No in Between (Inside Out #4)(56)

Irritated at the way this man throws around his power, my gaze snaps to his. “Schedule a meeting so he can have an attorney present.”

“I need an attorney?” Ralph exclaims. “Since when do I need an attorney? I barely knew Rebecca. I liked her, though. I really liked her.”

Oh, crap. “Relax, Ralph,” I say quickly, stepping in front of him, my hands coming down on his upper arms. “Don’t overreact. It’s just a precaution. You’re fine.”

“You’re not a suspect,” Detective Grant assures him from behind me. “I just want to talk to you about this.”

Certain that I don’t want to know what “this” is, I turn to find him holding a book. My stomach plummets as I recognize it as my journal.

“What is it?” Ralph asks.

“Sara’s journal,” Detective Grant answers, his hard stare boring into mine. “Interesting that you started one at the same time you were reading Rebecca’s. It’s really quite interesting reading. Deep thoughts, Ms. McMillan. For instance,” he pauses, and flips it open to a flagged page, “right here where you say that Mark—”

“I’ll talk to you,” I interrupt, all too aware that I’ve referenced intimate details about his relationship with Rebecca. “But I need to call my attorney first.”

“No time for that,” the detective counters. “He’s at the courthouse where I need to be in,” he glances at his watch, “an hour. In fact, let’s save time and the three of us can talk right here.” He glances at Ralph. “Sara wrote a note I’d like to get your opinion on.” He glances down at the page. “It says, and I quote, ‘If there is a fine line between love and hate, where did Mark walk then and now?’ ” His gaze lifts from the journal. “My question to you, Ralph, is in your observations—”

“Enough,” I snap, in disbelief he’s gone as far as he has with my private property, and wishing I knew my rights. “I’ll talk to you.”

“Ms. McMillan—” Jacob begins.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, knowing he will call either David or Chris, or maybe both. I just need to get the detective and that journal away from Ralph and then buy time until the cavalry arrive. I cut Ralph a look, and instruct, “Go back inside, please.”

“We’re through, Ralph,” the detective adds.

“I don’t have to be told twice,” Ralph mutters, already backing up and moving away.

“So here we are,” Detective Grant says, rocking on his heels, and giving Jacob a judicious once-over that thins his lips. “Let’s walk next door to the coffee shop, Ms. McMillan. We need privacy.”

“The coffee shop?” I say in disbelief. “You want to go to the coffee shop?”

“Yes, I do. What better place to jog your memories of the past?” He motions me forward and I take a step, only to have Jacob grab my arm and warn, “Don’t do this.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’m sure Mr. Merit won’t agree,” he argues.

“No,” I concede. “I’m sure he won’t, but I’m still doing it.”

His jaw clenches and unclenches and he releases me, stepping to my side. “I’m going with you.”

“I talk to you alone, Ms. McMillan,” Detective Grant replies, as if I’m the one who made the declaration that Jacob is along for the trip, “or we bring Ralph back out to talk.”

My blood boils with the threat, but there’s no room to argue. I turn my attention to Jacob. “I won’t let Ralph be harassed over me. Stay here, please.”

“I’ll wait outside the coffee shop.”

“Fine with me,” Detective Grant says, and we start walking into a gust of bitterly cold November wind.

Hugging myself, I feel exposed to far more than the cold air. When Jacob steps away from me to open the shop door, I’m unnaturally chilled to the bone. “I’ll be right here,” he assures me.

“Thank you.” I intend to rush into the shelter of warm walls, but somehow my feet are planted and I’m sinking in the quicksand of memories. Ava’s smiling face, her laughter, her funny comments about Chris and Mark. Her raging anger when she’d held that gun on me and fully intended to kill me. I know she had. I’d seen it in her eyes.

“Problem, Ms. McMillan?” Detective Grant asks and something in his tone hits a raw, angry nerve.

My attention snaps to him and I shove Ava back into that hellhole I reserve for all the crap in my life. “You know very well there’s a problem, and what it is. And you, Detective Grant, are a familiar breed of manipulator. Very familiar.” I lift my chin and walk inside.

Passing the many displays of coffee and mugs, my nostrils flare with the rich, nutty scent of coffee brewing. I’d once eagerly inhaled and savored this scent in the past; today it burns my nose and throat, and turns my stomach.

Pausing to scan the dozen rather packed tables for a vacancy, my gaze settles on the counter, where an unfamiliar man with longish dark hair and heavily tattooed arms rings up a customer.

“Ava’s husband, Raphael,” Detective Grant supplies, stepping to my side. “The rock band he plays in calls him Raf, I believe.”

“Ava’s husband?” I ask, surprised. While good-looking in the rocker bad boy kind of way, he’s far from what I’d imagine for the refined beauty. He’s Mark’s polar opposite.