“Call me what you want,” Daniel said smoothly, reaching his arm through the cracked door, his fingers straining to reach the inner handle to push the obstruction away. “But in an hour, the police will find a tragic murder-suicide. A depressed mother, unable to cope with an impending divorce, poisons her own son and takes her own life. And me? The grieving husband, comforted by his loyal assistant, miles away on a business trip.”
“The police… already know,” I wheezed, lifting the phone just high enough for him to see the glowing screen.
Daniel’s smile vanished. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.
“You bitch!” he screamed.
He threw his entire weight against the door. The wicker hamper crushed into splinters. The force slammed the door into my shoulder, sending a bolt of agonizing pain down my spine. I was thrown backward onto the cold tile, losing my grip on Noah.
