Page 5 of Crazy In Love (Secrets of Suburbi 3)

Detective Torres jotted something down in his notebook. "Is there anyone you haven't reached out to yet?"

"I've talked to everyone I could think of. I've been going crazy all night." Again with the lunatic talk. If I kept saying things like that he'd lock me up before our walk was over. "Crazy with worry, I mean. I'm not crazy. You can ask anyone." Stop talking right now.

I swore I saw a flash of a smile on his lips.

"What time does your husband usually come home from work?" he asked.

I pushed my hands into my pajama pockets, brushing my fingers against the taser. How

likely was it that Detective Torres would pat me down? I tried to run through the odds as I answered his question. "5:30ish." Maybe a 10 percent chance of a pat down? He had no reason to suspect me of any wrongdoing at this point.

"I noticed that you're not wearing a wedding or engagement ring. Is that why you're hiding your hands?"

"What?" I pulled my left hand out. Shit balls! I forgot to put them back on after my role-playing. Now he had a reason to suspect me. "My diamond is expensive," I said. "I never sleep in it. I took it off when I changed into my pajamas." What the heck was going on? Detective Torres was supposed to be a terrible detective. How had he noticed that I wasn't wearing my rings? My stomach churned. Maybe he was a better detective than I was giving him credit for. Just because he made one mistake...

"And you were getting ready for bed instead of looking for your husband?"

I'm going to jail. "I've been looking all night. And I'm exhausted. Mentally and physically. I doubt I'll be able to sleep...but what else can I do tonight?"

He stopped walking. In the middle of the street. Like a dumb pedestrian instead of a detective. "Ensley, do you know where your husband is?"

In my house. "No." I kept my voice even. And I found myself gripping the taser in my pocket. I could still get away. I could tase Detective Torres, run back to my house, and drive away into the night. I could forget about my past. I could forget about vengeance.

"You didn't want me to come into your house. You're not wearing your rings. Right now all signs point to you."

"What?" Oh, God. How the hell did he put that together so fast? I was seconds away from confessing everything. How long would I go to prison for a simple kidnapping anyway? Maybe I'd just get a slap on the wrist because I'd never broken the law before. And if Detective Torres reacted poorly to my confession, I'd just tase him and run away. Easy-peasy. I gripped the taser tighter in my hand and was about to open my mouth when Detective Torres smiled.

"Sorry. I had to ask," he said. "You clearly know all about me. So you know that I already let one guilty woman get away. I don't plan on making the same mistake twice."

"Of course." I breathed a sigh of relief. He was just being cautious. I let go of the taser in my hand and gave the speech I had planned for tomorrow: "Detective Torres, I have no idea who would possibly want to hurt my husband. All I know is that I love him. I love him so much and I'm so scared." I did the sniffle thing that I'd mastered and my eyes even grew a little watery from the cold.

"We'll find him. I promise."

As excited as I was to meet Detective Torres, I didn't believe his promise. He'd been plastered all over the news the last few weeks, but it wasn't exactly a glowing portrayal. His suspect had gotten away. His partner had helped her escape. A promise from Detective Torres wasn't worth much. Which was good news for me. I couldn't have asked for a better detective on the case. My case. Now I just needed to decide if I really did want to get away with murder.

Chapter 3

Friday

I slid the deadbolt and the basement door creaked open. Before today, I'd only been in the basement ten minutes tops. I hated basements. They were underground and creepy for a reason - to store things that should never see the light of day. Which was why it was the perfect hiding spot.

When my husband and I first moved in, we didn't even need to store anything down here because we had so much closet space. But as the years ticked by, there was some overflow that had wound up in boxes down here. Christmas decorations, old clothes, and memories I no longer needed.

I tiptoed down the steps. But it wasn't necessary. He was still fast asleep. If he wasn't gagged and tied to the wooden chair, I would have said he looked peaceful. I pulled the cord above his head, illuminating his slumped body even more, then placed the icepack I'd brought down on one of his thighs. If I'd had more I would have put them all over him. I hadn't meant for him to fall down the basement stairs. Truly. But his shoulders had slipped out of my hands and gravity had done the rest. At least he'd been unconscious. He'd have a few bruises, but it didn't seem like anything was broken. I'd taken a peek under his shirt to make sure.

Although I had been a little distracted by his six-pack earlier. Maybe I needed another look... I reached out. Stop. I folded my arms across my chest to prevent them from wandering. I was a kidnapper. Not a pervert. The only reason I was even attempting to look at his perfect abs was because it had been a while since my husband had been intimate with me. I bit the inside of my lip as I stared at him. Asshole. It was tempting to kick his shin. To slap him awake. To take away his ice pack. He deserved those bruises. Hell, he deserved to be thrown down the stairs on purpose instead of an innocent, accidental tumble.

As I stared at him, I started to wonder if it had been an accident. Had my fingers slipped, or had I wanted him to fall? I reached out again, this time touching his face. He'd said I was beautiful. Something I hadn't heard in years. But he was the beautiful one. Chiseled jaw line. That perfect 5 o'clock shadow. Slightly shaggy hair that fell effortlessly on his forehead. These tiny little crinkles around the corners of his eyes caused by laughter.

I let my fingers fall from his face and touched the corners of my eyes. I had the same small lines. I'd started to notice them last year before I turned the big 3-0. I was beautiful once. But not now. I looked down at my pajamas and slippers. I looked like a hermit. The kind of hermit that never wore lace.

But I wanted him to think I was beautiful. I wanted to remember how he'd looked at me before all this. Because he'd wake up soon and there would be no going back. Maybe I'd reconsider burning all my lingerie. How fun would it be to torture him while looking amazingly chic? I smiled. Much more fun.

I continued to stare at him, his light breathing calming me. I knew I needed rest, but it was like I couldn't look away. He was tied up in my basement. I did it. I was as good as all the perpetrators in crime shows. Better even.

I'd already crossed four things off my list. First was the one I'd thought about the most - the kidnapping itself. Then I successfully hid him. Then I called 911. And thanks to the fact that TV shows spewed lies, I was ahead of schedule because I'd already talked to the police. I was killing it. A laugh fell from my lips. Killing it. I was hilarious.

Not only was I hilarious and great at this, but I also got the best detective on my case. And by the best, I actually mean the worst. Best for me, worst at his job. I'd have all my answers by tomorrow night, just as planned. I'd be long gone before anyone put the pieces together. And I'd be the best criminal in this town. Maybe I'd even wind up on the news by Christmas.

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