He caught my arm and pulled me against his chest. "So you've always wanted it in the car? What is it...the threat of getting caught that turns you on?"
He was practically falling asleep in front of me, his voice low and slightly slurred. But the question still sounded sexy falling from his lips.
"Yes."
"Hm." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm tired," he said with a yawn. "Are you tired? Maybe we should take a nap first. And then I'll make all your dreams come true."
It was too late for that. I pulled away from his touch. "That's a great idea." I finally managed to buckle him in.
When I climbed into the driver's seat, he was staring over at me, his eyelids drooping.
"Ensley, did you..." he laughed. "You did." He shook his head. "What did you give me?" He rested his head against the back of his seat. "Something strong," he said. "Why?" His hand dropped onto my leg like a dead weight.
I didn't have to respond because he yawned once more and closed his eyes. I looked down at my watch. Three minutes faster than I had planned. But he was safely in my car, numb to the world. Phase one was complete.
I wasn’t sure why, but instead of starting the car, I found myself reaching out to touch his face. His stubble was rough against my palm. I ran my thumb along the lips that had just kissed me. I thought I’d feel bad. That some sense of remorse would kick in and I’d stop this plan. But I felt nothing. Nothing.
I'd loved my husband once. Mad, deep, all-consuming love. Maybe a part of me still did. But I'd found that hate was a much stronger emotion than love. Because I hated him so much more than I'd ever loved
him.
I removed his hand from my thigh and started the ignition. My husband was unfaithful. I knew he'd been planning on leaving me for her soon. Or else my bank accounts wouldn’t be all zeros. But I'd caught him before he'd had a chance to escape.
My husband had slowly ruined my life. So it only made sense that I ruined his too.
Chapter 2
Friday
I kicked off my boots and quickly changed into a pair of baggy flannel pajamas that I hadn't worn in years because my husband hated them. They were in fact ridiculous...ridiculously cute. And oh so very comfortable. My husband was clearly insane for not liking them. I completed the look with a pair of pink slippers before practically skipping out of our room and down the stairs. No more satin nightgowns. Or lace anything. God I hated lace. Nothing was as itchy as lace. I imagined throwing all my lace lingerie in the fireplace and watching it go up in flames. Maybe tomorrow.
Tonight I had a few more things to cross off my list. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket...another benefit of the flannel pajamas. There were huge pockets to store my phone, my snacks, and even my taser.
I plopped down in my husband's favorite chair and dialed 911.
It only took a few seconds before someone picked up. “911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
“Hi, I'm not sure if it's technically an emergency yet, but..."
“Ma’am, this line is for emergencies only…”
“Right.” I cut her off. “Sorry, I think it's an emergency, but I've watched my fair share of crime shows on TV and I know you're not supposed to report things until someone's been missing for 24 or 48 hours, depending on the show." I sniffled, hoping she'd think I was crying.
“Ma’am, is someone you know missing?”
"My husband. He left for work this morning but never came home. And I called his office and they said he never showed up."
“And what time does he usually come home?”
“Usually around 5:30. 5:45 at the latest. I'm worried sick." I sniffled again. The action hurt because my nose wasn't in the least bit runny.
"It's only 10 o'clock. Maybe he went out for drinks or something?"
Something like that. "No, he always comes straight home. And I've tried to call him a hundred times." I pretended to sob, but it sounded more like a hog squealing. Oops. I'd have to practice my fake crying tonight.
But the dispatcher's voice softened like she believed I was terribly upset. "I can get an officer out to speak with you right away."
Wait, what? "Right now?" I glanced at the hand cart I'd used to pull his body out of the car and through the house. And then my eyes landed on the deadbolt on the basement door.