No One Knows Part 35

If they noticed the sharpness in her tone, neither of them reacted.

"I think this is better suited for a sit-down, ma'am."

Jesus. What was happening?

She heard Tyler's voice in her head: Play it, Aubrey. Play it hard.

She sagged against the door a little. "Oh, my God. Did you find his body?" That would make sense. That was the right thing to ask. She didn't have to fake the tremulous voice; her whole body was shaking like a leaf.

"Ma'am, why don't you let us come on in, we can sit down and talk further."

She let them in, her mind spinning. All of the interaction she'd had with the TBI had been peripheral; she knew they were helping in the search for Josh, but she'd been at the mercy of Metro homicide instead. They were still cops, and because of that, she had no love for them, but they hadn't done anything to her, either.

She felt stronger now, more in control. She stood straight and looked the taller man in the eye. Saw concern, but nothing else. She led them into the living room. She was glad that she'd cleaned up after Tyler's big brother act and Chase's confession.

The three of them sat. She didn't bother to offer drinks, knowing they probably wouldn't accept anyway and wanting to get on with it.

"Mrs. Hamilton, are you familiar with a man named Chase Boden?"

There didn't seem to be any sense in lying. Too many people had seen her with him, at Sam's, the hospital, the coffee shop. Not to mention snoopy neighbors who might have seen them together on the porch, or walking Winston. And the cops, the day of Daisy's accident. It would all be very easily checked out.

"He's a friend of mine. From Chicago."

"Do you have any idea where Mr. Boden went this afternoon?"

"I'm sorry. I'm confused. What's going on? How does Mr. Boden relate to my husband?"

Tartt glanced at his partner, then sighed ever so gently and met Aubrey's eyes.

"Ma'am, this is going to come as quite a shock. There was a sighting of your husband this afternoon."

"What? Where?"

"He was seen talking to Mr. Boden at the Sheraton downtown."

Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest. Had Chase known all along? Had he found Josh during his investigation?

"But . . . how can that be? Josh is dead."

Tartt said, "I understand this is sudden and confusing, Mrs. Hamilton. But your neighbor said she saw Mr. Boden here this afternoon. Was your husband here as well?"

She was thrust back five years, to the night the detectives had interviewed her. As far as we can tell, Mrs. Hamilton, you were the last one to see your husband alive.

Breathe, Aubrey. Breathe.

Tartt continued in his low, soothing voice. "Ma'am, can you tell us what happened this afternoon?"

The words blurted from her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. "Am I under arrest?"

Shit, Aubrey. Shut up.

The TBI agent leaned back in his seat and eyed her thoughtfully.

"Should you be?"

She waved her hand in front of her face. "Of course not. You'll understand that given my history, I may be inclined toward concern about false accusations."

Well said, girl. Give them some attitude. They didn't get that from you last time around. You don't let them force you into saying anything you don't want to say.

"As it happens, Mrs. Hamilton, yes, I completely understand. And in this case, no, you are not a suspect. Not at this time."

She inclined her head. The caveat was noted.

"Chase and I were seeing each other. We broke up. Who claims they saw him with my husband?"

"I'm not free to release that information to you right now, Mrs. Hamilton."

She tried to gather herself, tried to breathe. Was it Arlo? Had he put someone on Chase, and on Derek Allen, just to see what was happening?

They were watching her curiously. She pulled herself together, cleared her throat. "I just don't see how this could be possible."

"So your husband hasn't been in touch? No contact?"

"Nothing since he kissed me good-bye at the Opryland Hotel five years ago."

Tartt nodded. Clearly he was the spokesman of the two.

"Well, ma'am, I'm not sure how to tell you this, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Your husband's fingerprints were found in Mr. Boden's hotel room."

He sat back and watched her try to process the information.

Josh. It wasn't anyone's imagination, not anymore. He was alive.

Joy and fear and something else, indefinable, began. No time, Aubrey. You can't fall apart now. She took a deep breath.

"That's impossible. Let me assure you, Agent. My husband is dead. He's been gone for five years. The state declared him dead last Friday. I believe you've made a mistake."

"You're sure your husband hasn't been in touch with you?"

"I'm sure. Where is Chase?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that."

"I have no idea where he is. And I'll say this one more time, so we're clear. This is the last I'm going to say it before I make a call and get my lawyer here. My husband is dead. And I think it's time for you to leave."

Tartt said, "Of course, Mrs. Hamilton. We understand. All of this has been quite overwhelming for you, I'm sure. We will see ourselves out. But I'm afraid we will have to talk to you again."

CHAPTER 61.

She shut the door behind them and had to force her legs to keep her upright.

Josh was alive. He was alive, and he'd been talking to Chase.

Maybe she was hallucinating again. Falling into the paranoia trap she'd fallen into before. Had she just imagined those men coming to the door?

Just in case, she went to the medicine cabinet and took out the prescription bottle of Risperdal. She dumped two pills in her hand and washed them down with a Dixie cup of water. If she was seeing and hearing and imagining things again, the drugs would help.

Aubrey went back to the bedroom and opened up her laptop. She went to the email, searched through it, hoping against hope there was something, anything, that might give her a clue as to what was happening.

She saw nothing.

Josh's fingerprints in Chase's hotel room? Why would he go to Chase instead of coming to her?

And Chase . . . She forced his sexy half smile out of her mind. She couldn't afford to think about him right now. If she allowed herself even the smallest moment, she'd break into a thousand pieces.

Think, Aubrey. Think.

She couldn't dare hope. She couldn't.

A shower. Wash off the grime of the run. Think.

In less than three hours, her entire world had been turned upside down. Her boyfriend was using her for a story. A crazed drug runner was after her money. Her husband was . . . alive?

It was too much to fathom.

Call Chase. Call him, and find out what's happening.

She was reaching for her cell when she heard a phone ringing. It wasn't the landline or her cell. Had one of the TBI agents left his phone behind? She moved out of the bedroom downstairs toward the living room, but the sound grew fainter.

The ringing stopped as she came back into the bedroom, then, after a few moments, started again.

She followed it to the source, realized it was coming from her pillow.

Secreted inside the pillowcase was a small black mobile phone.

Shaking, she answered it.

"Aubrey?" She recognized the voice. His voice. Her Josh's voice.

Her legs buckled, and the bed stopped her from hitting the floor.

The past five years of her life was lies. All of it.

Her voice broke. "Oh, my God, Josh. Where are you?"

"Aubrey, honey, listen to me very carefully. You need to get out of the house, right now. They aren't watching. I'm distracting them, but I don't have much time. In your closet, on the top shelf, behind the shoe boxes, there is a blue gym bag. Don't open it. Take it, and go to the train station. I'll meet you there. And Aubrey, this is the most important of all. If I'm not there, you get on the 9:02 p.m. to Grand Central in New York. You have to run, honey. Don't take anything but this phone and the bag. Don't tell anyone. Derek Allen is coming for you."

"But Winston-"

"I'll take care of him."

"Josh, I-"

His voice was like steel. "Go, Aubrey. Go, right now."

The phone went dead. She stared at it for a second, then forced her mouth closed and went to the closet. Exactly where he said it would be was a blue gym bag. She didn't know how long it had been in there. She didn't recognize it, hadn't seen it before, but it had clearly been in her closet for a while; there was a fine layer of dust on the top.

She threw on clothes, two layers of everything, just in case, pulled a baseball cap over her curls, then fed her arms through the handles of the bag and hoisted it onto her back like a backpack. It wasn't terribly heavy, but she could feel it was full.

Of what?

He'd warned her not to open it.

Why was she listening to Josh? He'd deserted her, put her through hell, and had just murdered the one spark of hope she'd had in years.

You love Josh, Aubrey. You always have. He is your everything.

It was simpler that way. The warm buzz of the pills made it all good. Smooth.

All in all, it took her less than two minutes to get out the door. She went out the back instead of the front, just in case, and took off at a run. She could smell something burning, saw thick black smoke rising from down the street. I've distracted them.

By lighting a fire. Smart.

It was 8:40 p.m. right now; she needed to set a fast pace to get down to the train station on time. She ducked through the neighbor's yard, and went out the back of the subdivision. There was a path that would cut straight across town to the station, probably a mile as the crow flew. During the school year it was quite active, with kids walking back and forth to school. Today, the students still gone for spring break, it was quiet. She jogged past the Montessori school, wondering what in the world she'd tell Linda about all of this.

As she ran away from her house, her life, her world, she smiled. Because in just a few minutes, she'd be with Josh again. And that was all that mattered.

Dear Josh, The paper did a story on us today. An "it's almost the five-year anniversary" piece. Mostly about me, because, as I've told you before, your death created a bit of a stir in my life. The reporter had called and asked for a comment, but I said no. There was nothing to be said. So they created a world that wasn't entirely true, about how we used to have fights and how we used to make up. It was ridiculous, and I couldn't finish the article. Several parents took their kids out of school, something Linda shouldn't have to deal with, but there you have it. Even now, five years later, your disappearance is making waves.

I think back to the night you went missing, when Arlo and I looked everywhere for you, when we came back to the house and found your blood, how the police grilled me, and I want to give up. I want to believe like everyone else. No one but me has had any doubts about your death. I am the only one who ever thought you could still be alive.

But Josh, this is killing me. Slowly, yes, but every day without you is like the cut of a knife across my skin. What is it they say-death by a thousand cuts? That's what this feels like.

I am training for a marathon. Every step I take is in your memory, your honor. It's either that or join you.

Always, Aubrey

CHAPTER 62.