Page 50

How the hell was I going to get past the police?

I couldn’t, not without a diversion. I had to find another way out.

While Declan kept watch, I headed for the bathroom at the other end of the hall.

Inside, one of the top windows was open slightly.

Standing on the sill, I punched it open.

It moved slightly. Punch, slight move. But then it wouldn’t give any more.

I hauled myself up, twisting and turning to get through, scraping my thighs and hips painfully.

God, nothing about sitting on my ass all day in an office had prepared me for this.

At least I had those hours of surfing. Folded over, I pulled my foot up near my waist, trying to get a hold on the bottom of the window.

Footsteps. Heels. A woman. Quick. A final heave.

Harder than I thought. I tumbled all the way out, thudding onto the concrete headfirst. Fuck.

How bad was it? I wiped my face. Blood on my hands.

Keep going. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the back street, sprinting from bush to bush and checking back.

Around the corner, I spotted the blue pickup truck. Kui’s cousin. “Don’t talk to her,” Kui had told me. “She can’t know anything about you or Kingi.”

I vaulted straight into the truck’s tray and hid under the tarpaulin until we got home.

While she waited in the driveway, I checked I’d stopped bleeding, washed all the blood from my hands and face, ran into the garage, grabbed a sleeping bag and a torch, and stuffed them in a backpack.

In my bedroom, I snatched my Teddy-walking puffer jacket, my portable phone charger because the huts had no electricity, and one of Mum’s old wool sweaters.

In the kitchen, keeping an eye out for the police in front, I filled two water bottles—I had to hope the huts had rainwater tanks—and grabbed the three protein bars I could find.

I flung open the cupboards. What else would travel?

In desperation, I wrapped a hunk of ham.

I scrambled back under the truck tarpaulin, and she took off. If, by any chance, she was stopped and searched, Kui had told her to act shocked and angry that I’d sneaked onto her truck, and she’d say she’d never seen me before.

My heart was pounding. God, was this how things were rolling? My chest felt pumped up with a taut balloon of fear and dread at how much could go wrong. Kingi’s safety was in my hands—I was the only one who could keep him out of jail. And he might be the only one to help me avoid the same fate.

I glanced at my phone. It was ten o’clock already.

I assessed the trip, reviewing my screenshot of the map.

A ninety-minute drive would bring me to the trailhead by noon at the latest. After a five-hour hike uphill to the top of the mountain, I had to pick one of the two disused huts.

They were in opposite directions, both about two hours from the top.

Sunset was at eight-thirty on the beach, but it probably got darker earlier in the mountains without street or house lights.

If I made the wrong decision, I would have to scramble around in the dark .

I shut off my phone to preserve the battery, though coverage in the mountains was spotty to nonexistent.

For ninety minutes, I felt horribly carsick and braced myself for the thumps and turns, cow manure, and tractor fumes, trying to think only about the hike ahead. But when I heard the calls of children in a school playground, terror seized me again.

I had two men with a list of reasons why I was better off dead.

One had thought about it yesterday, thought seriously about it, but had not done it.

But after a sleepless night, it might feel like a more efficient way to eliminate this huge problem blighting his life.

The other one, Sarge, might have already killed an innocent teenager, so he wouldn’t have the same qualms. He’d already tried to pin her murder on me.

The truck screeched to a halt. Quick hands unlaced the tarpaulin. I burrowed my way out, dripping with sweat and stuck with dog hair. Kui’s cousin had already climbed into the driver’s seat.

I grabbed my backpack, threw it onto the ground, and jumped. No sooner had my foot left the side of the truck than she sped away in a cloud of dust.

Coughing, I rolled my head back. There they are. The ancient mountains of Te Urewera rose like sphinxes guarding precious secrets. This place was recognised in New Zealand law as a living, breathing human, with the same rights. Unlike humans, though, these mountains seemed unknowable.

But were humans certain and knowable? I’d thought so in London, based my whole career on it, assessing and categorizing, noticing small things that led to larger truths. But Kui, Bevan, CeeCee, Mum, Dad, and Janey weren’t exactly as I’d remembered them.

Maybe I was blinded by this beautiful, humbling place, but the thought that I couldn’t capture, define, and judge everything didn’t make me panicky or leave me grasping at reminders of how it worked in London. It made me unbound and joyful.

I hoisted on my backpack with a swing. The sleeping bag inside was bulging to the left. After unpacking the water, I flapped the sleeping bag flat onto the ground and rolled it tighter.

The grind of a truck startled me. Kui’s cousin?

Had I left something in the back of the truck?

But this truck had the grunt and depth of a more powerful vehicle.

It was getting closer, too close. My hands shook uncontrollably.

My head burst with visions of hunters with drooling dogs and shotguns.

I was a woman, alone, with no one for miles.

My screams would go unheard. Should I run?

Hide in the bushes until they’d gone ahead?

I reached into my backpack for my phone, turned it on, slid it into my front pocket, and pushed “Record.” If something does happen to me today, at least my phone will be found.

Or so I hoped.

The truck skidded into the clearing in a cloud of dust. Too late to run. Through the windshield, I saw the swollen profile of Sarge, the glint of his rifle on the passenger seat.

*

Sarge thrust open the truck door. My nerves screamed violently. This man had framed me for murder. Only one of us was going to leave this clearing alive. But instead of exploding into action, I froze in fear, my feet bolted to the ground.

“How did you know I was here?” I yelled.

“I’ve been watching you,” he hollered. “You couldn’t leave it alone.” He reached for his rifle. He fumbled over it. Trying to load his ammo?

His voice slapped me into a decision. I couldn’t let him out of the truck with that rifle.

This clearing was about the size of our kitchen and living area at home. We were at either end, so he was about forty feet from me.

Adrenaline surged into my limbs. I sprinted toward him and hurled myself against the truck door.

He howled in pain and smacked onto the dirt. He was still clutching his rifle.

How could I get his gun? His knee. The bad one. I lunged and stomped as hard as I could on his left knee. He roared and dropped the rifle. I grabbed it and leaped to a body length away. Punching the barrel into the air, I squeezed the trigger.

It fired like thunder, rattling my eardrums and shaking my arms. A flock of birds burst from the trees. No doubt now— he’d intended to shoot me.

“Next time, it won’t be in the air,” I yelled. “Now. Did you kill Janey?”

“Noooo.” His face contorted with pain.

“Who did?” Blood raced jagged through my veins.

“I can’t tell you.” He shook his head hard. “They don’t deserve to go to prison.”

“You’re protecting a killer and a child abuser,” I spat out.

“I’m not protecting the abuser—” He stopped himself. “But I let that creep go. That’s my only fault. It—it’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how? Give me a straight answer. Who is the creeper?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line .

This was going nowhere. I had to get around it another way. “Why are you trying to pin the murder on me?”

“You brought this on yourself.” He sneered, strings of drool and blood leaking from his mouth. “You came back here and stirred up things that had been settled for twenty years. It’s only fair you go down for it.”

What the hell? That’s so fucked up there’s no point arguing with him. “I’m trying to find the truth,” I warned. “You know I’m going to, so redeem yourself now. Who is the murderer?” Silence. I fired into the ground close to him.

He screamed, slapping at his body like he didn’t know where he’d been shot. He groaned and whined, but he wouldn’t talk. I had to get something incriminating on tape.

“Did you steal Janey’s diary from me and forge that fifth page?”

“Yes, it was me.”

“Did you cover up Janey’s visit to the police station? Did you promote Thatcher Bell to cover up for you?”

“Yes, I did it all.”

“What did Janey come in to tell you?”

“I’ll never say.” He stuck out his head defiantly. “You can shoot me, kill me if you want.”

“One final chance.” I aimed the rifle at his face. Could I shoot him? “Who killed Janey?”

Silence. Who the hell is he protecting? And why? What do they have over him? I was going to have to shoot him in the leg. I aimed. I started to squeeze the trigger. Oh God. I couldn’t do it. But I have to.

It was only a slight break in my concentration, but it gave him time to gather strength. Sheer desperation heaved his bulk to standing. He launched himself at me, the last tackle of his career. My back slammed onto the ground. Oof. But I was still gripping the rifle.

He yelped and let go of my legs, clutching at his knee. He must have tweaked it.

I thrust myself upright. Trying to gain a couple of seconds, I aimed the rifle into the ground near Sarge and fired. BANG! The ground exploded into dust.

Sarge roared again, thinking I’d shot him.

If he came at me again, I’d have to shoot him in the leg—and even if I did it, I couldn’t leave him here to bleed to death, whatever his guilt.

I had to let this go for now. God, that makes me angry. But the most important thing was to save Kingi.

“Get in your truck and drive away,” I shouted through the dust in my mouth.

Scrambling to his feet, he shuffled to the truck, groaning with every step.

I waited until the sounds of his truck faded and stopped the recording on my phone. Grabbing my backpack, I ran into the forest and stashed the rifle under a rotten log.

I checked the time—noon, a late start. I catapulted myself up the steep mountain track, stumbling over roots, scraping my knees on rocks, slipping on mud, moving as fast as I could.

An hour later, when I was sure Sarge couldn’t catch up, I stopped.

I was filthy, dripping with sweat and gasping for water.

Shrugging off my backpack, I grabbed the ham and took a huge bite.

So salty, argh. I went to grab my water.

The pockets where I’d tucked in the water bottles were empty.

I rifled through my pack. I conjured up a picture of them.

Back in the clearing with my sleeping bag. Oh shit.