The Marriage Lie(85)

There’s commotion on the other end of the line, but I can’t make out any of Will’s words. Whatever his reply, it deepens Corban’s grin.

His gaze lands on me, and a leer prowls up his face. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.”





29

The doorbell rings less than twenty minutes later, and my heart climbs into my throat. How could Will be here, already? Where was he hiding, in the garden shed? And why ring the doorbell instead of using his key or, better yet, busting through the window in a surprise attack? None of it makes any sense.

Corban checks his watch and frowns. From the looks of his expression, he’s thinking much the same.

There’s a smattering of sharp knocks, followed by Evan’s muffled voice. “Hey, Iris, you still up? I think I left my wallet.”

“Busy night,” Corban quips, but he’s talking through gritted teeth.

I lean my head into the adjoining den, spot a patch of shiny leather sticking out from the stack of court record printouts on the coffee table. Evan’s wallet. He took it out of his back pocket to sit down, then must have tossed it there and forgotten about it.

“Now what?” I say.

Corban watches me for a few seconds, working out what to do, how to fix this problem. He’s not worried about Evan; I can tell that much. He’s worried about me somehow alerting Evan. I’m the problem.

“Disarm the alarm from your phone. I don’t want you anywhere near those panic buttons.”

Evan knocks again, this time harder and with his fist. “Iris, are you in there?”

“Never mind, I’ll do it.” Corban pulls up the alarm app on his phone—his phone, which explains how he got past my alarm—and the pad by the front door gives a trio of staccato beeps. He grabs me by the biceps and pulls me close, his fingers clamping down hard enough to leave a bruise. “Give him his wallet and get rid of him, do you understand? Otherwise I’ll break his neck and make you watch.”

I nod, swallowing. I don’t doubt he could do it, too, despite Evan’s size.

“Good girl.” Corban turns me around by the shoulders and gives me a hard shove. “Now, go.”

There are a number of things I could do here. Slip Evan a sign. Use the distress code when I rearm the system. Bolt out the door and run for my life. But I believed Corban when he said he would hurt Evan and make me watch, and I couldn’t bear either. Besides, leaving or alerting the police means I won’t get to see Will again.

Which is why I fetch the wallet, plaster on a smile and head down the hallway, tossing as casual a wave as I can manage to Evan through the glass. He looks relieved to see me, though his shoulders stay up by his ears like giant humps swallowing his neck until I pull open the door.

“Where were you?” Evan says. “I tried to call.”

“Sorry.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of movement in the front parlor. Corban slipping into the shadows. “I had my ringer turned off.”

“Oh.” He lifts a foot as if to take a step inside, but I don’t move out of the doorway. I stand there stiffly, holding the door and blocking the entry with my body.

There’s a long pause.

I push his wallet into the space between us. “Here. I found it on the table.”

He takes the wallet with a curious look, then leans far left and peers through the front room window. My heart stops. Other than the beige sofa, the room is practically empty. If Corban is still standing there, pressed against the opposite side of the wall, Evan will surely see him.

But then Evan straightens, blinking down at me like the only thing he saw was an empty room. “I talked to Zeke. The 678 number is a dead end, unfortunately. A prepay with no name or address attached. There’s no way to trace it.”

I scrunch up my face, feigning disappointment. “Oh. Okay. Well, thank him for trying. Good night.” I push against the door, but Evan stops it with a palm.

“What’s up with you?”

I make sure to hold his gaze as I shake my head. “Just beat. I was getting ready to head upstairs to bed.”

He cocks his head, frowning slightly. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“It’s been a rough day.”

“Oh. Well, if you want to talk...” He lets the rest trail while his gaze fishes over my shoulder, craning his head into the house as much as I’ll let him, which is not far. Besides my staircase and the lit-up hallway behind me, he probably can’t see much. “All right, well, I don’t want to keep you. Thanks for this.” He holds up his wallet, wagging it as he mouths two words: You okay?

I push up a reassuring smile. “You’re welcome. Call you tomorrow.”

And then I shut the door in his face, flip the dead bolts and head back down the hall.

I’m shaking all over by the time I step into the kitchen. Corban slides from the shadows, holding up a finger. We listen for the sound of Evan’s car door banging shut, his motor starting up and the growl of his engine as he drives away.

“Now what?”

Corban’s grin is Cheshire wide. “Now we wait.”

*

The clock on the cable box says it’s nearing eleven. More than an hour since I pushed Evan’s wallet through a crack in the front door, which means I must have been convincing. The police, if he’d alerted them, would have been and gone by now.