Page 85 of The Truth in My Lies (Secrets of Suburbi 1)

“I already belong to you, Ben.”

He frowned as he pushed a strand of hair out of my face. “You don’t belong to me. You don’t belong to anyone. You’re your own person with your own dreams.”

But I did belong to him. He had what was left of my heart. My soul. My everything.

“So you haven’t been looking at fawn in the woods this whole time?”

“No, I’ve been a little preoccupied watching you.”

A lot of people would have felt uneasy by his words. But I loved that he was watching. And I’m pretty sure I was falling in love with him.

***

“I wish I knew more. But he barely talks to me.” I watched Ben as he tried another lock combination. We had been down here for hours with no luck.

“Anything you can think of?” He tried another code. “Anything that he might use as a code?”

“I already tried everything.”

“Then just tell me about him. About your relationship. Anything.”

“Please don’t make me do that, Ben.”

Ben looked up at me. “It might help us get in. We’re running out of time.”

I sat down next to him. “Can I ask you another question instead?”

He didn’t say anything. He just tried another code.

“Why do people call him The Doctor?” It had been driving me crazy.

“The rumors are that he’s a psychologist.” He cursed under his breath as he tried another wrong code.

“Ben, he’s been manipulating me ever since we got married. He’s been piling evidence of my insanity so that no one would ever believe my word.” I gestured to the boxes of files. “He paints me as a lunatic really well. But he's no psychologist.”

“They’re just rumors. We think that he targets people in online forums. Individuals who search the internet as a last resort for drugs. Most of the victims have been in and out of therapy.”

Like me.

“He prescribes them drugs to get their address. It’s pretty easy for him from there.”

“Who would accept drugs from some fake doctor online?”

“People who are desperate for a cure. People who would do anything for help. Not everyone has access to the care they need. You’d be surprised at how many black markets there are for prescription drugs.”

Hearing that made my chest hurt. Here I was, throwing pills down my garbage disposal, when there were people out there that desperately needed them. “But you didn’t say that the victims are sick or dying. So they wouldn’t necessarily have high life insurance policies. Your theory doesn’t make any sense.”

He stopped fiddling with the safe. “Perhaps.”

“I was always suspicious of what he did for work. Every now and then he comes home with a scratch on his neck or a speck of blood on his collar. All easily explained away. But he didn’t hesitate to tell me the truth when I asked. He was proud of himself. I’m very aware that my husband is a monster. But he doesn’t do that.”

“So what do you think he does?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. He works for some thug. He’s sent to collect debts. He kills people who owe his boss money and collects their life insurance as a last resort to settle the debt. My husband is the muscle, not the brain.”

“And I’m hoping you’re wrong. Because that means it’s bigger than him. I just want this to all be over. If he has a boss, another insurance collector will be hired. The murders won’t stop.”

“You’ll still have caught a serial killer.”

---