No In Between (21 page)

My hand goes to my neck. “They found it on the beach?”

“She wouldn’t say where they found it. David says she’d get her teeth kicked in if they knew she even told him what she did.”

“And Rebecca? Did they find her?”

He shakes his head. “David doesn’t think they’ll find Rebecca.”

My knees are weak, and my stomach isn’t much better. “Because she’s in the water.”

“Apparently there is reason to believe that is the case.”

I sink back against the counter and replay her journal entry that I’d dreamed about.
I try to swim to the surface but the trolley is over me, shoving me down, down, down. . . . I cannot get to the surface. I cannot breathe. And my mother is nowhere. She is just gone. Like me.

• • •

Chris and I sleep late on Saturday morning, and wake with coffee on the patio overlooking the Palisades Mountains and our own vineyard. David and Blake assure us they’ll call if they have news, and Chris convinces me to try to let it go and enjoy the day. By two o’clock, Chris and I head to the garage to make our date with Katie and Mike at their winery. Since shopping is on the menu for Katie and me, I’ve gone casual dressy in dark navy jeans and a rich emerald silk blouse, with adorable boots I bought in Paris. Chris wears an “Imagine Dragons” T-shirt paired with black jeans and biker boots, which he makes look hotter than any cover of
GQ
magazine.

At the chateau, Mike and Chris take off to tour some changes to the vineyard, while Katie and I spend a fun girls’ afternoon at the local specialty stores shopping for a dress.

By early evening, the four of us have met up at the chateau for dinner before the jeweler arrives to talk about my ring. And we do dinner in amazing style, in a private dining room that’s complete with a dungeon door, a round stone table, and dimly lit lanterns on the concrete walls. My pleasure is dimmed only by the huge centerpiece of freshly cut roses. I can’t escape those flowers. They haunt me.

Somehow I manage to enjoy the fabulous four-course meal. We’ve just finished cheesecake and coffee when one of the waitstaff whispers to Katie and she announces, “The jeweler is here. Are we allowed to stay and see the design?”

Chris glances at me and I nod. “Yes. Of course.”

A few minutes later, Everett, a tall, dark, curly-haired man who is as renowned for his craft as Chris is his, has joined us at the table, and begins measuring my ring size.

“Done,” he says, after logging sizes for each of my fingers, though I have no idea why. “We are ready to design you a gorgeous ring.”

Chris opens the sketch pad sitting on the table and slides it in front of Everett. Katie and Mike crane their necks to see the draft, but Everett picks it up and studies it long and hard. “Ah, Mr. Merit,” he says finally. “It’s spectacular, an absolute original I would be honored to design. Let’s talk about the stones.” He sets down the draft and reaches for a booklet of his own to show me images of jewels.

“I’d rather Chris pick,” I say, glancing at him. “I want it to be your vision. That’s what makes it special to me.”

“I want you to love it,” he insists.

“It’s a Chris Merit original,” I say, determined to get past the way the roses remind me of Rebecca. “I already love it.”

Katie slides the sketch over to look at it, then makes a slight sobbing sound that draws my gaze. “Roses,” she whispers. “For your mother.”

Chris’s expression turns solemn and he nods. “Yes. For my mother.”

“It’s a wonderful gesture, son,” Mike adds.

My brows dip and I glance at Chris. “I don’t understand.”

He stands. “Walk with me and I’ll explain.”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says. “Did I give it away?”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Chris assures her and then glances at Everett. “Can you leave the stone charts?”

“Of course. And I have what I need for the other project we discussed as well.”

“Excellent,” Chris says. “Thank you.”

Mike and Katie stand. “We’ll show you out,” Mike tells the jeweler.

The three of them leave the room and Chris offers me his hand. “Let’s grab our jackets and go outside,” he says, and there’s a raspy timbre to his voice, an emotional quality to his energy that he normally reserves for those intimate moments when everything between us combusts and explodes.

I twine my fingers with his. “Yes,” I say. “Let’s go outside.”

A few minutes later we walk hand in hand across a small brick walkway to a wooden bridge that arches over a large pond. The same bridge we’d stood on the night he’d confessed his father’s drinking problem to me. Just like that night, there’s a glow from the orange lanterns dangling from poles mounted in the wooden rails, and stars dot the black, cloudless canvas above.

As he had then, Chris leads me over the bridge toward a gazebo, and I catch the sweet scent of roses, their stems entwining in the wooden overhang, delicate buds clinging to the leaves. Once we’re in the gazebo, he leans on the railing and folds me against him. “Look up.”

We tilt our heads and look up at the blossoms quilted like a beautiful blanket above us. “This is where I’d like to get married,” he says, drawing my gaze to his. “Right here, under the roses my mother helped Katie plant.”

My heart squeezes. “Your mother?”

“Yes. She convinced Katie that everything was better with roses. She loved them. Katie cuts at least one fresh flower every evening in her memory.” He laughs, a tinge of sadness in it. “Or she picks a ridiculously impossible blossom, and makes Mike find a way to reach it for her.”

I tear up with the deep feelings this stirs inside me: memories of my own mother, of reading about Rebecca’s heartache after losing hers. “That’s why they both smelled like roses last night.”

“I’m sure that’s why.” A tear slides down my cheek and Chris wipes it away. “Why are you crying?”

I grab his hand and hold it to my chest, like I want to hold him in my heart. “Because it matters. This matters.
We
matter, and the way you invited your mother into our life through the ring is special beyond words.”

The love in his eyes is like a new day’s sun, waking the parts of me that were buried in the darkness of night. He is my other half, my soul mate, the person who knows me even better than I know myself at times.

“I’m never letting you go,” he declares.

My lips curve. “Ditto.”

He smiles, and the heartache of his past slides away. Because of me, I think—and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world, that I can do that for him. He leans in to kiss me, pausing as we hear Katie’s voice. “I guess the kiss has to wait.”

My lips curve. “Anticipation makes it better, right?”

“But it’s torture in the process,” he admits.

“Remember that the next time you decide to unleash it on me.”

“With pleasure,” he promises, and the mischief I adore is back twinkling in his eyes.

“You heard the story of the roses?” Katie asks as they join us.

“I saved that for you,” Chris tells her, just as his cell phone rings. He pulls it from his jacket and glowers at it. “I really want to throw it in the pond right now.”

“Me too,” I agree, fearing our perfect night is about to be ruined.

Glancing at the screen, Chris tells me, “Blake,” then answers.

I want to listen in, but Katie immediately links her arm with mine and pulls me to the center of the gazebo, launching into a story I barely hear. Chris has just walked down the bridge, and the rigid line of his back says something is wrong.

He finally turns around and swiftly crosses the bridge. When he stops beside me, he laces his arm with mine and pulls me close, as if he needs to hold on to me. “Sara and I need to leave,” he announces. “Blake and his team will be here in the next five minutes.”

“Who’s Blake?” Mike asks.

“Our security team,” Chris explains.

“Chris, why?” I ask urgently.

He pulls me in front of him, his hands on my shoulders. “We’re handling—”

“Oh God, just
say
it.”

“Ava escaped, and they can’t locate Ryan or the kid from the coffee shop.”

Twenty-two

The world spins around me, and I sway. Chris wraps his arm around my waist, catching me to him. He glances at Katie and Mike. “Give us a few minutes.”

“We’ll go watch for your security team,” Mike says.

“And Ryan?” I ask. “Is he with Ava?”

“All they know is that Ryan took a flight to Los Angeles.”

“Oh God. That’s where Amanda is.” I push away from him. “I need your phone to call her. No, I need my phone to call her. I have her number.”

“Sara.” His hands come down on my shoulders. “They know Amanda’s in Los Angeles. They’re on it. And now that we’re cleared, the DA’s contracted Walker to help with the investigation. We’re well-informed, I promise you.”

“Still, I need to call Amanda. I need—”

“Baby, you have to deep breathe and trust me to handle this. And Blake. He’s good at what he does. He and his brothers have extensive law enforcement experience.”

“Why is he coming here?”

“Ava’s on the run, and he doesn’t want to take any chances of her making a beeline for us.”

“How would she even know about this place?”

“We don’t know if she has help with money and resources, or if she’s simply on the run, trying to survive. To be cautious, we have to assume she has resources.”

“So where do we go?”

“For now, we’re going home to the city.”

“But the press?”

“They’re the least of our worries right now. Blake feels the apartment is the most secure place for us to be. From there, we’ll decide what to do. We might go to Paris. We might not.”

“I need to deal with my work visa first.”

“It’s fine. The consulting work can be run through the States, or one of my corporations in the meantime if needed. We’ll work it out. Right now we just need to get to a secure location, and look at what we know then.”

I glance up as Blake, Kelvin, and Jacob walk toward us, and the sight of these three powerful men closing in on us has a choking effect. How bad
is
this that they feel we need all three of them? Chris must see my expression, because he turns to look over his shoulder, then back at me. “The odds of Ava coming after you are next to zero. She’s going to run. But I’m not taking any chances; I told Blake to come prepared.” He cups my face. “I protect what’s mine, baby.”

A moment later I’m surrounded by men, a protective shell around me. Chris is my shelter. He is my strength.

• • •

An hour later, Chris and I have said our good-byes to Katie and Mike, and Blake has assured us that their security team has them covered. We’ve returned to the rental house to pack up, and we’re in the kitchen listening to the news when Blake appears.

“We’ve confirmed that Ryan’s with Amanda.”

I stiffen, going on high alert for about the tenth time this hour. “What? Where? Is she okay?”

“She’s still in Los Angeles at her family home, as is he. She told the police she invited him and he’s her guest.”

My brow furrows and I shake my head. “That makes no sense. She told me he scared her.”

“Her family confirmed her story, which gives him an alibi for the time period during Ava’s disappearance. He’s claiming he wasn’t anywhere near Ava to help her escape, and his travel times support that conclusion.”

“So he’s not involved?” I ask, leaning on the kitchen counter next to Chris. “That can’t be right. Surely that kid from the coffee shop doesn’t have the resources to help Ava escape.”

“I didn’t say Ryan wasn’t involved,” Blake corrects. “I said he’s got an alibi. I have concerns about this kid Corey. He was going to testify against Ava. So he could be in danger from her, or anyone helping her.”

Chris drapes his arm around my shoulder. “Are you suggesting that’s Ryan?”

“I’m not ruling out anyone,” Blake says. “And I’ve learned something interesting from working with the police. There’s a woman named Georgia O’Nay who—”

“She’s a local artist,” I say. “She created the rose painting in Rebecca’s office. That painting’s been on my mind. What about her?”

“She was involved with the club and came forward,” Blake explains. “She said she had problems with Ryan and dropped out of the entire club scene because of him. He turned obsessive on her. She threatened to go to Mark, and he backed off.”

I shake my head, frustrated. “I must have read something in one of Rebecca’s journals about this. That has to be why I kept thinking about the painting.”

“You said the kid was going to testify against Ava,” Chris says. “What did he have against her?”

“He loaned her his parents’ boat. He claimed she said it was to impress a potential investor in the coffee shop, and she banged the kid as a thank-you. Now that he’s taken off with her, we’re assuming he was more involved. Either way, the extra journal was in the boat under a seat. And there’s plenty of DNA evidence that Rebecca was in the boat.”

The news blasts through me, overwhelming me, and I bury my face in Chris’s chest, tears welling in my eyes. “I knew, but I didn’t want it to be real.”

His hand closes on my head. “I know, baby. None of us did.”

Anger starts to burn in my chest and I turn to Blake, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Ryan has money. Couldn’t they have hired someone to help Ava escape? Could they have kidnapped the kid?”

“Certainly an option we’re looking at,” he confirms. “But Ryan’s smart. If he’s involved, he’s covered his tracks, including any money trail.”

“What about Ricco?” Chris asks. “He got her out of jail and he has deep pockets.”

“Yes,” I agree. “And he believes she’s innocent.”

“We’re looking into that, too,” Blake confirms.

“Maybe I can make him confess,” I argue. “Can we record a call?”

“He’s smart, Sara,” Chris warns. “He’s not going to admit anything.”

“I have to try,” I insist. “He’s a more logical choice than Ryan to help her escape. He really believes she’s innocent. He believes Mark isn’t. He’s angry and jealous and bitter.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Blake agrees. “If we want to try, there’s an app you can download to your phone to record the call. It’s legal since you’re part of the conversation. Where’s your phone?”

I turn to grab my purse from the counter, but Chris’s hand comes down on it. “No,” he says. “No matter what his role is in this, Ricco’s not behaving sanely. You don’t want more of his attention.”

“I know you’re worried, but Ava running around free isn’t the answer, either.”

“If Ricco helped her, he has a plan, and you can bet it involves Mark.”

“Then
he
could be in danger.” I turn to Blake again. “Can I tell Ricco Mark was cleared of all suspicion?”

“You may,” he says, his eyes meeting Chris’s over my head. “This is your call, Chris. I think she’s okay, though. I don’t think Ricco’s targeting Sara.”

My gaze meets Chris’s. “This isn’t your decision. It’s mine.”

He shakes his head. “Not yours. Not mine. Ours. We make decisions together now.”

“Yes. I know.” I flatten my hand on his chest. “But Ava on the loose is far more dangerous to us than Ricco, who really wants Mark.”

A tic starts in his jaw.

“Chris,” I plead. “I’m safe. You have a small army protecting me.”

“Okay. Make the damn call. But we’re talking about what you can say in advance.”

“Of course.” He releases my purse and I dig out my phone, giving it to Blake, who starts searching for the app to download.

“Let’s sit at the table,” Blake suggests, glancing up to find Jacob in the doorway.

“What’s our exit timeline?” Jacob asks.

“Are we still feeling secure?”

“We’re clear,” Jacob confirms.

“Give us fifteen minutes.” Blake sits at the table next to me and across from Chris, and shows me how to use the recording app. “Just activate it before you dial Ricco.”

For the next five minutes, he and Chris throw out warnings and things I shouldn’t say to Ricco, to the point where they’re making me crazy. “Stop,” I say. “I’ll handle this. I’m ready.” I don’t give them time to argue. I dial Ricco.

Three rings and he answers. “Bella. I would say I’m surprised to hear from you, but really, I’m not. Today has been an interesting day, has it not?”

“Did you help her escape?” I demand. Chris and Blake throw their hands in the air as I throw caution to the wind, but I go with my gut. “She’s guilty. Not Mark. They cleared him.”

“I’ve heard nothing of Mark being cleared or her being charged.”

“They found evidence, Ricco. It was Ava. She wanted Mark, and when Rebecca came back, she knew she’d lose him. Please, I’m begging you. If you know where she is, turn her in.”

There is complete silence on the line, and every muscle in my body is tense as I wait. Finally, he says, “I didn’t help her escape. But you, and whoever is listening in on this call, can be assured that if I find out that she killed Rebecca, and I find her before the police do, she’ll never make it back into custody alive.”

The line goes dead and, stunned, I can barely breathe. It takes me a moment to set the phone down on the table.

“Sara,” Chris says. “Baby, what happened?”

“I think he might kill Ava.”

Blake takes the phone and hits Replay on the app and he and Chris listen to the call.

• • •

We leave the rental property in a black sedan with Jacob as our driver and Blake and Kelvin driving the 911. That they feel we’re a target in the 911 does not make me feel good. Chris and I huddle together, talking very little, and you can almost hear our minds working. Worse, we hit some sort of traffic jam heading into San Francisco, and after an hour of sitting still, and my impossible-to-ignore need to go to the bathroom, we decide to pull over to a diner and eat.

Once we’re inside, I take one look at the group of alpha men waiting for me to slide into the center of the booth, and decide to use the bathroom first.

“I’ll go with you,” Chris says, determined to be my number-one bodyguard.

As we walk down the small hallway he asks, “You okay?”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m okay.” His furrowed brow says he’s not convinced, and I push to my toes and kiss him. “I promise.”

“Just remember that people make their own choices, and then they live with them. We can try to change them, but we can’t make their choices for them. If you do everything you can to help, you have to accept the outcome they bring on themselves.”

I nod. “I’ll be right back.” I enter the bathroom, locking the door. I’m washing my hands when my cell phone rings. I pull it from my purse, surprised to see Chantal’s number.

“Chantal!” I say eagerly, answering the call, missing my friend in Paris.

“Sara.” Her voice is a rough, strained whisper.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tristan is here. He wants to talk to you. He said he doesn’t have your number, and I didn’t know if I should give it out.”

My stomach knots at the name of the man who tried to replace Chris with Amber, and failed, foreboding tensing my body. He’s in Paris dealing with Amber’s rehab that Chris is paying for. Why is he calling me?

“Sara?” Chantal prods.

“Yes,” I say. “Okay.”

“Sara,” he says, his voice hard.

“Tristan? Why are you calling me and not Chris?”

“Amber killed herself.”

I fall against the door. “No. No. No.” My eyes burn. “When? How?”

“She hung herself at the treatment center. I can’t talk to Chris. Maybe never again.” His voice cracks. “She left a note. She wants to be cremated. No funeral. Absolutely no Chris. She died hating him. I hate him. Keep him away or I . . . I don’t know what I’ll do. I have to go. Just . . . keep him the fuck away.” The line goes dead.

I sink down against the door, tears streaming down my cheeks. Amber is dead, and I have to tell Chris.