Chapter 4 - The Whispering Receiver
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The acid attack wasn't just a brutal scheme to clear the way for a secret wedding. It was the first stage of an insurance execution. Logan didn't just want me out of the picture; he wanted twenty million dollars tax-free to secure his new life with Rachel Mercer.
"Ms. Carter, I have to take the tablet back," the nurse whispered nervously, watching the door. "Your fiancé is coming back down the corridor."
I quickly cleared the browser cache, erased the cloud login credentials, and handed the device back to her.
"What did you need me to do?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly as she slid the tablet under her arm.
"Just one thing," I rasped, staring up at the white ceiling tile. "Call Detective Elena Ward. Tell her Maya Carter woke up."
I swallowed down the metallic taste of blood in my throat.
"And tell her not to arrest Logan yet."
The nurse stared at me in sheer disbelief. "Not arrest him? Ms. Carter, if he harmed you—"
"I need him to believe his plan worked," I said, my voice dropping into a cold, lethal register. "I need him to think I am broken."
She swallowed hard, gave me a single nod, and hurried out of the room just as the heavy wooden door creaked open again.
I closed my eye immediately, slowing my breathing back down to a soft, rhythmic cadence.
Logan walked in, his expensive leather boots thudding softly against the floorboards. He stood right beside my bed. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne—the wooden oak and amber fragrance I had bought him for his birthday. He reached down and gently touched the uninjured side of my neck, his hand cold and devoid of life.
"Poor, tragic little Maya," he murmured under his breath, his voice laced with mock sadness. "You really should have stayed in Brooklyn."
He stood there for two minutes, taking a photo of my bandaged face with his phone—no doubt to send to Rachel—before turning and walking back out.
Five minutes after his departure, the hospital landline telephone on the bedside nightstand began to ring softly.
I reached out with a trembling left arm and pulled the receiver to my ear.
"Hello?" I whispered.
A woman’s voice whispered back, strained and trembling with panic. "Maya, don't trust the police."
I froze, the plastic receiver slippery in my palm. "Who is this?"
May you like
A shaky breath whistled through the line.
"It's Rachel."
