Crossing Lines: A gripping psychological thriller (Behind Closed Doors Book 3) Read Free Page A

say. “Can you tell her I'm on my way?”
    As Isla nods and closes the door, Krystal floats across the room towards her designer purse and hangs it from her shoulder. She pauses to check her makeup in a compact mirror, then turns to face me. Save for the half-dozen Japanese paper models on the coffee table, all evidence of the insecure woman who sat on my couch moments before is gone.
    But I can't end the session like this. I can’t let her go, when she’s asking for my help to prevent her from hurting the ones she loves—or worse, killing someone. I'm on the verge of the breakthrough I’ve been working on for five years. Who knows if we’ll continue this the next time, or if it’ll take another five years to get back here again? But the situation is more serious than that.
    “Krystal …”
    “I'll have Mel call you when I come back from Switzerland in February.” February? But that’s five months away. It's far too long to live with the status quo, praying everything will be all right. I try to tell her as much, but she cuts off my protest. “It’s okay. I can wait until then.” She smiles and swings the door wide open. “It was fantastic to see you again, Darryl!”
    She’s impossible. As always, it’s her way or no way, and I suppose I have no other choice. I grab my wallet, cell phone, and car keys from my desk drawer and follow her out the door.

Chapter Two
     
    I MASSAGE THE HEADACHE beginning to throb at my temples. Sitting in the high school office again always brings back memories of visiting the guidance counselor with Faith when I was fifteen. Our parents died when I was six, and I was raised by Faith and her first husband, Calvin. She was with me the day I decided to go after the football scholarship that earned me a place at the pre-med college of my choice. The day I decided I wanted to become a psychiatrist, like Calvin and our Dad.
    It was the only time I’d been in the school office for a parent-teacher conference when I was the child. But as the parent, I’ve endured more of these meetings than I care to admit. This is the third time I’ve been summoned to school since the semester started five weeks ago. It doesn't matter what I say to Lisa; this never changes. Until now.
    For once she’s done something right and yet the outcome for us is worse than ever. I hate being the bad guy. I hate telling her that she can’t have something she wants, something that might change the very core of who she is and solve every problem I face with her. But to this? Sadly, I have no choice. I have to say ‘no’.
    “Don't you think it would have been appropriate to seek my permission before you did something like this?” I snap as Ms. Jackson, the principal of the school, stares at her staff member in accusation. But we all know bickering over the permission to enter Lisa's screenwriting project into a competition is the least of my worries now.
    “We had your permission,” Mrs. Rodriquez volunteers softly and offers me the signed permission slip. One glimpse at the proficient forgery and I don't even bother to take it. I turn my scowl on Lisa. “We'll talk about this at home.” Again . But Lisa makes no attempt to acknowledge me.
    “I'm sorry, Doctor Hawthorne,” Mrs. Rodriquez apologizes. “It never occurred to me to check.”
    I sigh. Why am I furious at them for seeing potential in Lisa when so many people tell me she’s a lost cause already? Too many people tell me she’s on the fast track to juvenile detention and her life is predetermined by Faith’s and John’s deaths, when these events occurred before she was even ten years old.
    “It's not your fault.” I make a half attempt at smoothing over any feathers I’ve ruffled here today. I don’t know whose fault this is. Probably mine. Because I’m sure Lisa has asked me to sign permission slips before, but I don’t remember signing them. It was always something Isobel had done before our marriage fell apart.
    Who can blame