No In Between (13 page)

“We know Ella was in Paris. She’s not a part of this.”

He’s right. “I think what gets me is that everyone has an agenda of their own. It makes me feel so out of control.”

“That’s why we take control and hire people we trust.”

“Excuse me,” someone says and I glance over my shoulder to see the waitress holding my salad.

“What about Ava’s estranged husband?” I ask after the waitstaff is out of hearing range.

“Unlikely suspect,” Blake says, “and I base that on his blond babe of a girlfriend, who seems to have all of his attention. That, and he owns a bar on the Wharf, where he was working the night of Rebecca’s return.”

“But that’s perfect,” I counter. “What if Ava took her there? Does he have a boat?”

Blake dips a fry in ketchup. “No boat.”

“But he’d have access to people who do, right? He works on the pier.”

“Sara thinks Rebecca’s at the bottom of the ocean,” Chris offers softly, squeezing my leg.

Blake’s brown eyes meet mine. “Because of her nightmares.”

It’s not a question, and it twists me in knots to know he’s read those entries and so have many other people. I give him a choppy nod. “It’s almost like she was having premonitions about her death.”

Blake’s eyes glaze over a moment, like he’s affected by this in some way, but it’s hard to read those journals and not be affected. “I was curious about her father, too. I’ve tracked down an old friend of her mother’s who swears her father is Kenneth Burgendy. Burgendy is a big real estate investor with known mob ties.”

I glance at Chris. “Neville,” I whisper. “He’s got ties to the mob, too.”

“In France,” Chris reminds me.

Blake knocks on the table to get my attention. “No connection. This reaction is exactly why I almost didn’t tell you. I knew you’d jump to conclusions.”

Tension crawls through my body. “Serial killers, mobsters, and two people connected to me are missing.” My voice is as edgy as I suddenly feel. “Why the heck would I jump to any conclusions?” Feeling claustrophobic, I stand up.

“Sara—”

I lean into Chris and kiss him. “Sorry—I’m fine. My bitch queen and I just need a minute.”

“You’re sure?”

I see the worry etched in his eyes and I repeat, “I promise.”

Looking anything but convinced, he reluctantly orders, “Hurry back.”

I follow the signs to the restroom and enter, leaning against the closed door. The sensation of suffocating from uneven breaths makes logical thought nearly impossible. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never snap at people. And David has to leave soon, so I can’t stay here long, but . . .

Who am I kidding? I
do
know what’s happening. It’s been building and I just haven’t wanted to admit it. It started again in Paris, soon after Ava’s attack. And it’s why I ended up hunched over a trash can in Rebecca’s office. It’s a return to what I’d felt in random spells for six months after Michael’s attack.

I lift my face to the ceiling, forcing myself to slowly breathe in and then let it out. I don’t want to be back here. I
can’t
be back here again. I’m ashamed of myself for being this weak. Ashamed?

I inhale with the realization that these feelings have a purpose beyond me—an important one.
This
is what Chris feels about his need for the whip, and why he tries to hide from me when he does. It’s not about fear of what he’ll do to me: it’s shame. Burned deep into his soul. How will I ever convince him I’m strong enough to handle that part of him, if I’m not strong enough to handle myself?

A knock sounds on the door, and I jump. “Damn it,” I whisper, grabbing the counter. I have to pull it together. I have to go back to the table, and I’m going to do it with my shit together. I have to. For me and for Chris, Rebecca and Ella. I
won’t
relapse into panic attacks. I refuse to. Once I get past tonight, I’ll figure out what my trigger is, and I’ll be fine again. Like I’ve been for almost two years.

Determination in place, I yank open the door and then gape in absolute shock. Ricco Alvarez is standing in the hallway.

Thirteen

“Ah, bella.” Ricco’s voice is richly accented, his elegant white shirt and black slacks starched. His sharp, aristocratic features and warm brown skin are as familiar and striking as I remember, but unlike past encounters I do not welcome his visit or feel safe in his presence.

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” He advances, clearly intending to back me inside the ladies’ room.

“No.” I step into the hallway, yanking the door shut behind me. “You want to talk, we talk here.” The scent of his musky cedar-scented cologne accents the close proximity of our bodies.

His blue eyes narrow on my face, and several heavy beats pass before he steps back, giving me breathing room. “You’re afraid of me. Priceless, when I am here to warn you, to keep you safe.”

“You followed me here,” I hiss with accusation. “I don’t feel protected. I feel stalked.”

“I had to find a way to reach you when you weren’t under lock and key. I didn’t expect you to go back to the gallery. It’s not safe. You need to stay away from Mark.”

“Mark isn’t the problem.”

“You’re just like Rebecca, so damn blind to that man’s evil. I didn’t do what I’ve been accused of doing, and neither did Mary. Why would I do that? I’m a very rich man.”

“Because you hate him.”

“Yes. I do. I know he hurt Rebecca, and I pressured him at every turn. I made him nervous and that’s why he set me up.”

I shake my head, rejecting his claim. “Then why include Mary, and damage the name of his family business? He wouldn’t do that.”

“I’d asked Mary to help me, as I did you. Mark must have found out. Listen to me, bella. He’s dangerous. He killed Rebecca. I
know
he did.”

“Ava confessed to killing Rebecca.”

“She’s as guilty as you and Rebecca are of falling for Mark’s charms. She took the fall to save Mark, but she’s come to her senses. He’s going down. Make sure you don’t go with him.”

“She told you this?”

“I’m telling you this. Stay away from him and the gallery. Do not ignore my warning. You were almost killed once. Don’t tempt fate.” He walks away toward a rear exit and I stare after him, stunned, uncertain what to do.

“Sara.”

I turn at the sound of Chris’s voice and launch myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck. He folds me against him and he is safe and warm, and the solidity I need when it feels like the earth is shaking around me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting my face to his. “Did something happen?”

“Ricco. He was here. He followed us. I came out of the bathroom and—”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “He—”

“Where is he?”

“He went out the back door. Chris, he’s saying Mark framed him and Mary because they were trying to prove he killed Rebecca. He said Ava was pressured into confessing by Mark, and”—I swallow hard—“he told me to stay away from Mark. He said he’s dangerous. He knew about me being attacked, and he said he didn’t want me to be hurt again.”

“Your attack isn’t public knowledge. That means he’s talked to Ava. Damn it. He’s going to pay her bond.” He closes his hands over the sides of my head. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say and it’s true. That’s how my stupid panic attacks work. They aren’t logical or predictable, and neither is anything Ricco is doing. “I don’t know if he was warning me or threatening me.”

His jaw clenches and he laces his fingers with mine. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

It’s exactly what I want to hear and I gladly keep pace with him. If I’d been nervous scanning for the press earlier, I’m ten times more on edge watching for Ricco’s reemergence now. Blake and David must read our expressions because they’re both on their feet before we reach the table.

“What just happened?” Blake asks as Chris helps me into my coat.

Chris grabs his jacket and puts it on, giving them a full rundown. “I’m getting Sara out of here, and I’m going to warn Mark in case Ricco heads in his direction.”

David nods. “I’ll give Tiger a heads-up as well.”

“I’m walking you out,” Blake insists. “And let me go check out the exterior of the building before you exit.” He takes off.

“There are too many unknowns here for me to feel comfortable,” Chris tells David. “We’ll stay local until after the hearing, but I’m taking Sara to my godparents’ place in Sonoma, away from all of this. I expect you to get that approved, just like I expect you to get a restraining order on Ricco, Ava, and Mary. I also want permission to take Sara back to Paris during the wait for the trial. And I want it yesterday, so we can make plans.”

“I can’t promise I can do that.”

“Then you’d damn well better make sure Ava isn’t released. And if that means we have to be there to testify tomorrow morning, then we will.”

That’s a shocker I didn’t expect, but it’s not nearly as terrifying as Ava being set free. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” I say.

“They don’t want you there,” David says, “but I’m headed to the police station now. I’ll cancel my other meeting and get on all of this.”

“Call me,” Chris snaps, closing his hand around mine, and starting for the door, already on his phone as we walk. At the front of the restaurant we step to the side of the door, away from the crowd, and I listen to the short conversation Chris has with Mark.

“Ricco showed up at the restaurant and cornered Sara. Ava’s convinced him you forced her into confessing. He’s going to bail her out.” He’s quiet for a moment and glances at me. “She’s shaken up, but fine. Look, man. Be careful. His coming here tonight says he’s a loose cannon, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he came after you.” He listens a moment. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

The instant he hangs up, I ask, “Not sure about what?”

“If you want to go to the gallery tomorrow, or even should.”

“We have to go to the hearing tomorrow, Chris. If we don’t, I’m afraid things will happen and we won’t know what’s going on.”

Blake walks in the door, and Chris wraps his arm around my neck. “Let’s talk about it at home.”

Home with Chris is the exact sanctuary I crave right now and I lean into him, welcoming the feel of the hard lines of his powerful body against mine.

“Ricco pulled out of the drive as I exited the building,” Blake announces, joining us. “No signs of any other trouble. Your driver is at the door waiting.”

Exiting the building with Blake protecting us, I slide into the back of the vehicle.

Blake tells Chris, “I’ll follow you to your apartment and have Jacob waiting for you. We’ll locate Ricco and Mary, and keep men on them.”

Chris joins me in the car and pulls me against him as if he needs me close, holding on a little too hard—or maybe not hard enough. At this moment, I’m not sure he can ever hold on hard enough.

• • •

The short drive home is silent. With the press all over this we don’t dare speak in front of the driver, and that suffocating feeling from the bathroom keeps trying to return. It has to be due to Ricco’s visit. The extremes he’ll go to to destroy Mark are terrifyingly similar to those Ava was willing to take with Rebecca. I’d thought Ricco was arrogant but misunderstood, more protector than aggressor, as Rebecca had said in her journals, but now I’m not sure. I didn’t believe Ava could kill, but she did. And I didn’t believe Michael, despite being an asshole, was capable of what he did to me, either.

By the time the driver stops in front of our apartment building, I feel as if I’m drowning in “what-ifs” and I am eager to escape. Jacob greets us as we exit and we join him to the left of the building entryway, out of the range of prying ears. “Ricco is in his home,” he tells us, “and we have a man watching him.”

Relief washes over me. “Thank God,” I murmur.

“What about Mary?” Chris asks.

I hadn’t even considered that she was also a potential threat. Proof that my head isn’t on straight.

“Mary’s staying with her parents,” Jacob supplies. “We confirmed that she’s there now, and we put a man on her as well. I have to say, I’m baffled by Ricco’s alignment with Ava. I thought he had feelings for Rebecca.”

“He hates Mark,” I reply. “And that makes it easy for him to believe Ava when she says Mark killed Rebecca, then threatened her and forced her into a fake confession.”

Jacob seems to consider that a moment. “Hmmm.”

“Yeah,” Chris replies. “My reaction as well.”

I glance between the two of them. “What does that mean?”

“From my perspective,” Chris replies, “something doesn’t add up with Ricco.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jacob confirms, “and a number of scenarios come to mind. Ricco’s obsession with Rebecca borders on stalkerdom. Maybe he had a fit of jealousy and killed Rebecca himself.”

My lips part in shock. “Ricco? No. There’s no scenario where Ricco kills Rebecca, and Ava confesses. That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Chris says. “Ava’s a crazy fucking bitch and if the doctors who evaluated her don’t see that, they’re as stupid as she is insane.”

I shake my head. “No. Ricco doesn’t fit. He just doesn’t. Ryan said Ava called him the night Rebecca arrived, and the phone records confirm that.”

“Ricco tried to ruin Mark and Allure,” Chris argues, “and he did so at the risk and expense of his freedom and success. I’m not underestimating what he’s capable of.”

He’s right. I’m dismissing exactly what I’d thought on the ride over here. Ricco’s corrupted by the same irrational jealousy as Ava. This entire scenario is insanity. All Rebecca wanted was to chase her dreams, and to be loved the way she loved.
Will we ever know the truth about what happened to her? Will we ever truly be safe again?
I feel like we are standing in the center of evil, and the ground is an illusion.

Chris’s hand settles on my back and I sway in his direction, to the heat, the safety, the rightness that he is to me. “Sara and I are going upstairs,” he announces. “Call me if you hear anything new.”

“Is there anything either of you need now?” Jacob asks.

I snap, “For Rebecca to be alive, and this to be a big misunderstanding.” Jacob’s eyes widen, and my cheeks heat. I’m losing it again.

I turn away and walk toward the sliding door entry, tension climbing from my toes to my neck in about thirty seconds. I am tumbling down the hill I’d finally climbed.

I am not this weak. Not anymore. That was the past, the old me. The past. The past. The past. I’ll make it stop. I just need space. I need to think about my triggers. I need . . . space.

Chris murmurs something to Jacob that I can’t make out and then he falls into step with me as I enter the lobby. “Sara,” he says softly, willing me to look at him, and he is a powerful force, nearly impossible for me to resist.

But my need to hide my scattered emotions wins. This is not who he needs me to be. It’s not who
I
need me to be.

“Mr. Merit. Ms. McMillan.”

The greeting is delivered by an unfamiliar man in a suit and earpiece standing by the front desk. I assume he’s Jacob’s replacement.

I’m uncharacteristically unfriendly, walking on toward the elevator with barely a glance in his direction. Thankfully, Chris pauses to greet the man, giving me a chance to gain my composure. I continue on to the elevator and punch the call button. When the doors don’t open immediately I punch the button again, irritated at the way my hand shakes. Why can’t I be one of those people who hides what they feel? Someone who doesn’t shake and ramble? Someone who doesn’t—

The doors part and cut off my thoughts. I step inside the car and hit the hold button, my chance to pull myself together gone. Chris joins me inside, his fierce male energy shrinking the space, consuming me, and I swear I can no longer breathe. He steps toward me, crowding me with his big, impossibly perfect body.

He glances at the panel, punching in the code for our floor, wisps of longish blond hair teasing his cheek and jawline. Trying to dash an unexpected rush of desire, I lower my lashes before I cave in to touching him, and invite further inspection. I have no idea how I want to run from this man and kiss him in the same moment, but I know this is going to be the longest short elevator ride of my life.

His fingers curve around my waist, possessive and warm, sending darts of awareness all through my body. Flattening his palm on the small of my back, he molds me to him.

My hand flattens on his chest, in that spot over his heart that has come to feel like
my
spot. I don’t want to lose this, or us, or him.

“Talk to me, baby,” he prods gently, and oh, how those familiar words speak to me.

I want to tell him what I feel, but I know if I love him, I cannot. Not if I want to replace the whip. And I do. I want that for him, and for us. I love him too much for him to see Amber in me any more than he already fears that possibility. That would allow the whip to win.

Chris cups my cheeks, forcing my gaze to his, and the tenderness in his eyes could melt ice. “Talk to me,” he repeats, adding a soft command to the words.

“Not now.” It’s a plea from deep in my soul. “If you love me, not now.”

His green eyes narrow, sharpen. “
If?
Where did that word come from?”