Crossing Lines: A gripping psychological thriller (Behind Closed Doors Book 3) (7 page)

“But the police think Julia did it,” Krystal continues, “because she shot Wayne right before their eyes. But if you saw her, met her, you'd know Julia couldn't have possibly done that much damage to Katrina.
I
couldn’t have done that much damage to Katrina. She has six inches and twenty pounds on Julia, and neither of them has a violent bone in their bodies.” She grabs my hands and pleads, “You have to help me, Darryl!”

“I don’t know how I can help.”

“He's lying, D,” she insists. “I know Wayne is lying because he told me, tonight. He told me if I don’t stay out of his marriage, there’s nothing I can do to stop Julia from going to prison.”

What a sick sonofabitch!

I look at the crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor. I see the undercurrents of blame and self-loathing in that email. Julia clearly thinks she is to blame for whatever situation has driven her to resign from Krystal's employment. “Krystal, how do you know—”

“
I know.
”

My gaze snaps to hers, locks her green to my blue, and it tells me more about Krystal than she'll ever tell me herself. For a long, silent moment, I inspect the bruise starting to color around her eye. She really should have that checked out by a … doctor.
So that’s why she’s here?
I almost shake my head. It’s been a long time since I’ve practiced medicine in the physical sense of the word, and not the mental and emotional kind of practicing I do every single day. But I suspect any suggestion of taking her to see someone else would fall on deaf ears.

She allows me to gently touch the growing bruise as I say, “You really do customize your eyes with your outfits, don't you?” She nods. “Why don't you want people to know they're green?”

I must have said the wrong thing because she pulls away and stops my clinical assessment as she shakes her head, her bangs falling to shield the damage that had been covered by the sunglasses. “I have a very private and very quiet personal life, thanks to colored contact lenses and hair extensions, D, and I was having a lovely time being anonymous here in New York until Wayne found me. I have no idea why he's here, but he demanded I step aside and stay the hell out of his marriage. I refused.”

“He did this to you?”

“It was a heated discussion, tempers flared, and things might have gotten a little out of control.” She excuses it, but it’s her detest-filled rage, that touch of warning, that tells me this Wayne character is lucky to still be alive. My instinct also tells me this is the reason I’ve been kept around for all this time. I’ve been trying to figure Krystal out for five years and the more I’m learning about her, the less I know.

This is what she’s afraid of: she has no control over this situation. If Krystal is nothing else, she is a control freak. She needs to feel in control, especially now, when her temper is spiraling out of it. Her next words all but confirm this.

“I've never been scared of anyone in my life, D. But I couldn't … I … I froze up … I …” The disappointment flashes across her face as she admits, “I let him walk away.” She shakes her head and reveals a bandaged left hand as she snorts, "Put my fist through an antique vase in my sister's apartment after he left, though. What's a couple of thousand dollars between twins?”

“Considering what we talked about the other day, Krystal, I'd say that was the lesser of two evils.”

“You haven't met my sister.” She smiles, but it quickly fades. And just like that, the soft Krystal disappears behind the wall of ice again. It was like she flips a switch and turns the world the right way up once again. She stands taller, holding her head higher, in defiant confidence. This is the Krystal I know and am familiar with. Then she says, “I want you to come to LA to counsel my friend.”

I’m sorry, she wants me to do what?

“I got thinking after our session the other day,” she steams straight on, seemingly unaware that the only movement I make is the blinking of my eyes.
She wants what?
"And I thought if I could get someone like you on the inside, then because Julia is staying with me, she’d be around you twenty-four-seven. If you can crack me, you can certainly crack Julia. She'll tell you what happened that night. I know she will.”

“What's wrong with Caleb?”

“He's already tried,” she sighs. “Julia knows who he is. He and I, we've been trying to get her to open up to him for years. She doesn't trust him. She knows what he's trying to do.”

“Krystal, this isn't going to work. Caleb's much better at this than me. He's been working with abused women since he was sixteen. How do you propose I counsel her, if she's already knocked you both on your asses?”

“We’d have to do something you probably won't like.” She says it quietly, like she already knows what I’m going to say. I’m suddenly struck by the memory of her confession in my office on Friday. She thinks she knows me better than I know myself. And because she thinks that, she’s always a step ahead. “We’d have to take advantage of how well she knows me.” I frown. She’s right. I’m not going to like this. “Men don't sleep over at my house, Darryl. I'd certainly never invite one into my personal haven, my home, and then leave him there while I went away for a few days to work—which is just what I’ll be doing with you if you agree. I have a promo tour next week.”

“What?” I choke on the air trapped in my throat.
She is not serious.
“Are you suggesting I pose as your lover?”

“She knows you and I have been seeing each other for years,” she whispers. “I’ve never confirmed or denied it, because I don’t want people to know I need a psychiatrist.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She slides me a look that says it has nothing to do with what other people think. “D, I'm just asking you to embellish a little on what we do during those meetings.”

“No, you're asking me to lie and keep secrets for you, while I deceive your friend because you will conveniently be on the road.”

“I'll do my—”

“No,” I tell her firmly. “I’m not doing this. And you've harmed our friendship by asking me to do it. And far worse than that is what this says about your friendship with Julia, because you’ve thought about deceiving her this way. If she really is in trouble, it’s likely she already finds it difficult to trust people, even without her closest friend betraying her. She can’t afford to lose you now, and you certainly can’t afford to risk her shrinking further into isolation by choice.”

Well, at least she has enough shame to look at the floor.

“I know.” She lifts her eyes to mine, and I can barely believe what I see there. Desperation. “But I’ve already done irreparable damage to our friendship by keeping records, asking questions, and not dropping this subject when she’s repeatedly asked. I have all the evidence to support her defense, but she wants me to destroy it. And I want to, Darryl, really I do. I want my best friend back. I
need
her back. But I … I can’t do it, knowing what it will mean for her. I know I'm asking a lot from you …”

I’m surprised how difficult I’m finding it to say no—not to Krystal
per se
, but to the help her friend needs. “I said no!”

She makes moves to object again and I’m about to tell her to go to hell, when I hear footsteps behind me. “Someone ask for coffee?” Caleb stops dead just inside the doorway. "Ah.” His gaze flickers between us several times before he settles on Krystal. “You don't waste any time, do you?”

“I don't have time to waste,” she replies.

“Wait.” I look from Caleb to Krystal and then back again. “You knew about this?” Shamefully, he looks away and my eyes roll. A sigh of pure exasperation escapes my lips. I don't believe he would be so stupid. “Without everything else that's going on, especially with Lisa, you know the law. You know what will happen if anyone finds out about this. Why would you put her up to this?”

“The law?” he repeats. “What laws are you breaking? She's just a friend.”

A silence falls between us as I look at Krystal, and I’m not surprised when she doesn't volunteer the truth. Caleb might be inside her circle of trust, a friend even, but she keeps him at arms' length just like everyone else.

“I'm sorry, Darryl,” she whispers, placing her untouched drink in my hand. “I didn't know where else to turn.” She steps back, gives Caleb a silent nod, and walks across the hallway into the den. She returns moments later with Macaulay in her arms and then leaves, without another word.

I turn to the window and the street below, watching her lift the sweatshirt hood over her head and place the dark glasses back on her face before she crosses the road. I’m not going to risk everything I have by agreeing to help her. Not like that. “There has to be another way,” I mutter to myself, even though Caleb is still in the room.

“When you think of it, let me know. I've tried everything to get Julia to talk.” He sighs. My mind draws a blank and I turn to him. He shrugs, “You can't save everyone, right? Otherwise, we'd have saved Mom.”

The shot hits me square in my chest, flooding my entire body with a regret so strong it’s difficult to form words for a few seconds. “That was low, Caleb.”

“Did it work?”

I take one last look at Krystal as she turns at the end of the block and out of sight, then turn back toward him. I can’t change what happened to Faith. Her death and John’s are both scars that somehow I’ll have to learn to live with. But Faith said something over and over again, something I’ve tried to live by since she died, but never truly believed her words until now: "For every life you can’t save, there are hundreds more you can.”

I know I can’t let Julia become that one life I don’t save. Not without trying.

Chapter Six

A SHIVER CRAWLS
up my spine as a cool breeze chills Krystal’s car like a fridge. A frown creases my brows. Based on the extravagance I’ve been subjected to—a six-hour flight across the country in a private jet and then a chauffeur-driven flash car—I suspect this car must have climate control in perfect working order. So why does she insist on having the window open?

I don’t believe I’m actually in L.A., in Krystal’s car, as we speed down the highway toward Malibu. I can't believe I’m actually going to pretend that Krystal Valentina is my girlfriend. This is absurd! I’ve no idea how I’m going to pull this off, when I don't even find her attractive. And unlike her, I don’t have a lifetime of the practice in fooling people. I’m not an actor. So why am I here?

I left everything up in the air when I left New York, and I haven’t even had the opportunity to explain to Lisa where I’m going or why. She isn't talking to me. She’s also avoiding me. I had to leave a voicemail explaining why Caleb is staying in New York, and I hate it. But it’s only for two weeks.

I’m not the man for this job. I won’t be any more successful at getting Julia to open up than Caleb was. But my nephew believes I can and I will because I’m honest and fair, and Krystal has no control over me. I snort at the thought. I’m deceiving Julia by even attempting this.

“But don't ever let her see your weaknesses,” he warned before I left,
“because she'll use it and if Julia sees she has that power over you, you're done.”

I really hope this is: a) a good idea, and b) going to be worth it, because I have a feeling this whole shebang is going to bite me on the ass somehow.

Another chilly gust comes through the window and my irritation spikes. Does she have no consideration for others? It’s almost four a.m. in New York. I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-two hours. Despite the comfort of full reclining leather seats on Krystal’s private jet, I got no closer to sleeping in the air than I did last night. There’s too much going on for my brain to shut down. I ended up packing for two weeks in L.A. before I crawled into bed exhausted for just a few hours of restless sleep.

“Is there something wrong with the air conditioning?” I snap. It’s about twelve degrees. She does not need the window open, when the car can acclimatize its environment to a perfect and more comfortable temperature.

“There's nothing wrong with the AC.” She doesn't look up from the movie script for the film she’s shooting in Switzerland in a couple of months. "If you're too warm, D, then open a window.”

“It's like the freaking arctic in here already!”

“Just because you're sleeping in my bed,” she says, this time lifting her gaze from the papers. Her unimpressed stare locks on mine. “Doesn't mean you get to be snarky with me, Doctor.” She winks at me before her gaze turns to the window. “Besides, we're here.”

“Speaking of sleeping arrangements—” Clearing up the undiscussed part of our agreement slips my mind as I look out the window and up, at a breathtaking Spanish colonial mansion complete with pillars, steps, and enormous picture windows through which to appreciate the ocean vistas and acres of landscaped gardens. It really is a sight to behold, all lit up against a backdrop of secluded darkness.

Despite the lateness of our arrival, the two huge oak doors sweep open, spilling warm light over the turning circle at the bottom of the steps leading up to them. A perfectly polished woman runs from the doorway, the light casting her profile into shadow as she hurries down the steps.

With the air of professionalism, her rigid posture, and the way her fingers twist nervously together as she waits for us, I’ll put money on Krystal introducing her as her assistant Mel.