Crossing Lines: A gripping psychological thriller (Behind Closed Doors Book 3) by Erin Cawood Read Free Book Online

vision from my head and open them again. But she's still there. The thing is, she’s gone from super tall to an average height. I look at her feet and suddenly it all falls into place. I’ve never seen her without heels. “Krystal, what are you doing here?”
    In reply, she removes the dark glasses. The most vivid emerald-colored irises I’ve ever seen before, and never saw in the multitude of customizable contact lenses she normally wears, stare back at me. For a moment, they distract me from the ugly red circles surrounding them. Instincts warn me that that is going to be one hell of a black eye. “What the hell?”
    “This?” Her hand goes to her face. “It’s nothing.” She shrugs again. “I've had worse from the kids at my local dojo.”
    “Darryl.” Caleb rolls his eyes at me in frustration, “Are you going to invite her in? Or just make pleasantries on the doorstep all night?” He sidesteps me and reaches out to help Krystal with the child. “This must be Macaulay?” He gathers her into his arms. I’m surprised how easily she goes to him and snuggles into the crook of his neck and shoulder with very little disturbance, “I’ll just put her on the sofa in the den.” Krystal's expression pales. “Don’t look so worried,” Caleb offers. “It’s just here.” He nods towards the door leading into my home office. “And Darryl can take you through to the living room. Coffee?”
    She visibly relaxes and nods at Caleb. I take that as my cue to do as I’m told. I lift my arm to lead Krystal through to the living room. “I thought you were back in LA?”
    “Everyone does.” She smiles again, sidesteps around me. “I've been enjoying some inconspicuous freedom here in New York with my niece, Macaulay.”
    Georgia mutters something unrecognizable in a distasteful tone. When Caleb returns from the den, he glares at his sister, who in turn flips him a finger, turns on her heel, and marches up the stairs. “Please forgive them,” I say, before sending Krystal a polite closed-mouth smile. As we walk through into our living room, I continue, “We've had a few very long and stressful days.”
    “Yes, I know.” She whispers, “And I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced and so late at night, but Caleb said it was okay.”
    I frown.
    “We spoke only a short while ago.”
    But the only call Caleb took tonight was from someone called Ashleigh? “Are you Ashleigh?” She nods, so I wait for an explanation to why she has an alter ego, but she doesn’t offer one. Something tells me I’m not going to get one either; I move on, but tuck it away with the intention of revisiting it in our next therapy session. “So you're hiding out in New York. What happened?” I point to the markings on her eye. “Did some fool try to mug you or something? Have you had a cold compress on it yet? Caleb!” I call to my nephew, who is yet to join us in the living room. “Bring some ice, please.”
    “Ever the doctor.” She dismisses my concerns but not without a fondness I’m unaccustomed to. “But I’m fine. Thank you.” Her lips work into a tender smile, although it seems hard work for her to do so. “Macaulay gave me an ice cream to put on it,” she laughs. Sentimental is another word I wouldn’t associate with Krystal, but her laugh is exactly that, sentimental. “I lived and worked in New York for years. I'm more than capable of handling this city and the people in it.”
    It doesn't go unnoticed that she's avoided my questions again, but I suspect it has something to do with why she’s standing in my living room after midnight. “Obviously not.” I shake my head. “Look at the state of you.”
    “Trust me when I say, it won't happen again.” My gaze insists it meet with hers, as the edge of cold steel and determination in her voice drags me back to her whispered confession. Whoever has hit her has lived to tell the tale and she's not too happy about it.
    The second I think I’m within inches of