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“Then why are you calling me?”

“I’m willing to talk. But you did try to kill me, and you can’t do that over the phone.”

Another long pause. I almost think I’ve miscalculated until Scott says, “I wasn’t going to kill you that night. Not really. You know that. Otherwise, you would have gone to the police.”

I tighten my grip on the phone. This is the in I need. “You scared me, Scott. But no, I didn’t want you arrested. You’re my husband.”

I nearly choke on the wordhusband. I certainly can’t bring myself to look at Sawyer when I say it, although I feel him looming beside me, his presence predatory.

“I actually do want us to talk face-to-face,” I say. “But on my territory, not yours. I think that’s only fair.”

Scott sighs. “And what territory is that? The camp in Virginia? Because my boys went out there and didn’t come back.”

I freeze. Sawyer puts his hand on my arm, steadying me. I had planned for this. “Boys?”

“Men, whatever.”

“No.” I pray he doesn’t hear the tremor in my voice. “I only met one man. Blond. I don’t remember his name. I spoke to him for a few minutes before I asked him to leave.”

The line crackles. There’s a long, agonizing moment of silence. “What are you playing at, Edie?”

“Nothing.” Maybe I answer too fast. I can hardly breathe. “I would ask the same of you, but I already know the answer. Here’s what I will tell you, Scott. I’m willing to forgive you for what you did. Because—” I take a deep breath. “Because you’re right. I’m not healthy. I let myself go. I realize that now.” I swallow back a surge of bile, as if speaking those words will undo two years of recovery. “I’ll lose the weight. I’ll move home. But not without some ground rules.”

Sawyer stares at the phone with a violent intensity that both terrifies me and flushes my body with heat.

“And that’s what you want to discusson your territory?”Scott’s words drip with sarcasm.

“Of course it is, Scott. I won’t be some battered wife. But I can spare you the financial hit of a divorce.”

This time, Scott makes a sort ofhmmsound that fills the silence. “You signed a prenup.”

“And my family has better lawyers than you, Scott. Old money lawyers.”

He laughs, and the bitterness in it tells me I’ve won. I relax against the counter a little. Even though the cabin is cold, with the heat turned down low, sweat slicks across my skin.

“Maybe I want the divorce,” he says coolly—a lie and both of us know it. I roll my eyes.

“Then you wouldn’t have sent a PI to find me.”

The silence on his end is telling; he knows, and thinks I don’t, that the PI was really an assassin. And what is there to say to that? I can feel him thinking, cold and calculating. This is his one chance to do me in. He just needs a push.

“I’ve kept quiet about what you did,” I tell him. “But if you won’t talk to me like a goddamn adult, then I’m taking the whole story to theNew York Times. You know I’ve got the connections.”

Sawyer’s eyes flick up to me in surprise.

“I’m serious, Scott. You trying to fucking murder me with your bare hands will beeverywherein twenty-four hours if you don’t come here so we can work this out.”

I hold my breath, waiting for his response. The truth is that if I did do that, Scott would pay an exorbitant amount of money to bury the story and make me look like a fool in the process. He would humiliate me worse than I’ve already experienced—and I’ve experienced a lot.

But it would be costly. And time-consuming.

And deep down, I know he wants me dead.

Just like how I want him dead. A gift for my serial killer.

“Fine,” Scott says. “I’ll book the next flight out. Tomorrow, at the earliest.”

I look over at Sawyer. He has a hunger in his eyes. A dark smile on his lips.