Page 9 of Death Row
“What the hell was that, Talia?”
He thinks that I overreacted, although he didn’t seem to notice the way she was looking at him. She wanted him. She was ready to pounce, and she would’ve done it if I hadn’t interrupted them.
Or maybe he did notice. And helikedit.
“You know,” he says, “Chet is never going to let me hear the end of it at work tomorrow.”
Oh. I guess Chet isn’t a made-up person. “She was flirting with you. And the two of you werealone togetherout here.”
“So?”
“So?” I throw up my hands. “So shewantedyou.”
“She didn’t ‘want’ me.”
“Of course she did!” I shake my head. “You’re really hot.”
The tiniest of smiles breaks through his grim expression. “Well, thanks. But even if that’s true, it’s not like anything was going to happen.” He takes a step toward me. “I’dnevercheat on you, Talia. You know that.”
I do know that. I trust Noel. I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t trust him. But when I saw him with that other woman, I just ... I lost it.
“I love you, Talia.” His brows knit together. “You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I willalwaysbe faithful to you.”
“You swear?”
“On my life.” He takes another step closer to me. “And you know it’s true, because if I ever did cheat on you, you’d probably kill me.”
I laugh at his joke, except ... well, is it a joke? Noel says he loves me, but I love him just as much. I love him so much that the thought of him ever being unfaithful to me isunbearable. If he ever did something like that ...
“Let’s go back inside.” Noel throws his arm around my shoulders. “You look like you’re freezing.”
Even though I don’t feel the cold, I crave the warmth of his body. I close my eyes, waiting for him to press his lips against mine. But he doesn’t.
“Open your eyes, Talia,” he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my neck.
“What?”
“Open your eyes.”
Chapter 8
Present Day
My eyes fly open.
I was dreaming about Noel again. The same way I have almost every night recently. The dreams seemsoreal. So real that I feel like I could lean forward and kiss my husband, but every time I try to, I wake up before it happens.
I never get to kiss him—Ialwayswake up first. Every. Single. Time.
Two days ago, I wascertainthat I saw Noel visiting with that other inmate. That man looked so much like my husband, even down to the broken nose. It had to be him.
Except how could it be? He’sdead. Whether I killed him or not might be a matter of debate, but he is most definitely dead—nobody is arguing that point. Isawhis dead body. The only place he is still alive is in my dreams, but that was no dream.
Although . . .
After the explosion, I saw the paramedics wheeling Noel’s body out of our incinerated home. But of course, there was a sheet covering him, from head to toe. They wouldn’t let me look—they said it was better if I didn’t see him like that.
So the fact is, I never actually saw Noel’s body and confirmed that it was him. The police told me they used DNA to positively identify his scorched remains, but all I have to go on is what they told me. What if the DNA evidence was wrong?
