…matte-black handgun resting atop a thick dossier with my own maiden name stamped across the cover in bold red ink.<\/p>\n
My hands shook as I stared into the hidden compartment. Greg? My Greg? The man who broke out in a stress rash when we switched our internet provider?<\/p>\n
The burner phone buzzed again, vibrating against the wood. I reached out, my fingers trembling, and tapped the illuminated screen. A single, encrypted message flashed: The wife suspects nothing. Extraction set for 0400. Has her sister made contact?<\/p>\n
My blood ran completely cold. My sister. We hadn’t spoken in years after a bitter falling out over our family’s estate, yet here she was, woven into a cryptic message on a secret device hidden by my husband.<\/p>\n
The heavy thud of the front door closing downstairs snapped me back to reality.<\/p>\n
“Honey, I’m home!” Greg called out, his voice carrying that familiar, cheerful lilt. “I brought the mild salsa!”<\/p>\n
I froze. The stairs creaked. He was coming up. Panic seizing my throat, I shoved the passports, phone, and weapon back into the dark recess, slamming the false bottom down just as he walked into our bedroom.<\/p>\n
He was wearing his favorite beige cardigan, his wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew. He smiled at me, but for the first time in a decade, I noticed how his eyes\u2014suddenly sharp and calculating\u2014didn’t quite match the innocent warmth of his grin.<\/p>\n
“Cleaning out the closet?” he asked, his gaze drifting lazily toward the shoe rack.<\/p>\n
“Just… setting aside some donations,” I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.<\/p>\n
He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me. He smelled exactly as he always did\u2014of cedarwood and the decaf vanilla latte he ordered every afternoon. But as his hand slid down my back, resting just inches above the hidden compartment, his posture shifted. The mild-mannered slouch vanished, replaced by a rigid, tactical stance.<\/p>\n
“You know,” Greg whispered, his voice dropping a full octave, entirely devoid of the gentle accountant I had married, “I always told you there shouldn’t be any secrets in a marriage.”<\/p>\n
He pulled back just enough to look me dead in the eye.<\/p>\n
“So, why don’t we sit down and finally talk about what your family has been hiding in the offshore accounts. Because if we don’t, the people coming for us tonight won’t knock.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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