No in Between (Inside Out #4)(55)

My hands go back to my hips. “Stop it, Mark.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what Rebecca said to Chris. We see how well that worked out for her.”

“That’s enough,” I snap, and it’s all I can do not to say more, to remember he’s hurting and motivated by who knows what emotion. “Ricco accused you of setting him up. If that’s what he’s saying to me, that has to be what he’s using as a defense to the police.”

“Not a very subtle change of subject, Ms. McMillan. But then, subtlety isn’t exactly your strong point. Tiger told me about the accusations and they aren’t surprising. Ricco’s entire objective is to ruin me and he has deep-enough pockets to make a valiant effort. Do I care? No. Ricco Alvarez is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Though his expression and tone are as unreadable as ever, there’s an unspoken message in his words. Nothing Ricco can do to him comes close to what losing Rebecca has, or what fearing for his mother is doing to him now. “When do you go back to New York?”

“I’m flying back this evening to attempt to head off any bad press that might land on Riptide’s doorstep today.”

“I warned Crystal about today’s events and the potential media frenzy to follow. I didn’t want to risk her being surprised and walking out on you.”

The ice is back in his impenetrable gray eyes. “Go help Ralph finish the reports and then leave, Ms. McMillan.”

I’m stunned by the sharply spoken dismissal. “But—”

“Don’t argue, Ms. McMillan.”

I want to, but he’s stone now, and I might as well have already left the room. I turn on my heel and go to the door, before I do something insane like try to shake some sense into the man.

“Ms. McMillan.”

My hand freezes on the knob in a déjà vu moment. This is reminiscent of the many times in the past when Mark sent me fleeing his office in a mess of mixed emotions, only to stop me to land one final blow. I pause, holding my breath with the expectation this one will rock my world, as he always intends.

“Chris and I are far more alike than you think,” he says, repeating what Chris himself has said to me on more than one occasion. “Rebecca held on too long. Don’t make the same mistake.”

Anger begins to burn through me, fiery and hot. Afraid of what I might say, I yank open the door and exit into the hallway. I am not Rebecca, and Chris isn’t Mark. I refuse to let him mess with my head.

My pace and my erratic heartbeat don’t slow until I’m in my office, behind the desk. I stare at the painting of the roses that’s so much a part of who Rebecca and Mark were together, and I can’t help but think of the roses on my wedding band.

My cell phone beeps with a text, and I grab it to read the message from Chris. She’s not home. I’m on my way to Ryan’s.

It’s not the news I’d hoped for, but expected. Knowing what I have to do, and dreading his reaction, I type, Mark’s here.

It takes about three seconds for my phone to ring. “I knew I chose that dress for a reason,” Chris says, and while it’s spoken playfully, there’s an undercurrent of tension.

“He’s more overbearingly impossible than usual,” I tell him, “and as eager to get me and Ralph out of here as we are. I dared to ask him about Ryan and he shut me down, of course.”

“Well, I’m no fan of his silence, or Ryan’s timing with Amanda. If we can get her out of the center of this, I think that’s smart. I’ll be at Ryan’s office in about fifteen minutes.”

“What about his apartment?”

“I bribed the doorman into telling me Ryan left hours ago, and he was alone.”

“That’s not good. Where’s Amanda?”

“I’m hoping he can tell us. I’ll call you as soon as I know something. In the meantime, stay away from Mark.” While I don’t regret returning to the gallery, since it still feels like the window to finding Rebecca, I’m ready to leave.

I make a coffee run to the break room and catch a glimpse of Ralph disappearing into the gallery with Jacob on his heels. Frowning, I set my coffee on my desk, grab my cell phone, and head to the showroom to find it empty. The sound of voices draws me toward the front door and I see Ralph and Jacob standing outside, their backs to me. Crossing the display floor, I push open the door to find two of Blake’s men flanking the entry. I start toward Ralph and Jacob’s direction, only to stop dead in my tracks when I realize who’s with them.





Seventeen



“There she is,” Detective Grant says, looking far from courtroom ready with a two-day beard and a navy blazer he’s paired with jeans and a loosened tie. “Just the woman I was hoping to talk to. Your bodyguard here said you weren’t available.”

“She’s not,” Jacob snaps tightly, his spine ramrod straight, his jaw set hard. “Go back inside, Ms. McMillan.”

“Yes,” the detective agrees. “Go back inside, Ms. McMillan. I’ll chat with Ralph.”

The look of utter terror on Ralph’s face tells me how direly he needs saving, and I squeeze his arm. “Go finish your reports.”

“He’s already agreed to talk to me,” Detective Grant insists.