“It was my grandmother’s,” Noel explained. “She gave it to me before she died and said that I should give it to someone really special.” His voice cracked a little. “It’s the last thing I grabbed before I took off to find you. My grandmother meant a lot to me, and you do, too.”
Aria put the bracelet on and held up her wrist, her heart swelling with love. “Thank you.”
The trolley dropped them off at the train station, and together they walked through the echoing building to find their train. They flashed their new passports, and the woman behind the glass nodded sleepily. They boarded the train quickly, swept up in the crowds and babble and movement. After ten minutes, a whistle blew, and the train chugged out of the station. Aria stared out the windows, her stomach jumping with excitement, her new bracelet encircling her wrist.
Noel laid his head back on the seat. Aria gazed blankly around the cabin, then plucked a magazine from the mesh pocket in front of her. She had a sudden, prickly premonition, and sure enough, when she turned to one of the first pages, her own face stared back at her. It was a blurry picture of her at the Philadelphia airport, still dressed in her black sheath from Emily’s funeral. Aria Montgomery on the Lam, it said.
This article didn’t say much more than the one Aria had read in Amsterdam, though this one had interviewed several people who claimed to be “Aria’s closest friends.” One of them, laughably, was Klaudia Huusko, the exchange student who lived with the Kahns. “Aria push me off ski lift,” they quoted Klaudia as saying—it was just like a trashy paper to play up her fakey pidgin English. “She also spy on me. She very sneaky girl. I hope she not in Finland, she might hurt my family.”
Another was Ezra Fitz. Aria almost dropped the paper when she read his name. It included a picture, too—Ezra looked kind of bloated, and he was wearing an unflattering pair of black-framed glasses. “Aria always spoke of her love of Europe, so I have no doubt she went there,” he said. Then there was a line about how Ezra’s book, See Me After Class, was coming out next October. Publicity whore.
Aria looked up. Someone was staring—she could just feel it. She glanced around, then spotted a man standing at the back of the car. He wore a trench coat and had his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Even when she met his gaze, he didn’t look down.
Aria pretended to busy herself with the buttons on her coat. When she peeked at him again, he was still looking. Her breathing quickened. The man looked older, professional. He took out his phone and started saying something inaudibly into the receiver. Every so often, he glanced at her again, his expression more and more punishing.
Sweat pricked her forehead. Slowly, casually, she tapped Noel’s shoulder. “Um, I think we need to get off this train.”
Noel looked confused. “Huh? Why?”
Aria put her finger to her lips. “Just follow me into the next car in a few minutes, okay?”
She stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She could feel the man’s eyes on her as she pushed through the door into the next car. The door slammed, and she wobbled up the aisle. Swallowing hard, she ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.
She stared at herself in the mirror, then smashed the blond wig on her head. Instantly, she was transformed into someone else—but was it enough? She fumbled for her sunglasses in her bag, then put on a hat, too.
Noel was waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom door. Aria could tell he wanted to ask questions, but she didn’t say a word, instead looking around him for the guy. He was in the next car, still on the phone. Would he soon realize she wasn’t coming back?
Blessedly, the train screeched into a station. A clipped voice called out the station name in Dutch, French, and German, and Aria grabbed Noel’s hand and yanked him to the platform. She ran all the way to the stairs, then glanced over her shoulder. The man wasn’t following.
“Now can you tell me what’s going on?” Noel cried as they clambered down the steps.
“I felt like someone was watching me,” Aria said under her breath. “Did you see him? That guy at the end of the car?”
Noel’s mouth twitched. “That guy came up to me and asked if I had a light for his cigarette. H-he heard my accent, asked where I was from.”
Aria gawked. “And what did you say?”
Noel’s throat bobbed. He glanced at the train again. “I said the U.S. That’s it. Then I got away from him. Excused myself.” He shook his head. “Aria. It was probably nothing. You’re being paranoid.”
Aria felt an uneasy pull in her stomach. “I kind of have a reason to be.”
Noel nodded. Then, a curiously excited smile danced across his lips, and he touched a strand of her wig. “You’re sexy when you’re an international criminal.”
“Stop.” Aria smacked him playfully. But she appreciated Noel’s attempt at making light of the moment. Maybe the man wasn’t after her. And now, in the swirl of people, she felt anonymous once more. It sort of was sexy—she felt like a character in Murder on the Orient Express. And suddenly, she felt so overcome that she took Noel’s hand and pulled him under the stairwell. She kissed him like it was their last day on earth.
Or like it was their last day of freedom.
18
THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN
Later on Thursday, after Spencer had suffered through yet another long, horrific court day, Rubens motioned for her and Hanna to speak to him in the hall. Spencer kept her head down, avoiding the reporters who were clamoring just past the courtroom doors. A bunch of their witnesses were there, too. Like Andrew Campbell, who Spencer hadn’t seen in months, but who’d given a sweet testimonial on the stand that she was a good person. Kirsten Cullen was there, too, as were a few of Spencer’s teachers, and there was even a representative from the Golden Orchid essay committee. Spencer had plagiarized her sister’s paper, but it had taken a great deal of fortitude and character to come forward to say that she’d lied. It was not, the representative said, the behavior of a murderer.