No One Knows

by J. T. Ellison

  When I began investigating the case of Joshua Hamilton, I never expected to become personally involved in the story. I went to Nashville to dig into what I thought was a fascinating missing-person story, and along the way found my biological mother, realized I was closely related to the missing man, Joshua Hamilton, and, yes, I will admit, nearly fell in love with Aubrey Hamilton herself.

  Chase stopped reading. “Too personal? Should I skip that part?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No, read it all to me. I like it. You’re a victim, just like the rest of us. She sank her claws into you, too. I think it lends some verisimilitude to the story. I’m glad people will see what a spider she is.”

  Daisy adjusted her soft collar, the only tangible remnant of her terrible accident three months earlier. She looked good, better than when he’d seen her last. The scars on her forehead were healing, though they still looked like she’d had horns removed. She’d gained a little weight. Her skin wasn’t the pasty, sickly gray of a career alcoholic, but flushed prettily with the remnants of a sunburn.

  He’d flown down to show her the proofs of the story, felt like he owed it to her since she was as big a part of the story as everyone else.

  When he finished, they were both quiet for a time.

  “Have you heard from her?” Daisy finally asked.

  Chase realized he’d drifted. He had a tendency to do that now.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “From Aubrey. Has she been in touch?”

  He nodded. “She’s been writing me. Trying to explain. She’d gone off her meds, she wasn’t thinking clearly. All the excuses you’d expect.” That she loved me, and wanted forgiveness. Wanted to be with me, to twine around me in the night like she used to . . . That she’d be out soon enough and they could be together. That Josh’s betrayal was so deep, breaking his promise that he would come back if she was put on trial, she couldn’t imagine ever seeing him again. That she understood Chase had lied to her, but when he’d come clean, told her the truth, she knew he really did love her. He was the only good thing in her life. The only truth.

  Please, Chase. Please come see me.

  He flicked a hand like it meant nothing to him. He didn’t tell Daisy he’d cried like a baby when he received the first letter, and wrote Aubrey back a long, messy screed pledging his eternal love. In the cold light of day, when he’d crawled out of the bottle he’d fallen into after he discovered her lies, her treachery, he knew he’d made a magnificently bad mistake, but he couldn’t seem to help the crazy feelings she dragged out of him. And truth be told, he didn’t want to. She made him feel alive, for the first time in his life. That she was . . . unpredictable was simply part of the allure.

  Poor Aubrey. The online photos of the Middle Tennessee Mental Health Institute made it look like a pleasant suburban doctor’s office, its tall flagpole gaily snapping the American and Tennessee State flags, not a building that housed the criminally insane. He felt a stab of guilt, as he always did when he thought of her locked in there, stuck wearing white gowns and being shot up with Haldol—vitamin H, she called it—when she “misbehaved.”

  “I might write a book about it. True crime is a really popular genre.”

  Daisy smiled, picked up her glass. She held it like it was a cross to bear, her thirteenth station. Water. At least he thought it was water. She’d been sober since the accident. Started attending meetings in the rehab facility she’d been sent to when she managed to survive the heart surgery and started to mend. She even had her ninety-day chip. She’d been scared straight, or so she claimed.

  “I think it would make an excellent story. I know you probably didn’t have room in this piece, but if you write a book, make sure you mention that I hated to give you up.”

  He bristled. Always wanting to be portrayed in the best light. She’d been saying how much she regretted the decision to allow his father to take him, over and over, yet he wasn’t sure he believed her. And now, Daisy wanted him to move to Nashville so they could be a family. No chance—when it came right down to it, he was afraid she might be as crazy as Aubrey.

  “I had a letter from Josh, too,” he ventured, and Daisy’s eyes lit up.

  “And how is my sweet boy?”

  “Okay, I think. He seems . . . settled in.”

  “I can’t believe they sent him to that place. After what that woman did to him, he should have been given an award, not sent to prison.”

  “Mmmm.”

  She was still in complete denial about Josh. Always had been, always would be. Aubrey was the villain. Josh was the innocent bystander. The innocent bystander who orchestrated a deal with the devil, talked his wife into covering for him, managed to disappear for five years, and very nearly pulled it all off.

  The letter from Josh had been simple: I’m sorry, about it all. I’d like to get to know you, see you again. Try to be brothers. Please come visit. My schedule’s pretty open, ha-ha.

  Unlike Aubrey, held indefinitely in the psychiatric hospital, Hamilton was doing cold, hard time. Chase might go see him while he was here in town. Might. The only real contact they’d had was the night Hamilton had shown up at Chase’s hotel, full of righteous fury, demanding to know why Chase was fucking his wife.

  Ah, brotherly love.

  To hell with Hamilton, it was Aubrey he wanted to see. But that would cloud his judgment. Let her do her time, come back down to earth, get her head screwed on. Then, maybe, they could talk again.

  Jesus, Chase. You are as insane as the whole crew if you think that any contact with her is a good idea.

  “Daisy—”

  “Mom, please, Chase. I’ve told you time and again. I am your mother. I would appreciate you calling me so.”

  He couldn’t; he just couldn’t. Mom was a sweet black-haired gypsy woman who’d taught him to read and chased away his nightmares and made him lemonade, whose grave he’d been neglecting lately. This woman wasn’t Mom.

  “I need to get on the road. I hate to run, but I have a flight back tonight, and I need to make a couple of stops before I go. I’ll leave the paper with you.”

  She didn’t fight but pouted a bit, waved him over for a kiss. He obliged. She smelled strange, a mixture of vinegar and honeysuckle, not pleasant but not entirely unpleasant.

  “Come back soon. I miss you already.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

  Tom saw him to the door. “She loves seeing you, Chase. I’m glad you came by.”

  They shook hands, and once Chase climbed in his rental, he gave a sigh of relief. He was trying, really he was, but Daisy was a hard woman to love.

  The sun was setting as he pulled out of the neighborhood. He couldn’t help himself; he detoured by Dragon Park, and the shabby little house where it had all begun for them.

  The echo of Aubrey was there, from the front door to the eaves, the small porch where they’d once sat, a moment in time full of sweetness and hope. The wall Daisy had plowed her Mercedes into had been repaired, but the stucco didn’t quite match the rest of the house; it was off just a shade. Aubrey would hate that.

  Leave, Chase. Get on the plane and go home. This is over. You can start a new life.

  He thought about Winston, his trusting blue eyes, waiting for him to come back. He’d gotten a dog out of the deal, at least. And the image of the dog pissing on his parquet floors was enough to have him put the car in gear. He glanced at the house in the rearview mirror as he went. It was the past. The story was done. Move on, Chase.

  Onto the highway, heading east, the lights of Nashville twinkling, beckoning.

  That hair, tickling his thighs as she knelt before him.

  Even now, even knowing the whole story, he was still drawn to her. She did that to men. Her gift, her curse, whatever.

  Aubrey’s hospital was near the airport. He cautioned himself against it. He simply couldn’t get drawn in again. H
e couldn’t.

  But the wheel of the car took a right off Interstate 40, almost as if it knew something he didn’t.

  Two Years Later

  Aubrey ran.

  She was training for the marathon, barely three months away. It felt good to stretch and push herself. To feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. To be free. Finally, to be free.

  The city was complex, bigger and louder and faster than she was used to, so she ran along the lake—Lake Shore Drive on her left on the way up, right on the way down. It was hot and quiet. She was doing the lake path’s full eighteen and a half miles today. Plenty of time to think. To plan.

  Her feet slapped the pavement in a familiar rhythm, as known to her as her own heartbeat. The sheer joy of her muscles moving, of being alive, filled her, and she smiled.

  She had always been lucky. Nine lives. Like a cat.

  She only hesitated for a moment before she dropped the letter in the mailbox near Hyde Park. She’d wanted to say good-bye to Josh in person, but that wasn’t possible. So she’d written him a letter, told him what was happening with her life now.

  She’d been putting it off, but no longer. It was time to start over, time for a clean slate. The future looked good, finally. Shiny and full of possibility.

  Even at her leisurely pace, the run back went faster. She felt lighter.

  She was dripping wet when she got back to their building. The air-conditioned lobby was frigid compared to the sultry outside air. She pulled the mailbox key out of her pocket, went to the boxes. She could have mailed the letter from here, but something made her take it away. She didn’t want to sully her new life with it. She opened the box. Bill. Bill. Magazine.

  Normal. It was all so very normal.

  “Hey, Mrs. Boden. How’d the run go?”

  She looked up to see their doorman coming from the back elevators.

  “It was good, Billy. Thanks.”

  “Didn’t take Winston with you?”

  “Not today. I did the whole circuit.”

  He whistled. “I wish I could run like you.”

  Get a past, child. That will give you something to run from.

  She smiled, friendly, appealing. Just a tiny bit of flirt in her tone. “Get a good pair of shoes. That helps. Talk to you later.”

  Billy grinned in return. “See ya, Mrs. Boden. By the way, this came for Mr. Boden.” He handed her a package. Aubrey saw the return address and quieted her heart.

  Almost as if he knew. How did he do that? Ships passing in the night.

  She debated tossing it in the trash, but that wouldn’t be fair. Chase deserved to have a brother, too.

  The apartment was airy; picture windows overlooked the lake. Chase was at his desk, typing away. He was working on a novel. He looked up when she came in.

  “Hey, babe. Good run?”

  “Great. I’m going to shower. This came for you.”

  His face clouded for a second, but it disappeared so quickly she might have imagined it.

  “Thanks. Want to go out tonight? There’s a new Italian place that opened in Hyde Park, and I know you need to get some calories.”

  “I’d love to. Let me get cleaned up and we can go early.”

  “By the way . . . ?”

  She hated when he did that. Started a sentence, then stopped. She waited, towel to her neck, Winston rubbing along her thighs.

  He gave her a lazy grin. “I love you.” Then turned back to his laptop, fingers on the keys, the clatter of words pouring onto the page, taking him from her again.

  She glanced out the windows, at the clouds starting to form, reflecting gray and white on the lake. The trees began to bend. A storm was coming. She’d gotten back just in time.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When a book is five years in the making, there are a lot of people to thank.

  Jeff Abbott—for teaching me about Scrivener

  Blake Leyers—for the lunch that changed it all

  Laura Benedict—for reading a thousand pages and then some

  Jennifer Brooks—for editing the first go-round

  Ariel Lawhon—for incessant cheerleading and Walden Ponds

  Linda McFall—for believing in my dark side and encouraging me to let it shine through, plus a rocking good set of editorial letters

  Rick Robinson—for the legalese

  Valerie Gray—for a lovely afternoon’s conversation and helping me see the holes

  Marjorie Braman—for liking the concept enough to give me hope

  The BMWs—Bodacious Music City Wordsmiths (JB, Del, Cecelia, Paige) for always telling me it was worth a try

  Catherine Coulter—for the stellar advice

  Harlan Coben—for giving me advice in my dreams and setting me on this path

  Gillian Flynn—for the visceral beauty of Sharp Objects

  Joan Huston—for edits and liking the new direction

  Sherrie Saint—for the cop bits

  Amy Kerr—for being the best right hand ever

  Scott Miller—for helping conceptualize from the very beginning, and never giving up on this book

  Abby Zidle—for loving it enough to bring me into the Gallery family

  My parents—for listening (and listening, and listening) through all the iterations

  Randy—for being a husband extraordinaire, and never letting me walk away from this one. I love you, darling, and don’t worry, I’d never turn you in.

  And last, but certainly not least,

  You—for reading this far. Thanks for the support!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J.T. ELLISON is the New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of fourteen critically acclaimed thrillers and is the coauthor of the Nicholas Drummond series with #1 New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter. With more than a million books in print, Ellison’s work has been published in twenty-five countries and thirteen languages. She is also the cohost of A Word on Words, Nashville ’s premiere literary TV series, which airs on Nashville Public Television. She lives with her husband and twin kittens in Nashville, where she enjoys fine wine and good notebooks. Visit JTEllison.com, and follow her on Twitter @Thrillerchick or at Facebook.com/JTEllison14.

  FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/J-T-Ellison

  MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

  SimonandSchuster.com

  MORE BOOKS BY J.T. ELLISON

  A Brit in the FBI Series with Catherine Coulter

  The Final Cut

  The Lost Key

  The End Game

  The Devil’s Triangle

  Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Series

  Field of Graves

  All the Pretty Girls

  14

  Judas Kiss

  The Cold Room

  The Immortals

  So Close the Hand of Death

  Where All the Dead Lie

  Dr. Samantha Owens Series

  A Deeper Darkness

  Edge of Black

  When Shadows Fall

  What Lies Behind

  We hope you enjoyed reading this Gallery Books eBook.

  * * *

  Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Gallery Books and Simon & Schuster.

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  or visit us online to sign up at

  eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

  Gallery Books

  An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, charact
ers, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by J.T. Ellison

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Gallery Books hardcover edition March 2016

  GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Jacket design by Lisa Litwack

  Jacket photographs © Ebru Sidar/Arcangel (branches); © Paul Gooney/Arcangel (woman)

  Author photo by Krista Lee Photography

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ellison, J.T.

  No one knows / J.T. Ellison. — First Gallery Books hardcover edition.

  pages ; cm

  I. Title.

  PS3605.L4753N6 2016

  813'.6—dc23

  2015031055

  ISBN: 978-1-5011-1847-0

  ISBN: 978-1-5011-1849-4 (ebook)

  CONTENTS

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5