NEVER COMING HOME

CANADIAN BESTSELLER! AUDIBLE.COM NO. 2 BESTSELLER!

First comes love. Then comes murder.

Lucas Forester didn’t hate his wife. Michelle was brilliant, sophisticated, and beautiful. Sure, she had extravagant spending habits and that petty attitude, a total disregard for anyone below her status. But she also had a lot to offer. Most notably, wealth that only the one percent could comprehend.

For years, Lucas has been honing a flawless plan to inherit Michelle’s fortune. Unfortunately, it involves taking a hit out on her.

Every track is covered, no trace left behind, and now Lucas plays the grieving husband so well he deserves an award. But when a shocking photo and cryptic note show up on his doorstep, Lucas goes from hunter to prey.

Someone is on to him. And they’re closing in.

Told with dark wit and a sharply feminist sensibility, Never Coming Home is a terrifying tale of duplicity that will have you side-eyeing your spouse as you dash to the breathtaking end.

PUBLICATION DATES:

US & Canada: May 24, 2022 by MIRA (all formats)

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Excerpt of NEVER COMING HOME

Sunday

Chapter 1

***

The steady noise from the antique French carriage clock on the mantelpiece had somehow amplified itself, a rhythmic tick-tick, tick-tick, which usually went unnoticed. After I’d been sitting in the same position and holding my ailing mother-in-law’s hand for almost an hour, the incessant clicking had long wormed its way deep into my brain where it grated on my nerves, stirring up fantasies of hammers, bent copper coils, and shattered glass.

Nora looked considerably worse than when I’d visited her earlier this week. She was propped up in bed, surrounded by a multitude of pillows. She’d lost more weight, something her pre-illness slender physique couldn’t afford. Her bones jutted out like rocks on a cliff, turning a kiss on the cheek into an extreme sport in which you might lose an eye. The ghostly hue on her face resembled the kids who’d come dressed up as ghouls for Halloween a few days ago, emphasizing the dark circles that had transformed her eyes into mini sinkholes. It wasn’t clear how much time she had left. I was no medical professional, but we could all tell it wouldn’t be long. When she’d shared her doctor’s diagnosis with me barely three weeks ago, they’d estimated around two months, but at the rate of Nora’s decline, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise if it turned out to be a matter of days.

Ovarian cancer. As a thirty-two-year-old Englishman who wasn’t yet half Nora’s age I’d had no idea it was dubbed the silent killer but now understood why. Despite the considerable wealth and social notoriety Nora enjoyed in the upscale and picturesque town of Chelmswood on the outskirts of Boston, by the time she’d seen someone because of a bad back and they’d worked out what was going on, her vital organs were under siege. The disease was a formidable opponent, the stealthiest of snipers, destroying her from the inside out before she had any indication something was wrong.

A shame, truly, because Nora was the only one in the Ward family I actually liked. I wouldn’t have sat here this long with my arse going numb for my father-in-law’s benefit, that’s for sure. Given half the chance I’d have smothered him with a pillow while the nurse wasn’t looking. But not Nora. She was kindhearted, gentle. The type of person who quietly gave time and money to multiple causes and charities without expecting a single accolade in return. Sometimes I imagined my mother would’ve been like Nora, had she survived, and fleetingly wondered what might have become of me if she hadn’t died so young, if I’d have grown up to be a good person.

I gradually pulled my hand away from Nora’s and reached for my phone, decided on playing a game or two of backgammon until she woke up. The app had thrashed me the last three rounds and I was due, but Nora’s fingers twitched before I made my first move. I studied her brow, which seemed furrowed in pain even as she slept. Not for the first time I hoped the Grim Reaper would stake his or her claim sooner rather than later. If I were death, I’d be swift, efficient, and merciful, not prescribe a drawn-out, painful process during which body, mind, or both, wasted away. People shouldn’t be made to suffer as they died. Not all of them, anyway.

“Lucas?”

I jumped as Diane, Nora’s nurse and my neighbor, put a hand on my shoulder. She’d only left the room for a couple of minutes but always wore those soft-soled shoes when she worked, which meant I never heard her coming until she was next to me. Kind of sneaky, when I thought about it, and I decided I wouldn’t sit with my back to the door again.

As she walked past, the air filled with the distinctive medicinal scent of hand sanitizer and antiseptic. I hated that smell. Too many bad memories I couldn’t shake. Diane set a glass of water on the bedside table, checked Nora’s vitals, and turned around. Hands on hips, she peered down at me from her six-foot frame, her tight dark curls bouncing alongside her jawbone like a set of tiny corkscrews.

“You can go home now. I’ll take the evening from here.” Regardless of her amicable delivery, there was no mistaking the instruction, but she still added, “Get some rest. God knows you look like you need it.”

“Thanks a lot,” I replied with mock indignation. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

Diane cocked her head to one side, folded her arms, and gave me another long stare, which to anyone else would’ve been intimidating. “How long since you slept? I mean properly.”

I waved a hand. “It’s only seven o’clock.”

“Yeah, I guess given the circumstances I wouldn’t want to be home alone, either.”

I looked away. “That’s not what this is about. I’ll wait until Nora wakes up again. I want to say goodbye. You know, in case she…” My voice cracked a little on the last word and I feigned a cough as I pressed the heels of my palms over my eyes.

“She won’t,” Diane whispered. “Not tonight. Trust me. She’s not ready to go.”

I knew Diane had worked in hospice for two decades and had seen more than her fair share of people taking their last breaths. If she said Nora wouldn’t die tonight, then Nora would still be here in the morning.

“I’ll leave in a bit. After she wakes up.”

Diane let out a resigned sigh and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. A comfortable silence settled between us despite the fact we didn’t know each other very well. I’d first met Diane and her wife Karina, who were both in their forties, when they’d struck up a conversation with me and my wife Michelle as we’d moved into our house on the other side of Chelmswood almost three years prior. Something about garbage days and recycling rules, I think. The mundane discussion could’ve led to a multitude of drinks, shared meals, and the swapping of embarrassing childhood stories, except we were all what Michelle had called busy professionals with (quote) hectic work schedules that make forging new friendships difficult. My Captain Subtext translated her comment as can’t be bothered and, consequently, the four of us had never made the transition from neighbors to close friends.

Aside from the occasional holiday party invitation or looking after each other’s places whenever we were away—picking up the mail, watering the plants, that kind of thing—we only saw each other in passing. Nevertheless, Karina regularly left a Welcome Back note on our kitchen counter along with flowers from their garden and a bottle of wine. Not one to be outdone on anything, Michelle reciprocated, except she’d always chosen more elaborate bouquets and fancier booze. My wife’s silent little pissing contests, which I’d pretended to be too dense to notice, had irked me to hell and back, but when Nora fell ill and Diane had been assigned as one of her nurses, I’d been relieved it was someone I knew and trusted.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Diane said, rescuing me from the spousal memories. “It’s not fair. I mean, it’s never fair, obviously, but on top of what you’re going through with Michelle. I can’t imagine. It’s so awful…”

I acknowledged the rest of the words she left hanging in the air with a nod. There was nothing left to say about my wife’s situation we hadn’t already discussed, rediscussed, dissected, reconstructed, and pulled apart all over again. We’d not solved the mystery of her whereabouts or found more clues. Nothing new, helpful or hopeful, anyway. We never would.

Silence descended upon us again, the gaudy carriage clock ticking away, reviving the images of me with hammer in hand until the doorbell masked the sound.

“I’ll go,” Diane muttered, and before I had the chance to stand, she left the room and pulled the door shut. I couldn’t help wondering if her swift departure was because she needed to escape from me, the man who’d used her supportive shoulder almost daily for the past month. I decided to tone it down a little. Nobody wanted to be around an overdramatic, constant crybaby regardless of their circumstances.

I listened for voices but couldn’t hear any despite my leaning toward the door and craning my neck. I couldn’t risk moving in case Nora woke up. Her body was failing, but her mind remained sharp as a box of tacks. She’d wonder what I was up to if she saw my ear pressed against the mahogany panel. Solid mahogany. The best money could buy thanks to the Ward family’s three-generations-old construction empire. No cheap building materials in this house, as my father-in-law had pointed out when he’d first given me the tour of the six bedrooms, four reception rooms, indoor and outdoor kitchens (never mind the abhorrent freezing Boston winters), and what could only be described as grounds because yard implied it was manageable with a push-along mower.

“Only the best for my family,” Gideon had said in his characteristic rumbly, pompous way as he’d knocked back another glass of Laphroaig, the broad East Coast accent he worked hard to hide making more of a reappearance with each gluttonous glug. “No MDF, vinyl or laminate garbage, thank you. That’s not what I’m about. Not at all.”

It’s in the houses you build for others, I’d thought as I’d grunted an inaudible reply he no doubt mistook for agreement because people rarely contradicted him. As I raised my glass of scotch, I didn’t mention the council flats I grew up in on what Gideon dismissed as the lesser side of the pond, or the multiple times Dad and I had been kicked out of our dingy digs because he couldn’t pay the rent, and we’d ended up on the streets. My childhood had been vastly different to my wife’s, and I imagined the pleasure I’d find in watching Gideon’s eyes bulge as I described the squalor I’d lived in, and he realized my background was worlds away from the shiny and elitist version I’d led everyone to believe was the truth. I pictured myself laughing as he understood his perfect daughter had married so far beneath her, she may as well have pulled me up from the dirt like a carrot, and not the expensive organic kind.

Of course, I hadn’t told him anything. I’d taken another swig of the scotch I loathed, but otherwise kept my mouth shut. As satisfying as it would’ve been, my father-in-law knowing the truth about my background had never been part of my long-term agenda. In any case, and despite Gideon’s efforts, things were working to plan. Better than. The smug bastard was dead.

And he wasn’t the only one.

***

Published by MIRA Books

Praise for NEVER COMING HOME

“A clever, riveting psychological thriller. Hannah Mary McKinnon delivers a witty, dark and totally absorbing edge-of-your-seat novel, that is sure to leave you breathless, shocked and shouting from the side-lines.”

— Adele Parks, #1 Sunday Times bestselling author of Both of You

***

“Brilliant! Hannah Mary McKinnon’s Never Coming Home induces waves of anxiety in the best possible way. Have you ever wanted to murder your spouse? Lucas Forrester will show you how, outlining every meticulously crafted step. But even the best-laid plans contain vulnerabilities, and we feel every second of Lucas’s heart-pounding stress as his crime—and his world—begins to unravel. McKinnon is masterful in capturing Lucas’s voice, balancing humor and horror on a razor’s edge, forcing him to be sympathetic and despicable at the same time. Do not miss this one—add Never Coming Home to your reading list now to find out how much work ‘till death do us part’ really entails.”

— Carter Wilson, USA Today bestselling author of The New Neighbor

***

“Sly and deliciously clever, Hannah Mary McKinnon captivates with this engrossing tale of a missing wife and the devious husband who hopes to inherit her fortune. With dark secrets and surprising twists, Never Coming Home will leave you alternately gasping and giggling. An addictive, utterly compelling tale.”

— Christina McDonald, USA Today Bestselling Author of The Night Olivia Fell and Do No Harm

***

“A bold and original thriller, with a narrator you’ll love to hate. I tore through it.”

— Clare Mackintosh, internationally bestselling author of Hostage

***

“Hannah Mary McKinnon’s Never Coming Home is her darkest, most deliciously funny, and most suspenseful novel yet. It features a protagonist who is simultaneously fascinating and horrifying, and the pages will fly by as you read on to see what fate has in store for him. This book leaves a stinging mark on its characters—and its readers. You won’t soon forget it.”

— David Bell, USA Today bestselling author of Kill All Your Darlings

***

“You may find yourself asking why? while reading McKinnon’s latest unsettling thriller, which begins with a husband already well under way to successfully getting away with the murder of his wife. But rest assured, McKinnon earns every single breathtaking twist in this riveting novel where no one is quite who they seem, and you won’t know who trust till the pieces come together in the final, expertly crafted pages. Clear your day. Once you start reading, you won’t want to put this one down!”

— Edwin Hill, Agatha- and Edgar-nominated author of The Secrets We Share

***

“Meet Lucas…everyone’s new favorite protagonist and antagonist rolled into one. Not only is Lucas calculating and vengeful, he is delightfully sarcastic with a vulnerability that is shown when it’s least expected. Never Coming Home is a refreshing take on the madness going on inside Lucas’s head, especially when he thinks he’s cleverer than everyone else and that he’s one step ahead. But what happens when Lucas is wrong and he finds out that someone else has been watching him the entire time? A fun, slick read, Never Coming Home is one of Hannah Mary McKinnon’s best!”

— Georgina Cross, bestselling author of The Stepdaughter, Nanny Needed, and The Missing Woman

***

“There’s no crime writer more wickedly diabolical than the brilliantly clever Hannah Mary McKinnon. Never Coming Home — risky and dark and absolutely unique — made me hide under the covers and then laugh out loud. But it’s more than a page-turning thriller — McKinnon’s sophisticated storytelling combined with a masterclass in voice means this one is not to be missed. (And warning: you will never look at your spouse the same way.) Hannah Mary McKinnon has done it again: she’s the modern queen of twisty suspense!”

— Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of Her Perfect Life

***

“Tense, twisty, and totally unputdownable, Hannah Mary McKinnon’s brilliant page-turner enthralls from its unnerving start right through to its mind-blowing climax.”

— Heather Chavez, author of Blood Will Tell

***

“Hannah Mary McKinnon is back with another sit up and read until the small hours of the morning thriller. Never Coming Home is an eerie, first-person portrayal of a deliciously charming psychopath who finally meets his match. Told with pitch-perfect pacing and unrelenting tension, McKinnon explores the darkest corners of the human heart in this highly entertaining, bone-chilling must read.”

— Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of The Weight of Silence and The Overnight Guest

***

“Intense, whip-smart, and utterly devious, Never Coming Home is an addictive thrill ride of a book. Hannah Mary McKinnon is the queen of creating wicked characters we can’t help but root for—even when we know we shouldn’t. Her incredible talent for plot twists and deliciously dark sense of humor make for an irresistible read. This is suspense at its best!”

— Hilary Davidson, bestselling author of Her Last Breath

***

“Deliciously dark and deviously funny, Never Coming Home by Hannah Mary McKinnon is one hell of a ride. Lucas Forester might just be the most enjoyable, deceptive character I’ve ever met. Absolutely brilliant. McKinnon’s best book yet.”

— Jennifer Hillier, award-winning author of Jar of Hearts and Little Secrets.

***

“McKinnon clearly had a blast devising this tale of revenge and comeuppance, and the reader benefits from this creepy glee. Fans of The Talented Mr. Ripley will devour this well-written, engrossing story.”

— J.T. Ellison, New York Times bestselling author of Her Dark Lies

***

“I’m a huge fan of Hannah Mary McKinnon’s books so I was beyond delighted to receive an early copy of Never Coming Home. This was such a clever, witty, dark, and unsettling book and hugely addictive. My emotions were all over the place and I don’t know what this says about me, but I was rooting for Lucas at times even when I knew I shouldn’t! A brilliantly tense, unsettling, and entertaining read, with clever characterisation and real depth. Readers are in for such a huge treat!”

— Karen Hamilton, internationally bestselling author of The Ex-Husband

***

“First comes love, then comes holy @#!&!. Lucas is diabolically delightful. You’ll love him, you’ll hate him, because Hannah Mary McKinnon deftly leads her readers on a creepy, unabashed, weirdly hilarious, foray into the mind of a murderous sociopath.”

— Katie Tallo, internationally bestselling author of Dark August and Poison Lilies

***

“Schemes and bribery abound in this uproariously entertaining and darkly fun thriller. Lucas Forester has the audacity to hire a hit on his wealthy wife, setting off a string of riotous mayhem and deception. Never have I laughed so hard reading a thriller. And never have I wanted the bad guy to win so badly. Satire and humor are not easy to craft, but Hannah Mary McKinnon does so brilliantly in Never Coming Home that you fly through the pages because you can’t wait to read what stupendously, outrageous thing Lucas will do next.”

— Kerry Lonsdale, Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author of Last Summer and No More Words

***

“McKinnon cranks things up a notch in her latest, darkly comedic suspense, Never Coming Home. A missing wife, a determined detective, and the dazzlingly devious husband who stands to inherit a fortune. Wry and clever, with a main character you’ll love to hate and an ending that will leave you cackling, this is one live wire of a story. Absolutely unmissable!”

— Kimberly Belle, internationally bestselling author of My Darling Husband

***

“Fiendishly clever and deeply chilling, Never Coming Home is psychological suspense of the first order. With dark wit, searing prose, and a plot that twists like a strangling vine, McKinnon will lure you in and hold you breathless until the final page. Don’t miss this propulsive, hypnotic thrill ride.

— Lisa Unger, New York Times bestselling author of Last Girl Ghosted

***

“If you want to read a thriller that will make you stay up all night, pulse-racing until you finish, read this one! Hannah Mary McKinnon is an evil genius and Never Coming Home is a wicked, twisty, devious delight. I devoured this impeccably plotted, delectably propulsive thriller which had me positively gasping at all the twists and turns. With razor-sharp wit as pointed as a switchblade, McKinnon has created that rare thriller: one in which the reader is actively rooting for the villain! Lucas Forester is one of the most likeable unlikable characters in crime fiction. A must-read for 2022!”

— May Cobb, author of The Hunting Wives

***

“A diabolical tour de force, Never Coming Home redefines domestic noir and lures readers into a scheming viper den sure to push any moral compass to the brink. Exquisite tension, fearlessly drawn characters, and sharp-as-knives prose make for an unforgettable thriller that will both terrify and implicate you. Guilty people might have plenty to fear, but nobody stress-tests the human heart quite like Hannah Mary McKinnon.”

— P.J. Vernon, author of Bath Haus

***

“Never Coming Home is a delightful foray into the mind of a witty, charming psychopath. With relentless pacing, dark humour, and startling twists, readers will be torn between wanting to continue the journey or discover its shocking conclusion.”

— Robyn Harding, internationally bestselling author of The Perfect Family

***

“Devious, incredibly clever, and darkly funny, Never Coming Home is an addictive, page-turning thriller. Lucas Forester is magnetic, sympathetic, and so compelling that you literally want him to get away with murder. Hannah Mary McKinnon writes with expert twists, flawless pacing, and remarkable character development in a knock-out novel with superior sleight-of-hand. It will make you both laugh and gasp out loud.”

— Samantha M. Bailey, USA Today and #1 national bestselling author of Woman on the Edge

***

“Hannah Mary McKinnon is the queen of dark thrillers! Never Coming Home captivates, horrifies…and it will make you laugh. Impossible to stop reading until you get to the final page.”

— Samantha Downing, USA Today bestselling author of For Your Own Good

***

“A deliciously twisted page-turner that brings you on a mind grappling journey with an ending you won’t see coming.”

— Steena Holmes, New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

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