The Marriage Lie(84)

His indifference stumps me, enough so that my fingers freeze on my phone. I stand here for a moment, studying Corban’s nonplussed expression and pursed lips, remembering the two new life insurance policies and Will’s list of household chores that last morning in bed, and the answer falls into place.

I shake my head, unnerved I didn’t think of it sooner. “You were going to disappear, weren’t you? Both of you, I mean. You and Will were already planning to leave, so when the plane went down at the exact same time the money went missing, you assumed he took off with all of it.”

My phone falls still, flipping the caller to voice mail, then starts right up again.

“He did take off with all of it. You told me that.”

I frown, trying to remember ever saying anything near those words. “I did?”

Corban nods. “When you told me about the note in your drawer, remember? The one Will put there.” My heart rate spikes at what he’s implying, but before I can process his words, Corban takes two steps closer. I’d back up, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m already pressed against the counter. “But he made one fatal mistake.”

“What’s that?” My voice cracks, and I hate myself for sounding so scared.

He grins, werewolf teeth against skin black as coal. “He left his pretty wife here, all alone.”

My skin prickles, and I swallow down a spiky ball of nausea.

“You know, I can see what Will sees in you. Beyond the obvious, I mean. You’re smart and you’re funny, and you’ve got this thing about you.” Corban waves a hand in my direction, his gaze dipping lower, then lower still. “Delicate. Sexy. Will is a lucky, lucky man.”

“Was,” I say, correcting him. My mind is dull with fear and shock, and I can’t think straight. The word comes out slow and sticky.

He crosses his arms, studying me with narrowed eyes. “You know, for a while there I was convinced you were in on his vanishing act. But then you didn’t break character, not even when you thought my texts were from him. Either you really didn’t know, or you and Will have been one step ahead of me this whole time.”

“I’m not lying. I really didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to believe.” He pushes away from the counter, stepping closer, then closer still, until the smell of his cologne churns my stomach. “Let’s smoke that rat out of his hole. What do you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he won’t answer me.” Corban digs around in his pocket for his phone. “But let’s see if he’ll respond to you.”

Before I can say a word, he swings an arm around my neck, pulls my temple flush to his and snaps a selfie. The flash is blinding, and I’m too shocked to do anything other than stare.

While I blink away the white spots in my vision, Corban hunches over his phone, his thumbs typing away. He attaches the picture to an email—no subject line, no message, just a picture of a smiling Corban and a pale and wide-eyed me—and hits Send. Almost immediately, a text pings his phone.

“Good news,” he says, flipping the phone around so I can see. “Your husband is alive and well.”

Hurt her and I’ll slit your throat.

Despite everything, despite my terror that’s sharp and pointed, despite this madman who knows his way around an alarm and who I believe when he says he’ll kill me, my euphoria is swift and unmistakable.

Will is alive.

My phone buzzes, and this time I snatch it from my pocket. Corban doesn’t stop me, just leans a hip against the counter and watches, that same creepy smile playing on his lips.

The number is a long string of digits that look like they’re coming from a foreign country. I swipe my thumb across the screen and press it to my ear, my voice barely audible above my thudding heart. “Hello?”

“Iris, get out of there.”

My sob is thick and immediate. For the past two weeks, I’ve dreamed of this voice. I’ve prayed to a God I’m not entirely sure I believe in, bargained with everything dear for just one more chance at hearing it again, and now here it is, finally—finally—coming down the phone line, and all I can do is cry.

“Will?”

“Did you hear any of what I just said? Corban is dangerous. He will hurt you or worse in order to get to me. I’m on my way, but in the meantime, get out of there. I don’t care what you have to do, just get away and go get help. Can you do that for me?”

Will is on his way! I know there were a lot of other words in there, but I’m on my way are the only ones I hear. My husband is on his way home.

“H-hurry.”

Corban snatches the phone from my ear. “Yeah, buddy. You better hurry. Your pretty little wife is waiting. Oh, and don’t forget my money. This little stunt you just pulled will cost you your share of the funds.”

I lunge at my phone, clawing at him to get it back, but he fends me off with ease with a concrete arm.

“She’s a spitfire, Billy boy. I’ll bet she’s a banshee in bed. I’ll bet she knocks over furniture and screams like a porn star, doesn’t she?”

A wave of sick rolls over in my stomach as I take in Corban’s words, the unhinged glint in his eyes. I try to scramble backward, but Corban’s hand is an iron vise clamping down on my biceps.