Page 4 of Crazy In Love (Secrets of Suburbi 3)

"Yes, ma'am. Someone will be out in fifteen minutes or less."

Shit. All the crime shows said they’d wait at least 24 hours. A cop couldn't show up right now. I was supposed to go to the police station tomorrow night. I had it all planned out to the minute. They were never supposed to come here. Ever. "Are you sure that's necessary?" I asked.

"Of course. If you truly believe he's missing?"

"Mhm." My voice was oddly high pitched. "Would it be easier if I came down to the precinct?"

"Not at all necessary. An officer is already en route."

Holy hell. I stood up and ran over to the hand cart. I needed to get it back in my garage. There was also duct tape and rope on my kitchen island. My stomach churned. I'm going to end up in prison. "Thank you," I said.

"We'll find him," she said very calmly.

Probably because she heard the panic in my voice. But I wasn't panicking over my husband. I couldn’t care less about him. He wasn’t going anywhere. I was panicking because I thought I'd have all morning to practice my distraught face. I looked happy and cozy in my pajamas...not at all like a scared-to-death housewife. How had I already messed up my plan only an hour and a half in?

"Stay strong," the dispatcher said.

"You too." You too? God, I was going to ruin everything. I hung up before I could say anything else stupid...like a confession.

After putting the handcart back in the garage and shoving the duct tape and rope under the kitchen sink, I double-checked the deadbolt on the basement door. Locked. Everything was secure. I could do this. I looked down at my pajamas. All I needed to do was change.

As soon as I entered my bedroom, I saw my reflection in the floor-length mirror. I was still wearing my blonde wig. If anyone at the bar remembered us from tonight, they'd identify me completely wrong. A blonde and her drunk beau from the team-building conference. The cops would be spinning in circles for weeks. But not if they showed up and I was still wearing it like a kidnapping novice. The pros made all of this look so easy.

I pulled off my blonde wig and threw it into the closet. Maybe the pajamas worked. I looked innocent and scared. Innocent was good. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, leaving a few strands out to make me look more frantic. Look scared. I made a face in the mirror that could only be described as joyful. Because that was how I'd been feeling up until several minutes ago. Joyful. But my plan was falling apart right in front of my eyes. Damn it, I was totally screwed.

The doorbell rang.

I cracked my neck and rolled my shoulders as I made one last attempt at a scared face. My eyes grew big and round. My bottom lip trembled. Perfect. I could do this.

I ran down the stairs, my phone in my hand like I'd just been calling all of my husband's friends instead of working on my facial expressions. But as my hand reached out to open the door, I realized I wouldn't have to really act. My joy had quickly been replaced with these anxious nerves butterflying around in my stomach. I just wasn't worried about my husband's whereabouts. I was worried about the police unlocking my basement door. I was worried about being caught red-handed.

The doorbell rang again and I opened it, shoving my worries aside.

Because standing there was none other than Detective Damien Torres. The nervous butterflies in my stomach were replaced by fan-girl butterflies. Everyone knew everyone around here. But I wasn't excited because I'd seen him around town a few times. I was excited because Detective Torres had worked a local case I'd been following closely on the news. A case that had helped give me confidence that I could get away with the perfect crime. It was also a case that proved Detective Torres was terrible at his job. I couldn't believe my luck. Tonight couldn't be going any better! I tried to hide my smile.

"Hello, Miss. I'm Detective..."

"Torres," I said, cutting him off. He was just as handsome as he was on TV. "I know who you are. I mean, I've seen you on the news. You were working on the Violet Clark case. You were partners with Detective Tucker Reed. Is it true that he ran away with her? That they fled the country together before all those bodies were pulled out of the lake? Did she really murder all those people?" I looked behind Detective Torres like his partner would be plastered to his side. But he was all alone.

Detective Torres lowered his eyebrows as he watched me.

I swallowed down the rest of what I knew about him. I wasn't supposed to be excited to see him. And my excitement was getting the better of me - making me look like a crime show junkie instead of a worried housewife. A sympathetic wife with a missing husband who I loved dearly. "Never mind, it's not important," I said. "All that matters is that you're here to help me find my husband. It's all I can think about." But God, I wished that I was meeting Detective Torres under different circumstances where I could ask him every detail about his last case. Violet Clark was kind of an idol of mine. After all...she'd successfully gotten away with murder.

He nodded. "I need to know everything about the last time you saw your husband. Who you've reached out to. How long he's been missing." He pulled out a notebook. "Can I come in?"

Part of me had been hoping I could just tell him everything on the front porch. I looked past him at the cookie-cutter houses on the lane I lived on. I wasn't sure which was worse - a detective on my front porch, igniting gossip around the whole neighborhood, or a detective inside my house.

In my house. Definitely in my house. I was a kidnapper! "Actually, could we go for a walk? I feel like I need some fresh air or I'm going to lose my mind." Don’t talk about losing your mind in front of a detective! I cleared my throat as I grabbed my jacket. "I mean, I just need some air to clear my head. I've been cooped up all night fretting."

"Yeah, that's fine," Detective Torres said as I shut the door, not leaving him much of a choice.

Classic Detective Torres. I was already outmaneuvering him. As we walked down my driveway, I was vaguely aware of him staring down at my pink slippers. And even more aware of the fact that I was wearing my comfy pajamas in front of a local celebrity. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and turned onto the street.

Maybe I imagined it, but I swear I saw neighbors peeking out their blinds at the two of us walking down the street. Normally it was easy to see inside their windows at night, but all their houses were aglow with Christmas lights, casting weird shadows on the glass. But I could feel them staring. Judging. I tried to focus on the person standing next to me. I couldn't avoid the gossip now. I was already two feet in. Two slippered feet in. "So what were your questions?" I asked.

"How long has your husband been missing?"

"The last time I saw him was this morning before work. Everything seemed normal. He wasn't acting strange at all. It was just a normal workday. But when he didn't come home tonight, I started calling friends and family. Apparently he never showed up to work today." The lies came so naturally. I was basically already a pro.

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