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  PRAISE FOR VICTORIA HELEN STONE

  EVELYN, AFTER

  “Hands down, the best book I’ve read this year. Brilliant, compelling and haunting.”

  —Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author

  “Readers will cheer on Evelyn when the power dynamic with her lying, cheating husband shifts, even while they watch her flirting with disaster in her steamy affair with Noah. A solid choice for Liane Moriarty readers.”

  —Library Journal

  “Stone (a nom de plume of romance writer Victoria Dahl) . . . ably switches to darker suspense in a compelling story exploring what lurks behind a seemingly perfect life.”

  —Booklist

  “Stone pens a great story that will have readers wondering what will happen next to the characters involved in this mysterious tale . . . Fascinating tale told by a talented storyteller!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Victoria Helen Stone renders the obsessions and weaknesses of her characters with scorching insight. Her sterling prose creates a seamless atmosphere of anticipation and dread, while delivering devastating truths about the nature of sex, relationships, and lies, often with a humor that’s rapier-sharp. Evelyn, After reads like Gone Girl with a bigger heart and a stronger moral core.”

  —Christopher Rice, New York Times bestselling author

  HALF PAST

  “A gripping, haunting exploration of the lengths to which we’ll go to belong, Half Past will hold you in its thrall until the very last page. Stone’s expert storytelling, vivid characterizations, and tantalizing dropping of clues left me utterly breathless, longing for more—and a newly minted Victoria Helen Stone fan!”

  —Emily Carpenter, bestselling author of Burying the Honeysuckle Girls and The Weight of Lies

  “A captivating, suspenseful tale of love and lies, mystery and self-discovery, Half Past kept me flipping the pages through the final, startling twist.”

  —A. J. Banner, #1 Kindle and USA Today bestselling author of The Good Neighbor and The Twilight Wife

  “What would you do if you found out that your mother wasn’t your biological mother? Would you go looking for the answer to how that happened if she couldn’t provide an explanation? That’s the intriguing question at the heart of Half Past, Stone’s strong follow-up to Evelyn, After. [It’s] both a mystery and an exploration of what family really means. Fans of Jodi Picoult will race through this.”

  —Catherine McKenzie, bestselling author of Hidden and The Good Liar

  JANE DOE

  “Stone does a masterful job of creating in Jane a complex character, making her both scary and more than a little appealing . . . This beautifully balanced thriller will keep readers tense, surprised, pleased, and surprised again as a master manipulator unfolds her plan of revenge.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  “Revenge drives this fascinating thriller . . . Stone keeps the suspense high throughout. Readers will relish Jane’s Machiavellian maneuvers to even the score with the unlikable Steven.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Crafty, interesting, and vengeful.”

  —NovelGossip

  “Crazy great book!”

  —Good Life Family magazine

  “Stone skillfully, deviously and gleefully leads the reader down a garden path to a knockout WHAM-O of an ending. Jane Doe will not disappoint.”

  —New York Journal of Books

  “Jane Doe is a riveting, engrossing story about a man who screws over the wrong woman, with a picture-perfect ending that’s the equivalent of a big red bow on a shiny new car. It’s that good. Ladies, we finally have the revenge story we’ve always deserved.”

  —Criminal Element

  “Jane, the self-described sociopath at the center of Victoria Helen Stone’s novel, [is] filling a hole in storytelling that we’ve long been waiting for.”

  —Bitch Media

  “We loved being propelled into the complicated mind of Jane, intrigued as she bobbed and weaved her way through life with the knowledge she’s just a little bit different. You’ll be debating whether to make Jane your new best friend or lock your door and hide from her in fear. Both incredibly insightful and tautly suspenseful, Jane Doe is a must-read!”

  —Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke, bestselling authors of The Good Widow

  “With biting wit and a complete disregard for societal double standards, Victoria Helen Stone’s antihero will slice a path through your expectations and leave you begging for more. Make room in the darkest corner of your heart for Jane Doe.”

  —Eliza Maxwell, bestselling author of The Unremembered Girl

  “If revenge is a dish best served cold, Jane Doe is Julia Child. Though Jane’s a heroine who claims to be a sociopath, Jane’s heart and soul shine through in this addicting, suspenseful tale of love, loss, and justice.”

  —Wendy Webb, bestselling author of The End of Temperance Dare

  “One word: wow. This novel is compelling from the first sentence. An emotional ride with a deliciously vengeful narrator, Jane’s tale keeps readers on the edge without the security of knowing who the good guy really is. Honest, cutting, and at times even humorous, this is one powerhouse of a read!”

  —Brandi Reeds, bestselling author of Trespassing

  FALSE STEP

  “[A] cleverly plotted thriller . . . Danger and savage emotions surface as [Veronica] discovers that she’s not the only one whose life is built on secrets and lies. Stone keeps the reader guessing to the end.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Intense and chilling, False Step wickedly rewards thriller fans with a compulsive read that’ll leave readers wondering how well they know their loved ones. I was riveted!”

  —Kerry Lonsdale, Amazon Charts and Wall Street Journal bestselling author

  ALSO BY VICTORIA HELEN STONE

  Evelyn, After

  Half Past

  Jane Doe

  False Step

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Victoria Helen Stone

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542014397

  ISBN-10: 1542014395

  Cover design by Faceout Studios, Derek Thornton

  CONTENTS

  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

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  He’s in my office again, bothering me. It bothers me just to look at him, but it particularly bothers me when he speaks, and Rob speaks a lot, plumped up on mediocre male confidence and t
hrobbing, virile ego. He’s the partners’ favorite, so until I take care of him, I have to play it as nicely as I can. But when we’re alone, I don’t pretend. I turn dead eyes on him and stare as he prattles.

  “Regardless of all that,” he says, continuing whatever train of thought I’ve blocked out, “you did a pretty good job with this one, Jane.”

  “I did a great job,” I counter.

  “Like I said, pretty good. I’ll turn over the final numbers to—”

  “I already sent the final numbers to the partners, with appropriate credit where it was due. It’s all taken care of. Thanks, Robert. You can go.”

  He blinks, spun into confusion by being casually dismissed. “Excuse me?”

  “I took care of the details. Wasn’t that what you told me to do, Robert? ‘Take care of the details’? I sent the wrap-up email to the partners so you wouldn’t have to bother with it. You’re welcome.”

  He shakes his head. “What? When?”

  “Oh no, did I forget to cc you? I guess I was tired from all those late hours last week. I’ll be sure to forward it right now.” I smile and hit a few keys on my laptop. The original email wings its way to his account. I also forward the praise-filled responses from two of the founding partners of the law firm, along with my enthusiastic and upbeat thank-yous. Rob can respond now, of course, but he’ll still be the guy who stumbled up an hour after all the action, trying to get a leftover piece. A mere postscript. Poor Rob.

  He’s staring at me. I cut my narrowed eyes toward him. “Is there something else you need?”

  Rob has been outmaneuvered and he knows it, but he can’t reasonably assume it was anything but helpful gumption on my part. His stupid little lipless hole of a mouth bubbles open and closed like he’s a goldfish. Pop, pop.

  The trill of my phone cuts off his shocked bubbling. “Oh, I’d better get this. Thank you so much for coming by, Robert. And hey, good job.”

  His eyes widen at the indignity of being praised by someone lower on the ladder, as if I’ve snuck up the rungs and peed on his head in passing. “I’ll see you at the meeting later.” I wink as I say hello into the receiver.

  “There’s a woman calling for you,” the receptionist intones in a voice that’s a strange combination of chirpy and depressed. She’s an odd, forlorn bird. “She says it’s about your niece.”

  My niece? Luke has a niece, but I don’t. Well, I do, actually. Three of them. Could be four by now if my brother got even one moment out of jail between sentences last year, but I don’t know any of them.

  “Send her to voice mail.”

  “She says it’s important.”

  “Voice mail is fine.” I hang up and find I am blessedly alone. A new email arrives. It’s Rob responding at long last to the partners’ praise. Tsk, tsk, Robert. Not very responsible.

  Mid-grin, I realize it’s almost lunchtime, and I’m instantly famished. I woke up this morning craving the lobster ravioli at a restaurant two blocks from my downtown law office, and I hop up from my seat with a watering mouth and a simply fantastic idea.

  “Robert!” I call across the hallway. His office faces mine, but we don’t face each other. He has his desk angled for privacy so he can look like he’s hard at work even when he’s trolling Tinder. I have mine near the door so I can watch every move in the hallway and eavesdrop on office gossip.

  When I pop into his doorway, he’s scowling, still irritated with me. “Let me take you to lunch!” I exclaim, making bright eyes at him.

  His gaze narrows at this shift. I smile wider. “As a thank-you for guiding me through this negotiation. What a bear, huh?”

  The truth is this contract was nothing I haven’t managed before, and negotiations were made more difficult by Rob’s brotastic style. But now he’s blinking and off-balance. I lean back and wave at the receptionist, who’s glancing over her shoulder toward me. She waves in return.

  “Come on,” I urge, sticking my head back into Rob’s office like we’re co-conspirators. “A celebration!”

  “Uh, yeah,” he finally answers. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ve been craving Camille’s all day. That time of month, you know.” He winces a little at the hint of bodily functions. I wink in return, which seems to help him recover. It’s a lie, of course. I control my body with ruthless efficiency with nonstop birth control pills.

  “Camille’s sounds great,” he says tentatively. “Thanks for the offer.”

  “Are you ready? We’d better not dawdle. We’ve got that meeting at two.”

  “Let’s go.” He grabs a slim-cut peacoat and a tastefully masculine cashmere scarf to ward off the slight chill of the cool September afternoon, but then he just drapes the scarf over the lapels, which won’t ward off anything except dandruff. I snag my purse and a new red raincoat from my office and bounce happily toward the door. The receptionist, Amy, looks woefully cheerful at this scene of camaraderie.

  I’m so hungry.

  As we step into the elevator, I ask Rob about another case, and that flips the switch to get him talking again. So much talking. An embarrassment of talking, because he knows so much, our Rob. So much, and all I can do is soak it in and learn. I’ve been at the firm for a year now and I’ve become a crucial member of the team, the point man, so to speak, on international contract negotiations. But I’m a woman, so I will always still have so much to learn.

  He begins to explain a complicated contract between an American car parts company and a Vietnamese manufacturer, because he’s forgotten that I helped the firm hammer out the details during my first month on the job. “These guys were unbelievable,” he says. “They were hoping the trade war meant they could—”

  But I’m thinking about lobster ravioli and the restaurant’s famous warm bread, which they serve with salted butter. Mmm.

  The day is colder than it looks; an early arctic front has dipped down from Canada to bring a shiver to the sunny day, and I love it. No more buzzing mosquitoes. And no buzzing lithe-limbed girls wearing tiny shorts as they try to flirt with my boyfriend. Try and fail.

  I have the sex drive of a woman who’s unable to process shame or self-consciousness, so their buzzing is a mere annoyance. I keep him very busy. But I’ve never had a real boyfriend before, so I sometimes find it hard to control my temper when I see them trying to steal what’s mine. Mine. Those little girls are easy to scare off with an icy-eyed hiss, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always a well-timed foot to trip them up on their way past the table. Still, I’m satisfied that they’ll have to put their ass cheeks away for a few months now. Buttocks are a summer accessory this far north in the world.

  We’re walking toward my condo—the restaurant is halfway between my office and the home I share with my cat—so I’m on familiar turf as Rob continues explaining shit I already know.

  My place of work is biased toward men, as most law firms are. If I were still in my twenties, I’d have already slept with one of the married partners and leveraged that into a fast track, because why not? There’s only one female partner out of eight at this firm, and I’ve heard several of the men make secret, snide comments about her “time off.” Her time off was to have a baby and then recover from massive hemorrhaging during the birth, and that was three full years ago. They can’t seem to understand why she wasn’t smart enough to simply marry a woman and get that female to stay home and whelp progeny the way they did.

  That’s why Rob is their current favorite for becoming partner. No maternity leave, and no paternity leave for that broseph either. He’s only been married for two years, and even though they have no children, his wife still stays home. “She’s an amazing girl,” he says reverently. Also, he’s screwing the mournful receptionist on the side. I wonder if she sounds sad when she comes.

  Just kidding. I’m sure he never bothers to get her off.

  When we arrive at the restaurant, I grab the door and hold it open for Rob. “After you,” I offer cheerfully.

  “Why, thank you, sir,” h
e responds.

  “Would you get a table? I need to run to the restroom.” I leave him behind, no doubt horrified at my menstrual needs, and I saunter to the bathroom to reapply my favorite red lipstick and make kissy faces at myself in the mirror. When I emerge, I head straight for the nearly empty bar.

  “One white wine spritzer, please. And a double of High West Bourye on the rocks.”

  The bartender looks gray and tired despite the fact that he’s only about forty. If I had to guess, I’d say he has a little pill problem and he’d rather be anywhere but here on a Thursday afternoon. He doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at my twenty-five-dollar order of whiskey; he just pours it out and slides it over, along with my spritzer. “Put a couple of cherries in the spritzer,” I suggest, which finally prompts a reaction, a disgusted wince as he drops two cherries into my glass. He throws in an orange slice too, so I add an extra dollar to the tip. My drink is practically health food now.

  “Cheers!” I exclaim as I slide into the booth Rob has chosen at the front window.

  “Whoa.” His mouth crooks down a little when he sees the drinks in my hands, but I push his toward him and pretend not to notice.

  “The High West,” I drawl, and the downturn of his mouth changes into a smile.

  “Wow, that’s quite a treat!”

  “I remembered that you like it.”

  Rob has never looked at me as a sexual conquest before. I’m assertive and nearly plain, and as far as I can tell, he likes his girls superhot and pliable. But my admission that I’ve paid attention to his wants and needs softens his face a little. His eyelids dip in a lazy blink. “Thank you very much, Jane. I didn’t expect this.”

  I clink my ostentatiously girly drink against his glass and we each take a sip. I hum with pleasure as the bubbles touch my tongue. Wine spritzers are fucking delicious, and I have no idea why they ever fell out of fashion. I fish a cherry out of the glass and beam. “Let’s order. I’m starving!”

  We place our orders with a cheerful young man with an Ethiopian accent, and when the bread arrives, I’m ecstatic. “Another round!” I insist, gesturing at our drinks.

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Rob protests, but when his twenty-five-dollar drink arrives, he can’t just let it sit there, can he? Eyes slightly wide, he gamely finishes the last sip from his first tumbler and moves it toward the edge of the table.