Erin pulls her phone from a pocket, hands shaking so much she can barely hang on to it.
“NO! What are you doing?” Riley asks, a riptide of worry rising through her. “Who are you calling?”
Erin gives her no answer as she unsteadily dials 9-1-1.
“DON’T! DON’T DO IT! YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN EVERYTHING!”
Clarissa has returned to her side, and they embrace, Riley holding on tight with hands coated in dried blood, the two of them rocking hard, rocking fiercely, and feeling the warmth of each other’s embrace.
The sound of blaring sirens outside grows louder.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll never leave you,” Clarissa whispers into her mother’s ear.
Riley closes her eyes and keeps rocking.
85
A balmy trade wind blows from the east, effortlessly pushing fleecy dove-white clouds across turquoise skies. Up ahead, waves tumble forward and kiss the glistening sun-bleached sand before falling back to their rightful place: an ocean so transparent you can see straight to the bottom.
Riley readjusts her floppy yellow hat, lolls in her beach chair, and digs her feet into the snug and toasty sand. After sipping her mai tai, she savors the curaçao liqueur still on her lips, then, with a contented grin, breathes in the fresh, salty air.
“This is so amazing, isn’t it?” Clarissa asks.
Riley gazes lovingly at her daughter and says, “It is. Everything is amazing. You . . . me . . . this. I’ve never been happier in my life.”
The two lean back in their chairs, sunlight heating their legs before the breeze sweeps in to cool them off.
Riley pulls off her hat, shakes loose her long, thick hair, then leans back into the chair again. She draws in another relaxing breath, relishing the delicate ocean spray that washes across her face.
“I’ve missed us, Mom. I’ve missed us so much.”
“You won’t have to again,” Riley assures her.
“I’ll never leave you.” The drifting gale carries Clarissa’s beautiful voice over the ocean waves, where it washes away.
“I know that, sweetheart,” Riley says. “I know.” She smiles tenderly at her daughter, but that smile begins to fade when, over Clarissa’s shoulder, something on the beach demands her attention. And as Riley zeros in, her fading smile opens into fear. An angry whirlwind takes off, grains of sand whisking and twirling until they reveal what lies beneath. As if risen from the sweltering ground, a barren wooden cross sticks up, its inscription across the top bearing a name.
RILEY HARPER
“I’ll never leave you,” she hears again. But this time it’s not Clarissa speaking.
Riley’s toes curl. She buries her face in both hands and screams into them.
Two pairs of footsteps echo on concrete, along with two voices, growing louder.
Riley sits straight up, throws both arms around her knees, and hears, “What happened with this one?”
“Riley Harper? She butchered some woman she believed murdered her kid.”
Two men appear, then vanish, their footsteps and voices dissipating.
“Did she kill the kid? The dead woman?”
“That’s the kicker. Harper was stalking the wrong woman, but the victim turned out to be even crazier than she was.”
An image of the stabbed and bloody corpse flashes through Riley’s mind.
Then through crackling speakers, she hears, “Attention all prisoners. Lights out.”
Slam.
Her eyes flash open into near darkness.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book almost didn’t happen—that’s because I almost didn’t happen.
Back in 2015, shortly after the release of Twisted, I was on my way to a book signing and found myself caught in a nasty car accident. I had no idea that very moment would end up being the greatest gift of my life. During a routine scan, doctors accidentally stumbled upon a stage III malignant thymoma aggressively moving into my heart.
In the blink of an eye, I was fighting for my life.
Shortly after the major chest surgery, and the five weeks of daily radiation treatments, lightning struck twice when I was hit with a debilitating neuromuscular disease called myasthenia gravis.
What followed would be my new reality: a two-month hospital stay, the news I had a cerebral stroke, and the possibility of a life dependent on breathing machines and wheelchairs. During that time—among the many ups and downs—What She Doesn’t Know became an off-again, on-again possibility. But despite my body’s fierce protestations, I was determined to complete my fifth novel. So many times I could barely lift my fingers to the keyboard or, for that matter, my head to see the screen. Still, I was determined. Between daily physical therapy sessions where I learned to walk again, and during the moments when I felt strong enough, I did my best to work on the manuscript, much of that time from a hospital bed.
Now, three years later, here we are.
What you’ve read is the final result of my stubborn struggle, and I hope with everything I’ve got that I’ve given you something of which I can be proud. Not only because I fought the good fight but also because a satisfying novel is—and always has been—my first and foremost goal for you, the amazing readers who mean everything to me. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for still being here.
I can say with the utmost confidence that I couldn’t have written this book without the help of people who held me up during my struggles. To them I’ll be forever grateful, appreciative, and downright humbled.
I’m so thankful to Gracie Doyle, Megha Parekh, and the publishing team at Thomas & Mercer for their unfailing and tireless support. Added thanks to Gracie, who patiently waited while I wrestled to finish this book, repeatedly extending my deadlines. One can only hope for an author/publisher relationship like ours, but I don’t have to, because that’s exactly what we have.
Caitlin Alexander was my developmental editor for Twisted. We worked well together then, and we’re even better now. Thanks for your thorough attention to detail. You treated my work as if it were your own, and I’m grateful.
To my agent, Scott Miller in New York, you’ve been with me from the start of my mainstream publishing career, and I couldn’t be happier about it. You do your job so well, and with such dedication, that I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky. I truly enjoy working with you and hope we can continue our teamwork for many years to come.
Forensic psychologist Cynthia Boyd joined my team of consultants during Twisted, but in working together, we also discovered a wonderful friendship. Thank you for visiting me regularly (with baked goods, no less) during my seemingly endless hospital stay, and thank you for being the wonderful person you are.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the nurses, doctors, and physical therapists at Scripps Memorial Hospital. Thanks so much for your dedication, knowledge, and hard work. Without it, I wouldn’t be standing on two feet today or, for that matter, writing these words. Each day you selflessly—and sometimes thanklessly—save lives, and I’m eternally grateful to you for it.
To the people I call My Tribe, the intimate circle of friends whose love and support are the fuel that keeps me going . . .
Kelley Eskridge at Sterling Editing started out as my personal editor way back during the indie days, but after six years, you are so much more to me than that: you’re my friend, my publishing touchstone, my breath of fresh air when the pressure of writing becomes too overwhelming. Thanks for untangling my confusion when I need it most.
Jessica Park, my protector (a.k.a. Tinkerbell). Thanks for your love and for being the voice of reason during times when there was little to be found in my life. I’ve enjoyed your style advice, our marathon phone chats, our dinners out, and the fiercely close friendship we’ve shared.
Deb Brada, I’ve known you since our college years when dreams were big and the determination to reach them was even bigger. Since then, we’ve seen many come true, along with the tragedies life threw in our paths along the way. Tho
se are what we cannot control, but there’s one thing I know to be the absolute truth: I’m so damned grateful to have taken this journey with you and for the understanding that it’s the one thing that will never change.
Jill Sniffen is another college friend who has come to mean so very much to me. Thank you not only for your psychological expertise on the book but for your amazing friendship, for taking me to countless doctors’ appointments when I was too weak to drive, and for the hours of ceaseless and refreshing laughter that became my true medicine. Thanks for being one of the most caring and selfless people I’ve ever known. I feel truly blessed to have you in my life.
Barbara Richards, thank you for the dinners filled with cheesy goodness and great laughter. They’ve meant more to me than words can ever describe.
LJ Sellers, I’ve treasured our author-to-author talks and our clandestine chocolate indulgences. I’ll never forget the times when, without so much as a second thought, you hopped on planes from Oregon to San Diego just to care for me during and after my hospital recoveries. Your instinctive desire to help those in need is beyond admirable and one of many things I admire about you. I’m beyond grateful to call you my friend.
To Linda Boulanger: Your friendship is a gift. Thank you for giving it to me. Thank you for your light, love and laughter.
To my father: I’m so thankful for the close relationship we share, which, over the years, has only deepened. I’ll always treasure those special moments we shared during my recovery as you drove me from one place to the next, and our dinners filled with great conversation.
To my mother: I miss you terribly, and although you’re no longer here in the physical sense, the most important part of you, your light, still shines as brightly as ever in my life.
And by no means last, to you, my readers. Thank you for giving me years of pleasure by providing a place to tell my stories, and for the literally hundreds of get-well wishes you sent during my fight to stay alive. Not a single moment passes when I don’t feel extraordinarily grateful to have you in my life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Cara Vescio
Andrew E. Kaufman is the author of the novels Twisted; The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted; Darkness & Shadows; and While the Savage Sleeps. He is also a contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul books, where he’s written about his experience recovering from cancer. After receiving his journalism and political science degrees at San Diego State University, he became an Emmy-nominated writer/producer. He now lives in Southern California with his two Labrador retrievers, who think they own the place. Visit www.andrewekaufman.com.
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