Crossing Lines: A gripping psychological thriller (Behind Closed Doors Book 3) (16 page)

“I'm telling the truth. He's not like Calvin McKenzie in any way, shape or form.”

I nod. She doesn't know the real Calvin McKenzie. She only knows the bastard he was portrayed as by the media, and the villain the script writers and the director made him out to be from the start. She doesn't know just how well he had Faith wrapped up in loving affection, so that she hadn't believed he meant to hurt her either.

Besides, Wayne didn’t have to be like Calvin. There were many forms of abuse and many different types of abusers. Wayne could be any one of those, and until Julia started to open up about what had happened between her and her husband, I would never know the truth for sure.

“I know,” I turn and rest my hips against the granite work surface. “So I'm going to ask you for a little patience.”
I’m sure she'll give me that.
“I’d like to draw my own conclusions, based on experience rather than hearsay.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I raise my hand to stop her. "When you're right, you may gloat to your heart’s content.” I take a huge breath and let it go before adding, “I will also make Ashleigh drop it altogether.”
Like hell I will, but I can try. I will try for Julia.

“You have more chance surviving a climb to Everest’s summit without equipment than you have of succeeding in getting Ashleigh to drop it.”

“If Ashleigh's wrong, I will move Everest for you.”

She eyes me carefully. “All right, you're on!” She turns and reaches for the cupboard above my head. “And I will be the one to say ‘I told you so.’”

Her exuberance makes me smile. A few days ago she’d have backed away from this conversation. She'd have defended her husband until she was blue in the face. I’m not fully sure what has brought about this change in her, or the surge of her confidence in me.

As she spins away from the unit, a sweet scent of honey mixed with vanilla fills the air momentarily catching my attention. Before I can get the answer, she sing-songs from behind me. “You should take a look at this.” A glossy magazine swirls along the island toward me. “It arrived this morning. Center page. She's talking about Domestic Violence Awareness Month.”

A comfortable silence falls in the kitchen with only the sounds of boiling water and teaspoons jingling into cups as Julia takes over preparing tea for herself and coffee for me.

“She has this presence.” I smile as she reaches into the fridge and removes a plate of Apple Pie. “When she speaks, people really listen.”

Ashleigh, when she looks like this, is a very beautiful young woman, and she doesn't remind me of Faith at all. In the photos, she is wearing tailored white linen slacks and an off-the-shoulder layered silk top with lace sleeves. White sling-back heels dangle from the tips of her manicured nails. Her bare feet dig into the sand and her legs cross at the knee. She leans forward and rests her chin on her palm. Her wild, dark red curls are tamed into a braid down one side, and her natural emerald eyes sparkle as she dreams at the camera lens with the same loved-up smile she adorned me with when she ran into me that first morning after I'd arrived.

“I really like this picture of her.”
I mean it.

“Ash hadn't wanted to do this,” she says. “But I knew Krystal's 'look at me' image would swallow up the frame." She taps the page. “I had to convince her to dress like this, and believe me, it wasn't easy.”

I knew and appreciated the symbolic reference to this photograph. It was a warning that beneath the façade, domestic abuse can happen to anyone, anywhere, even to Krystal Valentina.

“Krystal's usually so enticing, edgy, and dangerous.”
I admit it, she is every man's dream—except mine.
“But this is so much softer. Nicer. It's much more Ashleigh.” It feels odd to say that, since Krystal and Ashleigh are one and the same woman. But I’m only just learning that they are also two very different people.

“I'm glad you like it,” Julia admits, tapping the picture with pride. “It's one of my proudest feats as her personal stylist. Totally changing up someone's look is risky, but the response so far has been incredible.”

“Personal stylist, huh?” My eyes draw the length of Julia's attire. That explains why she also has a tendency to dress like she's just stepped off the cover of the magazine in my hands, and she visibly glows when I say as much. “She said that you wanted to quit.”

Julia confirms this with a determined nod. “She refuses to accept my resignation.”

“I don't understand why you want to quit, when you're so good at what you do. You obviously get a great deal of pleasure from it.”

“She's pushing for me to launch my own label. She says she'll give me all the money I need to make it a success.”

“Is that what you want?” I watch carefully because she doesn’t reply, although I’m not sure why she hesitates. Surely, it should be a simple yes or no question? “She can be a little hard to say no to sometimes,” I prod gently. Julia still doesn't look up at me, which suggests maybe she does want to launch a label one day and something else is holding her back.

“Julia, it’s okay to want things. It’s okay to have dreams. You need them to fight for them. They make you who you are.”

“What's the point?” she shrugs. “Even though Wayne has gone to the effort of having the plans drawn up for my design studio, I know deep down he doesn't want me to do it. He's worried I'll end up with the same neurotic, obsessive fans as Krystal's.”

So she’s learned long ago not to want anything, not to hope for anything, not to have desires or dreams, because she’s just Mrs. Wayne Swift? That's who she is, and all she'll ever be?

“Can I tell you something?” she asks, like she’s revealing her deepest secrets, and of course I nod. “I'm scared of Krystal's fans. Even she’s a little scared of them. I mean, why else would she have Rylan go wherever she goes?”

“Julia, you don't have to live with this fear.”
I promise.
“I can—”

“Why don't you understand?” Her pupils dilate as she backs away from my whispered promise. Once again her eyes dart around the kitchen, as though she thought we are being watched. “I want to go back to my husband, Darryl. I love him!” She turns on her heel and marches away.

“Julia, that's not what I…” I call after her, but she ignores me and continues through the bi-folding doors into the sunroom. "…meant.” I finish to an empty room.

I meant that the fear is natural. It comes partially from the fear in every new venture: the fear of failure. But it also stems from her attack. There’s a little section in the back of my mind that constantly ponders about why she relies on Wayne’s protection, when I haven't seen any evidence of it so far.
But hasn’t she experienced firsthand how deranged some people can be? And those are the kind of fears she can live without. I can help her overcome them.

Suddenly, the hairs lift on the back of my neck. The sensation that I’m being watched crawls along my spine. A sweeping glance around the room confirms I’m being silly, and no one is here. I shrug it off. I have a conference call with New York, anyway. I pick up my coffee, turn for the arched doorway, and run headlong into Sean's cold, irritated stare.

“Hmm,” he smirks. “Looks like you've blown it, Doc.” He pushes off the wall and makes for the kitchen, blocking my exit. “Again,” he adds, as his eyes assess me from head to toe before he leans against the open archway. “So… Ashleigh has quite the Prince Charming, hasn't she?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do,” he chuckles, “And if it wasn't my sister you were hitting on, I'd have a nice exclusive.”

I freeze, denial poised on my lips. I should deny it, shouldn't I? For the sake of our cover story, I know I should. But from the gleam in Sean's eyes, I suspect he wants me to deny his accusation, for only a guilty man would deny his feelings.

“You'd risk taking Ashleigh on in court by breaching the terms of the non-disclosure agreement?”

“Having witnessed how ruthless Ashleigh is in court, I would
never
take her on in a court room,” he replies. “And she could do, and has done, way worse things than sue me for everything I have, and let's just say it's never a pleasant experience.”

It feels as though he knows the whole thing is a sham; if I didn't know better, I'd guess Ashleigh has told Sean all about it. But I take her for her word that this is a need-to-know operation, and from the one and only interaction Ashleigh had with Sean before she left, I can't see for a second why he needs to know. Or why she’d trust him with anything. So this apparent extra knowledge Sean thinks he has over me is getting on my nerves.

“Besides…” He pushes off the wall and walks into the kitchen. He looks at me like I’m a meal he’s very much going to enjoy. He approaches with the same overconfident swagger. “I've never been asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

Even though there’s ample space for him to pass me, he passes as though there isn't. I keep my eyes trained on him. I don't think this journalist is the kind of guy who sorts his affairs out with his fists, but right now I’m on the receiving end of a love triangle with his sister and his ex-whatever-Ashleigh-is-to-him. In a situation like that, there aren’t any rules.

Sean pauses as our prowling movements bring us both in line with one another. Our gazes lock in silent combat. I can’t bow under his pressure. Buckling would be a sign of weakness, and he’d know anyone unable to hold his own against Ashleigh couldn't have lasted an entire year, and wouldn’t have been trusted with the personal and private haven that is her home.

He blows out an exasperated sigh and steps back. “Jeez, Hawthorne, playing the protective big brother is supposed to be fun!”

“Oh yeah?” I keep my gaze fixed on him as he helps himself to coffee. “For whom?”

He smiles but remains silent. He lifts the cup to his lips and stares at the magazine-spread on the countertop. “Ashleigh and I go back a long way.”

“I know.” It’s there in his expression as he looks at her picture. “It's hard not to see how much you both care for each other.”

His laughter is empty of any humor, as his eyes come up to meet mine again. “No.” He corrects me with such force I repeat my earlier thought:
only a guilty man would deny his feelings
. So I choose not to comment. Instead, I lift my own cup to my lips and wait. I don't have to wait long.

“I spent many years believing a lie, until she turned into a bitch; compared to what she did to her sister, I got off lightly.”

“Are you talking about taking Mimi's role on
L.A. Sunset?
Forget it.” I shake my head. “I'm not playing these games with you, Sean.”

“Oh, goodie!” When he looks at me this time, the anger burns in his eyes. “That means I can take great pleasure in telling Ashleigh that you have been getting to know my sister, in every sense of the word, and you're not going to stop me. Thanks, man, you've just made my day.”

Ashleigh really wouldn't care about how close I’m getting to Julia, as long as I also get to the truth; that I know with the same certainty as I know I need oxygen to breathe. But I also know Sean has the kind of influence over Julia that with just one word he could sever that delicate thread I’ve weaved with her so far.

“Knowing you'll enjoy inflicting a great deal of pain tells me a great deal.” I have to take a calculated risk here, and pray I’m right about this; otherwise I’ll look a fool. “You don't think it's at all questionable that Ashleigh had this so-called affair with Wayne, when you know these three things: we've been together for quite some time, she loves me, and she wouldn't have an affair with you.”
At least I hope she hasn’t.

When he instantly makes eye contact, I know I’ve just crawled inside his head. “I know all about you, Sean.” I lie. I know only what Ashleigh and Julia have told me. Again, my skin prickles like a million insects are crawling under the surface. I’m grateful when he doesn't call me out on the lie. But his gaze remains locked in a glare and his lips are shut tight. I note the tic of his temper beating against his jaw and continue. “You don't want her. But you don't want anyone else to have her either.” I prod a little further, disgusted that I have to resort to these tactics in order to get him to keep his ideas to himself. So far, it seems to be working.

I remain as impassive as I would with a patient, as I deal my ace card. “I don't think you believe your sister is capable of stealing Ashleigh's man again. But that is what you're saying, and frankly, I think what you're doing is despicable.” His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “If you have a problem with the idea of me and Ash, then tell me; don't use your sister to make me feel uncomfortable.”

I almost shudder the second I hear myself sounding like Calvin.
God! I despise myself right now, and Ashleigh is going to damned well hear about it when she calls later tonight for an update.

Sean's eyes narrow again. “Why would I have a problem with you and Ashleigh?”

“If you get me out of your way, it leaves Ashleigh delicate and vulnerable.” Not two words I ever thought I'd say before I’d learned Krystal Valentina was really a soft––hearted, happily-ever-after kind of girl. “She might even be a little more receptive to you when you make your move. Don't think I don't know you'd be making that move before I'd even left the building. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”