Well, well, well. Ali thrived on insecurity. Maybe Nick was a good guy to have on her side.
And so she’d brought him into her fold. They planned everything, making sure not to be seen together too much so no one could connect them after everything went down. They developed a bond so deep and powerful, Nick compared it to Romeo and Juliet’s. Ali thought it was cute that he had a mushy side.
Now she owed Nick so much. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have been able to take down Ian and Jenna. She wouldn’t have been able to stalk her sister’s old best friends, slipping into the role as A. If Nick hadn’t rescued her in the Poconos, she might have perished in that explosion—or the police would have caught her. Ali wouldn’t have a roof over her head now. This town house was one of the many properties that Nick’s family owned around the country, and she and Nick had chosen it because it had been unoccupied for months. Most of the other town houses were in foreclosure; others hadn’t sold yet. Whole days had gone by when they didn’t see a single car drive past.
There were new images on the TV screen. First was a video she’d seen quite a few times of her parents at the Philadelphia International Airport, running away as reporters hounded them. “Have you been in touch with your daughter?” the reporters cried. “Did you have any sense she was a murderer?” Ali’s father turned around and stared into the camera lens, his eyes vacant. “Please leave us alone,” he said in a tired voice. “We’re as horrified by this situation as everyone else. Now we just want some peace.”
Assholes, Ali thought. She hated her family almost as much as she hated her sister’s friends.
Then, speak of the devil, those bitches popped up. It was a press conference. Spencer stood straight and proud in front of a microphone. Emily had her hands in her pockets. Hanna held hands with her boyfriend, Mike Montgomery. And Aria was sticking close to Noel Kahn as though they were stuck together by Velcro.
Noel. Ali stared at him hard. For a long time, Noel had shared her secret. Not anymore.
She turned to Nick, her hatred flaring hot. “We have to get them back.”
He flinched. “Really?”
Ali lowered her shoulders. “Did you think I was going to let them get away with this?”
Nick looked panicked. “But you almost died last week. Is it really worth it? I mean, I have an untraceable bank account. We can use it to escape anywhere we want. You’ll heal, we’ll relax, and maybe, after a while, revenge won’t matter so much anymore.”
“It will always matter,” Ali said tightly, her eyes blazing. She inched closer to Nick. “You said you’d do anything for me,” she growled. “Were you lying?”
A frightened look passed across Nick’s face. “Fine. What do you want to do?”
Ali turned back to the press conference. Spencer had started speaking. “We’re all looking just to move past this and get on with our lives,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “There are more important things in the world for the press to focus on instead of us. We mourn for Courtney DiLaurentis and her family. We even mourn for Alison; may she rest in peace.”
Ali rolled her eyes. “They are so lame.”
“What are you going to do now?” a reporter bellowed to the girls.
Emily Fields came to the microphone next. She looked sick, like she was going to throw up. “We’ve been given the opportunity to travel to Jamaica for spring break,” she said shakily. “I think it’s a good thing for us to get out of Rosewood for a little while.”
Nick sniffed. “I wouldn’t mind going to Jamaica.”
Something clicked. “Can you get us passports?” Ali asked.
Nick’s eyebrows made a V. “Probably. Why?”
Ali grabbed his hands, an idea forming in her mind. “No one will be looking for us there. We get to get out of here, just like you want. And we get those girls, just like I want.”
“How?” Nick asked warily.
“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll figure it out.”
Nick looked uncertain. “You aren’t letting those girls see you. There are cops in other countries. They can still turn you in.”
“Then I find someone who will impersonate me.”
“Who’s going to do that?”
Ali’s eyes darted back and forth as she pondered the options. A light snapped on. “Tabitha.”
Tabitha Clark was another patient at The Preserve, a sweet, tormented little slip of a blonde who idolized Ali and was a genius at imitating Ali’s voice and gestures. She looked even more like an Ali clone than Iris Taylor, who’d been Ali’s roommate. Even better, Tabitha had burns on her arms from a fire. The girls would see those, make the Poconos connection, and lose their minds.
“She’s out of The Preserve,” Ali said, leaping to her feet. “She’ll do anything for me. Get in touch with her. Tell her it’s all expenses paid. Make it out like it’s a fun little holiday. Will you?”
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” He gave her a warning look. “But you have to promise that after Jamaica, we move on to the Bahamas. Or maybe Fiji. We disappear . . . for real.”
“Of course.” Ali drew him into her arms. “Thank you. You’re the best boyfriend ever.”
Nick kissed the tip of her nose. Then he scowled and clamped a hand around her wrists. “After Jamaica, you’re going to be my prisoner,” he said in a deep, grumbling voice. “I won’t have to share you with anyone. No family. No friends. You’ll be my captive . . . forever.”