I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(73)

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he confirms, walking to the cabinet for a cup.

I watch as he fills it. “You were on the phone a long time.”

“I wanted to get everything out of the way before we’re with my mother. To summarize: Jimenez is already on the FBI’s wanted list, but they’ve now issued a bulletin that he’s potentially been spotted with Ava, who is also on the list.”

I inhale and let it out. “But no news on where they’re at.”

He gives a grim shake of his head. “No news.”

I nod, and hyperfocus on refilling my cup to keep my mind from going crazy, thinking about how Jimenez scares me. “What about that detective who tried to ambush you at NYU? Has he backed off, now that Jimenez is in the picture?”

“My attorney is in Long Island dealing with him, but no. He thinks I created the story to get attention off me.”

I set my cup down, indignant for him. “He can’t be serious.”

“I wish he wasn’t.”

“So now what?”

“Royce wants to talk to your father’s security people.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “Why?”

“He’s just trying to make sure everyone is on the same page and safe. Can you call your father and arrange it?”

I grab my phone from the counter. “Yes.” The knot in my stomach seems to be growing by the second. This hired professional killer, who has me, and the people I love, on his radar, terrifies me.

*

Hours after arriving at his parents’ place, I’ve managed to set everything aside and laugh with Dana and Mark. Dana’s hair is colored, mine is cut, and both of us have manicures. By the time the stylist has left, Dana is smiling but worn-out. With plenty of time left before our evening dinner with my family, Mark and I settle on either side of Dana on the bed to watch television. When she flips the channel to the movie Message in a Bottle, Mark grumbles, but he endures. It’s charming, sweet, and sexy, and I wonder how he managed to keep this part of him alive, when he’d wrapped himself in hard control for so many years.

It’s a good day that’s made even better when Asher, the tattooed employee of Walker Security I’d met a couple of days before, drops by to let us know he’s located the press leak in the building. Turns out it’s the mailman, who has been “dealt with.” We cling to the small piece of good news as if it’s a big breakthrough.

Later in the afternoon, Mark and I stop by a specialty retail shop he favors, and he purchases a large selection of clothes, having brought a limited quantity in his suitcases. Aside from how intimate the shopping experience feels, it delivers a sense of security I don’t realize I need until I experience it. He’s filling the closet here with me, intending to stay in New York.

Too soon, it’s time to head to my apartment—our apartment—and change out of our jeans to something nicer for the family dinner. Mark dresses in black slacks and tailored white dress shirt, going sans jacket, while I choose a casual red dress to match his tie. The red had been Dana’s suggestion to bring us luck, which I fear we’re going to need tonight.

We arrive at my father’s penthouse suite overlooking Central Park at seven o’clock on the dot. “Should I ring the bell?” Mark asks, after I stare at it for a full sixty seconds.

I turn to him. “He’s going to be protective.”

He caresses my cheek. “A good father should be.”

The door opens and I jerk around guiltily, as if Mark and I are teenagers who just got caught kissing. My father and stepmother stand in the entryway, him looking his normal tall, elegant self in gray dress slacks and a white button-down, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. My stepmother, Anna, looks pretty and conservative in a long blue floral skirt with a light blue silk blouse, her raven hair tied at the nape.

“Mom and Dad,” I begin, “this is—”

“Mark Compton,” my father supplies, offering his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Mark shakes his hand. “Not all good, I’m sure.”

My father tightens his grip and holds on, pinning Mark in a direct stare. “She’s in danger, and I don’t like it.”

Mark doesn’t miss a beat. “Neither do I, Mr. Smith, and I’d send her out of the country if she’d go.”

I groan and move forward to hug Anna, whispering, “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

She laughs and I follow her down the short hallway, which is floored with the same gorgeous black African wood that runs through the house. Pausing as we reach the contemporary living room furnished in soft blues, I glance behind me. Mark and my father are huddled together, speaking softly.

Sighing, I turn back to Anna. “They’re either going to throttle each other, or plot my deportation.”

Evidently not worried about either possibility, she motions me forward. “Leave them to work it out. The boys are hanging out in the kitchen, ready to pounce on the lasagna when I take it out of the oven. It should be ready in about thirty minutes. Just enough time for everyone to chat and have a drink before we start.”

“The boys?” I tease at the reference to my two older brothers. “Daniel and Scottie are both in their thirties.”

“Scottie is barely thirty and Daniel is only thirty-two. That’s young.”