Tara Quinn - The First Wife

JANE HAMILTON. First wife of murder suspect and bigamist. Well-regarded magazine editor.

Close friends with Bradley Manchester—who wants to move their relationship to a deeper level.

Jane is resisting. But unless she confronts the past—with honesty—she won’t attain happiness in the present….

“One of the skills that has served Quinn best…has been her ability to explore edgier subjects.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Combining her usual superb sense of characterization with a realistically gritty plot, Quinn has created an exceptionally powerful book.”

—Booklist on Behind Closed Doors

“I thoroughly enjoyed [Behind Closed Doors] to the point where I could not put it down to attend to such routine things as eating. I was riveted from the first page to the last.”

—All About Romance

“Tara Taylor Quinn has created a masterpiece with The Night We Met…. This novel deserves to sit on every reader’s shelf as a keeper. I highly recommend all readers of women’s fiction, romance and series grab their copies today and prepare to be taken for the emotional ride of their life.”

—Love Romances and More

“Lisa Jackson fans will fall hard for Quinn’s unique ability to explore edgy subjects with mesmerizing style.”

—BookReporter.com

Dear Reader,

Welcome! You’re about to get details from the first of many private files of psychologist and expert witness Kelly Chapman. This character first presented herself to me a couple of years ago, and I’m excited to share her life and her files with you.

Kelly is in demand all over the country, but she’s lived in the same town, Chandler, Ohio, most of her life. She has also counseled many of the citizens of Chandler, so while she is loved by many, intimate personal relationships are kind of out for her. At home she’s happily ruled by her four-pound toy poodle, Princess Camille, who allows Kelly to address her as Camy.

The First Wife is the story of Jane Hamilton, a successful magazine editor who’s on top of her game until she finds out that not only has she been lied to in the most hideous way, but she’s also been lying to herself. She’s called to testify at a trial. The defendant is her ex-husband. The crime—he’s been accused of murdering his wife. Jane is the first wife. Complications arise from the fact that Jane’s husband was a bigamist—married to the woman he murdered at the same time he was married to Jane. And there’s a third wife, too. But the complications don’t end there. Don’t worry, though. Jane does find love again. And you’ll learn what happened during Jane’s first marriage and afterward. Kelly Chapman takes great notes!

For access to more of Kelly’s files, check out these upcoming MIRA releases in THE CHAPMAN FILES—The Second Lie (October 2010), The Third Secret (November 2010) and The Fourth Victim (December 2010).

I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 13584, Mesa, Arizona 85216, or through my Web site, www.tarataylorquinn.com.

Tara Taylor Quinn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The author of more than fifty original novels published in twenty languages, Tara Taylor Quinn is a USA TODAY bestselling writer with over six million copies sold. She is known for her deeply emotional and psychologically astute novels. Tara won a 2008 Readers’ Choice Award, is a four-time finalist for the prestigious RWA RITA® Award, a multiple finalist for the Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers’ Best Award and the Holt Medallion, among others. She has appeared on national and local TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. When she’s not writing or fulfilling speaking engagements, Tara loves to travel with her husband, stopping wherever the spirit takes them. Home is in Ohio, where they live with their two dogs.

For Tim. My first and last. I love you, babe.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Chandler, Ohio

I WAS SITTING at my kitchen table that morning, having a banana and trying to decide whether to skate first—I’m an avid in-line skater—or read a couple of patient files and then skate, when the phone rang.

Not all that unusual. I’d lived in Chandler my entire life—except for when I was in college. I was on the committee to beautify Main Street, volunteered at our version of a soup kitchen, belonged to a book club, mentored a doctoral candidate for State Board of Psychology Licensure. And any number of my clients had my home phone number. I lived in a small town. There was no escaping them.

And truth be told, I didn’t want to escape them. I wanted to help them. I cared about them. Regardless of what the professors had taught us in all of my Clinical Psychology classes—that we were not to personalize our work—I got emotionally involved with my patients’ care. My professors’ theories worked on an academic level. They didn’t work in Chandler. Bottom line was, trauma didn’t punch a time clock. So neither did I. But I digress.

I was going to read files. Two in particular. And I was going to skate. The only question was which I would do first.

And then the call came.

Camy, or Camelia as the royal queen of the four-pound toy poodle world is more formally known, jumped down from my lap as I grabbed the phone.

I recognized the number on the display. Sheila Grant was one of Ohio’s leading county prosecutors. She also happened to live in Chandler—probably because, as the seat of Ford County, Chandler has the only courthouse.

A few years older than me, Sheila had been at her job a long time. And with her lover, Geraldine, even longer. I respected her. Liked her, even, but we’d never been close. Sheila enjoyed motorcycles, demolition derbies and pig roasts.

I didn’t.

“Hello?” That was the way I always answered the phone. Didn’t matter that now, with caller ID, I knew who was on the other end. I mean, what if it was my dad’s number and I let out a “what do you want?” and it turned out to be a cop using my dad’s phone to call and tell me Dad was dead on the side of the road?

“Good, you’re there,” Sheila said, her voice as feminine as her skin was tough.

“Yep. For the moment. What’s up?”

“I have a case.”

Of course she did. It was the only reason the prosecutor would be calling me at home. If she was selling raffle tickets for her latest cause, she’d have caught me at the courthouse. Or my office.

“What kind of case?”

“It’s a strange one, Kel,” Sheila said. “Murder, but that’s not what’s weird.”

“Okay.” I grabbed the pen and pad of paper from the counter because it was closer than the one on the table. Or the one beside the couch. Besides, it had colorful spring flowers in the background. I had a feeling I was going to need some cheer for this. “Fill me in.”

I hadn’t started my career with any desire to be an expert witness. And certainly not one who was nationally registered and got calls from all over the country. That hadn’t been my goal. But our purposes in life aren’t always clear to us, are they?