13
Sara
True to his word, Peter picks me up at 5:30 sharp, and we drive to the title company’s office to sign papers.
“You put the house in my name?” I give Peter a startled look when I see space for only my signature on the documents.
He nods, his lips curving in a smile. “It’s for the best, my love. Just in case.”
A chill wraps around my spine. “Just in case” could refer to any number of things, but when your husband used to be hunted by law enforcement agencies worldwide and still has ties to the criminal underworld, the words take on a particularly sinister meaning.
I want to probe deeper, but the title agent—a pretty, polished woman in her thirties—is watching us with undisguised curiosity, so I just sign at every X and try not to think about the terrifying possibilities.
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