Page 70 of What the Wife Knew

Every response in my head ended with throwing her out of the house, so I just sat there.

She reached over and took my hand. “Now you need to deliver the deathblow. The kid’s death gives you cover. Any wife would lose it and tear up the house after figuring out that every line of her husband’s résumé was phony and every claim of him being a hero was a blatant lie.”

She should at least act like she understood a kid died. “The deceased child’s name is Ben.”

“I don’t care.” She let go of my hand and slipped hers into her skirt pocket. She took out a thumb drive.

I didn’t have to ask. The proof. The undercover recording of Richmond and Cooper talking about how to get rid of the weapons after killing their parents. Mom refused to tell me how she got the evidence, saying it was safer for me not to know. Whatever that meant. But I’d listened to it. It was real and explosive and had wrecked my life for decades.

Mom slid the drive over to me.

I didn’t touch it.

“Finish this, Addison. Finish ruining Richmond Dougherty’s reputation once and for all.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Her

Married, Day Seventy-One

I picked up the espresso container right as the back door banged open. Everything happened at once—my yelp, the jump, the grounds spilling over my hand onto the kitchen counter then the floor.

“What the hell, Richmond?”

He stormed inside, his eyes wild and clothing torn. Blood trickled down his cheek and the smell of burning rubber followed him through the door.

“You fucking bitch.”

“What is wrong with you?” He left to have lunch with Wyatt. I only knew that because I overheard Richmond’s side of the phone call a half hour ago. And now this.

“I’m going to kill you.” His voice shook with rage.

I ducked, but not in time. His hand wrapped around my throat. My back slammed against the edge of the sink as he loomed over me, using his height advantage to push his palm tight against my windpipe. Pain shot through me from behind and from the weight of him leaning on me. My gasp turned to a wheeze as he grinded and choked.

He shook me. “Did you think I’d let you go after me twice?”

I batted at his hand and fought and wiggled against his deadly hold. His fingers squeezed, cutting off my breath. A gagging sensation gave way to heaving as my lungs fought for air. In a frenetic race not to be too late, I reached out and slapped against the countertop. A pan crashed to the floor. A glass shattered. Shards crunched under my sneakers.

This fucker will not kill me.

Arms flailing and fists pounding, desperate to anchor my body and keep upright, I punched. Pulled back without aiming and let go. I hit skin on the first strike.

The fierce grip vanished in an instant, taking my balance with it. I clutched the counter to steady myself. Knowing I needed to run, I tried to concentrate and remember how close I was to the door. Blurry vision and muffled hearing had me stumbling. When I took a step, my body bent forward, and I sucked in air. The sound repeated like a death rattle through the kitchen.

I couldn’t relax. Richmond was right there. Out of control. Homicidal.

Move!The order rang in my brain.

Harsh breaths and unsteady footsteps filled the kitchen. I shot straight up again and dodged to the left, hoping to land out of hitting range. My hand smacked against the coffeemaker and my hip jammed into an open drawer. Energy pinged and ricocheted around me. Equilibrium abandoned me while the kitchen whirled.

Backed up against the pantry door, my eyes finally focused again. Richmond stood a few feet away with a face alive with fury. He pressed his hand against his throat as he visibly swallowed. He looked wide-eyed and feral but frozen in place.

Punch landed. I hope it hurt like hell.

“You tried to kill me.” His voice sounded scratchy and strained.

The alarm. I could set it off and the police would come. “What are you talking about? You stalked in here like a wild animal.”

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