I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(46)

I sigh. “They most certainly are. Okay, thanks. Buzz me if you need me.”

“Some of the staff are asking about Mr. Compton.” She lowers her voice. “I think they’re worried about the future of Riptide, and hopeful that his presence means it’s secure.”

“It’s completely secure,” I say. “We’re thriving, despite all this mess going on. Mr. Compton’s not here to save the business, but to make sure that Dana, as stubborn as she is, stays in bed and fully heals before she returns.”

Remembering his softly spoken reply to his mother this morning, I love you, too, my anger at him goes down a few notches. I’ve seen him tear up over his mother, and Rebecca. He’s closed off, but he’s not a complete *. I refocus on Beverly. “I’ll see if he can send out a company email.”

“I feel awkward bothering him about little issues, when he has so much other stuff going on.”

“If you want to buzz me first, you can.”

Frowning down at the white envelope, I start walking, an odd foreboding in my belly. I suddenly want to tear it open.

Passing several employees with a quick greeting, I enter my office and shut the door. Rushing to my desk, I sit down and grab a letter opener, and my hand shakes as I pull it through the envelope’s seal. Then I pull out a white sheet of paper with two typed lines on it.

You don’t know the real Mark Compton.

Get out before you end up like Rebecca.

A chill races down my spine and I drop the paper, having watched enough episodes of CSI to know that fingerprints matter. Could it be from Ava? Or Ricco, who’d sworn to protect Rebecca from Mark, and tried to destroy the gallery as his own form of vengeance? Or a reporter who wants me to talk? Or. Or. Or. There are too many possibilities. And Mark all but admitted to me he’s playing vigilante. If I go to him and he makes assumptions, where will that lead?

I pull out my cell phone and call Kara, who’s still on guard here. “I just received a letter warning me about Mark.” I describe it to her. “I don’t want to hide it from him, but I’m terrified he could go off the deep end. Because you’re right: He’s looking for Ava. I’m worried about him.”

“Believe me, I get it.”

“I think . . . I have to tell him. He won’t trust me if I don’t. I’m also going to tell him that you know about it.”

“Can you wait until Blake gets here? We need to get it fingerprinted.”

“No. He’ll see it as distrust.” I consider a moment. “Send Jacob in to pick it up. Mark seems to trust him the most.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks. For everything.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“I appreciate that. I don’t really have anyone else I can talk to.” My best friend from college moved to Hawaii for a job. My next best friend is dating my ex’s roommate.

“You have me,” she says. “Hang in there.” She ends the call.

I dial Mark’s cell and he picks up. “Crystal,” he says softly, the torment in his voice rippling through the line, and I pray I’m making the right choice.

“I have a situation.”

His voice firms, turns businesslike. “What situation?”

“First, I’m okay. But I got spooked and I called security. Jacob’s coming to my office, and I really . . . I need you here, too.”

“I’m on my way.”

I set my phone on the desk, staring down at the note again. You don’t know the real Mark Compton. Get out before you end up like Rebecca. Whoever wrote it is at least partially right. I’m not going to end up dead, I hope, but falling in love with a man who may not be capable of loving me back.

I almost laugh at myself. Who am I fooling? I’m already in love with him.





Fourteen

Mark . . .

I stuff the pictures of Ava and Luis Jimenez inside my desk drawer and head to the door. What has shaken Crystal enough to have her request assistance from security? My mind conjures up the many possibilities Jimenez could create, and fear quickens my pace down the hallway.

At the receptionist’s desk, an unwelcome and familiar visitor argues with Beverly. Upon my approach, Robert Murphy, a distinguished-looking fifty-five-year-old man who’s both a customer and the CEO of a national television network, turns to greet me.

“Finally,” he says.

“Finally?” I arch a brow.

“Are you pretending you don’t know I’ve left three messages for you?” he asks sharply.

“Ms. Smith has taken all of his calls and messages,” Beverly informs Murphy quickly.

“I have a hundred thousand dollars in auction items on the line here next weekend. I deserve to hear from you personally, Mr. Compton.”

“As a member of the media, you’re doubtless aware that I’ve only just arrived in town. And while I’ll be taking meetings, they’re by appointment only, beginning next week.” I pause for effect. “And for auction house business only.”

“Of course it’s about Riptide business.” But he looks away, a sure sign he’s lying.

“Then certainly, if there is something Ms. Smith has failed to address prior, I’m available to help. But right now, I have an emergency to attend to.” I glance at Beverly. “Put Mr. Murphy on my schedule for any afternoon next week that he pleases.”