Read Online The Serial Killer's Wife by Blake Crouch, Robert Swartwood - Free Book Online Page B

up writing a book about my husband, and about me. He called Eddie ‘The Widower Maker.’ ”  
    Now it was Todd who said nothing.  
    “I wasn’t, you know. His accomplice.”  
    He glanced at her, already nodding. “Yeah, I know that. It never even crossed my mind.”  
    “Sure it did. The whole thing was so bizarre, why not have the wife be part of it?”  
    “No, none of that—”  
    “I left because I ... well, I was a coward. That’s basically it. I just couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t go through the whole ordeal of the trial. I couldn’t sit in that courtroom and act like his wife anymore. I thought about what our lives would become—mine and Matthew’s—and how if we stayed they would be forever ruined, so I just ... left.”  
    Those were all reasons she had left, yes, but another reason—the most important—was something she could never tell Todd. Something she could never tell anyone.  
    “How did you get away without anyone knowing?” Todd asked.  
    “I had friends.”  
    “What kind of friends?”  
    Before she could answer, the BlackBerry dinged. They both glanced down at it on the middle console, the notification light blinking red. Todd reached for it.  
    “Don’t.”  
    He froze and looked at her.  
    “Just don’t,” she said, and pressed her foot down even more on the gas, driving them deeper into the oncoming darkness.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 19

    A T SOME POINT after they crossed over the Indiana state line, Todd had begun to doze.  
    They hadn’t spoken in hours, and the night had worn on, and eventually Elizabeth became aware of Todd breathing heavily through his nose. He was slouched down in his seat, his head tilted back on the headrest. Good for him, she thought. At least one of them was getting some rest.  
    The speed limit here was seventy, and she set the cruise control to seventy-five, her urgency to get to Pennsylvania so strong that she found herself with lead in her foot, the needle rising and rising, but reminding herself that getting pulled over by the police a second time was not in their best interest.  
    The BlackBerry had dinged five more times. Like that second time, she had refused to look at the pictures, fearing she might lose it. The only evidence they were there at all was the notification light blinking red for several minutes before it stopped.  
    She tried to concentrate on who Cain might be and why he was doing this. There had only been two people back home who knew about her escape, because they had been the ones who helped arrange it. Sheila, her best friend, and Mark Foreman, their family lawyer. Both had had a hand in helping her slip out from public view, start a new life, but both, she was certain, were trustworthy. No, wait. She was more than certain neither of them had anything to do with this, and the fact that she even considered the possibility was a testament to just how clueless she truly was when it came to figuring out the identity of Cain.  
    At one point she tried one of the coffee beans, grew nauseous after the first bite, had to roll down her window and spit out the remains, the wind whipping at her hair and face. As she powered the window back up, Todd stirred in the seat beside her, asked if everything was all right.  
    “Chewing coffee beans is disgusting,” she said.  
    He smiled, his eyes still closed, repositioned himself in the seat, and began snoring almost immediately.  
    A half hour later the lights of Indianapolis began to rise on the dark horizon, and for the first time today Elizabeth felt the smallest flare of hope spark in her soul.  
    She knew there was no guarantee Van would still be in the city. There was always the chance the police or even the FBI had gathered enough evidence on him to finally make an arrest. Only she doubted that was the case. Men like Donovan Riley did not go quietly into the night or even the day. He was a survivor, just like her, and right now he was the only