No in Between (Inside Out #4)(23)

I blush and not from the compliment or his words, but from the way Chris’s hand is climbing higher and higher until his fingers sweep my panties. “She blushes,” Marco observes, kissing his fingers, as if it’s the conversation creating my reaction. “Bella.” His tongue rolls with an Italian accent, and unbidden, I am reminded of the Spanish version of the endearment for beautiful Ricco Alvarez often uses. Marco points at Chris. “Watch it. I like a challenge.” He leaves Chris no time for rebuttal, disappearing as he tugs the curtain shut and then surprises me as he peeks back inside and adds, “Your pizza should be up any minute,” and winks at me.

David’s phone rings and he answers the call, giving me the chance to grab Chris’s hand and softly hiss a warning. “Behave.”

He laughs, his eyes warm with wicked promise that softens into tenderness, and his hand, thankfully, flattens on top of my thigh. “I missed you.”

I soften at the sweet, unexpected confession, officially melting inside and out. “I missed you, too.” My lips curve and I dare to taunt the proverbial tiger. “And you’ve certainly made me wish we were home.”

“Soon, baby,” he promises. “Soon.”

“Assholes,” David complains, drawing our attention back to him. He sets his phone on the table and looks at me. “And so we meet again, Sara McMillan.”

I smile, amused by his odd way of speaking. “Yes indeed,” I say. “We meet again.”

Chris hands me his beer. “Here. He makes more sense when you’re drinking.”

I laugh, and despite not being a beer kind of girl, I take a swig, then hand the bottle back to Chris. “I needed that. You scared the crap out of me with the police today, David.”

He snorts and tips up his beer. “You can’t let the badge go to their heads. That’s dangerous for them and us.”

“You sang a Christmas song,” I remind him. “I’m still in disbelief.”

He wiggles his brows. “Creative shift of energy. It pulled the attention from Chris.”

Chris chuckles. “I think you finally convinced them you’re crazy. And speaking of crazy. I think Detectives Grant and Miller both need to be reminded of the meaning of their badges.”

David loosens his tie. “The nature of law enforcement is ‘us, them, and everyone else.’ You never know what they are really doing or thinking. The objective of the interview is to get you to say something you don’t want to say.” He rests an elbow on the table. “I’m of the opinion that the journals, and anyone mentioned in the passages, have become their primary focus.”

“That would be Mark, Ryan, and Ava,” I supply, “but Rebecca never gave names.”

“Mark did say that Grant was all over him,” Chris says. “He’s even pulled away from the club to try to protect the membership.”

“You’d think that would mean Mark and Ryan would be communicating,” I observe, “but Ryan stopped by the gallery this afternoon and said Mark won’t return his calls.”

“Ryan had better not hold his breath for a returned call,” Chris suggests. “Mark’s attorney seems to be of the opinion that Ryan is going to do whatever is necessary to make sure he’s in the clear, including throwing Mark under the bus.”

“I met Tiger at the police station today,” I remind them. “So forgive me if I don’t put a lot of merit in his opinions. He acted like Mark needed a bodyguard to protect him from me.”

“Tiger didn’t get his name for nothing,” David assures us. “He’ll rip your throat out to keep his client on top, but in this case he was probably worried you’d make it look like Mark was asking you to prep him for his interview.” He takes a swig of his beer. “And that wouldn’t be good. Which brings me to your working at the gallery. I don’t recommend it, and I seriously doubt Mark’s attorney will, either.”

“I have to help out,” I insist, straightening. “It’s falling apart. The staff is scared. And I saw Mark tonight and he said nothing about it being a problem.” I turn to Chris. “He stopped into the gallery right before I left, and he wasn’t doing well.”

“I already had this argument with Chris,” David interjects before Chris can answer. “Mark isn’t my concern. You two are. He needs to hire someone else.”

I turn to Chris to state my case, but he says, “Relax, baby. I already told David we’re helping Mark out until his mother stabilizes. No one deserves to fear for a parent’s life while fighting for their own.”

“How is she?”

“She’s barely started her battle to beat cancer. The blood infection she got after surgery almost killed her.”

“When I talked to Crystal she said she was improving, so I assume that means stable?”

“From what I gathered.”

“My position on Mark is this,” David says, sounding like he’s starting a lecture that’s going to grate on every nerve I own.

“Save it,” Chris tells him. “Move on to another subject. Didn’t you want to talk about the bail hearing?”

The curtains are opened just then, and a waiter appears with a piping hot pizza and my diet soda. When we’re alone again, I ask, “What about the bail hearing?”