It’s almost like he knows. Maybe hedidoverhear yesterday, though I just don’t see…
No, it’s impossible. My call with John was quiet, and I’ve given no signs. Sure, I didn’t join Brian for coffee this morning, but he was running late. I was packing lunches and texting with Graham about having enough folding chairs for the party we’re planning for Mom and Dad.
Another message:Why don’t you come get in the car?
My eyes fly to the front-facing window. His dark BMW sits at the curb—almost menacingly. I can’t see Brian through the tinted windows, but he’s out there, waiting for me.
A chill vibrates through me. My hand reflexively goes for my gun.
Does he know? He must know. And he’s dangerous, John said so. He’s somehow connected to theMafia. He has a stolen identity. He has a hit on him for half a million dollars.
Brian:You don’t want to ignore me. I know you’re here…
I stare at his text—is he teasing me? Or is he taunting? I’ve missed the very basic reality that my husband is not who he seems to be, and now I’m not sure I can trust my perception of him. My sweet, loving husband, who wants to drink coffee on the patio and snuggle and go on enough date nights to make Piper roll her eyes—
I grab my purse, shove my phones in it, double-check that I have a full magazine in my Glock. He wants something from me—and there’s only one way to find out what it is.
—
I climb inthe shiny black BMW with my hand stuffed in my purse—and my finger hovering over the trigger of the gun tucked within it. One can never be too careful. When the door slams shut, he doesn’t pull forward immediately.
“Nadia.” Brian meets my gaze from the driver’s seat and holds it.
I search his eyes for meaning—for whatever it is he’s trying to communicate, or whatthis is—and bythis, I mean him randomly picking me up on a Thursday afternoon. Suddenly, I wonder if it’s not a coincidence Graham got the girls from school for a last-minute cousin playdate. Maybe Brian knew it was time we did this—leveled with one another. Perhaps he’s had a plan this whole time that as soon as I found out what he’s doing, he’d take steps.
What flavor of bad are you?The words are on the tip of my tongue, but the tension, thick between us, keeps them there.
“Brian,” I say, waiting for his next move.
“I’m afraid we’ve been remiss.”
I raise a brow. He shifts the car into first gear, then second, as we pull forward, turning from our neighborhood onto a main road.
“It just won’t do,” he goes on, glancing my way. “Seat belt?”
I reach with my left hand to bring it across my chest and buckle it.
“What won’t do?”
A beat of silence. These aren’t the moments that scare me. These are, in my own fucked-up way, the moments I live for. A second that decides if a person lives or dies, if they go or stay.
I just never thought it would be my husband and me doing this.
“You’ll see.” His lips curve up in the smallest of self-satisfied smiles.
My heart pounds harder, but in excitement rather than fear.
At least, until I consider what this might mean—if he really is taking me somewhere to show me who he actually is, if I show him whoIam—it will be the end of us. One of us will end up dead. Maybe both of us. We have the girls, these wonderful souls it is our job to raise, to teach—
Hesitation slams into me. Maybe this is a bad idea. I’ve considered how to kill him in a hundred different ways, but in every one of those scenarios, I was in control. But nowheis, and he is clearly making this into a game—one we might not survive. I exhale, my chest shuddering as my adrenaline-soaked nervous system stutters to the horrible realization that we can’t do this. It will destroy us. Will destroythem…
“Here we go.” Brian’s voice is jaunty,cheerful, like he doesn’t mind the fact that we’re about to have a showdown à laMr. & Mrs. Smithbut without all the sexy parts.
“Brian, I don’t think we should—”
He points through the windshield, interrupting me.
I look up, ready for anything—and realize where we are. An adobe exterior, Edison bulbs dipping beneath a pergola wrapped in grapevines, a firepit where flames dance even in the daylight—
