No One Knows Part 42

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. He 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.

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