Death Row (Alibis Collection, #1)

by Freida McFadden

My name is Talia Kemper, and with my time running short, there are a few things I need you to know about me: First, I am currently on death row for murdering my husband. Second, my attorney has filed one last appeal, but if that is rejected, I will be executed by lethal injection in two weeks. And last, I am innocent. I didn’t kill my husband.

“There’s only one thing you need to do first.” “What’s that?” “Wake up.” Huh? I frown at him. “What did you say?” “Wake up, Talia.”

He is, as he pointed out, a very good liar.

When we hang up, Rhea approaches to take me back to my secluded cell. She puts out her hand to steady me as I rise from the stool with my shackled ankles. I start to turn away, but just before I do, something catches my eye. It’s a man on the other side of the glass, speaking to another inmate. He’s wearing a dark suit—a black jacket paired with a black dress shirt. His dark hair is neatly combed, and his face is clean shaven. As Rhea leads me out of the room, I can just barely make out the bump on the bridge of his nose, as if it had once been broken. That man. He looks so much like . . . “Rhea,” I gasp. “That man over there, talking to the redhead. Who is that?” Rhea ignores me. “Come on. Time to go.”

I look back one last time at the man in the dark suit. He’s talking to the redheaded inmate, his attention focused on her, but then, just as Rhea is pulling me from the room, he raises his eyes to meet mine. Oh my God. It’s Noel.

It’s been a week, and every single time he goes to “work,” he comes back stinking of eau de slut.

“I didn’t do it.” My voice slurs on the words. “I didn’t kill my husband. I’m innocent.” Albert is quiet for a moment, his fingers frozen on the syringe that will paralyze my muscles. He exchanges looks with Rhea and then lets out a deep sigh. “Yes,” he says, “we know.” What?