I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(49)

“And you find me creating that scandal, and risking my family business, more believable? You’ve known my family for at least five years. You can’t believe that. But report what you want. Just know this: If you, or anyone else, slanders my family or Riptide in any way, I will sue for far more than the story was worth.”

I turn to leave, and Mr. Murphy calls, “Wait.”

I don’t turn.

“You’re right. I’ve known Dana for years. I’ll let you review the segment before I run it.”

I don’t turn or thank him. We both know he didn’t suddenly grow honor, and we both know I wasn’t bluffing about a lawsuit. I’ve won this round with the press. It’s a small victory in a war with too many defeats—and that has to change.

Feeling that dark, dangerous edge come over me again, I swiftly return to my office and shut the door. Adrenaline rushes through me, and my head is spinning—and it’s not just about having told the world what I never told Rebecca. It’s about the past, the present. About everything.

I squat down, elbows on my knees, and I’m sweating, the memories pounding at my brain, loss and pain eating away at me. Who was I kidding, all those years I claimed I was in control of everything around me? I was never in control. The past was always with me. It’s what has driven everything. It’s why I made the decisions I did with Rebecca.

Images flash in my mind and I lower my throbbing head to my hands. The hellish past comes at me like a hard-swung baseball bat that makes me groan with the impact.

*

“Stop, Tabitha,” I order, as she rushes ahead of me in the deserted parking lot of the remote NYU campus property, my voice carrying a little too loudly in the silent, windless night. “It’s too dark for you to run ahead of me.”

But she doesn’t listen, disappearing inside the open gates of the baseball practice field—but then, what else is new? She’s like my mother, hardheaded and impossible. I trot down the pavement to catch up to her, rounding the corner of the concrete sidewalk that runs in front of the bleachers. She’s walking backward, her long blond hair glistening silver in the moonlight, her soft feminine laugh a sexy tease despite my irritation.

“I’m right here, Marky baby,” she taunts, holding out her arms, the shadows licking at the deep cleavage of her pink T-shirt that I plan to have off of her in about sixty seconds. “Come get me.” She darts to the left and disappears into the darkness of the bleachers, as fearless as she is frustrating.

I growl low in my throat and decide that sneaking out here for an adventurous f*ck was a bad idea. We should have thrown her damn roommate out of her dorm room for an hour. I decide to sneak up on her, heading toward the end of the bleachers to cut around the back, when a sound stops me in my tracks. A scrape of a shoe? Then . . . a male voice? I scan the playing field, but it’s too dark to see anything, and an eerie sensation crawls over my skin. Jogging forward, I disappear between the bleachers to find Tabitha—and stop dead in my tracks.

*

I shake myself before the full image comes into view. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m not doing this. I’m not going there. I’ve only been to this place once in ten years, and I remember it well. The phone call. The club. Chris Merit walking into my office just in time to witness my pathetic meltdown, and me foolishly telling him everything about that night. When I woke up the next day, I buried the memory along with my lack of control.

But buried isn’t gone, I’m realizing now. Tabitha is, though—and I swore I’d never go through that kind of pain again. But I am. And I did. And now there is Crystal.

I’m losing my mind, all over the place, bouncing here and there. I’m so far from being in control, I don’t even know myself.

My phone starts ringing, and it takes several moments to realize it’s the disposable one. I yank it from my pocket, and holy hell, my hand is shaking. I am so out of my own skin, I don’t even know who I am. I hit the Answer button and hear, “I trust you received the file?”

“I did,” I confirm, straightening to press my back against the door. “I’m taking care of payment.” I will myself back to the present to focus on this critical conversation. “I have reason to believe there may be a threat to my family,” I say. “I need to know if they’ve been spotted again.”

“Not yet.”

My jaw tightens. “Make sure they aren’t here in New York, and make sure today.”

“You think they followed you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I’ll work on it and get back to you.”

“No later than tonight. I need an update, even if it’s to tell me you have nothing new.”

“Understood. But I do have a development on Ryan Kilmer. He might have the cash to hire Jimenez after all.”

“What does that mean?”

“I checked out those odd real estate transactions you caught when reviewing his file. You were right. Real estate fraud is the name of his game, and he’s done plenty of it. And he looks to have sold a number of expensive properties to some pretty nasty people, which I’m pretty sure can be tied to money laundering.”

“Pretty sure?”

“I’m gathering the data. I’ll have it to you in the next few days. Do you want to reconsider the plan to destroy him, or let this information do it for us?”