Page 10 of Wicked Duty
A witness has gone missing.
Just like I did a few months ago…
I shiver, goose bumps prickling my skin.
“Lucy? Are you okay?”
I jump, but it’s only Elise, our bright-eyed manager with green-streaked hair. We’re an eclectic bunch here at Café Tomé. She gives me a solid once-over as she strides in from the administrative office, a little too observant for her own good.
“I…um, I just puked in the bathroom.” I grab one of my shaking hands with the other. “I think I’d better head home.”
“Oh gosh. Please, go get some rest and some medicine.” Elise shuffles toward the front, waving at me. “We’ll hold down the fort here.”
God bless her.
As much as I hate the idea of going to therapy, anything’s better than suffering through Callum Kavanagh’s continual surveillance for the next four hours. Especially if dropping by the doctor’s office means more meds.
I remove my apron, retrieve my purse, and leave through the back door. As I disappear into the Manhattan streets, a little of the pressure eases from my chest.
I know my extreme reaction to my bodyguard’s presence isn’t entirely logical, but that self-awareness does little to resolve the issue. I may need protection, but I hate the idea ofa man constantly hovering over me and telling me what to do…especially one who rubs me the wrong way.
For the majority of our lives, Maya and I had to fend for ourselves. Now, suddenly, I’m a delicate flower that requires supervision. I’ve survived for this long. I don’t need a guard dog.
Especially one who acts so…superior. Infuriating.
Hot.
For the first time today, Callum’s not breathing down my neck.
And imagining his reaction when he realizes I’ve vanished, well, that’s just the holistic mood boost I need.
Chapter 3
Lucy
“It’s been a while since we’ve met.” Dr. Betty Shaw flashes me a sincere smile, laugh lines crinkling as she piles her long salt-and-pepper tresses into a messy bun. She clips her hairdo together with a black banana clip that came straight from the eighties. “How have you been doing, Lucy?”
Every time I sit in her office, I experience the same thought.
A genie must live here.
So many tassels, colors, and soft cozy surfaces populate her office that I barely know where to look.
I shrug. “I’m surviving.”
She jots down a note. “How is your sister liking Italy?”
Maya’s open, unguarded excitement about it shines through my memory. “A lot.” A smile tilts my lips. “Though I think she’s trying to hide it.”
“Hide it?” She crosses her legs, balancing her notepad on her knees. “Why do you think that?”
My gaze slides to my hands. “I just…know my sister. She wouldn’t want me to feel like she was having the time of her life now that she’s away from me.”
I try with all my might to mask my discomfort. The entire therapeutic process reeksof forced vulnerability, and I’m donewith that. But still…since I’m basically on my own these days, it’s nice to have someone to vent to. I let myself relax just a little as we discuss the last few weeks.
“So this bodyguard of yours is nice?” Dr. Shaw’s thick eyebrows hop up into her hairline.
A dry laugh slips out. “I wouldn’t really say ‘nice.’ Not to me anyway. He’s…efficient.”
