The Marriage Counselor

THE MARRIAGE COUNSELOR A TOTALLY PULSE-POUNDING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER WITH A JAW-DROPPING TWIST DEA POIRIER BOOKS BY DEA POIRIER The Marriage Counselor Detective Harlow Durant Series Find Me in the Dark The Girls in the Fire Their Final Cry AVAILABLE IN AUDIO Detective Harlow Durant Series Find Me in the Dark (Available in the UK and the US) The Girls in the Fire (Available in the UK and the US) Their Final Cry (Available in the UK and the US) CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Find Me in the Dark Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Hear More from Dea Books by Dea Poirier A Letter from Dea The Girls in the Fire Their Final Cry Acknowledgements For everyone who’s lost themselves. One day, you will find you again. 1 A good lie can change the world, a life, someone’s fate. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Maybe it’s different when someone pays you to lie. Sometimes I see it in their eyes, the secret agreement between us. A nonverbal contract, something only exchanged in glances, admitted in the shadows. I’ve got my lies ready, all the ones I’ll need today, and the ones I may not. No one comes to a marriage counselor for the truth—in fact, most of the time when they come to me, it’s too late. By the time you realize you need a referee in your marriage, chances are, it’s been over for years. The sad fact is, it takes two willing participants to save a marriage—and if both of you are in it together, you’d never make it to my office; you’d solve the problems on your own. I hear it all the time, someone thinks that their marriage would never end because no one cheated, they never yelled. But it’s not just the big things. Over the years, the little things build up. That time that you didn’t open the car door for them, the time you didn’t pick them up a coffee, when you forgot an anniversary or when they needed you to grab something on the way home. Divorce doesn’t happen because of grand failures, sometimes it happens because time after time your spouse makes you feel like you don’t matter, like you are an afterthought. The light knocking at my door jolts me, even though I know I have an appointment soon—I usually sprinkle my sessions throughout the day. I shuffle to the door and look through the peephole only to be met with a blue uniform. My stomach flip-flops, and my palms slick with sweat. Though I’m well versed at taming my emotions and remaining in control in most situations, a cop is enough to make even those citizens without so much as a parking ticket sweat. A war rages in my mind, pretend I’m not home, or open the door? As I look through the peephole again, the officer steps back. His long dark hair is swept back, his wide build shifts back and forth, he turns—it’s a face I saw every day for years for years. Cameron. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. There’s no guide for what to do when your cop ex-boyfriend shows up at your door. Cosmo doesn’t cover things like this. Sure, they might tell you whether or not you’re a winter or an autumn, and how to restyle that old blouse for that hot new job—but they sure as hell don’t say what to do here. Did he come here for a session? That would be awkward. I open the door and offer him a half smile. The hand that’s out of sight tightens into a fist, reminding me that my ring is too tight. As he looks at me, I’m aware that I got dressed for work this morning, not to impress an old boyfriend. I wish I’d done a bit more with my makeup, straightened my hair. “Adele, hi,” he says, as if he wasn’t expecting to see me here. Did he not know he was coming to my house? I nod. “It’s been a while.” Fifteen years to be exact. Cameron and I dated through college, after starting in high school, but grew apart. He was the one everyone was convinced I’d marry. But we were too young and I couldn’t stand another minute in Orlando. After I left, that’s when I met my husband, Patrick. Patrick met me at a low point, just as I was fleeing Naples, still fleeing Cameron too. I’ve always been running from something, someone. “Can I come in for a minute?” He glances down the street. His stance tells me he’s uncomfortable, like maybe he doesn’t want to be here. My experience with TV crime shows tells me that I shouldn’t let him in. But the curiosity of what exactly he wants outweighs the warnings in my mind. I step aside and lead him from the foyer to the living room. As he follows me, I play with my wedding ring to distract myself from the uncomfortable silence. My house is always immaculate. Most people think it’s because I meet most of my clients in my home, so my house must always be guest ready. But the reality is, this is what Patrick wants. He has a vision for how our life must look from the outside, and I help preserve it—because that preserves the peace. “Is everything all right?” I ask as I sit on the couch. Cameron takes a seat on the chair across from me. We may have been apart fifteen years, but he doesn’t look like he’s aged a day. He wears his hair differently now, and a dusting of stubble