Page 51 of Crazy In Love (Secrets of Suburbi 3)

Crap. Baking! I ran back over to the pot butter. Luckily the butter hadn't burned. The tedious process of stirring it every few seconds didn't at all distract me from the fact that at any moment Noah could pop out of nowhere and stab me. I pictured the blood from my dream this morning and touched my stomach. It was easy to imagine the sticky redness bleeding through my sweater, oozing between my fingers. I removed my hand and went back to stirring. I h

ated blood. If only I could stop thinking about it.

I tried to hum Baby It's Cold Outside to myself to calm down. But I could barely hear my humming over the siren outside. All I could think about was the fact that a siren wouldn't come if Noah killed me. No one would know for weeks because I was all alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Stop. I tried to imagine Noah passing out after taking a bite of my brownies. That didn't comfort me either. I kept glancing over my shoulder, the spoon shaking in my hand.

My eyes were starting to water. I wasn't sure if it was because I was freaking out and getting ready to burst into tears or if it was because of the weed drifting into the air...no. No, no, no. I stood back a little farther. Could I get high from breathing this in? That wouldn't give me an advantage. Especially if I stood here for any longer. Enough was enough. I turned off the burner and stared down at the concoction.

Would it even work? I'd barely cooked it for thirty minutes. I bit the inside of my lip. Maybe I could still put a little of the weed into the brownies instead of straining it all out. That would fix it. A true chef knew how to make it work. And this was a make-it-work moment. I put a spoon into the butter and took a tiny little taste. The other part of being a good chef was taste testing. I'm pretty sure I made a face as the weed butter slid down my gullet. It was...not good. But then again, I wasn't a pot buff. I figured it would be fine mixed in with everything else.

I grabbed the rest of the ingredients and got to work at the kitchen island. Now that my back wasn't turned away from the rest of the room, I breathed a little easier. But only the teensiest bit easier. I would have breathed a lot easier if my taser was still working. And if Snuggle Muffins wasn't staring at the basement door now.

"What are you doing? Get away from there. Shoo."

He didn't move.

"Please, you're freaking me out." I started to stir the batter, wishing I could stir it with a knife instead of a spoon. "Snuggle Muffins, get away from there." I lifted the bowl into my arms, preheated the oven as I walked by it, and stopped next to Snuggle Muffins. The door to the basement was still open. If I locked it and Noah was down there, he'd be trapped. I stared down the dark steps as I stirred. And stirred. And stirred. No, I couldn't close the door even if he was down there. That would defeat the purpose of the weed brownies.

I had to stick to the plan. I added even more of the cooked weed and stirred some more. Would that be enough? I put another spoonful in and then licked the back of the wooden spoon. Salmonella wasn't a huge concern for me when I was waiting to be knifed to death by Noah. I licked my lips. Not half bad. I gave it one more lick and one more stir. There. Done. It was the perfect batter consistency. The perfect chocolaty goodness to get Noah to come out of hiding.

I poured the mixture into the greased pan, pushed it into the oven and then...waited. I heard another creak above my head and my eyes flew to the ceiling. Son of a bitch. It was tempting to go up there and look for him again. But it was more tempting to stay alive. So I just stood there in the kitchen, knife in hand, staring into the hall with Snuggle Muffins by my feet.

"Noah?" I whispered into the emptiness.

No response.

This was ridiculous. I wasn't a prisoner in my own house. And Snuggle Muffins and I wanted to see Santa, if we hadn't already missed him driving by our house. I wouldn't let Noah ruin Snuggle Muffins’ first Christmas with me. I picked him up and we made our way to the front door. Noah didn't pop out of the living or dining rooms and knife us. I glanced at the staircase before putting my hand on the doorknob. "We're going to see Santa! You're welcome to join us!"

Silence.

Screw you too, Noah. I breathed my first even breath in what felt like hours when I closed the front door behind us. It was snowing harder now and our yard and the street was covered in white. All the white lights up and down the lane looked beautiful under the blanket of snow. But so did my colorful ones. I'd started a war out here and in my own home.

What was I going to do if Noah didn't come out before I was ready for bed? What if he just lurked around our house for the rest of my life? That wasn't an option. Detective Torres was going to find the records I’d omitted. He'd know everything soon enough. I hugged Snuggle Muffins closer to my chest. I wished I'd gotten an attack dog and not my little creeper muffin.

My neighbors started stepping outside too, getting ready for the big man to come.

I quickly hid my knife in the flowerpot by the door so that I'd be able to wave to them and Santa without looking like a lunatic. "He's coming," I said and pointed to the fire truck turning down our street.

Snuggle Muffins barked.

Hopefully once the truck left the neighborhood Snuggle Muffins would stop staring off in the distance. Dogs liked trucks. I was pretty sure that was a thing. Maybe that was what was distracting him, not Noah's whereabouts.

Kids raced onto the sidewalks in front of their houses to catch the candy Santa and the rest of the firemen threw. It was such a peaceful scene. The kids running around in the snow and jumping to catch the candy. But I couldn't make myself smile. Not when it was growing more and more likely that Noah was planning something more sinister than my drugged brownies. I might die tonight. He's going to try to kill me. It was the same conclusion I kept coming back to. There was no reason for him to stay and hide unless he was seeking revenge. Which was something I knew my fair share about. Revenge was what had driven me to kidnap him in the first place.

I lifted Snuggle Muffins' paw and we waved together as the fire truck slowly drove by. Santa waved back and rubbed his plump tummy. The driver honked the horn and Snuggle Muffins squirmed in my arms. Yup, he definitely liked trucks. He'd probably be chasing it right now if I wasn't hugging him close.

Sally walked by and waved. I swore she winked at me, but I couldn't be sure. Sally, Sally, Sally. Even though her discussion with Charlotte earlier hadn't exactly thrown me under the bus, I didn’t trust her. Mostly because it felt like she knew I was up to no good. Normally that wouldn't be a problem. But when you were up to no good and someone suspected you? Yeah, Sally was definitely a problem. I smiled and waved back.

I watched the fire truck make its way to the end of the lane. Our street was one of the last ones in the neighborhood. The sirens would be far away soon enough. The snow danced around us as I waited for all the happy families to retreat back inside. They were probably sitting down to a warm meal, excitement buzzing in the air for the upcoming Christmas break.

That was the dream. Two kids to fill our house. Us against the world. Noah had spoken those words to me in his vows. It was him and me now. There was no "us." I'd made damn sure of that.

When the last family disappeared back inside, I pulled my knife out of the flowerpot. Not all dreams came true. I'd never have the family I dreamed of. As far as I was concerned, I no longer even had a husband. Noah had ruined us. He'd ruined my perfect white picket fence life. But I wasn't going to let him end it.

He didn't remember me or our house. I knew every square foot of the space because I was the one on my hands and knees cleaning it every week. He couldn't outmaneuver me in there. I was still in control. And I was done being scared. It was time to have some fun with my lovely husband. Besides, it was the last time I was going to get to play house for a long time. I just hoped it was because I fled safely to Mexico and not because I was behind bars.

Chapter 20

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