Dripping and naked, she searched her spartan hotel room for her cell phone. A trail of clothes led from the door to her rumpled bed. The phone had spilled from her purse as she’d peeled her skirt and stockings off the night before.
The only message was from Alexander wondering where she was. It had been his idea to see a psychiatrist. What he didn’t know, however, was the only doctor actively treating her illness was in Venice, many miles from their home in the mountains of Colorado.
Photo: passenger
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