Conspiracy Girl by Sarah Alderson Read Free Book Online

stops for a
moment and turns to look at me over his shoulder. Our eyes catch for a second and he quickly looks away.
    Goz drops a heavy paw into my lap and looks up at me mournfully, as though asking what’s going on.
    I press my face into his neck again. ‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ I whisper.

FINN
    ‘Hit me.’
    I stare at Maggie. ‘What?’
    ‘It’s gotta look authentic.’
    ‘I’m not going to hit you,’ I tell her straight.
    Maggie slits her eyes at me. She looks like an angry little leprechaun. I shrug at her. I don’t hit women. I try not to hit men. Unless they’re trying to kill me. Or are mistreating
a woman or child. In which case it’s no holds barred and they better have good health insurance.
    Maggie huffs. ‘Fine,’ she says and takes out her gun.
    I hold my hands up, palms outwards. ‘What are you doing?!’
    She takes a deep breath, grips the gun by the barrel, and smashes it into her temple.
    I catch her as she falls to her knees. Blood gushes down her cheek. ‘What the hell, Maggie?’
    ‘They have to believe me, Finn,’ she says, grimacing and grinning at the same time.
    ‘You’re insane,’ I tell her, snatching a T-shirt off the bench and pressing it to her head.
    She smiles at me, wincing. ‘You big baby.’ She gets to her feet, hissing through her teeth. She’s probably given herself a concussion. She pushes her gun back into her shoulder
holster with her free hand.
    ‘You sure you’re OK with this?’ she asks me, glancing over my shoulder.
    I turn. Nic’s lying on the edge of my bed. She’s finally fallen asleep after spending twenty minutes pacing the loft and an hour sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms around
her knees, glaring at us and gripping her dog as tightly as a Titanic survivor clutching a piece of wreckage. I have a sudden urge to cross to the bed, pick her up and place her in the centre of
the bed – she looks like she’s going to fall off the edge. But I don’t. I think if I ever lay a finger on Nic Preston I’ll end up with that dog’s jaws around a part of
my anatomy I really don’t want to lose.
    I look back at Maggie. ‘Yeah, sure. That’s what friends are for, right?’
    Maggie holds the T-shirt out to me. The cut on her temple is still oozing with blood, dripping down on to her shirt.
    ‘Keep it,’ I tell her. It’s not like that stain’s coming out.
    ‘No. It’s OK,’ she says, tossing it to me. She whacks me with her shoulder as she walks past.
    ‘I owe you. Carter,’ she says, heading to the door.
    ‘You always say that. You never pay up,’ I call after her.
    ‘One day I will,’ she says, opening the door. ‘I’ll call you later,’ she adds, her expression serious once more. We hold each other’s gaze, something unspoken
passing between us. Maggie was my mentor when I went through the FBI intern programme, during my senior year at college. Even when I got thrown out before graduating, screwing my chances of making
it into the FBI training academy, our friendship stayed strong. I’ve helped her on cases a few times, and she’s thrown clients my way, turning a blind eye to my shadier internet
dealings.
    ‘Take care,’ I tell her.
    She gives me a lopsided smile. ‘Always.’ Then she’s gone.
    I lock the door behind her and turn around, tossing my T-shirt into the trash. I need to get to work. But my eyes are drawn back to the bed. To Nic, lying there on her side, curled in a fetal
position. That damn horse-dog of hers is snoring on the ground by her feet. I wonder if she’s trained it to kill on command.
    I take the risk anyway, crossing quietly to the bed where I stand for a moment, looking down at her. The dog opens one eye and looks at me but doesn’t make a move to rip out my jugular.
She called it Goz. I wonder where she got the name from.
    I contemplate the way Nic’s arms are wrapped around her body. She’s huddled in a ball as though shielding herself from a bomb blast and she’s