Do No Harm

DO NO HARM AN UTTERLY ADDICTIVE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ASTRID REESE © Copyright 2023 - All rights reserved. The content contained within this book may not be reproduced, duplicated, or transmitted without direct written permission from the author or the publisher. Under no circumstances will any blame or legal responsibility be held against the publisher, or author, for any damages, reparation, or monetary loss due to the information contained within this book, either directly or indirectly. Legal Notice: This book is copyright protected. It is only for personal use. You cannot amend, distribute, sell, use, quote, or paraphrase any part, or the content within this book, without the author or publisher's permission. Disclaimer Notice: Please note that the information contained within this document is for educational and entertainment purposes only. All effort has been executed to present accurate, up-to-date, reliable, complete information. No warranties of any kind are declared or implied. Readers acknowledge that the author is not rendering legal, financial, medical, or professional advice. The content within this book has been derived from various sources. Please consult a licensed professional before attempting any techniques outlined in this book. By reading this document, the reader agrees that under no circumstances is the author responsible for any losses, direct or indirect, that are incurred due to the use of the information in this document, including, but not limited to, errors, omissions, or inaccuracies. CONTENTS I. Jillian 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 II. Riley Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Seven years ago Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Five years ago Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Yesterday Chapter 23 Present III. Sharon Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Six months ago Chapter 26 Five months ago Chapter 27 Four months ago Chapter 28 Three months ago Chapter 29 One Week Ago Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Present IV. Mallory Chapter 36 Six Days Ago Chapter 37 Six Years Ago Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Three months ago Chapter 40 Four Days Ago Chapter 41 Yesterday Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Present V. Ethan Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Earlier VI. Jillian Chapter 48 Present Chapter 49 Chapter 50 VII. Jillian Chapter 51 One Year Later VIII. Ethan Chapter 52 PART I JILLIAN 1 Someone is out there watching me. Again. Cradling Noah’s miniature dump truck against my chest, I peer at the house for sale across the street, half expecting to see a face lingering between the curtains on the second floor. But the space is empty. There’s no one on the sidewalk either. No cars on the road. No nosy neighbor peeking over the fence. Not that the Ramseys are the prying type. That would require them being home, which they rarely are. Not a soul is stirring out there, same as a few days ago. And yet, I still can’t shake the prickling at the back of my neck or the stirring in the pit of my stomach. It’s that same feeling I used to get when I’d sneak some change from the mason jar in the kitchen cupboard to buy a Snickers bar after school, always fearing Mom would catch me in the act, even though she’d already left for work. Or when I won a dance with Roger Newman during homecoming, and his girlfriend—along with half the girls in school—followed me with a deadly glower. I felt like I had a bucket of pig’s blood hanging over my head. What crime have I committed this time? Actually, I don’t want to know. I don’t even want to think about it. As I gather the rest of my son’s toys from the front yard, one slips from my hand. I wince when the harsh metal hits my toes. I almost curse, but I hold back—one of the habits I’ve drilled since becoming a parent. Instead, I just bend over again, silently wondering when my son will learn to clean up after himself. Hoping it happens before I break any bones. I cast one final glance over my shoulder, taking in the peaceful San Diego neighborhood. Still nothing. With a shaky breath, I go back inside. The bungalow Ethan and I moved into four years ago, just before Noah was born, has two full bathrooms and three bedrooms, one of which we converted into a nursery. The kitchen is decked out with a long black granite countertop that makes stains practically invisible, a fact I both love and hate. I drag my feet into the living room, where we have our 75-inch TV. The huge screen is perfect for Noah’s nursery rhyme videos, but Ethan is usually too tired to watch anything when he gets home. As for me, I haven’t sat through an entire episode of “The Great British Baking Show,” or any show for that matter, since giving birth to Noah. With my armful of toys, I steal a quick glance at the dining room, which we never use, and walk past the master bedroom and Ethan’s office, which is essentially off limits. I don’t mind. Just as I’ve learned not to mind the long hours and canceled dinner reservations. It’s all part and parcel of being married to a general surgeon. I’m actually grateful for his prestigious career. It means I never have to worry about the bills. Or my son’s education, which he’ll be starting next year. Boy, they sure grow up fast. After depositing the toys from the front yard into one of the baskets in Noah’s room—quietly so he doesn’t wake up from his nap and spend the day cranky—I take a moment to watch him sleep. After four years, it’s still my favorite thing to do. It seems like only yesterday when he was smaller than his teddy bear. When he looked like he could get lost inside his onesie that