Conspiracy Girl (25 page)

I keep smiling at her, maintaining eye contact. ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘Maureen said we could come up and use the house for the week. Her and Bob are so great like that, aren’t
they?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Dana says, seeming to relax. ‘How is Bob?’

‘Oh, he’s great,’ I say.

She pulls back, looking puzzled and I realise I’ve just said the wrong thing. ‘I mean, you know, doing better,’ I mumble.

She smiles sympathetically. ‘Poor man. Going through all that chemo.’

I nod in sympathy.

‘And being a doctor too. So hard.’ She smiles frostily. ‘How do you know them?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know. I . . . er . . . family friends,’ I say, hedging my bets.

‘Oh right,’ she says, suspicion clouding her eyes.

Crap. I need to get her out of here before she rumbles me.

I stretch and yawn. ‘My girlfriend is in the shower and I said I would make her breakfast in bed.’

‘Right,’ she says, her eyes darting over my shoulder and up the stairs. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be sure to tell Maureen and Bob how friendly you were.’

I start edging her to the door. She pauses just before it, one hand on the frame and with a bemused smile she says, ‘But where’s your car? How did you get here?’

‘Um, we got a ride up,’ I say, knowing how unlikely this sounds.

She narrows her eyes at me but the smile stays fixed in place. ‘Well, then, have a nice day!’ she says, but her face is now stony and when she scurries down the steps she throws me a
glance back over her shoulder. I wave and smile then turn around, slam the door, and sprint up the stairs.

I’m pacing the room, trying to figure out how to escape this situation without transport, money or a clue where we are, when Finn barges into the room.

‘Come on, we gotta go,’ he says, reaching for me.

‘What? Why?’ Adrenaline surges through me in a tidal wave.

‘The neighbour just dropped by. She didn’t buy my story. Guaranteed she’s now on the phone to the police.’

The look on his face is so serious that I forget what’s just passed between us and my plans to strike out on my own, and let him pull me towards the top of the stairs.

Finn grabs his laptop and gun from the kitchen table and stuffs it into his bag. I glance out the window at the blindingly white view then make a move towards what looks like a utility room.
Inside I spot a rack of coats and scarves. I grab two jackets and two scarves and then pull out some drawers and find some gloves. I walk back into the kitchen and find Finn rooting through the
kitchen drawers.

I join him. Yanking open the drawer next to me, I discover a selection of stainless steel chef’s knives. I slide one out and because it’s too big for my pocket I tuck it into my
boot. I feel a bit stupid doing so, but without Goz or my Taser I feel like I want to have some kind of weapon to hand.

‘Let’s go,’ Finn says, pocketing a bottle of Advil and slamming the drawer shut.

When we head outside, the chill of the early morning barely penetrates through all my layers. The air is startlingly clear and makes my eyes water. In the distance the lake glints dully. The
snow muffles all sound. We could be two lovers heading out for a winter’s day walk around the lake.
Except we’re not
, I think to myself, as Finn pulls out two hundred-dollar
bills and leaves them on the side before pulling the door shut behind us. We’re fugitives. Lovers is the last thing we’ll ever be.

The woods are so silent and still that the sound of our feet crunching is deafening, but we haven’t made it across the road before we see flashing lights in the distance. We start running,
cresting the bank on the other side and flattening ourselves behind a tree just as a police car goes racing past.

As soon as it turns down the drive into the house we borrowed for the night, Finn moves off and I follow behind him, struggling through the deep drifts that have built up, trying to ignore the
shooting jets of pain that rocket up my arm.

Another half mile and we’re in the parking lot where we left the truck yesterday. It sits covered in a fresh layer of snow. I ponder whether it’s wise to drive a truck that must have
been reported stolen by now, but it’s not like we have many other options.

Once inside, I sit huddled as Finn tries to start the engine. It refuses to turn over. He tries again but the engine gives a weak sputter and dies. I glance over at Finn. He has yanked his
gloves off and is glaring angrily at the dashboard. ‘Come on, come on,’ he hisses, as he twists the key and pumps the gas.

I twist to look over my shoulder, but the road and the house are out of sight. It won’t take long before the police find our footprints by the back door, and if they start following them .
. .

For a brief moment I contemplate what would happen if we just turned ourselves in, if we stopped running. Would I be safe in police custody? It’s not like the FBI could protect me, I
remind myself, so how could the police? But would I be at any more risk than I am now? I look across at Finn. Would he be safer? I think of all the laws he’s broken trying to protect me and
keep us safe – assaulting two policeman, breaking and entering, stealing two cars . . .

No. We can’t get arrested. I can’t allow it to happen. Finn would be in so much trouble. As if someone is listening to my silent plea, the engine roars to life.

Finn guns the truck down the track, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. We jolt over the ruts and, when we make the road, fishtail on to it. From here I can see the police cruiser parked up
outside the front of the house and a cop speaking to a woman with blonde hair who is gesturing towards the house. Hearing our tyres spinning on the icy road, they both whip around.

‘Damn,’ Finn says, and I turn around just in time to see the second cop stepping into the road in front of us. He’s followed our footprints through the snow. At the sound of
the truck he turns, and his eyes widen like a cartoon character’s as he sees we’re not slowing down. He leaps backwards out of the way as we roar past him. In the rear-view mirror I see
him stagger into a snow drift while fumbling for his gun, all the while yelling over his shoulder to his partner.

I grip the seat and brace myself as we go flying down a hill, putting the house and the police out of sight. Finn doesn’t take his foot off the gas even though the road is slick with ice,
and a few times we skid. He fights for control each time, spinning into the skid, and I sit with my eyes glued to the mirror, watching for flashing lights and sirens coming up behind us.

Two minutes later we hit the highway with still no sign of the police and Finn swerves into a small gas station. He parks up at the side of the building in between a car and a truck. Neither of
us speaks. Finn has his hands still wrapped around the wheel and his eyes locked on the mirror, watching the road behind us.

The tension is tight as elastic stretched to snapping point. What are we doing? What are we waiting for?

Then blue and white lights appear in the distance. Shit. My insides contract as though someone is tying them into knots. They’re getting closer. I hold my breath. Why are we just sitting
here? I put my hand on the door but Finn reaches for my arm and holds me back, never taking his eyes off the mirror.

The police car goes screaming past, siren blazing. We watch it disappear over a rise on the highway and I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

Finn turns quickly to me. He pulls my hat down low, tucking my hair inside it. ‘I need you to go inside the store,’ he says, thrusting some money at me, ‘and buy some
things.’

‘Buy what?’ I ask, my heart still hammering wildly.

‘Whatever. Just make sure no one comes out of the store for five minutes.’

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘Because I need to swap plates,’ he tells me, already moving to get out of the truck.

‘Swap plates?’

He nods at the truck in the parking spot beside us and I realise he means to unscrew its plates and swap them with ours. I take a deep breath and without another word get out of the truck and
head inside the store.

‘Can I help you at all?’ the middle-aged woman behind the counter asks.

I shake my head and scan the store. There’s a man in a fur-lined cap and a padded jacket standing over by the chiller cabinet. I head over there too and grab some bottles of water before
pausing in front of the rows of Snapple. Grudgingly, I choose the pinkest one I can find for Finn then quickly add some bags of chips, peanut butter cups and some dried fruit to the pile, realising
with a sense of detachment that I haven’t eaten in almost a day. My stomach feels as if its tied in knots, though, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to force anything down, even
though I know I can’t keep running on adrenaline.

The man in the cap is now paying and I keep my eye on him as he chats with the lady behind the counter. I’ll need to stop him if he makes for the door, but before I can figure out how, my
attention is snagged by a picture on the front page of the newspapers I’m walking past.

I swallow the strangled cry that tries to make its way up my throat. It feels as if I’ve just fallen off a glacier and am plunging down an ice-capped mountain side, a rush of freezing cold
air sucks the breath from my lungs. The front pages are all covered in pictures of me. There are also pictures of my apartment building and a photograph of Hugo. He’s smiling in it, the
Brooklyn Bridge rising into shot behind him.

A solid lump rises up my throat and my eyes start to smart. I can’t believe he’s dead. It doesn’t feel real. None of this does.

I scan the headlines, my name and the word
Conspiracy!
jumping out at me. According to the papers I’m officially missing, believed kidnapped. A nationwide search is underway. Oh
God. Sweat snakes its way down my spine. Why didn’t I realise this would happen? Of course the press have found out.

With a shaking hand I set down all the food and drink in my arms and pull out a copy of the
New York Times.
The details are sparing. There are a lot of ‘no comments’ and a
lot of conjecture too. At the bottom I notice they’ve managed to get a quote from Marcus, my so called ‘boyfriend’: ‘She was safety-conscious, to the point of
paranoia.’ I grit my teeth. So much for trusting him not to speak to the press. Angrily I shove the paper back into the rack. I can’t read any more.

Glancing up, I realise that the guy in the cap is no longer at the counter. He’s nowhere in sight. Shit. In a panic I race to the counter, tossing the food and water down.

‘You in a hurry, darling?’ the woman asks me.

I nod, keeping my head bowed, trying not to make eye contact.

‘That’ll be fifteen-eighty.’

I thrust a twenty her way and, as I do, I glance up and notice that the TV behind her is playing CNN. My face flashes on to the screen, with a background image of our old house in Bel Air.
Nichola Preston missing, believed kidnapped
scrolls across the bottom.

‘You take care out there.’

‘Huh?’ I say, tearing my eyes off the screen and looking at her.

‘The roads are icy,’ the woman says, handing me my change.

‘Oh right, yeah,’ I mumble, shoving the coins in my pocket. What if the trucker caught Finn changing the plates?

The woman’s smile falters. Her brow furrows as though she’s trying to place me and her head tips to one side. I scrabble to pick up all the food and bottles and then run out of the
store, half expecting her to call out.

I find Finn sitting in the truck, the engine running.

He frowns at me as I slam the door and toss all the food on to the floor.

‘Sorry,’ I say, as he guns the truck out of the bay and back on to the highway.

‘Did you manage to swap the plates?’

Finn nods. ‘Just.’

I turn to stare out the window, checking the mirrors.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask Finn, wondering where on earth we can hide now my face is plastered all over the TV.

‘Boston,’ Finn answers.

I turn to look at him. ‘Boston?’

‘That’s where Aiden is,’ Finn tells me, without taking his eyes off the road.

‘How do you know?’ I ask, sitting up straighter.

‘I did some digging while you were asleep. He and your mom set up a company a while ago. Someone tried to erase a document from the server of the non-profit and I retrieved it. The lawyer
who set the company up recently bought land just outside of Boston.’

‘Land?’ I ask. What is he talking about? What company?

Finn glances over at me and I notice he’s finding it hard to look me in the eye. ‘Yeah, land. I think your mom and Aiden were planning on building a lab.’

‘A lab?’

‘To grow diamonds.’

I stare at him. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

‘It’s happening. Man-made diamonds have been around for decades, but they’ve never been able to grow them big enough or flawless enough for the kinds of applications that would
make it really worthwhile. Until now.’

I shake my head. ‘I still don’t understand. Has this got something to do with why my mum was killed?’

He darts a glance my way. ‘Yes. I think so. Maggie’s digging into it a bit more but I think this company called Vorster is behind it.’

‘Vorster?’ I gasp. ‘But I know them,’ I say. I mean, they’re huge, everyone knows them. They must be one of the most famous brands in the world.

‘Yeah. I’m guessing they’re not too happy about the idea of synthetic diamonds flooding the market place.’

‘It would put them out of business,’ I half whisper to myself, staring out the window before turning back to Finn. ‘How did you figure this out? Are you sure?’ I ask. It
all sounds so absurd and unbelievable.

Finn nods at me. ‘Yes. The guys coming after us, they’re South African. I ID’d the one I killed. He’s a member of a neo-Nazi group that has known links to
Vorster.’

‘Oh my God,’ I murmur. It feels as if a curtain has been lifted. I have an answer finally to the question I’ve been asking for years now. And it’s nothing I could ever
have imagined.

‘So,’ I say, my head spinning, ‘they killed my mum and Taylor to make Aiden stop what he was doing? Building this lab?’