Page 71 of Circle of Strangers
I turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I drive in silence, heading nowhere in particular, the road stretching endlessly ahead. My mind whirls, calculating every possible option.
Several stoplights later, I pass a pawn shop and for a moment, I consider it. I could pawn something—anything—to buy myself some time. But what do I have of value?
I glance down at my hand, at the wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. It would fetch a decent amount, but if I sold it, Will would notice instantly. He’s been watching me too closely, keeping tabs on every move I make. If my diamond ring went missing, he’d have questions and I’d have no way to get it back.
I can’t risk setting off any alarms, not yet.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel as hopelessness creeps in. My options are dwindling. The walls are closing in, all but threatening to consume me.
I’ve not been this powerless since I was a child, living under Lucinda’s roof.
There has to be another way.
I just have to find it.
54
The house is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. The kids are fast asleep upstairs, their steady breathing the only reminder that there’s still some normalcy left in this place. I sit cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, swiping through my apps out of sheer habit.
And that’s when I notice it—the Wi-Fi is off.
I tap the screen a few more times, hoping it’s just a glitch, but the little icon in the corner stays stubbornly gray. I try reconnecting, but the password doesn’t work.
My stomach tightens. I set my phone aside and grab my laptop, but it’s the same story. Wi-Fi network locked. Password changed.
Anger bubbles under my skin, but it turns cold when I glance back at my phone and notice something else—a little arrow along the top of the screen telling me my location tracking is active.
Pulling up the settings, I attempt to turn location tracking off, only to get a message telling me that setting is locked under parental controls. I swipe again, tapping deeper into the restrictions menu, but it’s useless. Everything is locked tight, and I know without asking who did it.
I take my phone and head to the bedroom, where Will is propped against the pillows, reading a medical journal like everything is fine. He glances up when I walk in, his expression neutral—as if none of this is a big deal. If this man were a complete stranger to me, I’d assume he didn’t have a care in the entire world.
While I’d love to toss the phone at him, I tamp down the urge and instead offer a casual, “Honey, did you change the Wi-Fi password?”
He doesn’t look surprised. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“And you turned on location tracking on my phone? Under parental settings?”
He sighs, closing his periodical and placing it on the nightstand. “This is an extreme situation. It called for extreme precautions. Again, it’s all temporary.”
Fury is barely contained beneath my surface, but on the outside I’m as collected as ever. “Taking my ID, freezing my credit, locking me out of everything? A little overkill, don’t you think? There needs to be trust going both ways if we’re going to rebuild it.”
He leans forward, his expression understanding but deliberate. “I get your frustration, but I can’t risk having you googling things that might implicate you—or us—in anything.”
His tone is measured, like he’s trying to reason with a child.
It makes my skin crawl yet satisfies me at the same time because it tells me he’s still underestimating me.
“And the tracking?” I ask, fluttering my lashes.
“That’s for safety,” he says simply, as if that explains everything. “I need to know where you are at all times, especially since the kids are always with you.”
“You keep saying that.” I take a slow breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “But how am I supposed to feel safe when you’re threatening to pin Sozi’s murder on me if I tell anyone? That doesn’t make me feel safe? And when you take away my ability to buy groceries? How am I supposed to trust you? You say you have our family’s best interest at heart, but it sounds to me like you’re only serving your own.”
He studies me for a long moment, his face unreadable.
I still don’t know what he did with her body or how he cleaned it up so meticulously without me knowing he was even there—but the less I know, the better. Knowing anything would make me an accomplice after the fact.
