It’s weird that I’m sitting here. Nothing is strange about my location; the new Cuban restaurant is jumping despite the frigid February temperatures. Bostonians go out no matter what the weather. If we stayed in due to the cold, we’d be homebound from November to May. I’d prefer it that way, honestly. That’s why it’s odd to find me here on a date—a fourth date!—with handsome EMT Evan Jackson. He’s funny and kind and when people look at us I can tell myself it’s him who is drawing the stares. So far, Evan doesn’t seem to recognize me. His work and his dog keep him busy, and he watches sports, not the news or true crime. He doesn’t know the only living victim of one of the world’s worst serial killers.

It’s nice to have someone to talk to who knows nothing about Francis Coben or what happened to me. My life has been defined by that night he took me off the streets—and then the other night, three days later, when FBI agent Reed Markham pried open the closet door to rescue me. The world can’t seem to get enough of the story, and so that means it can’t get enough of me either. Five books so far, three movies, endless TV specials. I’ve even been an answer on Jeopardy! It doesn’t matter who they cast to play me; my role is always the same. The girl on the bike who got kidnapped. She should have died, but then she lived. I’m supposed to be the Happily Ever After in this freakshow.

I try to focus on Evan. The food is amazing, especially the buttery fried plantains. I ask Evan what he thinks the ingredients are in the salsa criolla. Reed would know. Reed could go home and recreate the whole dish from scratch after tasting it only once. Evan says he doesn’t know the ingredients but he offers to Google it for me. No thanks, I tell him, anxious when he takes out his phone. I feel like I’m always one news alert from blowing my anonymity with Evan. I try to keep my name out of the spotlight when working my cases. My partner Dorie talks to the press while I hang in the background. I like working as a cop because it’s a chance to get justice, to fix what’s broken. I’m not in it for any kind of glory.

Reed got all kinds of famous after he rescued me. The worst event of my life was the best night for him. He wrote one of those bestselling books and rode the fast track up the FBI ladder. Somehow, though, we became friends. Then more than friends. I know some folks think it’s weird, the two of us pairing up, but we’re the only two who know the truth about Francis Coben. He’s who brought us together and he’s also the reason we’re apart. When we’re alone, we’re just Reed and Ellery, but whenever we go out, we’re The Girl from the Closet and The Man from the FBI. We are who Coben made us. Maybe I’m kidding myself, trying to make a life different from that. But I am trying.

When I get the buzzing text from my neighbor, it interrupts dessert. My basset hound, Speed Bump, is making a terrible ruckus back at my apartment. Bump only howls when he hears tuba music, so I know something’s wrong. Evan doesn’t understand why I jump up and run for the door, but he runs with me. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he says in the elevator. But when we round the corner and see my front door, I know it’s not fine. Reed is there.

Bump was yelling because Reed is one of his favorite people. When I undo the locks, he runs and jumps up on Reed’s fancy suit but Reed doesn’t care. He just rubs Bump’s enormous ears and says “Hey boy,” in a tender voice that I’ve been missing so much it’s like a physical ache. I wish I could launch myself at Reed, too, but instead I introduce the New Guy to the Old Guy and watch them shake hands awkwardly. I know Evan has questions. I have them too. Because Reed and I agreed not to see each other anymore. There’s only one reason he’d hop a plane from D.C. in the snow and show up at my door.

I send Evan away and let Reed inside. “Tell me he’s not out,” I say.

“No, but he wants to meet.”

I laugh bitterly. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because Coben’s willing to talk. He’ll confess to where the others are buried.”

I swallow hard. The families of the missing girls sometimes write me letters. “That’s good,” I whisper to Reed. “He’ll finally give them them closure.”

“There’s a catch,” Reed tells me. “Coben says he will confess everything. . .but only to you.”

Last Seen Alive, A Ellery Hathaway Mystery #5
Genre: Police Procedural
Release: January 2022
Purchase Link

Last Seen Alive is the fifth book in Joanna Schaffhausen’s heartpounding Ellery Hathaway mystery series.

Boston detective Ellery Hathaway met FBI agent Reed Markham when he pried open a serial killer’s closet to rescue her. Years on, their relationship remains defined by that moment and by Francis Coben’s horrific crimes. To free herself from Coben’s legacy, Ellery had to walk away from Reed, too. But Coben is not letting go so easily. He has an impossible proposition: Coben will finally give up the location of the remaining bodies, on one condition—Reed must bring him Ellery.

Now the families of the missing victims are crying out for justice that only Ellery can deliver. The media hungers for a sequel and Coben is their camera-ready star. He claims he is sorry and wants to make amends. But Ellery is the one living person who has seen the monster behind the mask and she doesn’t believe he can be redeemed. Not after everything he’s done. Not after what she’s been through. And certainly not after a fresh body turns up with Coben’s signature all over it.

Meet the author
Joanna Schaffhausen is the award-winning author of the Ellery Hathaway mystery series and the new thriller, Gone for Good. She has a doctorate in psychology, which reflects her long-standing interest in the brain―how it develops and the many ways it can go wrong. Previously, she worked as an editorial producer for ABC News, writing for programs such as World News Tonight, Good Morning America, and 20/20. She is the current Vice President for the New England chapter of Mystery Writers of America. She lives in the Boston area with her husband, daughter, and an obstreperous basset hound named Winston.

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