Page 1 of Three for a Girl

Chapter One

Murder, murder, murder. It was always on their minds.

Romeo needed to do it, and Chad needed to stop it.

They were opposite ends of the scale, Romeo in the dark, and Chad in the light. Their messed-up romance was caught in a Shakespeare clinch. Neither could live without the other, but Chad’s alter ego itched away at his mind, demanding he act, and opposite him slurping coffee sat the one person who would seal his fate.

Keeley Smith.

The therapist taking him apart with her eyes, and pen. He’d thought sitting in the waiting room with the other edgy clients was bad enough, but being in front of Keeley, his heart thumped no matter how many times she told him to relax. In fact, the more she told him to, the more it tried to escape his chest, and the more he fidgeted.

She rattled off her qualifications, and assurances, even threw in the story of what made her become a therapist, but at some point, her voice changed into white noise, and Chad struggled to focus.

As soon as he realized he was scrunching and releasing his hand, he stiffened, and lay it flat on his knee. It was too late, Keeley put her coffee on the desk, and made a note of it, never looking at the page. She smiled at Chad as she placed her pen down on the desk.

She had a distinctly librarian vibe to her, hair tied up, thick framed glasses, and kind eyes that said she was there to help.

Chad didn’t want her help—he was beyond it. He just needed to convince her he was ready for homicide. He needed to go back to work, to start on his and Romeo’s path towards a normal life.

The room held the same library feel with its full bookcase and leather chairs. He wondered whether that was the mood Keeley was projecting. The calmness of a library, the soothing smell of leather, the natural light streaming through the window, and not an electronic screen in sight. A fan blew in his direction, but it didn’t help with the perspiration. It made it worse, blowing the hot summer air at his sweltering face.

“So now I’ve introduced myself. Let’s start with why you’re here?”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “It’s one of the conditions for me to start working on homicide cases again. Weekly therapy sessions.”

Keeley averted her gaze. “Yes, that’s why, but notwhy.If you know what I mean?”

“My new inspector doesn’t think I’m up for the job.”

“That’s not true. You’re here because he cares about you. As does your old inspector…” Keeley licked her forefinger and turned the page on her notebook. “Lucas Grimes. I requested your files from Sandra Monroe, but you blocked them from being released.”

“They’re private.”

“They could help me, help you.”

“I’d prefer to start my therapy from scratch.”

Keeley nodded, leaning forward in her chair. She lowered her shoulders, and Chad wondered whether she was trying to look small, less threatening. In reality she was the most terrifying person he’d ever met. She could blow his new life to pieces if he gave her an in.

“First, I’d like to say, it’s very brave you coming here. Willing to open up about all that happened to you.”

Chad didn’t reply that he’d been given no other choice. He wiped his sweaty palm on his thigh. She saw, but didn’t write it down.

He imagined she was saving that for after he’d gone, something for Keeley and her fellow therapists to go over while drinking their afternoon coffee, discussing his quirks like gossip.

Patient confidentiality. What a joke.

“Chad?”

“Yeah, sorry. I want to get back to normal, that’s all. That’s why I’m here.”

Keeley’s eyebrows pinched. “Marc Wilson.”

She watched him with laser intensity, waiting for a reaction. He thanked Romeo for schooling it out of him.

He blurted the name out at odd moments and watched Chad with the same caution. At first Chad tensed up, and echoes of pain had flashed around his torso. He lost all track of thought, didn’t know what they were doing, whether it was a crossword, or they were tucked tightly on the sofa watching a movie, his mind wiped with a bright light of pain that he had to blink himself back from.

Romeo was always waiting for him on the other side and carried on as if the blast to his senses hadn’t happened.

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