Conspiracy Girl Read Free

the second I walk in and saunters over, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Ignoring the three waiting couples in front of me, she flashes me a blinding, bleached-white smile.
    ‘Finn,’ she purrs. ‘Table for one?’
    ‘The bar’s fine,’ I say, stamping my feet to get some feeling back into them.
    ‘Can I take your coat?’ she asks as we walk towards the bar.
    ‘No, it’s OK.’ I shoot an apologetic shrug to the people still waiting in line.
    Despite how crowded it is, a stool magically appears at the quieter end of the bar.
    ‘Thanks, Cassie,’ I say, hopping up on to it.
    ‘No problem.’ She flashes me another smile. Lowering her voice she leans in, giving me a clear view of her cleavage. ‘You know, I’m still waiting for you to call,’
she murmurs into my ear.
    I take a deep breath, getting a waft of perfume that makes my eyes water. ‘Yeah, sorry, been busy.’
    ‘Excuses, excuses,’ she says, pouting.
    I shrug, because what am I going to say? It
is
an excuse. I’ve not been
that
busy.
    Her hand slips to my thigh and I glance down at it. Wow. New York girls definitely have no problem going after what they want. Problem is, though Cassie is undoubtedly hot, I know better than to
have a one-night stand with the
maître d’
of my favourite steak house. No matter how good it would be, guaranteed it wouldn’t be better than the rare ribeye they serve
here.
    Thankfully, before Cassie can crush me against the bar and force me into naming a time and place, she gets called away. She makes sure she brushes her hand over my thigh one last time before she
leaves and I draw in a breath, reminding myself that the ribeye tastes really, really good.

NIC
    I’m sitting on the sofa but I don’t remember getting here. I’m clutching Goz around the neck with both hands and staring blankly at my smashed television
screen.
    ‘Nichola Preston?’
    I start and look up. A man is standing in front of me. He’s wearing a blue jacket and latex gloves. The white paper covers over his shoes are splattered with blood. He crouches down on his
haunches before me, shooting a wary look at Goz before returning his attention to me. ‘Nichola?’ he asks.
    ‘It’s Nic,’ I murmur.
    ‘My name’s Agent Ziv,’ he says softly. He’s about forty, with a worn face and kind but tired eyes. ‘This is my partner, Agent Corbell.’
    I glance over his shoulder. She’s young – maybe mid to late twenties, with curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and dark brown eyes. She gives me a sympathetic smile.
    ‘We’re FBI,’ Agent Ziv says. ‘We were hoping we could talk with you about what happened here tonight.’
    ‘Is Hugo going to be OK?’ I ask. No one has told me anything. The ambulance crew arrived, pushed me out of the way and started working on him, yelling things to each other and into
their radios, hefting him on to a gurney as the cops tried to calm Lara and get me to tell them what had happened.
    Once I gave them my name and they checked it against their records, they went strangely quiet and now I know why. They were calling the feds. I guess that’s what happens when history
repeats itself.
    ‘He’s on his way to the ER. We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything,’ Agent Ziv tells me.
    ‘Thanks,’ I manage to say. My throat is hoarse and I can’t think why, then I remember that I was screaming.
    ‘Just to get this straight,’ Agent Ziv says to me, ‘Hugo is your downstairs tenant – is that correct?’
    I nod.
    ‘And Lara has the apartment on the ground floor?’
    I nod again.
    ‘And you own the building?’ Agent Corbell asks, taking in my apartment with a slightly awed-looking expression on her face.
    ‘Yes,’ I whisper. I know, it’s a big building for an eighteen-year-old to own, but I bought it with the life insurance I received after my mother was murdered. If I could have
my mum back I would gladly live in a cardboard box for the rest of my life.
    Oh God. Suddenly I