Behind Every Lie

By Christina McDonald

From the USA TODAY bestselling author of Do No Harm and The Night Olivia Fell—an “emotionally charged mystery” (Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author)—comes a thrilling new suspense novel about the insidious nature of family secrets…and their deadly potential.

If you can’t remember it, how do you prove you didn’t do it?

Eva Hansen wakes in the hospital after being struck by lightning and discovers her mother, Kat, has been murdered. Eva was found unconscious down the street. She can’t remember what happened but the police are highly suspicious of her.

Determined to clear her name, Eva heads from Seattle to London—Kat’s former home—for answers. But as she unravels her mother’s carefully held secrets, Eva soon realizes that someone doesn’t want her to know the truth. And with violent memories beginning to emerge, Eva doesn’t know who to trust. Least of all herself.

Told in alternating perspectives from Eva’s search for answers and Kat’s mysterious past, Christina McDonald has crafted another “complex, emotionally intense” (Publishers Weekly) domestic thriller. Perfect for fans of Lisa Jewell’s I Found You and Karin Slaughter’s Pieces of Her, Behind Every Lie explores the complicated nature of mother-daughter relationships, family trauma, and the danger behind long-held secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gallery Books
• Release date: Feb 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781501184048

Christina McDonald

Christina McDonald is the USA TODAY bestselling author of Do No Harm, Behind Every Lie, and The Night Olivia Fell, which has been optioned for television by a major Hollywood studio. Originally from Seattle, Washington, she now lives in London, England, with her husband, two sons, and their dog, Tango.

Book preview

prologue

WHAT HAVE I DONE?

The thought charged at me, stark and unrelenting. Blood was everywhere. Under my fingernails. In my mouth. In my hair. It was streaked across my shirt. On the floor, it blackened and congealed, filling the air with its metallic breath. The sickly sweet scent clung to the back of my throat.

My mother was slumped on the floor in the living room, mouth gaping, brown eyes staring at nothing. A dark pool of blood seeped from a gaping wound at the base of her neck. The urgent beat of her pulse had faded to an unrelenting nothingness.

Both my hands were clamped around her throat. An emotion thudded so viciously in my chest it was painful, like searing.

Mom! I tried to scream.

But only a choked sob came out.

Hail clattered against the windowpanes. The wind thrashed against the house. The living room lights flickered and darkened. Fear, salty on my tongue, shot through me like an electric pulse.

Suddenly I was outside, the night sky pressing on my skin.

The burning scent of ozone scorched the fine hairs of my nostrils, mingling with the pungent scent of wet earth. Black and purple clouds roiled in the night sky. Thunder rumbled ominously. The air crackled with electricity, static lifting the fine hairs along my bare arms. Rain skidded into my scalp, licking at my face.

Tears mingled with the rain on my cheeks as I ran. I was crying so hard I could barely breathe. I skirted the perimeter of the elementary school and pounded toward the park, passing cars parked neatly along the curb. In the distance, a metal statue, the Seattle skyline just beyond.

There was a massive boom, an explosion as I drew level with the statue. Then only light was all around me, inside me, crashing against my retinas, hissing along my nerves, an explosion inside my organs.

I fell to the ground spasming, crippled with pain. Fire engulfed me from the inside, every nerve ending flayed open. I was no longer in control of my brain or body. They had cracked into a million pieces.

And then there was nothing.

Blackness swallowed me whole.

one

eva

LIAM PARALLEL-PARKED on Langley’s main street like it was the easiest thing in the world. Three movements: stop, reverse, straighten. Done. I’d never mastered the skill.

In the distance, a chilly morning wind whipped off the waters of Saratoga Passage, kicking the waves into frothy tips. The snowcapped Cascade Mountains rose in the distance. Scarlet and gold leaves licked the coastline along Whidbey Island. There were no rain clouds yet today, the promise of a crisp fall day held out like a gift.

My hero, I teased. I just need to get you a little black hat and you can be my chauffeur.

Liam reached into the backseat and grabbed one of the black baseball hats his builders wore. He put it on and grinned. Your wish is my command, my lady.

He brushed his lips against mine, pulling me tight against him so I smelled the expensive sandalwood-and-citrus cologne he wore.

I’m only going to work. I smiled against his lips.

I know, but I want more of you, Eva Elizabeth Hansen. His blue eyes danced as he slid his hands lower down my back.

I laughed and pulled the baseball hat off, running a hand through his hair. It was still thick and sandy blond, not a strand of gray, even though he was more than ten years older than me. Are you working in Seattle today?

Liam was a successful property developer with offices in Seattle and here on Whidbey Island. He spent most days in meetings, elbow-deep in profit and loss reports and zoning ordinances, or driving to and from property sites.

No, I’m here. I have a meeting in an hour, but I’ll be at our new site over in Greenbank after that. My builders got the structure up for the new strip mall so I need to take a look at it before the inspector comes by later this week.

I raised my eyebrows. That was fast. I thought you said you didn’t have the building permit yet?

Liam shrugged. It’s just a technicality. I know they’ll approve it. Just sometimes the bureaucracy takes time to wade through. He straightened his navy tie and glanced at his watch. Don’t worry. I’ll be here to pick you up after work.

I have that dinner with my mom and brother tonight, remember?

I thought we were going to that Thai place you love over in Coupeville. Liam said it in that way he had: a statement, not a question.

No, that’s tomorrow. I hesitated, unsure of myself. Right?

Liam showed me the calendar on his phone. It’s today.

Oh God, I’m so sorry! I clapped a hand over my mouth. I totally messed up! Remember I told you my mom won the Seattle Medal of Courage? Andrew organized this dinner to celebrate.… I bit my lip. Should I cancel? Maybe I should cancel.

No, you should go. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

I’m sorry!

Why don’t I go with you? His face was expectant, hopeful.

I froze. It’ll be boring, I said carefully. Besides, my family is weird.

He laughed. Aren’t all families weird?

Liam knew better than most how weird families could be. He’d grown up so poor his dad kicked him out at sixteen, telling him he needed to fend for himself. I was sure that sort of rejection would have laid me flat on my face, but it didn’t seem to bother Liam. He said it had just made him strive harder to succeed.

I’ll introduce you soon. I promise. I looked at the time on my phone. I’ll see you at home later, okay?

I loved saying that. Home. After dating for a year and a half, I’d finally moved into Liam’s house. My princess-cut diamond ring winked in the morning light. Slowly but surely my life was coming back together. A large part of that was thanks to Liam.

I leaned across the console and kissed him good-bye. Love you!

Love you most!

I headed up Langley’s main street, a charming combination of antique shops, independent bookstores, eclectic boutiques, and art galleries. Town was quiet, the tourists gone now that fall was here. I hunched in my favorite green corduroy coat, a dreamy vintage style with a belted waist and buttoned front. I shoved my hands into its wide flap pockets, my boots clicking sharply against the pavement.

My neck suddenly prickled, the feeling of someone’s eyes on me heavy and hot. Something moved in my peripheral vision. I swung around to look, but there was nobody there. The American flag above the door of the tavern at the end of the road flapped in the wind. Across the road, an elderly couple walked hand in hand along the sidewalk.

I scanned the road, the familiar feeling crawling over my body. I closed my eyes and breathed in. Nobody was there. Nobody was ever there.

I scuttled down the quiet lane to the Crafted Artisan, the art gallery where I rented space to paint and sell the clay pottery I made. Mostly dishware, pots, and vases. My favorites were the special requests from customers who stopped by the gallery with a piece in mind.

The bell over the door chimed as I entered. The gallery was small but brightly lit, with glossy white paint, black tiled floors, and varnished redwood accents. A wall of floor-to-ceiling metal shelves holding colorful ceramics lined one wall; another featured a collection of glass mosaic works.

The owner, Melissa, was standing in the middle of the gallery. She held a dark-green vase with a crackle glaze that looked like it had been broken. An intricate web of gold beads filled the cracks. Her blue-black curls were wild around her round face, dark eyes winged with black eyeliner and coated in mascara, a slash of red lipstick on her mouth.

What’s that? I asked, slipping my coat off and stuffing it under the cash register desk.

I met a woman on the beach in San Diego this summer and we got to talking. Turns out she’s an artist. She makes the most beautiful pieces, so I offered to display her work.

I smiled. Melissa was one of those über-friendly types, like a hairdresser or one of those women in the makeup department at Macy’s, someone people told their secrets to without meaning to. She liked people, and they liked her. She’d become a good friend since I’d moved to the island, even if I still couldn’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth about my past.

Look at the detail! She wrapped each broken piece in fabric, then used these beads to patchwork the pieces together. It’s based on kintsugi.

What’s that?

It’s a Japanese art. The artist fixes broken pottery by filling the cracks with gold. Usually they use epoxy to glue the pieces together. It’s supposed to highlight the damage instead of hiding it.

I lifted the vase from her hands and examined it. It’s beautiful.

Oh, by the way. She reached behind the cash register and handed me a flyer for an art exhibit in Seattle in the spring. You got mail.

Thanks. I glanced at the flyer and dropped it in the garbage.

Melissa shook her head, one hand on her hip. Why do you do that? You could totally get your work shown there!

Melissa, these are trained artists. They’ve been doing it their whole lives. I only bought my kiln and wheel a few years ago. My little homemade pottery can’t compete.

What is it going to take for you to just trust in yourself a little?

She plucked the flyer from the trash and thrust it at me so I had no choice but to take it.

But I knew the truth: I couldn’t trust myself at all.

two

eva

THE FIRST RUMBLE OF THUNDER came as I turned in to the parking garage in downtown Seattle. Despite morning sunshine, clouds had rushed to fill the afternoon with rain, and it looked like we were in for a storm.

I took my ticket from the machine and slowly nosed the car into a tiny space, wincing when my bumper scraped against a metal pole. I sucked at driving. I’d already stalled the engine an embarrassing number of times driving off the ferry. This was why I always let Liam drive.

I shook my umbrella open, hard drops of rain thumping against it like handfuls of gravel. I walked up the street’s steep incline, my thighs and shoulders still burning from my lunchtime yoga class with Melissa.

Another low rumble of thunder. I ducked my head and tilted the umbrella over my forehead, keeping my eyes fixed on my phone. It was, I’d learned, the best way to disappear. Instagram told me one college friend had been promoted at work, another had just had her second kid. I had forty likes and six comments on my picture of my engagement ring.

As I arrived at the restaurant, I slid my umbrella closed and reached for the door, noticing as I did an elderly homeless man sitting under the restaurant’s awning. Matted gray beard. Sad, rheumy eyes. Ancient, weathered face. He was drenched. No coat. A crumpled umbrella lay on the soggy cardboard box under him, its frame bent and broken. My heart crunched with sadness.

Here, take this, I said gently. I pressed my umbrella in his hand.

His eyes lit up and he smiled, revealing a row of missing teeth. Have a blessed day, miss!

The restaurant was crowded. Mom was already sitting at a table in the middle of the room, her beige khakis, shapeless V-neck sweater-vest, and no-nonsense brown shoes clashing with the linen-draped tables and elegant Renaissance-style murals.

You’re late, Mom said, her crisp British accent disapproving.

Sorry, Mom. I knew she hated it when I called her Mom instead of Mum, which was probably why I did it, some stupid, knee-jerk reaction left over from my teenage years. Traffic was pretty bad for a Sunday.

I expected her to scorch me with a critical comment as I gave her a quick side hug, but she stayed silent. She smelled of pine trees and cotton body lotion, a bizarre bouquet of nostalgia that launched me back to happy family camping trips and sulky adolescent silences. I wondered if all mother-daughter relationships were as complicated as ours.

Congratulations on the award! I said. You’re an actual, real-life hero!

Don’t be daft. She waved a hand in the air.

I squeezed into a chair across from her, the only place I could comfortably eat as a lefty. My fingers fluttered to my mouth and I nibbled a fingernail.

Mom gave me the Look, her makeup-less eyes tiny behind thick, black-rimmed glasses. I’d rather hoped you’d grown out of that.

I dropped my hands and twisted my engagement ring instead. I wanted to tell her I was usually better, but she broke into a coughing fit. Her face reddened as she clutched her chest. She pulled a Kleenex from her bag and blew her nose.

Are you okay?

Oh, just this bloody cold. Can’t seem to shake it. She touched a hand to her head and winced. Was her skin tinted yellow, or was it just the restaurant’s lighting?

I saw Jacob yesterday, she said. He’s moved back home to take care of his dad. Apparently Bill has cancer.

Jacob Hardmann had lived across the road from us when I was a teenager. We’d met at the school bus stop when we were twelve. He was my best friend, and once, briefly, something more. But his work as a photographer took him out of the country a lot, and it had been years now since I’d seen him, or really even thought of him.

Really? I couldn’t hide my surprise. Bill was pretty violent. I didn’t think they got along.

Well, since Barbara died there isn’t anyone else to care for him. Jacob’s a good boy. He always does the right thing.

Not always, I thought.

So, tell me. How are wedding plans coming along? she asked. When’s the big day?

Oh, I don’t know, I said vaguely. We haven’t really planned anything yet. We’re in no rush.

That wasn’t exactly true. Liam was already pushing to set a date, calling around for venues, organizing a meeting with the priest in Coupeville.

Mom adjusted her glasses, her brown eyes suddenly sharp. Have you told Liam about what happened?

I looked at my hands. Shame slid down my spine, cold and sticky, like tapioca pudding.

I can’t, I whispered. This was exactly why I didn’t want them to meet. Liam couldn’t know about my past. What if he didn’t believe me? Worse, what if he rejected me? It was easier to pretend it had never happened. He’ll think I’m broken or something.

When I looked at Mom, her face was uncharacteristically soft. Darling, I’m not entirely certain one can ever become unbroken, but I do know we can be strong and brave and broken and whole all at the same time. It’s called being human.

Can we please not talk about it?

Mom’s forehead creased, her eyes puzzled. She was a stern, stoic physics teacher. She dealt in hard facts and cold truths. She didn’t understand how I could pretend nothing had happened. But I’d learned that if you didn’t let yourself feel too much, you could tuck the trauma into a box, seal it up, and get on with your life.

I rather think telling the truth would be a better way to start a marriage, she said.

Aunt Lily swept in then, saving me from answering. She was wearing navy stilettos and a drapey linen pantsuit, her silver-platinum bob wrapped in a navy scarf that trailed over one shoulder.

Hello, my lovely! She kissed me on both cheeks. Look at you! So pretty. And I love your hair that way! She patted my cropped hair, recently streaked with toffee and bronze highlights.

Aunt Lily wasn’t my real aunt, but she’d been Mom’s best friend since she’d moved into our neighborhood when I was twelve. They’d both grown up in England, Mom in the north, Lily in the south, and bonded over a love of pinochle and old musicals. Mom was rules and discipline while Lily was laughter and fun. She gave us cake for breakfast, let us watch scary movies before bed, and even took me to get my belly button pierced when I was sixteen, much to Mom’s horror.

Where’s Andrew? She kissed Mom on the cheek.

He’s been held up at court. He’ll be here shortly, Mom replied.

Well, this is lovely! It’s been ages since we’ve done anything together.

Too long, Mom agreed. She turned to me. Andrew mentioned you’ve moved in with Liam?

I bit my lip. Mom had a fantastic poker face, but I still sensed her disapproval. It was there in the lift of her eyebrows, the purse of her lips, like when I dropped out of college to be a dog walker, or when I was fired from my job as a barista because I could never wake up in time, or when I decided to be an artist rather than studying thermodynamics or quantum theory.

We’ve been together a year and a half and we’re getting married.… I trailed off, realizing I sounded defensive.

Well, I’m sure he’s lovely. We’ll meet him when you’re ready for us to. Lily reached for a piece of bread from the basket the waitress had left and slathered a chunk of butter on it. It was too cold, the bread tearing as she stabbed at it.

I tossed her a grateful smile.

The waitress arrived, and Lily ordered a glass of champagne, Mom a pint of Post Alley Porter.

I, um … I scanned the drinks menu, my heart kicking into gear.

Good Lord, it’s just a drink, Eva! Not a life-or-death decision. Mom sounded irritated.

I felt like a deer in the headlights. I knew I was being stupid, but even choosing a drink seemed impossible.

How about a vodka cranberry? Lily suggested kindly.

Yes! I turned to the waitress. Only no vodka. Just cranberry.

I smiled at Lily, relieved she’d made the decision for me. Mom scowled at her. I almost rolled my eyes. They were best friends, but sometimes they were more like an old married couple, right down to the arguments and nagging.

Tell us how you’ve been, Eva, Mom said, putting her hand on mine. We hear from you so rarely these days.

I threw her a surprised look. Mom wasn’t one for physical displays of affection. She had helped me with my homework, made sure I behaved and was polite and didn’t skip school, but hand-holding? Not so much.

I’m good. Busy. Lots of work coming up to Christmas, plus I’ve been packing and moving into Liam’s. You should see his house! It’s gorgeous! Here.… I swiped through the pictures on my phone and held one out to them. Here’s a picture.

It’s stunning! Lily exclaimed. Mom nodded her agreement. I smiled, warmed by their approval.

The waitress returned with our drinks, and Lily raised hers to Mom. I quickly followed suit. I believe congratulations are in order. To you, Kat, for saving a little girl’s life. We’re so—

An elderly lady pushed past my chair, her elbow jabbing into my back. I lurched forward, my glass slipping out of my hand. Ruby-red liquid splashed across the white linen, onto Mom’s lap.

Mom and Lily both jumped up. An embarrassing red splotch was spreading across Mom’s pants.

I’m so sorry! I grabbed a linen napkin and tried to wipe Mom’s pants clean.

Eva, stop! You’re making it worse! she exclaimed.

I plopped, impotent, into my seat, cheeks burning.

The waitress whisked the stained linen away and brought a glass of soda water, which Mom used to dab at her pants, then bustled about relaying the table. A few minutes later we were settled again, fresh drinks in front of us.

I’m sorry, I said again.

Mom reached for her beer, her eyes filling with something I couldn’t identify. Resignation? Worry? Honestly, darling, it’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.

But it didn’t matter whose fault it was when you blamed yourself.

Mom smiled at me, and a jumble of emotions filled my chest. Uncertainty. Love. Hope. But just then, my brother rushed in, bursting the moment like a soap bubble. Andrew’s cheeks were bristly with a neatly trimmed beard, glasses glinting in the candlelight. He’d inherited our mother’s shitty eyesight; I’d gotten her pale English skin.

Mom’s gaze peeled away from mine, brightening at the sight of him. Andrew murmured something to the waitress, and she returned a second later with a short glass of amber-colored liquid.

He shed his coat and sat next to me, lifting his glass in a toast and smiling. To Mom. The Messiah.

I looked down at my cranberry juice, wishing I’d gotten the vodka after all.

three

eva

I COULDN’T MOVE.

Consciousness was a fickle thing, fading in and out. Everything in me hurt, a pain so deep it felt like I’d been cooked in a microwave.

Time passed. Sounds returned. A low thunking. A rhythmic beeping. Squeaking wheels. A periodic buzzing, material swishing, soft murmuring voices.

I propelled myself through a viscous darkness, bursting through the oily film of consciousness. My head hurt, hot, jabbing pain bolting around my temples and ricocheting through my body. A phosphorescent glow clung to the edges of my vision. The scent of burning hair lingered in my nostrils; under that, disinfectant and cold, recycled air.

What happened?

I tried to sweep through the cobwebs clouding my brain and figure out why the hell I hurt so much. The last thing I remembered was spilling cranberry juice all over my mom.

Something scratched at the surface of my mind, a fingernail against glass. Muffled voices came from very far away. A low ringing echoed in my ears, punctuated by an exasperated female voice.

Unconscious.

Murder.

Lightning.

A flash of memory bore down on me like an image emerging from a Polaroid.

My mom crumpled on the floor. An overturned chair. Light. Then shadows. Then the image disappeared and I was running. And then nothing—the memory was gone.

I struggled against the weight of my eyelids and moaned. I was in a hospital. A doctor in a white lab coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck approached. She was tall, midforties. Ruler-straight body. She had blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, almond-shaped blue eyes, and cheekbones rising sharply under freckled skin.

I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. She popped a straw in a plastic cup of water and held it to my lips. I slurped greedily.

Hello, Eva. Her voice was soft and comforting. I’m Dr. Patricia Simm. Your fiancé’s just gone to get a coffee, but he’ll be back shortly.

Liam. I exhaled, weak with relief.

How are you feeling? Her voice sounded muffled, as if she were speaking into a ball of cotton.

I hurt, I croaked. I tried to sit up, but the room slithered around me. Pain seared along my skull.

Dr. Simm helped me sit, then pressed her stethoscope to my chest and listened. Can you squeeze my fingers?

She placed two of her fingers in my palms, and I squeezed, my fingers thick and awkward. She then probed my arms, lifted and bent them at the elbows.

Do you feel this?

Yes.

Good. There’s a little weakness on your left side but nothing to be concerned about.

As she lowered my left arm, I caught sight of a strange pattern on my skin spreading up from a gauze bandage wrapped around my forearm. I pushed the hospital gown sleeve up higher. The visible skin on my arm was covered in pink, fernlike markings, feathery branches stippled with angry red blisters.

Wha … ?

Those are called Lichtenberg figures. I know they look psychedelic, but they’re harmless. They trace the path of the electricity that went through your body when you were struck by lightning.

Struck by lightning?

She straightened, flipping the stethoscope back around her neck and smiling wryly. They’ll disappear in a few weeks. Right now they’re a testament that you survived something extraordinary.

I stared at her blankly.

Don’t worry if it’s all still a blur—that’s completely normal after getting struck by lightning. You’ve been unconscious since they brought you in early this morning. Your left eardrum burst, so you’re likely experiencing some temporary hearing problems—

Liam burst in, crossing the room in two long strides.

Eva! Thank God you’re all right! His hair was standing on end, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His jaw was thick with morning growth, and his eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed. He wrapped his arms around me. I got the first ferry I could when the police called.

I laid my head against his shoulder, feeling safe for the first time since I’d woken. He was wearing one of the tight, Lycra T-shirts he wore for rowing, the slippery material cool against my throbbing ear. I touched my head and winced. A thick bandage covered a tender lump just above my left temple.

Dr. Simm noticed. You got a pretty fierce bump to the head, so I’ve scheduled a CAT scan. The burns on your ears are from where your jewelry melted, and we had to cut your shirt off. We have some antibiotics in your IV to make sure those blisters on your arm don’t get infected. We’ll keep you in for observation for a few days, and I want to run a few more tests now that you’re awake, but physically speaking, you’re a remarkably lucky woman.

She went on to list the physical afflictions I might experience: Parkinson’s-like muscle twitches, severe headaches, scar tissue from the thermal burns, temporary or partial paralysis in my weak left hand.

What we really need to look out for, she continued, are psychological issues: paranoia, personality changes, mood swings, memory loss. Even trouble concentrating. All of these we’ll watch for and deal with if they arise. You’ll need to take it easy at first, okay? Lots of rest to help your mind and body heal. And I’ll prescribe you some meds to help.

Dr. Simm glanced over her shoulder. I followed her gaze. A man I didn’t recognize approached from the corridor and paused in the doorway. He was of average height and build with a thin mouth and short-cropped, dark hair that showcased tiny ears. His eyes were deep-set in a long, wolfish face, an intense, piercing blue against his pale skin. He radiated a sort of feral aggression that instantly set me on edge.

Hello, Miss Hansen. I’m Detective Kent Jackson. I’m part of a task force with the Seattle Police Department.

His accent was East Coast, the flattened consonants and distended vowels of Boston. He stepped into the room, his brown leather jacket creaking over a collared blue shirt and dark jeans.

I squeezed my eyes shut and I knew. Somehow I knew what he was going to say.

I’m so sorry to tell you this. Your mother has unfortunately died. We believe she was murdered and we’re investigating it as a homicide.

Reviews for Behind Every Lie

[brangwinn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a “keep you up reading” mystery and that’s not just because its set in Seattle and Whidbey Island Washington where I live. It is important though to have an island with service by ferry to Seattle in the premise of this story. Told from the perspective of Eva in the present and her mother who narrates from the past, the two narrations come together in a chilling murder and stolen identity. I really liked the conclusion as Eve comes to terms with what has happened to her and looks forward to the future.

[ml923 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Christina McDonald’s “Behind Every Lie” is a spellbinding, edge-of-your seat psychological thriller. The main character, Eva Hansen, awakens in the hospital after being struck by lightning the same evening her mother, Kat, is murdered. Eva has no memory of that evening, and she becomes the prime suspect of the police. Through the course of the novel, Eva tries to recover her memory and to clear herself of her mother’s murderer.The story is told in alternating perspectives (Eva’s and Kat’s), as well as in alternating timeframes. These alternating viewpoints were well-done and definitely added a great deal to the storyline. They also came together quite well so that the mystery surrounding Kat’s death could be deftly explained by the novel’s end.The pacing of this novel was good, and there was an abundance of twists and turns to keep up that pace — perhaps even too many of them, with some of them bordering on the unbelievable. All in all, though, this was a very enjoyable, quick read and definitely a page-turner which held my interest throughout! I look forward to reading other of McDonald’s works. Thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for providing me with an advance reader’s copy.

[marykuhl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This starts off with Eva having blood on her hands and her seeing her mother on the floor. Then Eva runs and an explosion knocks her out. Next thing she knows she wakes up in the hospital having been struck by lightning and she is told her mother has been killed. Detective Jackson thinks she is the number one suspect – but Eva can’t remember anything about the night. No w, if that isn't enough to suck you in, I don't know what is.This book was written in two point of views. One of Eva current day and one of her mother Kat from 25 years ago leading up to the night she is murdered. This story reminded me of The Twilight Wife by AJ Banner. It might have been the setting, or it might have been the fiancé. I liked this book more than the Night Olivia Fell and I really liked that. Everything is wrapped up very neatly in this book. I felt that every question was answered and there was nothing left open. Sometimes author’s second books just don’t seem to live up, but this is not the case. Great job.

[susan0316 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Christina McDonald's debut novel The Night Oliva Fell was a real roller coaster ride. Behind Every Lie is a very different type of book but it also is full of twists and turns and kept me rapidly turning pages (and losing sleep) until the end.Eva and her mom Kat have always had a rocky relationship but not rocky enough that Eva would kill her mother...or would she? Everything points in that direction and the police are very suspicious when Eva says that she can't remember anything. She has an excuse because she woke up in the hospital after being struck by lightning - but why was she in her mother's neighborhood when she lived miles away and why was her car at her mom's and her fingerprints in the house? She has no memory of anything that happened after she got home that day. Eva is determined to clear her name and to try to remember what happened and after finding a letter in her mother's files, she sneaks off to London, where her mom grew up, to try to find some answers. What she finds out is shocking and she has trouble connecting the mom that she learns about in London and the mom that she knew growing up. The more questions she gets answered, the more questions she has plus she has no idea what is true and what's a lie. This book is full of lies and secrets that cause more danger to Eva as they are revealed because someone doesn't want her to find out the truth. She learns that she can trust no one - and as her memory starts to return, she even wonders if she can trust herself.I loved this book and the way the story is told. It all comes to light gradually as the story is told by Eva in present day and Kat in the past when Eva was born. When these two time lines intersect, the complicated relationship between mother and daughter becomes even more apparent.If you want a book full of twists and turns, lies and truth that is full of surprises - this is the book for you.Thanks to the publisher for a copy of this book to read and review. All opinions are my own.

[cherylk_44 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I am saddened by my response to this book. I loved The Night Olivia Fell. I still rave about that book when someone is looking for a recommendation. What I really liked about that book was the strong emotional mother/daughter connection. That was not really so much the case with this book. This book is more of a mystery thriller than an emotional thriller like The Night Olivia Fell. This book is told from two alternating points of views...Eva and Kat. In the beginning the back and forth was not that smooth for me. I was just starting to get into the groove of the present and than the past would come into play. A part of this was partly because I was not a fan of Kat. I thought she was stuck up. However as I got to know Kat's story and everything that she had experienced in the past, my feelings towards her did change. I did struggle a bit with this book. The first half of this story did go more slowly for me. The latter half was quicker in the pacing. While, I might not have enjoyed this book as much as the author's first book, I do still look forward to reading the next book from this author.

[bonnie.franks · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The premise here is great. Eva wakes up and finds out her mother has been murdered. In addition, it seems she is a suspect.She can't remember anything as she has been struck by lightning. The book goes back and forth between her mother's story and her story. The characters are interesting characters in their own right, the writing is good. It kept me on my toes.I did suspect a few people along the way, and I was wrong. I love that. It's what we read this type of book hoping for. If we figure it all out immediately, what fun is that? I also learned some things about being struck by lightning that I didn't previously know.I would recommend this book to thriller readers. I was provided a copy by NetGalley.com and the publisher. I thank them for that.

[pomo58 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Behind Every Lie from Christina McDonald is a difficult book for me to offer a review on. I liked it, quite a bit, but also had some issues with it. In reading what other readers have said, I find myself understanding the comments I disagree with better than I usually do. I'll try to explain in a moment. I also acknowledge that part of the problem (if it is a problem) is that McDonald's first book was spectacular so a follow-up almost has to disappoint a little.I am not one of those who generally complains about coincidences (too many, too unbelievable, etc) in a novel of this sort. Coincidences and unusual or unexpected occurrences are necessary, otherwise there would be nothing to right about other than waking, working, and hobbies, all of which would be mundane without something throwing them out of whack. There are a lot of things that might be called coincidences in this novel, perhaps more than is absolutely necessary, but I didn't find them particularly bothersome. I am a reader that is willing to let the world of the work present itself, whether staying close to the everyday or straying into the realm of the hard to believe. As long as the things that happen work toward and help to resolve the conflict, I prefer to let the story be the writer's rather than my re-write of the writer's book. This is one of the areas I mentioned above, some readers were bothered by "too many coincidences." I often dismiss those comments because it is often just that the reader didn't like something else and used that as a point of contention. But in this case, while I don't think there were too many, I can see where someone who dislikes them would be put off a bit. If they are incapable of getting past that part of the storytelling then they will be disappointed. I don't fall into that group.One thing that I think the many little twists, turns, and coincidences do accomplish is that this is a novel I have actually enjoyed thinking about after finishing as much as I enjoyed actually reading. Part of that is thinking about how McDonald managed to keep track of everything and bring it all to a conclusion. But also thinking about the daily minutiae that we don't consciously register but could be recalled if we were straining our memories to recover from a trauma. Might I remember a detail about my father, about an old house, or even about my own feelings? I don't know, but I like being made to ponder these things. I think most readers will be satisfied with both the storytelling and the story itself. Let the work decide, within its own limited parameters, what is believable or not. Save your rewrites for your own novels. It will allow you to enjoy this one more and also make your future bestseller that much better.Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via NetGalley.

[darcia_10 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Too much of a good thing isn't better, it's just too much. The opening hooked me with an intense, well written scene. I didn't want to put the book down.We have two narrating characters, Eva and Kat. Both are interesting, complex, and just mysterious enough to keep me wanting to learn more.But then...This story reaches in too many directions, adding a little of everything along the way. We have secrets, domestic abuse, rape, memory loss, manipulation, revenge, and obsessions galore. And lies! No one tells the truth here, ever.Plot twists abound. The jaw-dropping kind that normally occur once in a book, but here they're littered throughout. And, yet, none of them surprised me because so much was happening that there was nowhere left to go.And then we get to the major climax, with a round of truth and confessions from all the important players, which is obviously for the reader's benefit. The last thing I'd want to do if I'm bleeding and facing death is have a group share, but, hey, everyone's different.Sadly, the implausibility and reliance on coincidences, along with the smorgasbord of content, detracted from what is, at its heart, an emotionally provocative story. *I received a review copy from Gallery Books, via BookishFirst.*

[poppyreads · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was a 3.5 star at the very least. While it did have a LOT squished into the plot and I understand why other reviewers were turned off by that, I quite enjoyed it. It takes a good story to really keep my attention and this book did just that. Some of the links and surprises seemed unrealistic but it was still so entertaining. I can't wait to read more from this author!

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for the ARC in exchange for my honest review. I'll post a longer one on my blog!

[fredreeca · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Eva is going to find out who murdered her mother. The crazy thing is…she thinks it could be her. Her memories were damaged when she was struck by lightening. She has flashes of images from the night her mother was murdered. But, these flashes are so convoluted that they are no help at all.This novel is told by two different narrators, Eva and Kat. Kat is Eva’s mom. Kat has had a unique life and Eva has been kept completely in the dark. She thought she knew her mother, but the more she investigates, the more she finds out…She did not know her mother at all.I love the intensity in this story. The author just keeps building and building and then adds in a few twists. You have no idea how this is going to end up.This is a fast paced, unique story. It leaves you guessing all the way through. I loved The Night Olivia Fell and this novel is right up there with it.I received this novel from the publisher for a honest review.

[rmarcin-630843 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Eva can't remember what happened the night her mother died - her memories are all jumbled. Did she kill her mother? Why can't she remember. This book is told in several voices -- Eva and Kat. Kat's story is mainly told 25 years earlier, but then comes to present day. Eva has had a trauma in her recent past, and due to her shame, she is untrusting and fearful. As Eva delves into the mystery of her mother's death, many lies come to the surface, and Eva questions who she is and what is real and what isn't. She wonders if she is in danger. I enjoyed this book, but I thought it was obvious in what was going to happen, and who the people were that were a danger. There were a few surprises, but for the most part, I was correct in my assumptions. A well done thriller, but a bit formulaic, as it was very obvious as to what the outcome would be. #BehindEveryLie #ChristinaMcDonald

[medwards429 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Thank you in advance to BookishFirst, and Gallery Books for providing an advance uncorrected proof to review. All words are my own in this review and a positive review was not required.

First off, as I do review many types of books, this book is not a Christian or clean read in any way. There is coarse language throughout, with several variations of the “F” word used.

Both British and American English are used throughout this story. Since I have read a few UK “chick lit” books, I sort of understood the British English words used.

There is some sex talk in this novel, though nothing overly graphic. There are no sex scenes in the book.

Trigger warnings include:

* Domestic Violence
* Rape
* Murder
* Gaslighting

For those who have experienced some of the traumatic events mentioned, they might want to have someone else read this book first.

I was very eager to read this as I had been hearing about this book since late last year. It sounded SO good. And, I had been TRYING to win a copy through different channels with no such luck. The author’s “The Night Olivia Fell” was highly acclaimed and I suspected this wouldn’t be any different.

This book is NOT connected to the previous novel at all. Both are standalone reads.

I was able to get “The Night Olivia Fell” from the library and it was definitely a four (4) star read, despite the sad premise.

In that book, it was the daughter who “died” and the mother trying to research what happened and lead up to that night. And, in the course of doing so, she uncovered a lot of secrets her daughter knew and some she tried to find out.

This time, in “Behind Every Lie”, Eva is suspected of killing her mother, but can’t remember what happened due to being struck by lightning. Determined to clear her name, she travels from Seattle to London and begins to uncover her mother’s secrets, and how they connect to Eva’s life. However, there is someone who doesn’t want her to know. And, it is for a very good reason.

Like “The Night Olivia Fell”; “Behind Every Lie” is also told in alternating POVs from Eva in the current and Kat (Eva’s mother) in the past. “The Night Olivia Fell” was told with the mother in the present and daughter in the past.

Kat’s past is told in increments: 25 years ago, 17 years ago, 4 years ago, the day before, and the night of the murder.

McDonald has a masterful way of weaving complex mother/daughter relationships along with twists, turns, surprises, and suspense. The first novel was a taste of that talent, this got even more twisted.

One common complaint is that this has a lot of drama and plot twists going on. So much so that it could’ve worked as two different novels. That didn’t bother me, but did keep the book moving at a fast, engaging, and “almost couldn’t put it down” pace. There were more twists than a NASCAR road course. So, it could be hard for some readers to keep up with.

The writing style did make the story flow quite well.

About a third (⅓) of the way in there is a HUGE reveal which sets up what might be a motive with misconceptions and assumptions swirling around.

But, that isn’t the only reveal. And, this was chock full of secrets.

The characters of Eva and Kat were complex and conflicted. As I continued on, I figured out why. The support characters were just that – support. I disliked Liam even before the end of the novel. There were things Eva kept praising him about how much he took care of her. Yet, it seemed more like “controlling” her. Eva seemed strong, yet weak.

There was an event in her past that was relevant, though some might find it was brought up far too often.

This was such an engaging novel, and the cover was tempting. It was hard to put it down for the night. And, once I got past chapter 36, I HAD to finish this novel.

This was a haunting, sad, and page-turning read. Every bit, if not better, than “The Night Olivia Fell”. So, I wasn’t too disappointed overall. I was glad that I was able to get a copy of it.

The title comes from a phrase - behind every lie is a reason, and behind every reason there is a person.

A four (4) star read that teaches us we can be strong, brave, and still broken.

[kbranfield-837433 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

4.5 stars.

Behind Every Lie by Christina McDonald is a twist-filled domestic mystery.

After being struck by lightning, Eva Hansen awakens in the hospital with few memories of the evening before. Needless to say she is very distraught to learn her mother Kat has been murdered.  Even more disconcerting is the discovery that Detective Kent Jackson believes that Eva is involved with her mother's  murder.  With an overwhelming sense of fear, Kat insists on leaving the hospital to return the secluded home she shares with  fiancé Laim Sullivan. Unnerved by her wispy, unformed memories that place her at Kat's house the night of the murder, Eva uncovers disquieting information about her mother's past. With the help of her childhood friend, Jacob Quinn, she flies to London where she hopes to find answers.  Will the information she unearths lead to the identity of Kat's killer? Or will Eva put herself more solidly in the crosshairs of someone who wants her permanently out of the way?

Eva is in her late twenties and events from her past leave her doubting herself. She is happily engaged to Liam but she is still keeping secrets from him. Although Eva loves Kat, their relationship is rocky due to her mother's emotional distance and her tough love attitude toward her daughter. Eva's inability to trust herself reaches a crisis point as she tries to put the new information about her mom's past into context. And in the midst of searching for answers, Eva cannot shake the eerie sensation that someone is watching.

Kat's past is revealed through chapters which alternate with present day events. Beginning twenty-five years earlier,  a chance encounter sets Kat on a shocking path that culminates with tragedy in the present.  As Eva pieces together the stunning pieces of her mother's past, will her fragmented memories of the night of Kat's murder snap into place? Is Eva fully prepared for the appalling truth when and if her memories return?

Behind Every Lie is an incredibly riveting mystery with a clever plot and unreliable protagonist.  Eva is a sympathetic character who finds unexpected inner strength as she searches for answers about herself, her mom and Kat's murder.  The storyline is engaging and despite a few easy to figure out elements,  Christina McDonald saves some jaw-dropping revelations for the novel's dramatic and  action-packed dénouement.  I thoroughly enjoyed and highly recommend this engrossing mystery to readers of the genre.