Free The Perfect Husband by Chris Taylor Page A

refused to give in to her
fear.
    After the meeting with Senior Constable
Rogers, when Mason had pulled up into the hospital car park with
only minutes to spare, her stomach had been tight with nerves and a
headache pierced her eyes. She’d swallowed some Tylenol, but it had
barely taken the edge off. The last thing she wanted now was to
drive home to Nigel, but she didn’t have a choice.
    Somehow, she had to carry on as normal, as
if nothing momentous had occurred—or was about to. She’d never been
good at lying and especially not to her husband. The few times
she’d attempted to, it ended with him slapping her hard across the
face. Somehow, he’d always been able to detect any hint of her
deceit.
    The thought of pretending all was well made
her even more tense and anxious. Hot tears burned behind her eyes.
She bit her lip and tried to stem the flow, but despite her best
efforts, they made a slow, desperate path down her cheeks. She
lifted her foot off the accelerator and eased the car over to the
side. With her head in her hands, she sobbed.
    She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but
the clock on the console told her it was almost midnight. Panic
surged through her. Her husband was waiting for her. He hated it
when she was late. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Mason how
difficult Nigel got over things like that. She had to get home.
Fast.
    Searching through her handbag for a tissue,
she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. With a determined blow of
her nose, she pulled her Toyota Magna back onto the road. Like
she’d told Mason, it was only one more night. Then she could make
good her escape. But she was so scared he’d somehow discover her
plan. She was even more terrified the planning was too late.
    At last, she pulled into the drive outside
her house. The building was silent and dark—not even the porch
light was on. She was upset that Nigel hadn’t shown her even that
smallest consideration, but couldn’t help but also feel relieved
that he’d gone to bed. Taking care to bury Mason’s cell phone and
house key deep inside her handbag, she climbed out.
    The half moon provided enough light that she
could make out the front step. With her door key in hand, she
cautiously made her way up the porch steps and inserted it into the
lock. The knob turned and the door opened without a sound. She
breathed a tiny sigh of relief and crept into the house.
    “Where the fuck have you been?”
    She yelped in fright. Her heart leaped into
her throat. In growing panic, she felt around for the light switch.
Nigel sat on the couch in the dark, nursing a glass of scotch. His
cheeks were flushed and his breath came fast. It obviously wasn’t
his first drink. He stared at her, his hard eyes glittering with
anger.
    “N-Nigel! You scared me half to death!” she
said, silently willing the trembling from her limbs.
    His gaze narrowed. “I said, where the fuck
have you been?”
    “N-nowhere. At work.”
    “Bullshit. I called there. You left more
than an hour ago. You should have been here well before now.”
    He stood and stalked toward her until he was
little more than a breath away. He loomed over her. She held her
ground, even while her heart thumped hard enough to cause pain. She
tilted her head up and stared at him.
    “Who have you been with?” he spat. “It’s
David Hamilton, isn’t it? You’ve been fucking him, haven’t you?
That’s the reason you’re late.”
    She shook her head, anxious for him to see
reason. “No! No! You’re wrong, Nigel. It’s like I told you, I’ve
only been at work.”
    His hand flashed past her face and grabbed a
fistful of her hair. Tears sprang to her eyes. She whimpered
against the pain.
    “Nigel, please. You’re hurting me.”
    His grip only tightened. He forced her head
back until her face was inches away from his. She shivered at the
malice in his eyes.
    “Don’t lie to me, bitch! I asked one of your
colleagues. David was working tonight. Do you think I’m an