“It wasn’t like the day in the mall. The happiness wasn’t fueled by rebellion and novelty and lies. It was so deep, so strong. I knew I’d wear that sweater set, those earrings, on the day I testified in court. That while I couldn’t bring Julie back, I would have a part in getting justice for her. And when it was done, I’d become who I wanted to be. Whatever name they gave me, I’d be free to be myself.
“And then…I don’t know everything that happened. I can only speculate. I’ve put it together so many ways. The most logical is that Bill Cosgrove and the agent who substituted for Lynda that night, his name is Keegan, came in through the kitchen, as usual. I think Terry was in there alone, and John in the living room. She must have sensed or suspected something. I don’t know what or why. Theykilled her, or at that point disabled her. But she managed to call out to John first, so he was alerted. But he couldn’t get to me, couldn’t get to the stairs without exposing himself.
“I heard the gunfire. Everything happened so fast. I ran out of the bedroom and saw John. When John got to me he was shot, several times. He was bleeding, from the leg, the abdomen. He pushed me back in the bedroom, and he collapsed. I couldn’t stop the bleeding.”
She looked down at her hands. “I couldn’t stop it. I knew what to do, but I couldn’t help. He didn’t have much time. There wasn’t much time. He told me to run. To take what I could and get out through the window. I couldn’t trust the police. If they had Cosgrove and the other, they’d have more. The Volkovs. I didn’t want to leave him like that. But I went out the window, with the money I had, with my laptop, some clothes, with his ankle weapon. I was going to try to call for help. Maybe if help came he wouldn’t die. I didn’t know if Terry was alive or dead. I’d barely gotten a block away when the house exploded. I think they’d planned to blow it up, with me in it. They’d have taken over from John and Terry, staged something and blown up the house.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went home. My mother would be at work, and the cook would have gone for the day. I still had my key. I went home so I could hide until my mother got home. And I found she’d boxed up all my things. Some were already gone. I don’t know why that upset me so much, considering.”
“I do.”
“Well. I opened her safe, and I took money from her. Ten thousand dollars. It was wrong, but I stole from my mother, and I left. I’ve never been back. I walked, tried to think. It had been storming, but now it was just rain. Just rainy and dark. I knew John and Terry were dead, and the last thing he’d told me to do was run. I saw a pickup truck with Indiana plates outside a coffee shop. I got in the back, under the tarp. I fell asleep somewhere along the drive, and when I woke up, I was in Terre Haute. I found a motel, paid cash. I went to a drugstore and bought bright red hair dye. It turned myhair orange, but I looked different. I slept again, a long time. Then I turned on the television. And I saw on CNN the report about John and Terry, about the house. About me. They thought I’d been in the house. They were looking for our remains. I nearly called the police. I had Detective Griffith’s card, but I was afraid. I decided I’d wait, buy a cell phone, a disposable, in case. I waited another day, eating in the room, barely leaving it, watching the news, trying to find out more through the Internet.”
She paused, took a long breath. “Then I found out more. They didn’t think I was in the house. They knew I wasn’t. There was speculation someone had abducted me, and other speculation that I’d snapped, shot John and Terry, blown up the house. Cosgrove and Keegan had each other to back up the story, how they’d gotten there just seconds too late. And Cosgrove was wounded.”
“John got a piece of him? What about ballistics?”
“It was through-and-through. They said the lights went off, and they couldn’t be sure who fired at them, but Keegan got Cosgrove out. The house exploded as he called it all in.
“So I ran. I took a bus to Indianapolis. I got supplies, another motel, and I made new identification, and with it and some of the cash I bought a used car from a junk dealer that got me to Nashville. I waited tables there for three months. Then I changed my hair again, my ID again, and moved on.”
She drew another breath. “There wasn’t much on the news anymore, and I wasn’t quite able to hack into the files—the U.S. Marshals and FBI. I went to MIT on a forged ID and transcripts, and monitored classes on computer science, and anything else that seemed helpful. I connected with a student there, a boy. He knew a lot about hacking. More than I did. I learned from him. I slept with him, then I left him. I think he cared for me a little, but I left him with only a quick note once I’d learned all he could teach me. I moved around every few months, a year at the most. Changed IDs, modified my appearance. The details aren’t really important.”
She paused again. “I’m wanted for questioning in the murder of two U.S. Marshals.”
He said nothing, just pushed to his feet, walked over to the window.
And the world dropped away for Abigail. He would be finished with her now, she thought. Everything would be finished now.
“Have you kept tabs on Cosgrove and Keegan over the years?”
“Yes. Keegan has been promoted several times.”
“Good, you know where they are, what they’re doing. That’ll save time and work.”
“I don’t understand.”
He turned back to her. “You don’t think we’re going to let those two bastards get away with murdering two good cops and implicating you? For keeping you running since the day you turned seventeen? For doing all that so another murderer and his murdering, thieving, son-of-a-bitching friends and associates could walk on killing an innocent girl?”
She could only stare at him. “You believe me.”
“Jesus, of course I believe you. I’d believe you even if I wasn’t in love with you, it’s so obvious you’re telling the truth.”
“You still love me.”
“Listen up.” He stalked back over to her, pulled her to her feet. “I expect—no, I demand—more respect than that from you. I’m not some weak-spined half-ass fuckhead who slithers off when everything’s not just exactly perfect. I loved you an hour ago. I love you now. I’m going to keep right on loving you, so get used to it and stop expecting me to let you down. It’s insulting, and it’s pissing me off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good. You should be.” He yanked her in for a kiss, let her go. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”
“John taught me initially. I lived in Arizona for a time, and took lessons from an old man. He was a conspiracy theorist and a survivalist. He was interesting but not entirely stable. But he liked me, and was very knowledgeable. I spenttime at a number of universities, under assumed names. I needed to learn.”
“What’s in the locked room upstairs?”
“I’ll show you.”
