Tell Me No Lies

An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

Alex Sinclair

Contents

Also by Alex Sinclair

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

The Last Thing I Saw

Hear more from Alex

Also by Alex Sinclair

A Note from Alex

The Day I Lost You

Acknowledgements

To my supportive wife and inspirational daughter

Also by Alex Sinclair

The Day I Lost You

The Last Thing I Saw

Prologue

I smiled at my husband in the light of the half-moon, returning a heartfelt grin he gave me, not knowing in that fleeting moment that our lives were about to change forever. The item stirring around in my coat pocket could be the very object that would either make or break our relationship in the next few minutes. I glanced away, wondering how such a tiny thing could generate the most powerful of reactions.

“Cappuccino for Grace,” shouted a man from the coffee truck we were standing by.

John accepted the hot beverage on my behalf and handed it over to me a moment later. I welcomed the warmth of the cardboard and wrapped both hands firmly around the cup, taking a much-needed sip.

“How is it?” John asked me as we stepped out of the way of the other night owls who were out lurking about in the streets of our small town on a Saturday night.

“Perfect, thank you,” I said with a smile. I realized he had only ordered a cappuccino for me. “Why didn’t you order one for yourself?” I asked.

“I’m full from dinner,” he said.

It was unlike him to skip getting a coffee when we went out for dinner. We always stopped by at Trevor’s coffee truck after a meal. And this particular night out wasn’t just an excuse to hit the town and spend some money; we were celebrating our five-year wedding anniversary.

“We should probably get going,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

“Are you sure? We could head over to one of the bars and grab a drink if you’d like?” I was trying my best to delay what I was desperate yet scared to talk to him about: the final anniversary present I had for John in my coat pocket.

John ran a hand over his chin for a moment in thought. “No, it’s okay. I’d rather get you home and to bed—if you catch my drift.” He raised his brows at me and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.

I playfully nudged him sideways as we walked along the street. “Is that right?” I asked him before I took another sip of coffee.

“Yeah,” he said with a boyish grin.

“And what makes you think you’re getting lucky again, huh?”

John’s arms outstretched wide. “Come on. It’s our wedding anniversary. Twice in one day is pretty much guaranteed.”

“We’ll see,” I said as I drummed my fingers on my coffee cup while staring into John’s eyes with a coy grin. I’d missed this side of him so much. We continued to stroll down toward his car. The powder-blue street lights above guided our way along the sidewalk. A planted tree took up a portion of the path every hundred feet or so along the cozy street.

My evening bag hung from my wrist with a gift inside that John had given me. He’d decided to ignore the traditional wood gift that was customary for celebrating five years of marriage. Instead, he got me a gold watch with a light gray leather band he’d knew I’d like. The time had frozen on the clock at ten past ten, so I didn’t bother to put it on just yet. John promised to get it fixed for me the next day.

It wasn’t the kind of gift I was expecting, but I loved it all the same. Besides, I was more concerned about what I was giving him than anything else. It was all I could focus on.

Our night wasn’t exactly going perfect—a long week of draining work had made us argue over nothing, as per usual—but we’d pushed through and managed to make it into something of a good time overall. The last few months we’d drifted somewhat apart with our busy lives, but everything was back on track. It had to be. Now was the perfect moment to ask him the very question that was dying to come out of me. I looked up into the clearing sky to the stars above and drew in some air, letting it out again a moment later.

We came to a stop in the street level with our car. It was parked across the road. Once we crossed over, we’d be back in John’s sedan and headed for home. I was running out of time to ask him my question. I should have done it back in the restaurant but something kept interrupting me enough so I’d lose my nerve.

John took a step out into the street. “John, wait,” I said, almost in a panic.

He turned around and headed back to me. “Yeah, what is it?” He stared down at me, his breath visible in the cool night air.

I tried to speak as I returned his gaze, but my mouth just opened and closed with no words coming out. Not now.

“What is it?”

I grabbed the small box in my pocket. I tried to pull it out and use it as a way to communicate exactly what it was I was trying to ask him, but something made me freeze. Why couldn’t I ask him? I already knew what his answer would be. Was I more nervous about how I felt about this than anything else? My brain chose the worst times to stop working.

“I forgot what I was going to say, sorry,” I said. It was all I could blurt out.

He flashed me a smile. “That’s okay. I do that all the time. I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” I lowered my head away from his eyes. I couldn’t hide my embarrassment.

“Come on. We better get moving,” he said with an outstretched hand.

Half crippled and unable to maintain a conversation, I reached out to grab hold when John’s cell chirped out loud. His hand withdrew and reached into his pocket as his phone continued to ring. I frowned at him for not having his cell on silent during our anniversary dinner.

“Sorry, honey. I just need to take this. I’ll be one second.”

I stood there on my own, frustrated as hell, as John said hello and wandered off while he spoke to the person on the other end. Who would be calling him at this hour? It wasn’t terribly late in the night, but it was well after business hours. Was the world against me today?

John walked almost a car length away from me as he spoke on the phone. He was mostly saying yes and nodding to the person on the other end of the line. The call didn’t sound personal in the slightest, more as if he were talking to his boss. He glanced back at me for a moment and then looked away.

I turned from him and placed my coffee cup down on the arm of a bench seat that sat along the sidewalk. I pulled out the final gift I had for John from my pocket. I stared down at the bagged present, knowing it held a felt box big enough to house an engagement ring. I slid it out of the bag and opened its lid. There inside sat a wooden pacifier I’d had custom made to ask John the one question I’d been dying to say to him all day and now all evening: will you start a family with me?

I ran my finger over the smooth grain surface and wondered if it was the right time to ask him such a question. We were both so busy with our careers at the hospital. John especially. A baby had the potential to throw everything out of balance and upset our relationship. But we’d spoken at length about having kids one day. John more so than me. This wouldn’t be a shock at all for him to hear. In fact, he’d be over the moon. I was the one dragging my feet a little on the subject. But we’d been married for five years and were in our mid-thirties. Now was the time to do this. If not, when?

I closed the lid and returned the gift to its bag and my pocket. I drew in a lungful of the cool night breeze and let it flow back out again as I closed my eyes and generated the courage needed to ask John the question the moment he got off his cell. I had to stop messing around and finally do this.

I turned around and saw him walking across the street toward his car, still on the call. Was he about to get in the car? My moment was slipping away. I wanted to do this while we were out to dinner and not at home. Things would get awkward if I had to ask him to come back over to me. I dashed out into the empty street and went to call his name, but he stopped suddenly before I got the chance.

“What the hell?” I muttered as confusion set in. What was he doing? A bright glow suddenly bathed the side of his gray coat and drew my eyes toward the source of a loud disturbance. John turned his head toward the light and sound. My brain took a moment to fathom what it was I was seeing when a light-blue pickup truck slammed into my husband and rolled right over the top of his body in one blinding moment. The driver screeched his brakes hard and came to a sliding stop more than a few hundred feet away. I stared at the truck, frozen on the spot like an icicle, as the driver hit the gas and sped off into the night.

My body went slack. I felt my knees lose all of their strength and I stumbled. I dropped the gift and heard it clatter onto the sidewalk. John lay in the street a good distance from where I had just been speaking to him. Terror gripped me from all sides. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t think straight until I saw a few people rush over to his side. They had come racing out from the nearby restaurants.

I closed my open mouth and charged toward my husband, remembering how my legs worked. “John,” I shouted, louder than I ever thought was possible. I dropped to my knees next to him and reached out both of my hands toward his bleeding face. “John?” He responded to my movement and tracked my eyes. He would get through this. He just had to keep fighting.

He stared up at me, his breath gasping through blood-stained teeth. “Grace, I have to tell you—” He coughed and choked as his neck strained to hold his head up.

“Tell me what?” I asked as I grabbed hold of the back of his head.

John’s skull fell back to the ground with a thud, squashing my fingers a little. His eyes glazed over and stared out into space without blinking. His chest no longer rose and fell. I was witnessing him giving up.

“No,” I muttered. “Come on, John. Not now. Not like this.” I swiveled his head toward me as a crowd gathered around us. I prayed and begged for him to respond to me, to blink, to breathe, but he didn’t move. The light in his eyes faded out before me.

It was our five-year wedding anniversary, and I had just witnessed my husband die.