Page 86 of The Truth in My Lies (Secrets of Suburbi 1)

“It’s not a serial killer if he’s being paid to kill. That’s just a hit man.” Ben focused on the safe again.

“I’d still call that a win.”

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be. No matter what, your husband deserves to go to prison. He deserves it just for putting his hands on you.” He sighed. “Maybe we should take a break.” He put his hand on top of one of the moving boxes as he stood up. “You’re sure we shouldn’t look at the files? Maybe…”

“Ben, they’re all lies. They’re transcripts of my therapy sessions. Summaries of my apparent insanity. They have nothing to do with this.” I pointed to the safe. “Can’t we just melt it with the blow torch I got?”

Ben shook his head. “No, this is top of the line. It’s virtually indestructible.”

It was built to contain the darkness. I stared at it longingly. How badly I wanted to get inside. How badly I wanted my husband to pay for every crime he had ever committed. The Doctor. What a load of crap. He was nothing more than a weak man who pushed me around to feel better about himself. The name glorified him. Didn’t the media see that? He probably got off on it. He probably loved it.

But he certainly liked pushing drugs on me. It was the only thing that aligned with Ben’s theory. At the same time, though, he needed Dr. Nash to force me to take the drugs. He couldn’t prescribe them.

“He’s not a doctor,” I said. “So how can he even prescribe medication?” Got you, Ben.

“The black market I mentioned. It would be easy for someone like him to get drugs.” He was eyeing the moving boxes longingly.

Someone with money. Again, the thought made my chest hurt. “So why did he make me go to a legitimate psychologist? Why wouldn’t he just give me some of his illegal drugs?”

“You’re right.” He grabbed both sides of my face. “You brilliant woman. Maybe they’re working together. What did you say your psychologist’s name was?” He let go of my face and pulled out his phone. He was already typing something into it.

“Dr. Nash.”

“I’m going to go pay her a visit. I’ll be back later.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

“Keep trying combinations. It’s better if I question her alone.” He was already making his way up the basement stairs.

“Ben, you can’t believe a word she says. She’s a liar. She just listens to everything my husband says and never…” I stopped mid-sentence. “Oh my God. What if she’s been in bed with him this whole time?”

“Addy, I think you may have just cracked this case wide open.”

The smile on his face was contagious. I turned back to the safe. Now if I could just figure out the code. Everything was falling perfectly into place. I typed in the first thing that crossed my head. NASH.

The safe clicked open.

Chapter 42

That bitch is sleeping with my husband. I didn’t even understand my reaction. Why did I care what he did with his free time? I’d rather her be under him than me. It was just this sickening gut feeling. I immediately dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter if she was sleeping with him. All that mattered was they were clearly working together. He had made the code her freaking name.

All those years of appointments. It was right in front of me the whole time. She never listened to me. It was just some sick game my husband was playing. Controlling my mind. Not anymore.

I stared at the safe. Now that it was opened, I was almost scared to look at it. What if there was a dead body? Or tons of evidence and I accidentally touched everything? I could ruin the whole case. Maybe I should wait for Ben.

But my hand had a mind of its own. My fingers wrapped around the metal door. I held my breath as it squeaked open.

The whole thing was blindingly white, like it had recently been scrubbed with bleach. It almost sparkled. Blindingly white. And alarmingly empty. No. Of course he had scrubbed it clean when he was down here for hours the other night. He had hidden the evidence. No! I slammed the side of the safe and something slid out of it onto my feet.

A white envelope. I hadn’t seen it against the whiteness of the safe. My hands shook as I lifted it. There was nothing on the envelope. No address or name. I turned it over in my hands. It felt heavy even though it was thin. Like it held every piece of evidence imaginable. I had waited my whole life for this moment. I tore it open and pulled out a letter.

Adeline,

If you’re reading this, there isn’t much t

ime left. You stopped taking your medication. Why? Why do you constantly insist on torturing yourself? Why do you never listen to me?

I’d advise you to go back on your meds, but we both know you won’t. Your mind is already made up. You’re feeling better, I know. I wish it was permanent. I wish you could find peace. But Adeline, that is never going to happen. I’m sorry, but it’s not. And honestly, you don’t deserve it.

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