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Back The Dead Husband Save as PDF
Contents (85)
  3. Contents
  4. Part I
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Part II
  35. Thirty
  36. Thirty-One
  37. Thirty-Two
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Part III
  50. Forty-Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Fifty-Seven
  64. Fifty-Eight
  65. Fifty-Nine
  66. Sixty
  67. Sixty-One
  68. Sixty-Two
  69. Sixty-Three
  70. Sixty-Four
  71. Sixty-Five
  72. Sixty-Six
  73. Sixty-Seven
  74. Sixty-Eight
  75. Sixty-Nine
  76. Seventy
  77. Seventy-One
  78. Seventy-Two
  79. One
  80. Two
  81. Reading Group Guide
  82. A Conversation with the Author
  83. Acknowledgments
  84. About the Author

My future doesn’t depend on the Benners being home. Nor does it depend on some unknown person paid to help me disappear. Those things are pieces of the puzzle, not the puzzle itself.

My future depends on one thing only.

I walk the last few feet to the car door.

When I climb into the Suburban, I look back to Max. He holds my gaze, strong and confident. Doesn’t drop his eyes, not once. It’s as if his confession ushered him into a manhood from which he can never turn back, which is both beautiful and achingly sad.

I start the car and turn around in the street, avoiding looking over at the Benners’ house as I crawl through untouched snow. As I drive back down the street and away from this lonely place, I think all I have to do is flick my gaze to the rearview mirror to see if Pearson is inside the house or headed back to his Jeep. Ten minutes or ninety minutes. A split-second movement and I could find out.

But I don’t, because the answer won’t change my direction.

A deep, focused breath. I try as hard as I can to stay in the present moment, because living in the past or wondering about the future doesn’t serve me any longer. It can only be about the now.

“What now?” Max asks, his voice deeper than I think I’ve ever heard. Those two words will be the only ones he’ll say for the rest of the drive.

And the five I answer with will be my only ones.

“Our lives belong to us.”

I press down on the accelerator. The Suburban responds, busting through the snow, barreling toward whatever is next.

Ten minutes or ninety minutes.

The clock starts.

Read on for a look at The Dead Girl in 2A by Carter Wilson

Available now from Poisoned Pen Press

One

The Day Of

Jake Buchannan placed his palm on his eight-year-old daughter’s cheek, hooked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, and wished again that he could change the past. Em lay on top of her bed in her room, beneath a ceiling light needing two of its three bulbs replaced, and Jake thought her scar seemed a deeper shade of purple than usual.

Thirty-seven stitches. That was how many it had taken to sew his little girl up again. The scar wound from just above her right eye across her temple, then up over her ear, looking like a millipede forever crawling on her face.

I’m sorry, Jake thought. His therapist had told him to stop apologizing out loud, because it wasn’t helping his own healing process. Apparently, he had to learn to forgive himself first, and though Jake said he understood this, he didn’t really. Or didn’t want to. He wasn’t ready for forgiveness. Not from himself, or anyone else.

“I gotta go now, honey,” he said.

“For how long?”