All of Me (Inside Out Series Book 6) (7 page)

Part Seven

One Door Closes,
Another Opens

On the following Saturday, Chantal picks up something in the city I want to give to Chris and brings it to me, so I can surprise him. She doesn’t have long to visit, so I walk her to the library to find some books for her grandmother.

We cross the stone foyer, passing the winding stairs that lead to an impressive balcony that wraps the entire second level above us. Chantal stops in the center of the foyer, staring up at the magnificent chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. “This place is stunning. Are you ever coming back to the city? Out here, in this gorgeous place with a famous, sexy artist . . .” She sighs. “A little piece of heaven.”

I smile. “It is. But yes. We’re coming back on December first.”

“That’s weeks away.” She wipes pretend tears from her eyes.

I laugh and hug her. “I’m just a phone call away.”

She holds onto me a little too hard and a little too long to pass for a casual good-bye, and I can’t help but think that her promises of being unattached to Tristan are about as real as mine were with Chris. I lean back and study her, my hands on her shoulders. “You can come out here anytime, and you can always call me. About anything. Including Tristan.”

She shoves her hands into the pockets of her trench coat. “I know that now—and I’m glad I do.”

I can’t stop myself from saying, “Text me when you get home. That little fuel-saver car of yours scares me.”

“Everyone drives small cars here.”

“It’s terrifyingly small for a highway. Text me. Please.”

“I’m not going straight home.”

I see the comment as the test it most certainly is, and I aspire to pass my exam. “Then text me when you get to Tristan’s.”

Her lips curve. “Okay.”

I open the heavy wooden door and we step out onto the stone porch, a gust of cold wind blasting us. Chantal huddles into her coat, and I wish I had one. Shivering, I hug myself, and frown at the sight of Chris and Rey standing in the driveway beside Rey’s car.

“What is he doing here?” Chantal asks tightly.

“I don’t know,” I say, a gnawing, horrible sensation in my chest.

Rey is wearing a ski jacket, his keys in his hand. Chris is in a T-shirt, as if he’d rushed out to keep his unexpected guest outside. Rey says something to Chris, who scrubs his jaw in obvious frustration. Rey is trying to find Ella, and whatever he has to say, Chris isn’t happy about.

“I’m going to take off,” Chantal announces, rushing down the stairs. Both men look up, Chris focusing on me, Rey on Chantal, his gaze stormy, and I know she’s running from him. Rey goes in pursuit of her and Chris walks toward me, the set of his jaw grim.

My mind is all over the place. I want to run to Chris and demand answers. I want to run away like Chantal and pretend this isn’t happening. I want to be back in my dress, with Chris kissing me and this being one of the happiest days of my life.

Too soon, yet not soon enough, Chris stops in front of me, his big, strong hands coming down on my shoulders as he walks me back into the foyer, kicking the door shut, an act that says Rey isn’t getting an invitation inside. “Nothing is wrong, baby. Stop looking like that.”

“If nothing is wrong, why are you acting like something’s wrong? Why is Rey here? It’s Ella, isn’t it?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Chris. I know your body language. I know you were upset. And you didn’t say it wasn’t Ella.”

“Sara. No. Deep breath, baby.”

My fingers close around his shirt. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Rey called me and said he had information he didn’t want to give me over the phone because it’s too sensitive.”

“What information?”

“We don’t know if this has any merit, but he has a contact inside Neville’s operation who says Neville believes Ella is alive, and he’s issued a reward for bringing her to him alive.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes and no. Alive is good. A reward for keeping her alive is good. Being hunted by someone connected to the mob is not. And buying information directly from someone inside the mob is not smart. It’s a potential blackmail situation that could end in very dangerous places.”

“Are you saying we can’t buy the information?”

“We can’t, but someone else can for us. That means using the contractors Rey suggests. So far, Blake says they’re ghosts; he has nothing on them, good or bad. I don’t like dealing with people we don’t know. I’m agreeing to use them for this one purchase to put distance between us and Neville, but I want them vetted before we go further.”

Emotion punches at me, my eyes burning. “Chris. She really might be alive?”

“We don’t know if this is real.”

“But it’s a really good ray of hope.”

He cups the back of my neck and rests his forehead against mine. “Then we’ll cling to it together.”

•    •    •

Chris and I spend the next few hours in his studio, with “The Gift”
by Seether playing over and over on the sound system. Chris stands in the center of the stone-floored room, in front of an easel in his idea of a work uniform, which includes absolutely nothing but his low-slung faded jeans, no shirt, with his feet bare. I approve; oh yes, I do. Though I have to wonder if he gets cold. I’m chilly and I’m wearing my favorite long-sleeved pink sweat suit jacket and matching pants, and snuggled on a comfy overstuffed brown chair in the corner by the gas fireplace that Chris had installed several years ago as part of a renovation.

I try to do some research for a contract customer that Estaban referred to me, hoping to locate a rare piece he’s looking for. But between thoughts of Ella, and Chris’s canvas coming to life with dark, magical clarity for the first time since he started it the night of our arrival, I’m struggling to stay focused. The painting is one of his cityscapes—a stormy Paris that I know represents the day Tristan came to our house, and I’m in awe of how it’s come to life before my eyes. Aware that despite how much calmer he is out here in the country, away from everything else, this is a view into what he’s coping with inside. And he knows it, and has allowed me inside his creative world, though he lets no one else in. It feels like the final closed door with Chris is being opened, and I’m the only other person with the key.

My e-mail beeps and I click on it, hoping it’s Chantal, whom I emailed to check on after her encounter with Rey. Sure enough, there is a message titled “I’m safe. Stop worrying.” I’m about to click on it, but frown when I see Blake Walker’s name in my in-box, too. I didn’t even know he had my e-mail address—but then again, the man hacked my father’s unlisted phone number. I click on the message and read, “Tell Chris to call me right away. I’ve been trying to reach you both for hours.”

I sit up straight and set my computer on the chair, concerned by the tone of the e-mail and baffled by the fact that I get internet down here, though our phones won’t work. “Chris,” I call on my way to the stereo system built into the wall, which I turn off. “Chris.” He turns at my urgent tone, his brush still in his hand. “Blake just emailed me and said we need to call him right away. He’s been trying to reach us.”

Chris sets down his brush and grabs his boots, putting them on. “Maybe this means they caught Ava.” He grabs a black T-shirt from the stool next to him and pulls it over his head. “Blake’s been completely absorbed in hunting her down. And I’m sure her capture will be a firestorm for everyone connected, including us.”

Dread fills me. Her lies are many, and we always end up having to defend ourselves, as she seems to have a way of dragging everyone into her hell. Chris tugs his phone from his pocket as we hurry up the stairs, eager to find out what we’re facing. Will we have to suddenly rush back to the States? I’d love to cling to my solitude with Chris, free from interrogation rooms and the media frenzy we’ve finally escaped, but I am also eager to ensure Ava is put away where she can’t hurt anyone else.

“What’s up, Blake?” Chris says as we enter a long, wide hallway with a towering oval ceiling, and then turn right into a kitchen of various shades of gray stone and stainless steel. “What? When?” He inhales, then lets it out. “How bad?”

At those words, my heart starts racing. “What happened?” When Chris doesn’t look at me, I grab his arm. “Chris,
please
. What happened?”

He moves the phone from his mouth and says, “Crystal was attacked and beaten up. She’s in the hospital, but she’s recovering.”

“Oh God. Was it Ava?”

He nods. “That was last night. They got Ava, but not her accomplice.”

Relief washes over me.

He turns his attention back to Blake and I hang on every word of his conversation. There are a lot of partial sentences and random questions, and it’s driving me crazy.

“I’m sure they will,” Chris agrees at one point, running a hand through his hair and giving me his back, leaning against the countertop running the length of the kitchen. “I don’t like the unknown. No. I know no one does.”

Where is this headed? “What unknown?” I ask, unable to take this one-sided conversation any longer.

“Give me a minute, baby,” Chris tells me, then returns his attention to the call. “I’ll handle it, but I need to know what’s happening when it happens—not after the fact.” He ends the call.

“What’s happening that we need to know about?” I ask.

He sets his phone down on the counter and pulls me to him. “Ava and a man known to be a hired killer attacked Crystal. She’s lucky to have survived. Since she’s involved with Mark and his family, the thought is that it was meant to punish Mark.”

I’m stunned, and don’t even know which question to ask first. “How could Ava even know a mercenary? These people don’t walk around the streets handing out business cards.”

“Ava says Ricco hired the guy to help her escape, and wanted him to use her to torture Mark. Apparently when he was done with Ava, the mercenary was to kill her.” He laughs. “She went to Mark for help.”

“To Mark? Was she crazy? Oh God. He didn’t hurt her, did he?”

“No. Apparently he locked her in his trunk and handed her over to Walker Security.”

I let out a breath. “Can this story get any crazier?”

“Yes, actually. Apparently Ryan has been laundering money for some criminal organization. Mark uncovered it and got him arrested.”

I shiver. “I knew he was trouble. I felt it in my bones. I’m glad Mark caught him.”

“As it stands, Ryan is promising to turn state’s evidence on Ava for a deal.”

“What kind of evidence does he have?”

“That’s being kept under wraps, but I expect it will come out soon. Mark believed Ryan was involved in Rebecca’s murder in some way. If he gets out, he’d better run, or Mark will go after him. In the meantime, we need to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“The press is all over us in the States. They want to know where we are. Are we running from something, and on and on. It’s only a matter of time until they track us down here.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let’s go travel for the next month, in places they won’t expect to find us. We can come up with a plan tonight, and I’ll clear it with the police tomorrow. Germany, Australia, Belize—wherever you want to go.”

“I don’t want to leave. I like it here.”

He strokes a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I know, baby, but the reporters are coming.”

“What about the Louvre event for Christmas?”

“We’ll fly into Paris right beforehand. The press flurry should be over by then—at least until the trials start sometime next year for anyone who doesn’t strike a deal with the DA.”

“I don’t even want to think about any trials we might have to testify at.”

“All the more reason to escape now, and have what peace we can where we can get it.”

“What about Ella?”

“If they find her, we’ll fly to her immediately. Waiting here for news is only going to make the time feel longer.”

“You’re right. So we’ll plan our trips and we’ll leave.” I take his hand. “This seems a good time to show you something outside.”

His brow furrows. “Outside?”

“Outside,” I confirm.

“Now you have me curious.”

“Not for long,” I promise, leading him out of the kitchen and into the hallway, not stopping until we’re by the door.

He helps me bundle up in a white puffy hoodie and he slips on his Harley jacket, then we step outside as the sun is sinking low in the sky. A bitter cold has rolled in from the south. I shiver as we walk down the stairs and Chris wraps his arm around my shoulder, his hip pressing against mine. We cut to the left, bringing the two large vases I’ve left by the wall into view. Each holds a three foot high cross, one with a dragon etched on it that reads “Amber,” and one with roses etched on it that reads “Rebecca.”

Chris stares down at the crosses, as still as stone.

“You needed closure, and neither of them has had a proper funeral. They deserve to be honored. Since the ground is frozen, I figured we could place them this summer.”

He looks up at me, his green eyes filled with pain. “You’re right. I do need closure, something I usually avoided with a whip.”

He says those words easily, not hiding from the past or from me. He kisses my forehead, then bends down to pick up Amber’s cross. Though it took both me and Chantal to carry each of these before, I reach for Rebecca’s.