Hidden

by Karen E. Olson

  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.

  ‘So what happens now?’ I asked.

  ‘One of two things.’ Zeke shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. ‘I can take you in. Or you could come with me.’

  Wasn’t that the same thing? He saw me frown and gave me a tentative smile.

  ‘You and I could go away together. I have nothing left at home. I’ll give it all up for you. We can go find an island somewhere, live the rest of our lives in peace. Together.’

  I heard something outside, on the dock. Heavy footsteps. Whistling. Ian.

  Zeke heard it, too, and he stepped away from the door, closer to me. ‘Don’t worry. We can get rid of him.’

  But I didn’t want to get rid of him, and Zeke could see it in my face. His smile faded just as the door swung open. Ian came in, not seeing Zeke at first, but then he did, and he stopped.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Ian asked me, his eyes not leaving Zeke’s face.

  ‘Zeke Chapman,’ Zeke said, since I couldn’t find my voice.

  ‘Oh, right. The other man.’

  Zeke looked stricken, as though he hadn’t considered that I was serious about Ian, but then he composed himself. ‘Yes, I guess so.’

  ‘Are you here for her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They were talking as though I wasn’t even in the room.

  Ian rolled his eyes and gave me a funny look. ‘Then take her.’

  Fury rose through my chest. ‘What do you mean, take her? Why do you think I want to go with him?’

  ‘Because he’s here, isn’t he? You must have called him. No one knows where we are.’ His eyes flickered slightly, and that was when I knew. Knew that he had somehow gotten word to Zeke where I was.

  ‘I’m not going with him.’

  Zeke stood up a little taller then, straightened out his shoulders. ‘Well, then,’ he said, his voice suddenly steady and strong, ‘I have to take you in.’ His hands disappeared for a second and when they emerged again, he was holding handcuffs and a gun.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking you in. Charging you. You stole a lot of money, Tina.’ He swung the gun around toward Ian. ‘You, too.’ It was a challenging move, and if he’d wanted a fight, he was going to get it.

  Ian moved closer, but I couldn’t stand here and watch this, especially since Zeke had a gun. Without thinking, I lunged toward Zeke, the move surprising him enough so that when my hand made contact with his arm, he dropped the gun. It fell to the floor with a thud. I stared at it a second before I heard a loud click.

  Ian was holding a gun on Zeke. Another gun. Where had he gotten it?

  ‘Feels a little different to be on the other end of things, doesn’t it?’ Ian said, his face dark. ‘Tina, get the stuff together.’

  Even though I’d been distracted, I knew what he meant, and I grabbed the two carry-ons we’d brought with us and began stuffing our clothes into them.

  ‘We’ll just find you again,’ Zeke warned.

  I’d closed the suitcases and stood waiting for my next instructions.

  ‘Rope.’

  I found some in a drawer while Ian shoved Zeke into a chair. All I could think about was how Zeke had found us and I would end up spending my life in prison, or at least the next twenty years, and I was too young for that. I knelt down and began tying Zeke’s foot to the chair.

  Suddenly his leg swung out, the rope dangling, and he was somehow underneath Ian’s arms, the gun flying across the room.

  ‘Grab it, Tina!’ I heard Ian shout just before he grunted as Zeke punched him in the stomach.

  On autopilot, I saw Zeke’s gun on the floor and grabbed it, swinging it around to hand to Ian, but something happened and it went off, the sound echoing against the wood, and Zeke was on the floor. I stood, staring at him, the gun hanging from my hand. I felt Ian take it from me. Zeke stared up at me with a puzz
led expression.

  ‘I love you, Tina. It doesn’t have to be like this,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper.

  ‘Isn’t that sweet?’ Ian asked. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go with him, Tina?’ His voice was laced with venom, and for the first time I saw how jealous he really was, but his words faded away as Zeke’s face grew white, his blood trickling toward my feet.

  I took big gulps of air and yet I still couldn’t breathe.

  Ian was shaking me. ‘Tina, get your shit together.’

  I blinked a few times, his features coming into focus, and I glanced back down at Zeke. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ I asked.

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘The gun, asshole. Where did you get it?’

  He grinned, putting his hand up to my cheek. ‘Don’t worry about that. No one can trace it back to us.’

  ‘Us? You mean you.’

  ‘I’m not the one with the connection to him, Tina. Even his wife knew about you.’

  I glanced at the suitcases on the bed. Ian was leaning over Zeke, his back to me. I reached up onto the shelf above the bed and grabbed the backpack that I’d prepared the day after arriving here. A glance inside told me Ian had not taken the money or the documents, trusting me. Quickly, I slipped his passport out and dropped it on the bed, slinging the bag over my shoulder and running for the door. I pushed my way outside, the air hitting me in the face like a splash of cold water. It had grown darker, the outlines of the buildings across the river just shadows. The light bled out of the small window of the boat.

  I couldn’t go back inside. I couldn’t see him like that again.

  I ran up the dock and I was halfway up the stone steps when I heard the muffle of another shot.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  I rest when I reach the Bluffs. I cannot leave this island and not pay homage to this beautiful place. I have never been a religious person, but the Bluffs have been my church. I made my confession here, alone and utterly repentant, the first time I came, the day I began my jars of stones.

  I stare up at the shadows and notice now that the sky is brightening. Streaks of light have begun to paint the sky above the dark water. I think about my brushes and canvas and try to imprint this image in my memory, if I ever get a chance to paint again. Veronica would love this painting. She would gesture wildly with her hands as she enthusiastically told a customer about how I saw this scene the night I was escaping the island.

  Veronica. And Jeanine. I never had women friends before, not really. There were some girlfriends in school, but they didn’t understand me, didn’t understand my obsession with the computers. I sequestered myself in the chat rooms, becoming friends with people who hid behind their monikers like me, secretly entering places we shouldn’t and bragging to each other about it.

  I will miss my friends, and soon they will know the truth about me, so it is probably good that I will be gone before they find out. I don’t think I could handle their reactions and disappointment.

  I don’t allow myself to think about Steve anymore. Despite his protests, he will move on and find someone else to hang out with on Friday nights and play Scrabble with.

  I resume my trek. Once or twice I hear sirens, sense the slow-moving cars with their headlights trained along the sides of the roads, hoping to catch me. But so far I see no one as I climb over rocks, clutching my duffel bag. I drop it once and for a second wonder if I could leave it here. I could probably get to New York with just what’s in the backpack. But I won’t be able to pay for the documents and I don’t want to stay in the city. I am too much an island girl now. I crave peace and quiet, and even though it would be easier to hide there, I can’t stand the thought of it. I haven’t figured on where to go, but I’ll know it when I get there.

  By the time I reach what I’ve always thought of as my beach, the beach where I’ve done my painting just below my house, the sun has started to come up. I still have a little time before the ferry leaves. I have to plan it just right, when I get on the ferry. I can’t risk Frank Cooper stopping it. Granted, if he figures out I’m on the ferry, then he can easily have someone waiting on the other side, in Point Judith, to take me into custody. But I have had hours to formulate a plan, and I think it will work.

  This beach is a good one because you can’t see anyone on the beach from the road. I take a seat on the sand and pull my laptop out of the backpack. I am close enough to houses that have wireless Internet that it’s easy to get online. Soon I have logged into my VPN and quickly go to the websites for the different charter airlines that fly out of Block Island. I make a reservation on one of the flights that leaves in an hour and a half. I make the reservation in the name of Tina Adler. I pay for it using Paul Michaels’s credit card number.

  This might not keep Frank Cooper and the FBI from checking out the ferry, but they will have to go the airport at the same time the first ferry leaves the island, just in case this reservation is real. I can only hope that luck will be on my side, and I can get on the ferry and hide and somehow make it to the mainland without getting caught.

  While I am sitting here, I think about what Ian said about Amelie Renaud. How I hadn’t done a thorough search on her. I have all of her pertinent information, like an address and credit card number and Social Security number. Things I couldn’t find with a simple search. But I have missed something, so that is what I do. A simple search.

  And within seconds, I see it. I see what Amelie’s role has been in everything.

  Amelie’s entire career has been with the bank. She rose through the ranks from customer service representative, more than fifteen years ago, and is now the bank’s Paris branch manager.

  She is the one who gave Ian the account numbers, I am sure of it. I know all too well how persuasive Ian can be when a girl is in love with him. She gave him the numbers, and then he married her.

  I see that her husband is an American named Roger Parker, the name on the account Ian gave me. The account he wanted me to transfer the money to. Ian still doesn’t realize how much information I can find online if I’m motivated enough.

  In a photograph, Ian stands with his arms around Amelie and their two children; they look happy.

  I close down the laptop. It is time to go.

  As I approach, I see Old Harbor is a ghost town. There are a couple of cars on the roads, and when I look up the hill toward my house, I see a police car parked outside.

  The ferry is sitting at the dock, bobbing up and down. I don’t see anyone on it; but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. Even though I’ve never taken the ferry to the mainland, when I first came to the island I got into the habit of watching them, just in case a situation like today’s arose.

  The one thing I am afraid of is that the police are lurking somewhere. It dawns on me that if Ian is working with them he will tell them I have a duffel bag. He does not know I still have the backpack.

  I settle down on the sand and wonder how much more cash I can fit into the backpack. I end up taking out some of the towels to make room and manage to get quite a bit inside. Enough for my documents and then some. I look longingly at the cash I have to leave behind, but I have no choice. Some lucky beachcomber will find it and feel that he has struck it rich. It is my good deed of the day.

  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. S
he 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.