No In Between (10 page)

He maneuvers the 911 to only inches from the door, where Jacob stands, looking his normal stoic self in his standard dark suit. “Remember,” Chris warns as Jacob opens my door. “Ralph and Amanda are going to know what was on the news. There’s been nothing about you yet, but tomorrow will be a different story. You need to figure out what you want to tell them, and when.”

I give a short nod and exit the car.
It’s about to get nasty.
It had been an odd choice of words from Chris, but so appropriate. Murder is as nasty as it gets.

Jacob shuts the car door and I enter the gallery with him on my heels; then he says, “Stay inside.”

I turn to see him going back out. Grabbing the door, I gape at the crush of press rushing the 911, now pulled into a parking spot. Someone shouts and several people start running in my direction. I back up and shut the door.

Stunned, I hold my breath and wait for Chris and Jacob to appear. This is insanity. It’s the stuff of fake tabloids, not real lives. Seconds tick by like hours, and I begin to get nervous. Should I call the police on the press for trespassing?

I rush into the office. “Amanda,” I say urgently. “I need the number . . .” My words trail off when I discover she’s not at her desk.

“She’s a no-show so far,” Ralph calls from his office. “And she’s not answering her phone.”

Oh God. What else this morning? Concerned, I go to his doorway to find him looking frazzled, all kinds of files overlapping one another on his desk and a calculator tape dipping to the ground over the top. “Has she ever done this before? I remember her being reliable.”

“Never,” he says, seeming irritated at the need to abandon his calculator. “But the Ava news this morning could have spooked her.”

“You heard,” I say, taking the blows as they come.

“I’m sure the whole city heard. Murder, sex scandals, and so on and so on. Amanda’s a ‘drink beer out of a glass’ kind of girl. Hand her a bottle, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“Ah . . . translation?”

“It’s too much for her.”

“And you?”

“I’ll live, especially since Bossman tells me you’re going to be around. But you have sales things to do and I can’t do her job and mine, too. Bossman has me running all kinds of financials on the gallery that require focus.” He lowers his voice. “The kind of data you put together to put a business on the market.”

“What?” I close the distance between us and stop in front of his desk, keeping my tone hushed. “You think he intends to sell the gallery?”

“My mama didn’t raise an idiot. He’s absolutely reviewing his options. That, or considering a merger with Riptide.”

“You must be mistaken.” Mark would never sell his pride and joy.

“I’m not.”

He says it so definitively that I can’t help but pause. If he’s right, that leads me to the conclusion that either Mark’s mother’s health is worse than we know, or the situation with the police is worse than we know. Or both.

“I’ll take care of the admin stuff,” I promise Ralph. “You just do your thing and buzz me if you hear from Amanda.”

“You do the same,” he calls out as I leave his office and enter mine, quickly dumping my purse in the desk drawer before walking back into the lobby to hang my coat up on the rack behind the reception desk.

“Soul-sucking bastards ready to destroy a person for thirty seconds of fame,” Chris grumbles as he enters the office with Jacob on his heels.

“It went that well, I guess?” I ask, meeting him in the middle of the lobby.

“We’re getting a gate put around the parking lot so this won’t be an issue again. I don’t care if I have to pay for the damn thing myself. I already called Blake and told him to make it happen.”

“When’s the receptionist due in?” Jacob asks, moving to stand beside us. “I was hoping to look over the messages from the service.”

“Twenty-five minutes ago,” I supply. “She almost walked out yesterday before I could promise her extra security. But I can clear the messages.”

“I’ll get the messages,” Jacob offers. “You do what you need to do.”

“I’m not sure anything else I do will be much help for this place right now. We can’t plan a grand reopening with this craziness going on.” And after what Ralph told me, I wonder if it matters anymore.

“I’d say focus on convincing the artists on display not to pull their work,” Chris suggests. “Use me all you need to. I’ll talk to whomever I have to. Is Mark in his office?”

“Yes,” Ralph calls from his desk, making it clear he’s been eavesdropping. “And Amanda is now thirty minutes late.”

Jacob’s phone buzzes and he glances at it. “Gotta run. The tech crew’s here to install some extra equipment.”

He disappears and Chris closes the short distance between us, giving me a sizzling once-over that pretty much strips me naked. “Tomorrow,” he says, leaning in near my ear to whisper, “you wear the bag or I keep you in bed.” He fixes me in a stare. “Understood?”

I smirk at him and grab the lapels of his jacket as he had mine earlier. “Yes, Master,” I whisper.

Chris looks amused. “I dare you to say that later and see what results it gets you.” He motions down the hall. “But for now, this ‘Master’ is going to see ‘Bossman.’”

I laugh and call after him, “I dare you to call him that to his face.”

The door behind me opens and I turn to see Amanda rushing into the office, her long brown hair tied into a messy ponytail.

“Hi,” she says, giving me an awkward wave. “Sorry I’m late. We were driving around the block, waiting for the TV people to get back into their van.”

We? Who is we?
I consider asking directly but she’s so nervous that I stick with, “I hope you didn’t make your roommate late to work.”

She cuts her gaze, pretty much confirming my fear. She was with Ryan.

“We tried to call you!” Ralph shouts from his office.

“Oh.” She flushes and shrugs out of her jacket. “Sorry. I didn’t charge my cell last night.”

Because she wasn’t home
. Every instinct I own says she was with him and that he’s bad for her. Maybe even dangerous. No. Not dangerous. Where did that come from?

“What should I do today?” she asks, hanging up her coat. Her black skirt is off center and one of her blouse buttons is in the wrong hole.

“If you could get the messages for me and bring them to my office?” I ask, and it hits me that she doesn’t seem surprised to see me at all.

“Yes, of course,” Amanda agrees. “Is Bossman here?”

“Locked in his office,” I confirm.

“And we’re in a red zone,” Ralph calls out, and I assume by her responding grimace that this must be some new code for Mark being cranky.

“Thanks for the warning.”

When she looks everywhere but at me, I ask quietly, “Are you okay?”

Her gaze lifts to mine, her discomfort palpable. I think she’s afraid I’ll find out about her and Ryan and be upset. Or maybe she’s afraid Mark will find out? Unless . . . oh God, I almost swallow my tongue. Please don’t let Mark be involved with Amanda, too. Please don’t let that be why she’s not surprised I’m here.

“I’m okay,” she says, but the words come out choked. She delicately clears her throat then adds, “It’s just . . . it’s the press and Rebecca and . . . just all of it.”

It’s a logical answer, so why am I waiting for her to say something else? I give her several expectant seconds but she says nothing. Not ready to give up, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to help you get through all this?”

She cuts her gaze again, giving a quick shake of her head. “It’s okay.”

Okay.
I head for my office, and Ralph flags me as I pass his door.

I pause in his doorway as he asks, “Would it be really tacky for me to order coffee from next door and have them deliver it? I mean, I know that coffee shop used to be Ava’s, but—”

“Ava’s coffee shop is open?”

“It never closed. It’s being run by Ava’s husband. And yes, you heard me right. I didn’t even know she was married, but I guess they were living apart.”

Of course her husband would take over the coffee shop. The answer makes perfect sense, just like Amanda’s reasons for being late and flustered. And yet, nothing feels quite right at all.

Ten

An hour later Jacob has joined Chris in Mark’s office, and I’m reviewing the answering service report Jacob ordered for problems. But every few seconds I keep glancing at the roses in the Georgia O’Nay painting, grasping for something I can’t remember. It nags at me, and I reach into my briefcase and pull out my journal. Flipping to a blank page, I cave to the compelling need to write down my thoughts on Rebecca’s disappearance:

Did Ava act alone?

Could Ava be crazy enough to really claim credit for a murder she didn’t commit?

What if Rebecca isn’t dead at all?

I’m irritated at myself for even writing that last question, but it’s the one we all are wishfully asking. I start writing again, listing people who mattered to Rebecca:

1. Her mother: She raised Rebecca alone and she died with a secret about her father that tore Rebecca to pieces. I never figured out what that secret was, but I’m certain that Rebecca never knew her father. But what if he knew her? What if her existence was a threat to him, and maybe another family?

2. Ex-boyfriend: I don’t know his name, but she wrote about him being stalkerish. He seemed irrelevant, but was he?

3. Mary: Jealous, mean, competitive. I’m pretty sure she had the hots for Mark.

4. Ryan: One of her lovers, though not by choice. Mark brought him into the relationship. I don’t know the dynamic of their relationship enough to know what he felt for her. Rebecca didn’t express any emotions about him at all, which is odd, considering how intimate they were.

5. Mark: Per Chris, he loved her but wasn’t in love with her. I disagree. I saw his eyes the night he heard she was dead. And there’s no question she rattled his control like no other person ever had. If there is a fine line between love and hate, where did Mark walk then and now?

6. Ricco: The man who told me there’s a fine line between love and hate. He was, and still is, infatuated with Rebecca. He hates Mark for being the one she wanted. As with Mark, I find it hard to believe someone who loves that deeply would kill that person, but what about when they’re rejected? What about in a moment of passion?

“Hey, baby.”

I look up to find Chris standing in my doorway, and he’s a welcome breath of hot, wicked man in denim and leather. He wasn’t wearing the jacket a few minutes ago. “Are you leaving?”

“I need to run to the bank and take care of some stuff before tomorrow becomes a bigger zoo than today.” He motions to the door. “Walk me out?”

“Yes, of course.” I push to my feet and he watches me, tracking my every step, his eyes traveling my body in a hot inspection that I blame for the ache forming in my sex. Or maybe that’s the memory of his hand on my backside. He’s right; a spanking has a way of making the world fade away.

The instant I’m in front of him, he reaches for me, twining his fingers with mine, and bringing us toe-to-toe. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he promises, “I’m going to say ‘fuck the gallery’ and take you home and fuck you.”

“The wait always makes it better,” I remind him, as he often does me.

“Ah, my naughty little schoolteacher. You’re learning.” He leads me into the hallway.

“What was going on in Mark’s office?” I ask as we head to the door.

“We Skyped with one of Blake’s brothers and lined up the security details.”

“Where’s Blake?”

“He’s on his way here from New York. That’s why we had to deal with his brother.”

“I thought Kelvin ran San Francisco?”

“I like Kelvin, but we have too much shit going on to not have Blake here in person. He’s going to chat one-on-one with Amanda and Ralph sometime tomorrow as well. We want to make sure the press doesn’t get to them.”

That sets off my alarm bells. “Amanda is acting so odd, Chris. Maybe they already got to her. I hate that I’m saying this, but after what I’ve seen today, maybe shutting the gallery and funneling sales through Riptide is the way to go for a while.”

We near the back exit and Chris halts just beyond several security people milling around. “He may sell it,” he says, his tone low, for my ears only.

I move close, careful not to let my voice lift. “Ralph told me he was doing financials to sell, but I thought he was crazy. This is Mark’s pride and joy, and it’s part of his identity.”

“Well, we both know his identity is being shaken up, and I think he’s preparing for Riptide to need him full-time.”

“Oh, God—his mother? I thought she was better.”

“I don’t know. He’s not saying much, and maybe she’s simply going to retire. I’m just guessing.” He glances at his watch. “I might be a couple of hours. I need to attend to a few investments.” His hand settles on my waist. “I’m going to have the Louvre find a replacement for me for the charity, so we don’t have that pressure.”

“What? No.” I grab his arm. “Chris, if this is about last night—”

He cups my cheek. “I need you to know that nothing is more important than you and this and us.”

“Please don’t read into last night. I
do
know.”

“Not enough, baby, but I’m working on fixing that.” His hand falls away. “I need to run. My banker’s expecting me, but call me if you need anything. I’ll answer. Blake should be here by dinner time to talk through where the investigation stands.”

“Did you ask him about—”

“Yes, I’ve been on him. No word on Ella, though. I’m sorry, but he’s trying.”

“I want to be there tonight when you meet with Blake.”

“I assumed as much. I’ll see if we can get him and his team, as well as David, to our house.”

Thinking of Ava reminds me of next door. “Did you hear the coffee shop is open?”

“Jacob told me.”

“Ralph says Ava’s estranged husband is running it.”

“Husband? Ava has a husband?”

“That was my reaction when I found out.” My brows furrow with a memory and a note to add to my journal. “The day we ran into Ava at the Chanel store, she told me her ex was trying to make her jealous to win her back. Does that make you think what it makes me think?”

“That Ava needed help to make Rebecca disappear and she had it in him.”

“It makes sense.”

“Yes. It’s a logical assumption and I’m sure the police are thinking the same thing.”

“If you were that confident about what the police are doing, Blake wouldn’t be flying in today on what I’m guessing is your dime. You’d settle for him at a distance and his crew here with us.”

He pulls me to him. “Our dime, baby. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is definitely mine.
Wife.
” He kisses me soundly on the lips and then heads to the door where he stops to talk to one of the security people.

I stand there, staring after him, and I’m not sure what affects me more. The security of knowing that this amazing man wants me to be his wife, or the fact that he didn’t deny the reason Blake is flying here. I was right. He doesn’t trust the police department to get the job done. Maybe he even worries, like me, that they’ll get the job done wrong.

• • •

Back in the office I pull out my list of sales prospects, but I’m still distracted by the painting, and why it’s bothering me. Maybe it simply represents what’s lost and seems never to be found, and a sense of hopelessness I don’t seem able to escape.

Though it feels like I’m spinning my wheels, I finally start the process of highlighting the gallery clients I think will be the most understanding of the circumstances, and thus will be easier sales to close.

Amanda buzzes me. “You have a call on the back line. It’s Crystal from Riptide.”

I cringe at the realization that I never called her back last night, and the wrath she must have received from Mark. I reach for the phone. “Put her through,” I say, rushing to the door to shut it before reclaiming my chair.

“Crystal,” I say, answering the line. “I’m so very sorry I didn’t call you last night.”

“You’re there. That’s what counts.”

“Did Mark give you a hard time about rehiring me?”

“Of course. It started with, ‘Ms. Smith—’ in that proper authoritative voice of his. And he tried to end it with, ‘I trust we will not have this conversation again.’”

“Tried?”

“I was with his mother. She was having a rare feisty moment and wanted to talk to him.”

I laugh. “Oh my. He must have loved that.”

“Actually, I think he loves anything resembling feisty in her these days.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I say and not for the first time I have the impression she knows more than Mark’s mother well. She knows him.

“How is he?” she asks softly, and something in her tone hints at far more than job duties.

“He’s keeping to himself,” I reply, “but I don’t think he’s doing that well at all.” I glance down at the messages on my desk, many from reporters. “Has he warned you about the media attention that could be coming in your direction?”

“I know about the Rebecca situation and the news reports this morning. I know it all, Sara. And I mean all of it. You can’t shock me. You can’t scare me. They can’t scare me.
Mark
can’t scare me.”

There’s some sort of loaded punch behind those words that resembles me with Chris too much for me to ignore. “Just . . . be careful, Crystal. Don’t—”

“Get emotionally attached? To Mark? I’m smarter than that. To his parents, too late. They’re my second family and I’m worried about them. His mother is pretty out of it with the chemo and radiation treatments, and Mark told his father what’s going on. He’s helping me shelter her, but he’s not emotionally equipped to handle much himself.”

“I’m wondering about Allure,” I start, daring to feel her out about Mark selling the gallery. “Is Mark—”

There’s a muffled knock in the background. “Hold on, Sara. Sorry.” I hear her open the door and murmur something that I can’t make out to someone. Several beats pass and she returns. “I’m afraid I have an auction with complications about to start, but I called for a reason. Newman Riley. Do you know him?”

“I know his work. He’s one of the artists on display here at Allure.”

“Not after today. He’s a bit of a diva and he’s on a tirade. He’s not pleased that the gallery is closed and that no one will return his calls. Apparently, I don’t count as someone since I’ve talked to him three times. What it comes down to is that he wanted to talk to Mark.”

“Did you tell him about Mark’s mother and Rebecca?”

“Yes. He doesn’t care. I think that’s why Mark doesn’t care, either. Bottom line, Newman is on a plane to San Francisco as we speak. He plans to remove his work from the gallery personally. I left Mark a message and texted him after he hung up with his mother, but I called because I had a gut feeling he wasn’t communicating with you. I didn’t want Newman to show up and surprise you.”

“Mark’s in the gallery, so he must be planning to deal with him when he arrives.”

She lowers her voice. “Between you and me, I’m not so sure he has a plan. His mother started crying while she was talking to him, and I’m pretty sure it upset him. She wanted him here for her chemo treatment, and I know he wanted to be here, too.”

I press my fingertips to my temple. “No wonder he’s locked in his office. I’ll handle it. Thank you, Crystal.”

“Thank
you,
Sara. Gotta run. Call me if you need me.”

The line goes dead and I sit there for a minute, digesting the way she has thanked me, like this is her family she’s protecting. She seems emotionally attached, which normally would be a good thing, but now . . . now I think of how emotional attachment has become dangerous. Amber is in rehab over Chris. Ricco is charged with a felony over his attachment to Rebecca. Ava is on trial for murder. Rebecca . . . is dead.

I want to see Crystal’s attachment to Mark and his family as good. Instead, I’m worried. And did she know Rebecca? Was she involved with Mark at the same time? Was she someone invited into their play? Does she know Ava? I feel horrible for suspecting her if she’s sincere, but I have to be cautious.

I dial Chris and he picks up almost immediately. “Miss me already?”

“I miss our bed with you and me in it, away from all of this,” I say. “Is this a bad time?”

“Never. What’s up, baby?”

I sigh. “I have a problem. Surprise.”

“Does his name start with an ‘M’?”

My lips twist wryly. “Yes.” I explain what Crystal told me about Riley. “I think I need to handle this, not Mark, but I don’t think he’ll see it that way. I’m hoping you know Riley and have some insight into his personality.”

“Yeah. I know Riley. He’s done some charity work with me. He tends to feel overlooked in the art community. The result isn’t always good. I wouldn’t put it past him to run his mouth to the press. I’m only a few blocks away. I’ll have the security guys on alert and I’ll talk to him. I know a few projects coming up that might persuade him to be tolerant.”

“Thank you, Chris.”

“Thank me later. In bed. Or out of bed. Be creative.”

I smile into the phone and respond with what has become our running joke, “I’ll use your imagination.”

“Even better.”

I’ve barely settled my cell phone back on my desk when Amanda buzzes me again. “Ryan is on the line and he says he’s outside to see Mark. They won’t let him in.”