At this rate, no one would find me. At this rate, I wasn’t sure anyone would even notice I was gone.
Jules started moaning, and I muted the volume on the display.
Moaning.Honey, there wasn’t anything in those pants worth moaning about.
Chapter 7
Rachel
Six Days Earlier
Ialmost died today.” I had delivered the news over a deep-dish pizza with mushrooms and sausage, which we’d had delivered during the second quarter of the USC game. Jake hadn’t looked away from the screen, his jaw moving as he worked through a bite of the pizza.
I didn’t wait for a response, knowing that one was unlikely when we were in field-goal range. “I was checking on the bunnies, and my foot wentrightthrough a piece of wood that was covering up a well.”
“A well?” This caught his attention. “What do you mean? On our property?”
“Yeah. Looks like an old gardening well. It was overgrown. Underneath that big live oak.”
“You could make a wish.” He took another bite, his jaw working as he chewed with his mouth open, bits of pizza visible.
“It’s not like one of those with a cover and a bucket. It’s just like a hole in the ground.”
“But you could still make a wish. You know, in Roman times, springs and wells were believed to be inhabited by spirits. The coin was payment for a blessing.”
“Yeah, this isn’t from ancient times, not unless cheap plywood was trusted to keep in the spirits. I’m thinking this was probably for that old irrigation system that the guys pulled out.”
“But you could drop a coin in it,” he insisted. “I mean, you never know.”
“Yes, you could,” I allowed.
“It shouldn’t be like a normal coin, though.”
I picked up my own piece of pizza, hoping that this wasn’t about to turn into a thing. “Anyway,” I said, hoping to distract him, “I could have fallen in and drowned. Or hit my head on the rocks. I’mreallylucky that I caught myself.”
“It’d be cool to get a Roman denarius coin. Or one of those Celtic coins. I bet I could get something from Ron, like a Greek one ... You know how they put the coins in the dead guys’ mouths to pay the ferryman?”
I sighed and picked up the pizza box, carrying it to the kitchen. By the time I made it back, he was on an auction site, shopping for the perfect coin, one that would be expensive, because my husband didn’t know how to just do something without making it a ridiculous event.
I was rinsing out the two-liter bottle when I got the notification on my phone of Jake’s high bid on a coin auction, one with three days left.
His bid was on a well-worn silver Roman obol, with a design that was either a horse or a person, I couldn’t even tell. It was almost $400 and was certified authentic with a certificate that Jake would likely drop down the well as insurance on his wish.
I scrolled through the description and to the delivery section, which promised a three-day international shipment, signature required.
Three days left in the auction. Three days to get the coin delivered, and then Jake would be happily trotting into the back acreage, anxious to get to his wish.
Six days. I looked back out the window, where the edges of the live oaks could be seen, past the pool house and along the back edge of the five-acre estate. There, in the shade, was my death trap.
An idea bloomed.
Chapter 8
Rachel
Isat inside the well and listened as my whore of a best friend and my husband discussed, post–blow job, what might have happened to me.
Jake lasted four minutes, in case anyone was curious. Four minutes in which I could have been having my toenails pulled out by my kidnappers, but let’s please wait while Jake gets his rocks off.
