Chapter 111

I SAT THERE, staring at my incredible con man of a husband. What an amazing liar he was. Then I dropped my eyes to the pavement, my shoulders slumping. The world seemed to slow suddenly, the music in the air, the sound of traffic.

It was official. I had given Paul everything that I possibly could. My love, my work, my reputation. And now I had absolutely zero left.

I was still sitting there, agonizing, when Paul's daughter appeared again. The nanny Paul had spoken to stood waiting a few feet away with another toddler and Caroline's bike.

"Daddy!" she said. "Pictures! I want to show Imelda the pictures."

"Not now, love," Paul called to the girl. "Later, sweetheart."

"But they're my brothers," the girl said, pulling a black-and-white photograph out of Paul's jacket before he could stop her. It fell to the ground as he tried to snatch it back.

"You're mean, Daddy," the four-year-old said with a pout. "I want Imelda to see the picture of my new twin brothers."

My eyes strained in their sockets. What!

Paul stared down at the small, square photograph, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Show her later, Caroline," Paul snapped. Imelda took one look at him before quickly grabbing Caroline's hand and pulling her away.

I bent and lifted the precious picture off the pavement. I nodded once, twice.

It showed a sonogram. Two fetuses. Twins. I pictured Veronica again. Of course she looked like she'd recently put on weight. She was pregnant!

I looked at Paul's face, almost with fascination. He'd lied so effortlessly to me. Again and again.

He would never stop, I realized. There was something deeply, incredibly wrong with Paul. He would say anything, do anything. How could anyone tell lies like this? How could anyone do the awful things he'd done? Even the way he'd just snarled at his little girl. I'd protected a monster.

"I know exactly what we're going to do now," I said, letting the black-and-white picture fall to the cobblestones. "What I should have done when this whole thing started."

I whisked out my cuffs and snapped them onto his wrists. "Paul, you're under arrest."

Chapter 112

NANNIES, CHESS PLAYERS, AND JOGGERS were outright gaping as I dragged a handcuffed Paul out of the park. Of course they looked at us. Good God, he was twice my size.

"You sure this is the right thing to do, Lauren?" he whined as I perp-walked him two long blocks back toward my Taurus.

"A million dollars? You still love me or you wouldn't have covered for me. Which isn't going to go well for you, either. You'll get charged as an accessory to murder. The baby will be born behind bars. You're not really thinking this through."

"Unfortunately for you, Paul, I'm tired of thinking," I said. "Thinking is what got me into this mess. I'm just doing what's right. Trying to, anyway."

I stopped suddenly as we passed Paul's parallel-parked Jaguar. "Where are the keys, Paul? Let's end it in style. Give me a taste of that million dollars. Maybe I'll change my mind and drive to the airport."

I jabbed Paul in the small of his back. "But don't bet on it."

I took the keys from his jacket pocket and then pushed Paul into the passenger seat. I went around to the other side. I was sliding the key into the ignition, when Paul popped open the glove compartment.

A second later, I felt something hard sticking under my right armpit.

"Time to cut all the bullshit, Lauren," Paul said, digging a small revolver into my ribs.

Idiot! I thought. Of course, he had a gun. The ticket broker hadn't lied about that. Paul had.

"Hey, I thought you said you didn't have a gun," I said.

"You still haven't picked up on the theme here, Lauren?" Paul said. "I tell you only what you need to hear. Now get the cuffs off me. Right now!"

"Then what? You're going to shoot me?" I said as I did what he asked. I didn't have a choice. "Might as well, Paul. You've done everything else to me."

"Hey, you're the one who started this game. Slapping cuffs on me," Paul said.

"That's what you think this is, don't you?" I said. "Some kind of game? News flash, Paul. You killed a man. You're a mur-der-er."

Paul's face scrunched in rage. He turned bright red, his eyes glittering with fury.

"News flash? Let me tell you something. You know what it's like to have a wife with bigger balls than you? While you were out kicking ass, I was busy downtown kissing asses, so you could have nice things. But that's JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!!!"

Paul pistol-whipped the dashboard savagely, then pressed the gun barrel to my temple.

"You want to know how I felt when Veronica made me that offer at the Sheraton? For the first time, I felt like a man! I got a chance to step away from this namby-pamby investment firm, law degree, 401(k) bullshit I've been wasting my whole life on."

Paul took a deep breath, then released it. The gun stayed at my temple.

"I did it, Lauren," he whispered fiercely. "I took what I wanted, and then I went and got my prize. Let me tell you something. I remember every second of it. And Lauren, it was good. Veronica licked the blood off my knuckles. I knocked her up like a stud bull."

"Anything you say, psychopath," I said.

"And you're right. I killed that prick Scott. He thought he could just keep messing with me. You should have seen the look on his face when he turned around. He was outmanned, and he knew it. I gave your boyfriend exactly what was coming to him. I could give two shits about his wife and kids."

In the distance, sirens sounded. Somebody must have called the police about the scene Paul and I were making. Thank God for cell phones!

"You hear that?" I said. "Sirens? That's the sound of truth and consequences catching up with you, Paul."

"Nothing is catching up with me, cupcake," Paul said, opening the door and shoving me out. "Time for a trial separation."

The Jag's tires smoked as he peeled out onto Riggs.

I stood between the skid marks, disoriented. Could somebody please tell me what the hell had just happened? The past few hours seemed impossible, surreal. What was I thinking, hours. Try the past few minutes.

My hair flew back in the wake of two siren-wailing DC police cars that appeared in full-speed pursuit of Paul.

This was it? I thought. This was how it would end?

Half a block north across the street, I spotted my rental car.

Not if I could help it, I thought, taking out the keys as I ran.

Chapter 113

MINUTES LATER, I was pinning the gas, tailgating the rear DC cop car that was chasing Paul. I felt like giving him my brights. Gangway! NYPD coming through! Paul is mine. Get in line! That's my cheating, lying, murdering husband trying to get away.

We careened through another ritzy neighborhood. Were we in Georgetown? Ivy-covered brick and Greek revivals blurred past my windshield. Where did Paul think he was going? Did he still believe he could get away with this?

I figured it all out when I spotted the tower of the bridge back to the airport. It loomed a half mile away, above some slate roofs on my left.

I whipped a left at the next corner, ran a red light, and screeched a right onto M Street, speeding toward the bridge to cut him off if I could.

I honked as I skidded to a stop – dead center at the entrance to the Francis Scott Key Bridge.

Then I jumped out of the car and stood in the open doorway.

"Get your crazy ass out of the street!" an angry bus driver screamed at me as he leaned on his horn. "What in the green world of God do you think you're doing?"

You think I know? I felt like telling him. But I didn't have the energy or the time.