having a jovial conversation. I go outside, the salty wind slamming into my face, and I shiver in the cardigan. I walk the perimeter of the ferry, expecting at every turn to see Frank Cooper or Ian or one of those FBI agents. But I see no one familiar – no police officers.

I do not see the woman I came on board with, either, though, and I begin to panic. Was she a plant? Someone put there to make me feel comfortable enough to let my guard down?

But suddenly she is standing beside me.

‘I thought you jumped ship,’ she says with a laugh. ‘Coffee?’

She has bought me a cup, and I take it despite wanting to flee. But where would I go? I am now more trapped than I was on the island. I look back toward the place where I have lived for the past fifteen years. It is getting smaller and smaller the further we get away from it. The sky is a bright blue, the water a deep cobalt mixed with turquoise. Seagulls fly overhead, and I spot my little house just up from where the llamas are. I didn’t realize you could see it from here.

‘You don’t have your bike,’ the woman says to me.

I shake my head and take a sip of coffee that scorches my tongue.

‘Do you need a ride somewhere when we get to Point Judith?’

‘I was going to call a cab,’ I say.