No One Knows Part 37

"Tell me why, Josh. Please. I can't stand this. I need to know."

His look was another haunting visitation from the ghost of Josh past, right into her soul, the way he used to when they were children and she'd done something he disapproved of. When he was disappointed in her. "And you shall. Let's have some dinner. I think better on a full stomach."

He led her into the hall and down a flight of stairs into a modern, airy kitchen, with a white marble counter and whitewashed cabinets. The whole place had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the sea, making the house feel like it was floating. She saw an infinity pool stretching away from the deck. It seemed to drop right off the edge of the world into the ocean. She had the sudden urge to fling herself into the sea. Death seemed easier than this new reality.

Josh grabbed her arm, almost as if he knew her thoughts, and sat her at the table. He poured her a glass of white wine and started putting together a meal. Fresh shrimp salad, fruit, cheese. Simple, light fare, fitting for the beach. Dizzyingly similar to meals they'd had on trips they'd taken just north of here, on Nags Head, with Kevin and Janie. When they were married. When they were a couple. When they told each other everything.

She ignored the glass of wine, poured water from the pitcher instead. Her stomach was churning, and she wanted her wits about her. She still had a headache from whatever he'd given her to knock her out. He'd drugged her, the bastard. Instead of trusting her and telling her the truth, he'd practically kidnapped her and taken her to his lair.

The dark abyss opened again. All this time, he'd been alive. All this time, he'd allowed her to think he was dead.

They didn't talk. There were no words to say after their disconnected kiss. She accepted a plate and nibbled at it, watching him. His long fingers, the broad shoulders, all that was the same. But his face was eerie: flatter, smoother, his eyes dark. His hair was bleached from the sun, or maybe carefully, skillfully highlighted. He looked more like Chase's brother than her husband.

She couldn't get a read on him, couldn't tell if he was happy or sad. His eyes used to have so much expression, and now they were empty. Soulless. Like him.

"Contacts?"

"Implants, actually. Safer, in the long run." He touched the parts of his face that were altered. "Nose, chin, cheek, too. Just enough to get me past the facial-recognition systems so I can travel. Though I don't do too much of that anymore."

Implants. New bones in his face, silicone, fake.

It was all a lie. He was a lie.

She put her fork down. "Why? Why in the world would you want to do this? For the money?"

He looked at her in horror. "Are you kidding?"

"What am I supposed to think?"

"God damn it, I was trying to protect you!"

And he stormed out of the room.

Aubrey let her head sink onto her hands. This new, strange Josh was unnerving. He was volatile. Unpredictable. The antithesis of the previous incarnation of her husband.

Unbidden, Chase's smile came to her. The feel of his body beneath her hands. The way he laughed. The differences between them were so stark to her now. She couldn't believe the variances had seemed so slight. Her mind had allowed the details of her husband to fade, to warp and grow dull. She realized the memory of Chase was more real to her at this moment than the physical version of Josh, somewhere nearby.

The old Aubrey would have curled up and cried, overwhelmed at the situation. She was different now. Stronger. Fierce. She wanted answers. She was ready for the truth, whatever that might be.

She took a few deep breaths, then went searching for Josh. She found him on the deck, sitting cross-legged in a spacious chair, his face turned to the sun. The waves lapped the beach below them, a gentle, constant roar.

She sat on the hard deck near him, drew her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around them so she was as small as could be.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?"

CHAPTER 64.

Josh Five Years Ago It all went south.

Of course it did.

There was a car waiting for Josh in the Opryland parking lot. He barely noted the drive downtown, arrived at his assigned spot in the parking lot Allen had chosen for their assignation, sweating bullets. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to be here, but if he could make it happen quickly and get back to the hotel before anyone missed him . . .

Yeah, right, Hamilton. Good luck with that.

Allen pulled up in his barely dented car. Another swept into the parking lot.

It was go time.

Derek Allen got out of the car, stuffing a weapon into the back of his pants. He saw Josh and smiled, signaled for him to come closer.

"Good, you're here. You have the gun?"

"Yes. You could have called. You didn't have to stage an intervention, wreck my car, and fuck with my life."

"Oh, kid. Just covering all my bases. Let me see the gun."

Josh handed it over. Allen took it and stashed it in his pocket. Josh noticed he was wearing gloves, kicked himself for not thinking of it. Yeah, you're a bona fide criminal mastermind, Hamilton. Be sure you wipe the gun down after this.

"Here," Allen said, handing him another gun. "This one's not loaded. Don't want you blowing your cock off or anything by accident."

"I wouldn't be so stupid."

"Kid, you're shaking. Take a breath and get it together. You know what to do. We practiced this. So man the fuck up."

They turned to face the second car. The parking lot was dead quiet, the moon casting shadows across the pavement. Josh shivered; he couldn't help it. He had a terrible feeling about this.

The other dealer stepped from his vehicle. He was dark and thick and surly. He had a large briefcase in his meaty hand.

The three stepped forward and met between the cars. Allen was the first to speak.

"Let's get this done, shall we? Javier, meet Josh. You wanted to put a face to the name. He's our link to the Oxy and prescription pads. Josh, this is Javier Cosmos, who's going to be helping us distribute deeper into the city."

Cosmos eyed Josh with distaste. He spit on the pavement. "He is just a child. How do we know we can trust him?"

Allen smiled widely. "You can't. Josh?"

That was his cue. The gun didn't shake in his hand. He was proud of that. He didn't want to look like the scared little boy he really was.

"I'll take the briefcase, Mr. Cosmos, with thanks."

Cosmos's face contorted, his black eyes narrowing. "Don't do this, Allen. We had a deal."

"We have a new deal now," Allen said. "I know how you people think. You'll kill me and absorb the kid into your organization so you don't have to give me a cut. That's not going to happen."

Josh advanced, and Cosmos shrugged and started to hand it over. The man looked pissed but calm and collected, like being robbed by a business partner was an everyday occurrence.

Josh got his hand on the handle of the briefcase, his eyes never leaving the dealer. He didn't see the move until it was too late. Cosmos was lighting quick. He shoved the briefcase into Josh's chest, knocking him backward onto his ass, and whipped out his gun. Fired.

But Allen anticipated the move and fired at the same time. The shots echoed through the Nashville night. A dog started to bark frantically, and the dealer collapsed on the pavement, leaking blood from a leg wound. He groaned and fumbled for his weapon.

Allen calmly said, "Shit. Missed." He fired again, and Cosmos stopped moving.

Josh ducked behind Cosmos's car. Fuck. Fuck! Allen had just killed the guy.

Crazy-ass motherfucker. And Josh was a witness. The only witness.

And he saw what was happening, clear as day. The gun Allen had used to kill Cosmos had Josh's prints all over it.

He realized he was holding the briefcase.

Allen chuckled, five feet to his right, moving closer. Hunting him in the dark.

"It's safe now, kid. Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Josh swallowed, pointed the gun at Allen, shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

Son of a bitch. His weapon was unloaded.

Hamilton, you are a first-class idiot.

He looked around him for something, anything that could help. Cosmos lay dead on the other side of the car. His gun was by his side.

Josh scrambled under the car, twisting on the hard ground, lugging the briefcase with him. He came out the other side, right next to the body. His fingers found metal, and his heart stopped racing. He could fix this.

Josh took a deep breath, clutching the dealer's gun in his hand. He stood and pointed the new weapon at Allen. His voice was cool and steady. "Stop moving."

"Don't you even think about it, Hamilton. Give me the briefcase, and no one will get hurt."

He didn't waver, and Allen's face grew wary.

"I see what you were doing, Allen. This is a setup for me, too. Get my prints on the gun, kill Cosmos, turn me in. You waltz away with the money and the pills, and I take the fall. Is that about what was supposed to happen?"

"Hey, now, kid. It's just the price of doing business. You've become a liability. I can see the struggle in you. You're ready to bolt, to turn yourself or me in, try to get your life back. I can't have that. The cartel wanted to cut me out, use you directly. I'm protecting you. And you belong to me now. You'll keep your mouth shut, or you know what happens. I destroy your pretty little wife. You get me?"

Something inside him broke. The months of agony, the betrayal, the pressure, it all exploded, and this time, he didn't close his eyes before pulling the trigger. The gun roared, and Allen dropped, shock on his face. His gun hand relaxed, and the weapon fell to the pavement with a clatter.

Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Sirens broke the distant air. The dog was still barking its fool head off.

Allen was dying, his eyes glazed in pain and shock.

Josh's mind cleared. He picked up Allen's gun and wiped it down, then put it back in his hand. He wiped the SIG down, replaced the gun by Cosmos's body. Stuck his head into Allen's car. The drugs were there. He grabbed everything he could, shoved the pills, coke, and Rx pads in his pockets.

The sirens were getting closer.

He looked at the scene. Prayed like hell the cops would pull up and think it was a drug deal gone bad and the two men had shot each other.

And he took off running, the briefcase heavy in his arms.

CHAPTER 65.

It took him fifteen minutes to run to the house.

There was a path that cut through the neighborhood behind the houses. It wasn't safe for Aubrey to jog alone at night, but he was a man, and he was carrying a weapon. He'd risk it.

When he made it into his neighborhood, a thought hit him: Aubrey had the house keys.

Shit. An inconvenience, but a manageable one.

Aubrey had been upset with him when he wanted to stow a key outside. She didn't feel safe like that. People always left their keys outside. Over the doorsill, under the mat, under a rock. It was crazy, she said. Anyone with half a brain could find it.

So he'd gone a step further.

He hid the key in the garden of the house across the street.

He warned his neighbor, of course, just in case he ever saw Josh or Aubrey retrieving the key. But no one was home tonight or they were already asleep; the windows were dark. Josh crept to the rock and retrieved his house key. He didn't know what made him crawl under their porch and push the briefcase into the darkened space underneath the stairs.

Yes, he did. Bringing that into his house would spoil his life even further. He just needed some time and space to figure out his next steps.

The little voice inside him had been screaming for the past fifteen minutes: You have to get out of here. He darted back across the street. It was so quiet. Their beautiful big house cast shadows over the street and allowed him to rush across and make it safely to the backyard without being seen.

He opened the door and scooted inside. Winston came running to meet him.

He petted him, buried his face in the dog's silky flank, then went to the kitchen and grabbed a hot dog from the refrigerator. Broke it into pieces, pushed the pill into one quarter. Fed the meat to the dog, bite by bite. The tranquilizer worked quickly; Winston was staggering before they left the kitchen. Josh got him settled near the fireplace.

He had to go. He had to go now.

He went into the kitchen, knocked over the chairs, made it look like there'd been a struggle. Lightning flashed outside, thunder on its heels, making him jump.

He took a scalpel from his emergency first aid kit in the bathroom, went back to the kitchen. He needed to make it look real.

He sliced the inside of his left arm deeply. He knew just where to cut; the blood began pouring from his arm. He sat on one of the chairs and let it flow.

When he started getting light-headed, he pulled off his belt and looped it around his shoulder, pulled it tight. Jesus, he had a new appreciation for stabbing victims. This hurt like hell. But the tourniquet worked. The blood stopped gushing from his arm.