PRAISE FOR VICTORIA HELEN STONE
EVELYN, AFTER
“Hands down, the best book I’ve read this year. Brilliant, compelling and haunting.”
—Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author
“Readers will cheer on Evelyn when the power dynamic with her lying, cheating husband shifts, even while they watch her flirting with disaster in her steamy affair with Noah. A solid choice for Liane Moriarty readers.”
—Library Journal
“Stone (a nom de plume of romance writer Victoria Dahl) . . . ably switches to darker suspense in a compelling story exploring what lurks behind a seemingly perfect life.”
—Booklist
“Stone pens a great story that will have readers wondering what will happen next to the characters involved in this mysterious tale . . . Fascinating tale told by a talented storyteller!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Victoria Helen Stone renders the obsessions and weaknesses of her characters with scorching insight. Her sterling prose creates a seamless atmosphere of anticipation and dread while delivering devastating truths about the nature of sex, relationships, and lies, often with a humor that’s rapier-sharp. Evelyn, After reads like Gone Girl with a bigger heart and a stronger moral core.”
—Christopher Rice, New York Times bestselling author
HALF PAST
“A gripping, haunting exploration of the lengths to which we’ll go to belong, Half Past will hold you in its thrall until the very last page. Stone’s expert storytelling, vivid characterizations, and tantalizing dropping of clues left me utterly breathless, longing for more—and a newly minted Victoria Helen Stone fan!”
—Emily Carpenter, bestselling author of Burying the Honeysuckle Girls and The Weight of Lies
“A captivating, suspenseful tale of love and lies, mystery and self-discovery, Half Past kept me flipping the pages through the final, startling twist.”
—A. J. Banner, #1 Amazon and USA Today bestselling author of The Good Neighbor and The Twilight Wife
“What would you do if you found out that your mother wasn’t your biological mother? Would you go looking for the answer to how that happened if she couldn’t provide an explanation? That’s the intriguing question at the heart of Half Past, Stone’s strong follow-up to Evelyn, After. [It’s] both a mystery and an exploration of what family really means. Fans of Jodi Picoult will race through this.”
—Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of Hidden and The Good Liar
JANE DOE
“Stone does a masterful job of creating in Jane a complex character, making her both scary and more than a little appealing . . . This beautifully balanced thriller will keep readers tense, surprised, pleased, and surprised again as a master manipulator unfolds her plan of revenge.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Revenge drives this fascinating thriller . . . Stone keeps the suspense high throughout. Readers will relish Jane’s Machiavellian maneuvers to even the score with the unlikable Steven.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Crafty, interesting, and vengeful.”
—Novelgossip
“Crazy great book!”
—Good Life Family magazine
“Stone skillfully, deviously, and gleefully leads the reader down a garden path to a knockout WHAM-O of an ending. Jane Doe will not disappoint.”
—New York Journal of Books
“Jane Doe is a riveting, engrossing story about a man who screws over the wrong woman, with a picture-perfect ending that’s the equivalent of a big red bow on a shiny new car. It’s that good. Ladies, we finally have the revenge story we’ve always deserved.”
—Criminal Element
“Jane, the self-described sociopath at the center of Victoria Helen Stone’s novel, [is] filling a hole in storytelling that we’ve long been waiting for.”
—Bitch Media
“We loved being propelled into the complicated mind of Jane, intrigued as she bobbed and weaved her way through life with the knowledge she’s just a little bit different. Both incredibly insightful and tautly suspenseful, you’ll be debating whether to make Jane your new best friend or lock your door and hide from her in fear. Jane Doe is a must-read!”
—Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke, bestselling authors of The Good Widow
“With biting wit and a complete disregard for societal double standards, Victoria Helen Stone’s antihero will slice a path through your expectations and leave you begging for more. Make room in the darkest corner of your heart for Jane Doe.”
—Eliza Maxwell, bestselling author of The Unremembered Girl
“If revenge is a dish best served cold, Jane Doe is Julia Child. Though Jane’s a heroine who claims to be a sociopath, Jane’s heart and soul shine through in this addicting, suspenseful tale of love, loss, and justice.”
—Wendy Webb, bestselling author of The End of Temperance Dare
“One word: wow. This novel is compelling from the first sentence. An emotional ride with a deliciously vengeful narrator, Jane’s tale keeps readers on the edge without the security of knowing who the good guy really is. Honest, cutting, and at times even humorous, this is one powerhouse of a read!”
—Brandi Reeds, bestselling author of Trespassing
ALSO BY VICTORIA HELEN STONE
Evelyn, After
Half Past
Jane Doe
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Victoria Helen Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542093491 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 154209349X (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781542041287 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1542041287 (paperback)
Cover design by Faceout Studio, Derek Thornton
Cover photography by Chrissy Wiley
First edition
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
The man jogged through the parking area of a mountain trailhead, his blond hair wild and disheveled, a dead leaf caught in the golden waves. The small body in his arms bounced with each step. A young child, two or three years old, pale limbs disturbingly limp. It was difficult to tell much more past the jittery movement of the camera and the shadows of pine trees cutting lines of darkness across the scene.
“He’s okay,” the man said to the cars he passed, then again and again as a couple of othe
r people stepped into view. “He’s okay, he’s okay.”
Tears streamed down his face, but the boy’s face was hidden, turned away. Impossible to tell from the video whether he was awake or asleep or alive. His legs hung down in dirty sweatpants. His hands were lost in the sleeves of his stained gray hoodie.
A black dog barked excitedly, running forward and back, sniffing at the child’s shoes.
“I found him!” the man yelled. Then the video, shot on someone’s smartphone, froze and ended.
“That’s Johnny, right?” Caitlyn was practically panting. “That’s him! Johnny found the boy!”
Veronica nodded in silent shock. That was definitely her husband on the video. She checked her phone again to see whether he’d texted or called, but the screen showed no recent activity. She texted three question marks to him.
Caitlyn grabbed Veronica’s arm and held tight as if they were close friends, though they weren’t. They were only coworkers. Associates, actually. Veronica was an occupational therapist and Caitlyn worked in physical therapy, and they used the same rehab facility for their more mobile patients. It was good to get clients out of the house when possible.
She’d never thought Caitlyn liked her much. But everyone liked Johnny. Caitlyn had only met him once, but she’d recognized him on the news just fine. He had that effect on women, and on plenty of men too.
“I’m sorry,” Veronica murmured to her patient, but the elderly woman waved her off.
“Are you kidding?” Mrs. Lee exclaimed. “This is the most exciting thing to happen to me since I thought Miles Probst was having a heart attack in my bed.” The woman pointed at the muted TV in the corner of the therapy room, and Veronica looked up to see her husband again, trotting behind cars, his face a grimace of fear and relief.
He’s okay. Johnny’s mouth formed the words silently. Veronica watched the boy’s pale hand bounce. Was the child really okay?
Tanner Holcomb had gone missing four days before. A three-year-old boy lost in the mountains outside Denver. The temperature had been 50 degrees that first night. Survivable. But it had dropped to 38 the second. The entire city had watched and waited and sent hordes of volunteers into the foothills.
The boy had worn only sweatpants and a hoodie when he’d wandered off. Icy streams snaked through the rocky terrain. Mountain lions prowled for prey. By the third night no one held out much hope that he’d be found alive. He might not be found at all. Anything could happen to a body in these hills. A slip in a stream and a small child could be swept along and wedged beneath a boulder until nothing was left of him to find. Or those mountain lions again. They didn’t leave meals behind.
A tragedy. His family should have kept better track of him. This was what happened when you let children explore too far on their own. A three-year-old, no less!
But now there he was.
The news shot switched to a live view of a narrow road overhung with lodgepole pines. The swirling lights of police cars flashed against the green. A button-nosed reporter gestured somewhere to her left, but the police had cordoned off the area, and the cameras couldn’t get closer. More trees filled the screen. More lights. The producer ran the footage of Johnny again.
Veronica felt frozen, her hands and feet going numb. Johnny—her Johnny, for better or worse—had found little Tanner Holcomb and would return him to his family. Johnny hadn’t even been part of the search. He’d just gone out for one of his normal hikes, same as he did once or twice every week when there wasn’t snow on the ground.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee,” she murmured. “I think I’d better go.”
“Of course!” Mrs. Lee agreed. “Of course you’d better go.”
But why? Veronica wasn’t sure. She just knew that her body was shifting from cold to hot, and she could feel a dozen eyes on her face.
Mrs. Lee made a shooing motion. “Go to your husband. I can do these stupid exercises without you.”
A common insult Veronica had long ago learned to ignore. Her job was to help people regain remedial skills, and very few clients were thrilled to have that opportunity. Still, her career was one of the few pieces of her life that felt just right. The rest of the puzzle no longer fit back together, the pieces bent or swollen out of shape.
She swallowed hard and swung around to leave.
This video of her husband was good news. The best possible news. This was amazing.
Sweat prickled her hairline.
She’d gathered her things and was nearly to the car when her cell finally rang. The cheerful jangle she’d chosen as a ringtone seemed insensitive and stupid now. She juggled her bags and yanked the phone from her pocket. “Johnny?” she said in a gasp.
“Veronica! Oh my God, I found him! I found that kid!” His first words had been exuberant, but his voice broke at the end as if splitting open with suppressed pain.
Tears filled her eyes. They seemed to fill her whole head, pressing from the inside and clogging her up. “I saw it on the news,” she choked out. “Is he okay?”
Johnny heaved a breath, and when he exhaled it sounded like a sob of laughter. “He’s cold and dehydrated. But they think that’s it.”
“Really?”
“Really. They think he’s going to be all right.”
“Jesus. How did he even survive? This is just crazy, Johnny.”
“I know!” This time he really did laugh. “I was . . . I was hiking Flat Rock Trail. You know the one? A mile off the highway near Kittredge?”
She didn’t know the one and he couldn’t see her, but she nodded anyway.
“Old Man started going crazy, barking and running ahead.” Their black Lab had been born with white whiskers around his muzzle that made him look elderly even as a puppy. Whatever name they’d initially chosen had been forgotten in their first few days of ownership. And now he was a hero.
“What a good boy.”
“I’d never have found Tanner without him.”
“I’ll buy some marrow bones on the way home.”
“Do it,” Johnny said. “He saved that kid’s life.”
“You did,” she corrected, happy to stroke his needy ego for once. “You did that.”
“I can’t believe it,” Johnny whispered. A police radio squawked somewhere nearby.
“Do you need to go?”
“I don’t know. I’m just sitting here on a rock. They brought me a blanket. The ambulance is leaving. I heard them say the parents are on the way to the hospital already. They’ll meet him there.” She heard tears in his voice again and had to blink back her own. “I’m not sure when I’ll get home . . . ,” he murmured.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll pick up Sydney. I’m not going back to work.” She glanced toward the rehab clinic and saw faces in the windows watching her. There were phones in front of some of the faces, and her mind flashed with those snapshots that she saw in the gossip magazines of celebrities in grocery store lots. They’re just like us! They talk on cell phones in the parking lot! Only she wasn’t a celebrity. Or she hadn’t been.
The cold returned again. She didn’t want any spying strangers in her life. “There are lots of reporters outside the trailhead, Johnny. You’ll have to go right through them when you leave.”
“I know. Crazy, huh? My phone is blowing up. This will be great for business.”
It would be great for business, she realized. And God knew they needed the money. Johnny’s billable hours really dropped off this time of year. Everybody wanted a personal trainer on January 1, but by the end of October only a few hardy souls—or slightly obsessed fanatics—remained dedicated to fitness. And half of them would be too busy to make it to the gym once the holidays commenced.
December was usually a long month of Johnny needing far too much attention from her, broken up only by his abrupt jogging trips around the neighborhood to use up his excess energy.
He was a simple enough man. He needed attention, sex, exercise, and something to watch on TV. But her well of attention had grow
n shallower with motherhood. And shallower still with the resentments that built up into huge rifts in a marriage. New clients would keep him busy and give her the breathing room she craved.
Some of the fear she’d felt at the sight of Johnny in the video began to loosen its stranglehold on her heart. Everything was fine. In fact, it was good. He’d saved a child’s life and improved theirs at the same time.
The police radio squawked near Johnny again. “I’ll let you go,” she said, then added an “I love you” automatically.
“Love you too, babe.”
Her initial shock was wearing off, and there was nothing wrong with her. She wasn’t sick, and this emergency required none of her attention. She should return to work. But she didn’t. She texted her last few clients and escaped to her car.
A stop at the local natural foods market provided a ready-made lunch for her and bones for Old Man. On her way out she remembered the wine store three doors down and headed over to buy a bottle of champagne. Johnny would love the gesture even if he preferred to drink beer. On impulse she grabbed a bottle of red too. She needed a glass, and she couldn’t very well pop the cork on the champagne before Johnny got home. Outfitted for the afternoon ahead, she drove the last few miles home.
She slowed as she drove past their slightly run-down ranch house. They’d been able to afford it only because it needed updating and it bordered a main thoroughfare of their Lakewood neighborhood. They hadn’t quite gotten around to renovating it yet, and the sound of traffic had only grown louder since they’d moved in eight years before. It was a house, though. Another little tick on the list that proved they were successful adults.
Johnny took good care of the lawn, at least. The house looked neat and trim, if a bit unadorned. She didn’t have the patience for gardening.
She turned left and left again, and her car was swallowed by the alley. She shut the garage door behind her before she even got out of the car, and when she got inside she left the blinds closed as she sat in the breakfast nook with her salad and chile tofu bites.
The dim light felt comforting, and the last of her panic melted away, but the adrenaline left a lingering ache of fight or flight in her muscles to remind her that something dramatic had occurred. She opened the red and poured herself a generous glass, determined to chase the feeling away.
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