No One Knows

by J. T. Ellison

  “In the parking lot of the TBI? Bullshit. Get back in your car, now. There’s work to be done.”

  Josh felt panic stream through him. “Not anymore. I’m out.”

  Allen laughed. “You’re out, huh?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to work with you anymore. And if you don’t let me go, I’m going in that building and telling them everything.”

  Allen took a step closer. Josh clenched his fists, ready for a fight.

  “You get in your car and get back with the program, or your pretty little wife and I will have a nice, long chat. And the next time you’ll see her, you’ll be picking up the pieces of her body from the side of Interstate 40. Do I make myself clear?”

  Allen wasn’t kidding. Josh had seen firsthand what the man was capable of. He would hurt Aubrey. And he couldn’t let that happen. He had to protect her. Had to protect his life with her. And that meant listening to Allen. Going along with his plan.

  Josh had no choice. Not anymore.

  CHAPTER 53

  Aubrey

  Today

  Chase knocked on her door at 4:30 sharp. Aubrey had given up trying to tame her hair and instead let the curls riot over her shoulders. She wore a linen dress, flowy and clean-lined, and noticed just how far her collarbones jutted out. Too much running, not enough food. Sadness or happiness?

  You’re dillydallying, Aubrey. Answer the door.

  It had only been four days since she’d seen him, but he seemed to have changed. He wasn’t quite as tall as she remembered, his eyes not as dark.

  But his smile lit her from the inside, and when he stepped inside the foyer and kissed her, it all came rushing back: the thudding of her heart, the strange sense of belonging, of comfort and safety and desire. Dear God, the desire.

  She didn’t want the kiss to end. But as with all wishes, that wasn’t meant to be. Chase finally drew back and held her by the shoulders a foot away so he could look at her. He gave her a long, lazy smile that made her insides flip.

  “You’re stunning.”

  “You’re sweet. How was your flight?”

  “Well enough. It got me here, and that’s all I needed.” He ran his hand down her arm, to the inside of her wrist, and used his forefinger to gently brush the soft skin there, tracing the scar. She was mesmerized, and had to force herself to pull away. What was it about him that was so alluring?

  Josh, Aubrey. You need to think of Josh.

  Truth be told, she didn’t want to think about Josh. She was furious with him. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter anymore. Her grief had solidified into a sharpness that shocked even her.

  “Are you hungry?” She started toward the kitchen, and was relieved when she saw the flash of concern cross Chase’s face. He felt it, too. He felt that zing, that connection, and didn’t like to have it broken.

  “I am, but not for food.” Jesus, the way he pitched his voice, she felt it in her gut.

  “That’s nice to hear,” Tyler said. He came into the kitchen from the living room, suspicion etched on his face. Chase immediately tensed, and Aubrey took a step forward and placed herself between the two.

  “Chase, I’d like you to meet my foster brother, Tyler.”

  Chase’s face broke into a smile, the tension immediately gone. “Hey. So you got to see this one grow up? That’s fantastic.”

  Tyler just crossed his arms and did his best hard-ass impression.

  “Okay. Not the chatty type. I get it. No worries. It’s still nice to meet you.”

  Aubrey watched Tyler, waiting for him to move, to acknowledge, anything. He just stood there. She finally walked over to him and pushed against his shoulder, knocking him off balance. She kept her tone light.

  “This one is trouble, Chase. Stay away from him.”

  “Why are you messing with my sister?” Tyler growled.

  “Tyler. Manners.”

  Chase smiled his wide grin. “That’s okay, Aubrey. I respect his intention. Don’t worry, Tyler. I’ve never met anyone like Aubrey, and I have no intention of doing anything to hurt her. She’s been hurt enough as it is.”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed at that, and he cast a glance toward Aubrey. She just smiled at him. “It’s all good, Tyler. We’re going to have some food and chat. We don’t need a chaperone. Why don’t you go take a nap?”

  “Do I look like I’m five? Fuck you.”

  Chase moved so quickly Aubrey gasped. He whipped around and got in Tyler’s face. The two were eye-to-eye.

  “Don’t ever talk to her like that again,” Chase cautioned.

  Tyler took a step forward. “Or what? You’re gonna beat me up?”

  “Seriously. She deserves respect. You can talk to your woman that way, but not to mine.”

  Aubrey swallowed hard. Tyler didn’t appreciate being challenged—she could see that immediately—but instead of lashing out or drawing his gun, he licked his lips, then smiled. Smiled his crazy beautiful-toothed grin and started to laugh.

  Even Chase seemed taken aback, especially when Tyler punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  “You’re all right, man. I give you my blessing. If you’re brave enough to get in my face, you’re brave enough to take her on.” He turned to Aubrey. “I’m going out. You be good.”

  “Be careful,” she said, then surprised them both by grabbing him into a rough hug. They stood that way for a fraction of a second before he broke away. Without a word, he sauntered out of the kitchen, and Aubrey heard the front door close behind him. Just as quickly, it opened again. Tyler tossed a FedEx envelope inside the door, said, “You have a letter, Aubrey,” and closed it behind him.

  “Sorry about that,” she said to Chase. “He’s always been overprotective.”

  She picked up the envelope, saw the return address for the insurance company, and set it on the table. She knew what it contained. Notification of the pending bank transfer. Tomorrow was Friday. Aubrey was about to become a very wealthy woman.

  Chase seemed oblivious to her reaction. “Glad we have his approval.” He reached for her, kissed her deeply. Murmured in her ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Aubrey was tempted, so tempted, but she needed to talk to him, to tell him everything. He had to know what was happening, especially if the police were going to get involved.

  She’d been so cool and collected before he showed up, but now, with him here, she was conflicted. All of her feelings were jumbled up inside, a massive ball of knotted yarn. For the first time since she was eight, she didn’t know what she wanted.

  “We need to talk first.”

  She led him to the living room. The plaster on the front wall was cracked from the accident—that was going to cost a mint to fix. But that didn’t matter right now.

  They sat, and she kept a small bit of distance between them. It seemed safer that way.

  “What’s wrong, Aubrey?”

  She met his eyes. “It’s about Josh.”

  “Ah.” He sat back on the couch, crossed his legs. “I was worried about that.”

  “Worried about what?”

  Chase’s face was soft with kindness, gentleness. “Aubrey. You’ve gone through so much. His disappearance, being a suspect in his murder. Now his death declaration. I know you must be grieving. Is it too soon for us? Did Daisy’s accident just bring it all back for you?”

  That and the five million dollars about to be sitting in my bank account and Derek Allen and, and, and . . .

  “I wish it were that simple, Chase. I met you, and I threw caution to the wind, and now everything has changed. There have been . . . developments this week. We may have an idea what happened to Josh. He was involved in something. Something bad.”

  “I know.”

  Aubrey sat up straighter on the couch. “Excuse me?”

  Chase suddenly looked miserable. He took her hand
, but she snatched it back. He sighed. “I need to say something before I tell you the whole story.”

  Aubrey’s voice was tight. “What are you talking about?”

  “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. I . . . I came to Nashville looking for a story, and instead, I found you. That’s why I want to tell you the truth. The whole truth. But some of what I say is going to upset you.”

  “A story?” Aubrey jerked her hand away. “What do you mean, a story?”

  Chase took a deep breath. “I was doing a story on Josh for the paper. A missing-person exposé. That’s why I was here last week. To flesh out the story. To hopefully meet you and interview you to find out more about him.”

  Aubrey whirled from the sofa. Winston jumped to her side with a woof. She touched his back to stop herself from lashing out at Chase, from scraping her nails down his face. “You knew? You knew Josh was my husband? You knew what happened? What I was put through?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’ve been using me this entire time.” The fury finally lit, and she almost didn’t recognize the hatred in her voice. “I’m just a part of the story, aren’t I? God, how could I have been so stupid as to trust you?”

  Chase was shaking his head vehemently. “It’s not like that. Don’t be crazy.”

  She must have flinched involuntarily because he reached for her hand immediately. She ripped it out of his grasp.

  Calm, Aubrey. Calm yourself. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.

  “Oh, babe, I’m sorry, I don’t mean that you’re crazy. Just that the idea of me using you . . . Okay. Please, hear me out. We can’t move forward if I’m anything less than honest with you.”

  “We can’t move forward at all. Get out.”

  He grabbed her arms; she yanked away and went to the window. He followed her. “I don’t blame you for being pissed at me. I came across your story four months ago, and I got swept up in it. The idea of you and Josh, of what you must have gone through, of what might have happened to him. I pitched it to my editor, and he loved it.”

  His voice softened. “The more I learned, the more I wanted to see how the story ended. And it was horrible of me not to tell you exactly what I was doing when we met that first night. I stayed in town, talked to a few people. To the police, to the DA, the reporters who did the original work on the story. Everyone thinks you’re guilty, but I know you’re not. I know you had nothing to do with Josh’s death.

  “I lied, Aubrey, and I know it was wrong, and I am so, so sorry.” He tried to pull her to him. She resisted, pushed against his chest.

  “No!”

  “Aubrey, please. I am not lying when I say I’m in love with you. Falling in love with you was the last thing I expected to happen. But I did. I love you. The story doesn’t matter. I killed it. I told my editor there was nothing here, nothing new. I won’t be doing the piece. I just want to be with you. Please, you have to forgive me.”

  She shook her head, forced the words out.

  “I don’t believe you. And you are not allowed to love me. You’ve lost that right.” She was spinning out of control. She had nothing to lose anymore; her heart was a solid mass of stone. “And there’s something else you need to know. Maybe it will help you finish your little saga. I think he’s alive. I think Josh is alive. So fuck you, Chase Boden. Get the hell out of my house, and leave me to my fucked-up little life.”

  She started pushing him, backward, toward the door.

  “Aubrey, please. I love you.”

  The fury bubbled over and she started to yell. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  Chase stiffened, his face angry and tight. In that brief moment, he looked so much like Josh that she sucked in her breath and her mind started to whirl. Her heart felt like it stopped, then started again, taking off at a gallop.

  Of course. She’d been an idiot not to see it before. It had all been staring her in the face this whole time.

  Daisy said she had sons.

  Brothers.

  Josh and Chase.

  Aubrey felt herself falling, heard Chase shouting. Then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER 54

  Daisy

  Thirty-three Years Ago

  Daisy was twenty, just shy of twenty-one, when she found out she was pregnant. Twenty, and already married for two years to a Navy SEAL who’d been stationed at too many posts to count. He was always being shipped away, off to foreign lands. He was a decent man, Chris, big and brusque and handsome, but gone so much. She was lonely. So very lonely.

  They had a small house on the east side of Nashville that was easy to keep, and to stave off the boredom she experienced when he was gone, she was taking classes at Nashville State: English composition and Creative Writing 101. She’d started the community college classes at the beginning of the summer semester—something, anything, to keep busy. Chris had shipped off last month to some South American country; she wasn’t allowed to know exactly where. He wasn’t due back for a while.

  She shouldn’t have done it. But she was young and so lonely, married to a man who was never around. And Dr. Edwards, well, he was smart and sexy, and beauty and light and happiness and hippie—all in a little roll in the hay.

  She knew better. It was a mistake, a terrible, huge mistake. She realized that before the sweat dried. Fun while it lasted, and all kinds of sexy since it was so forbidden. But wrong. She refused to see him again, dropped his class, and went on her way, trying to forget.

  Six weeks later, there was no denying it. She was late, and sick, and sore, and scared. She went to the doctor at the Planned Parenthood in Williamson County, where no one knew her, and they confirmed the worst. She was pregnant.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  She was on the pill—every woman her age was on the pill. Chris wanted her to take it. He was afraid of orphaning a child. His work was terribly dangerous. But with Chris gone, she hadn’t been particularly religious about taking them.

  And now here she was.

  She didn’t know what to do. Or, rather, she did, but she was scared to death. The Planned Parenthood people were nice enough; they told her it would be quick and easy, especially since she was this early in her pregnancy. She went to the professor, waited outside his classroom, and told him she was six weeks gone. He was thrilled, and excited, and wanted her to keep the child.

  She regretted telling him the instant the words came out of her mouth and his eyes lit up. He was from a bohemian world, where drugs and drink and casual sex were a daily thing, not missteps made by lonely young women.

  Telling him was a disaster. She shouldn’t have told anyone, just gone and spread her legs and let the vacuum erase her folly. But she needed the money from him for the abortion—she couldn’t take it from their family funds; Chris would notice a chunk of money missing like that.

  Dr. Edwards—God, she didn’t even know his first name—refused to give her money for an abortion. He wanted the child. He’d raise it on his own if she didn’t want to be involved. He’d like for her to be. They had such a connection. Obviously they did—how else would they have made a baby with one brief, sweaty event?

  The very idea panicked Daisy. Keeping the child wasn’t an option. She was married, to a man who’d been gone ten weeks. Pretending the child was his would be impossible. She’d have to stage an early delivery and explain away why the child was full term. Chris wasn’t an idiot. He’d put two and two together, and probably kill her. He was a good man, but even honorable men could be pushed beyond their limits when jealousy took the reins.

  She didn’t know what to do. She had no idea when Chris was coming back. And day by day, she grew bigger and bigger. She thought she was showing at just over three months. At four she finally started to feel better, not so sick, not so clouded. And by then, it was too late. She was past the time when they would legally abort
the child.

  Chris came home. She wore the baggiest clothes she could find, mostly his, telling him she’d missed him so much she’d taken to wearing his clothes. He teased her for getting fat while he was gone—she’d only put on a few pounds, but on her frame, it was obvious. But Chris hadn’t ever been up close and personal with a pregnant woman. He had no idea. Though she caught him eyeing her stomach a few times, contemplatively scratching his chin, the excuses about the weight and his clothes were enough. Maybe he just didn’t want to see. She often wondered about that after he was gone, whether he’d had some premonition that he would die and so, despite realizing his wife was pregnant by another man, kept his concerns to himself and gave her a final gift.

  When he shipped out again, she was just over five months. She hadn’t known how she was going to keep it a secret much longer, and was so relieved, so relieved, when he got his orders. Two weeks later the news came: Chris had been killed in the line of duty. They wouldn’t give her any more details than that. Words were whispered that he had died in Nicaragua, but she could never get the Navy to admit anything.

  At least he hadn’t been publicly shamed. After the funeral, Daisy confined herself for the next several months, comically ballooning. When she needed to see the doctor, she followed her earlier pattern, driving twenty-five miles to Franklin and having the Planned Parenthood people help her. Friends and family assumed she was prostrate with grief. It was better that way.

  Dr. Edwards (she found out his name was Michael, though she could never come to think of him that way) waited patiently for her call. He and his wife—yes, of course the jerk was married—were going to raise the child. His biological child. Daisy didn’t know how a woman could agree to raise her husband’s bastard child, and worried that the baby wouldn’t be loved properly. But who was she to think those things? She loved her baby exactly enough not to kill him, and to give him away to a practical stranger.

  When the time came, four in the morning on the fifth of March, when she felt like she was being sawed in half from the pain and her bed was drenched in amniotic waters, she didn’t panic. She called Dr. Edwards. He and his wife, a beautiful dark-haired gypsy who seemed thrilled by the blessed event, picked her up in their Volkswagen Beetle. They drove her down to the hospital in Franklin—Daisy refused to have the baby any other place—and once the child was out, they left her there, in pain, throbbing and torn and empty.