No One Knows Part 41

"What? Why?"

He took a deep, steadying breath. "You're going to be furious with me, but I need your help. I've made a terrible, terrible mistake."

He felt rather than saw her withdraw, her whole psyche pulling away from him. Then she carefully extricated her hand from his and drew her arms across her chest, to protect herself, to shield herself from him. The motion made him sick to his stomach. Her hair was wildly curly today-rain must be coming.

He choked back a sob. How was he going to do this? How was he going to forfeit the woman he loved, the life he'd fought for? Even something as simple as knowing the weather by the state of his wife's hair . . . He bit his lip, hard, pushing back his emotions. There was no other way.

He gestured toward the sofa, and after a moment's pause, Aubrey sat, curling her feet under her.

He sat on the opposite end. "I need your help."

"What is this about, Josh? Are we in trouble?"

We. Thank God in heaven, she said we.

The story came out, from the start, each word bitter, each moment agony. She listened, pale, a hand to her throat. Toward the end, she'd compulsively scratched at her neck, and there were streaks of red lighting up the tender skin.

When he finished, he felt light, giddy. She hadn't slapped him or walked out, not even when he told her about the photos, about how he'd cheated on her.

She sat, still as stone, processing. He didn't push; he knew her well enough to know she needed time to adjust to her new reality.

That her husband was a criminal, a cheat, and a liar who needed her to help him disappear.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Aubrey. I know how badly I've fucked up."

"You could kill yourself. Save us a lot of trouble." Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear her.

"I've thought about it."

She looked up, eyes on fire. "Don't you dare. That's the coward's way out. We'll . . . We'll figure something out. Right now, I need you to leave. I need some space."

He didn't argue, didn't try to kiss her. He grabbed Winston's lead, snapped it on the dog, and took a walk.

Aubrey wanted to kill him on the spot. That's why she'd asked him to leave, so she wouldn't accidentally take a knife to his throat. Of all the stupid, idiotic things. Josh in a criminal enterprise was an absolute joke. Figured he'd managed to blow it.

She needed Tyler. Needed his brain. He'd know how to pull this off. But he was in jail, again. She'd have to figure this one out herself.

She had an idea. But she couldn't do any online research-that was too easy to trace. And she couldn't do a thing out of character. From this moment forward, she was on stage, and she had to give the best performance of her life, or they'd both go down in flames.

He'd asked for her help. She looked around their grandly appointed living room, still devoid of much furniture. After all he'd done for her, now he needed her help.

The tiniest bit of pride swelled in her chest. They could do this. They could find a way.

And to start with, no one would question her going to the library.

She wrote Josh a note and took the car. She was a regular fixture at the Vanderbilt library-she even had a book in the backseat that was due. Perfect.

She had an idea of where to look. She remembered one of her friends in the group home, if you could call her that, bragging about a book she'd read that would help someone disappear without a trace. Where would it be, what section? She couldn't do a search; she'd have to rely on her memory of the library's stacks and deduce where it could be under the guise of browsing.

She parked her car, walked in, swiped her card. She returned the book, smiled at the librarian behind the desk, casually pulling out a notebook and heading toward the children's section. They were used to her finding material for her kids. No one would bat an eye.

Walked down the aisle and made a right turn, back to the adult world.

She thought her best chances were in two areas in the library: travel and psychology. Travel didn't give her what she was looking for, other than a nice guide to various Caribbean islands, which she was tempted to check out just for fun, but she hit pay dirt in psychology. There were three slim volumes by different authors about personal security, and one specifically about how to disappear. Bingo.

She pulled it from the shelf and held it against her chest so no one could see it. She found an unlocked carrel, entered, closed the door behind her, took a deep breath, and started to read.

It was dark when Josh heard the garage door open again. He'd fed and groomed the dog, put away the groceries, cleaned the kitchen, and made tacos, just to kill the time. He'd been so relieved by her controlled reaction, but as the minutes ticked away, he started to wonder if Aubrey was even going to come back, or if she'd bring home the cops and just have him arrested and call it over.

She came in with a yellow notepad clutched to her chest, curly hair sticking out in all directions, face carefully blank. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look more beautiful.

"Light a fire. Read all of this. Then burn it. I'm going to take a shower, and then we'll talk."

He read the pages. Each sentence made him more afraid. He couldn't do this. He couldn't pull it off. It was too easy to trip up, to make a simple mistake that would cost them everything. Don't Google yourself, don't Google the case, create disinformation-every step would take years to plan out. Panic started to build in his chest. He had to turn himself in. That was the only choice.

Aubrey came down the stairs as he was feeding the pages into the fire. He turned, saw her floating his way, as ethereal and mysterious as the day he first saw her. He'd failed her. He'd failed himself.

He shoved the remaining pages haphazardly into the flames. "I can't do it."

"You can. And you will. Because I'm not ready to give up on you. I've forgiven your transgressions, Joshua Hamilton. Now you're going to pay me back."

It took them a week to make all the plans. In truth, it was simple, and elegant. He watched Aubrey lay out precise lines, marveling at her ability to separate what he'd done from who he was, who he wanted to be for her.

He needed money, which meant he had to double-cross Allen, but that wasn't a problem. He hated the man for getting him into this mess; he was happy to fuck him over.

Finally, they had it all nailed down. He'd already taken out the insurance policy. Everything was signed, sealed, and delivered. All they had to do was get the date of the meeting, and he'd pull off the heist and be gone. Tennessee would declare him dead after a few years, earlier if his mother fought hard enough, which he figured she would, and then Aubrey would join him, and they could start life over again.

He didn't know how he was going to live without her that long.

Late one night soon after, lying in bed together, sated and warm, her leg thrown casually over his, the soft sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed, he started to worry again.

"They're going to think you did it."

Aubrey gave him a drowsy "Hmm?"

Josh sat up. "Wake up. We need to talk."

Aubrey dragged herself to an elbow, saw his face, and sat up the rest of the way. "What's wrong?"

"The police. When they investigate. They're going to think you were in on it."

She smiled languidly, dragged her hand up his thigh. "I am in on it."

"I'm serious. I won't do this if there's any chance you can be caught up in it. You have to swear to me you can make this work, and not get drowned in the process."

She grew serious. "All right. Worst-case scenario. They might think I was involved. They always look at the spouse first. I'm going to have to play this perfectly. That's my responsibility. You just have to stay alive and get out of town."

"No." He shook his head and got out of the bed, went to the window. Stared out at the moonlit night. "No, I can't let it happen." He rushed back to the bed, dropped to his knees. Took her hands in his.

"Aubrey, I swear, if you're arrested, if it goes so far as a trial, I will come back and turn myself in. I swear it. And if I don't come back, you'll know I'm dead. Because that's the only thing that could keep me away from you. Only death can keep us apart."

"Josh-"

He kissed her, hard. "This is a deal breaker, Aubs. I'm willing to try this, running away, faking my death, the whole thing, but I won't let you go down for me. I swear it."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

He wrapped his arms around her, put his head on her chest, felt the strangeness of her body, sinewy and soft and his, her heart beating softly under his ear. He felt like he could hold her there forever, safe.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Aubrey. Ever. Deal?"

She kissed his forehead gently. "Deal. Now come back to bed. I'm cold."

EPILOGUE.

Nashville Three Months Later They were on the patio, in the slope-backed chairs with extra cushions, the way she liked it now. The summer was intensely green, overwhelmed by the water. It had been a summer of rains and tornado warnings, of pain and withdrawal, of finding themselves. Establishing their relationship, one nonstop flight at a time.

Chase had brought the first printing of his article. It would run in the Sunday Tribune, a special report. It was good, solid investigative work-his editor was going to submit it to the Pulitzer committee. He couldn't think about that now. All he wanted was to let the joys and horrors of the past few months fade away.

He held the newspaper in his hands like it was a precious biblical tablet, cleared his throat, preparing to read the story out loud. She gave him a proud smile and nodded.

"It's called 'Love, Drugs, and Insanity: The story of a Nashville couple who deceived their whole world, and nearly got away with it.' A Tribune Special Report in Three Parts, by Chase Boden, with Shane Gert and Monica Page, Tribune Investigative Staff Reporters."

"I'm glad you got top billing."

He smiled. "Me, too. Okay, here goes . . ."

Nashville, TN: She seemed incapable of deceit. Innocent, damaged, dragged through life by her heels, Aubrey Marie Hamilton, a curly-headed twenty-nine-year-old Montessori teacher, was anything but what she looked like. She deceived everyone, including this reporter, over a five-year period after her husband, Joshua Hamilton, went missing. Acquitted of his murder, she'd resumed her life, waiting for the moment her husband was officially declared dead to capitalize on a $5 million life insurance policy and the money he stole from his partners in a pill-mill operation out of Vanderbilt University Medical Center. The story that ensued would make an excellent novel, but I've reported faithfully everything I've learned on this case.

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.