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.