No in Between (Inside Out #4)(57)

“Estranged husband, I guess you’d call him.”

“I thought he owned a bar?”

“He does but he plays in a band, too. And now it seems he owns a coffee shop.” He motions to a table. “Let’s sit. I don’t have time for coffee.”

Glad to get this over with, I follow the detective to the table and claim the seat by the wall. Feeling like I’m being watched, I look around and am locked in the beam of Raf’s stare, and choking with the unpleasant sensation of being naked.

Detective Grant slaps the journal down on the table and I nearly jump out of my seat. “Let’s talk,” he says, and now I’m stuck in his probing, always judgmental, stare.

“Should we do a read-along of your opinions of Mark Compton?” he asks. “Or do you care to simply share them with me?”

Angry with him all over again, I set my cell phone in my lap, and lace my fingers together on top of the table. “Why share them if you read them?” I challenge. “And is it even legal for you to show my personal items to Ralph?”

“Feel free to use all that money your boyfriend has and sue me, and I guess we’ll find out.”

“My rich boyfriend? Are you trying to alienate me, or is being a jerk so natural for you that you simply can’t help yourself?”

He chuckles. “Oh, Ms. McMillan. I think I see why all these men find you so appealing.”

“All these men?” I demand. “I’m with Chris, and only Chris. And for the record, Detective, you’re living up to my manipulation expectations. Even that comment was meant to lure me into saying something I’m not going to say.”

Unfazed, he taps my journal. “Let’s talk about Mark.”

“He’s not guilty of anything but loving Rebecca,” I say before I can stop myself.

“There’s a fine line between love and hate. You wrote that yourself.”

“Because Ricco Alvarez said that to me. He’s the one to be worried about. He loved her, too, and he was insanely jealous over Mark.” I lean back. “That’s all I’m saying. I’m done.”

“This isn’t about you or Chris Merit. I’ve cleared you both.”

“You have?”

“Yes. You both have rock-solid alibis.” He leans forward. “I need to find Rebecca, Ms. McMillan. Help me.”

“I want to, but I can’t help you without my attorney present.”

“I told you I’ve cleared you.”

“I know, but you think Mark is guilty. And I’m not helping you convict an innocent man.”

“How can you be sure he’s innocent?”

My phone vibrates and I know who it is before I even glance at the caller ID and see Chris’s number. Knowing he’ll be worried, I hold up a finger and say, “Give me one minute, please.”

He leans back in his seat. “By all means. Take your time. The only place I have to be is in court to testify against your attacker.”

The snide remark makes me ignore my phone call. “My attacker is exactly right—yet you insist on meeting here, at her coffee shop? No one looking out for my well-being would do that.”

“Just because you don’t understand my reasoning, doesn’t mean it doesn’t make sense.”

“Just because you think you’re a hero, doesn’t mean you’re not a jerk.” My phone starts ringing again and I hit Ignore, but I don’t put the phone down. I punch the auto-dial Chris programmed for David.

“Ms. McMillan,” Detective Grant begins, just as David answers the call with, “What the f*ck is going on, Sara? Chris just called and told me you’re with Detective Grant.”

“That’s why I’m calling. He’s right. I’m with Detective Grant right now.”

“You only talk to him when you’re with me. No other time. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“He threatened to show my personal journal to Ralph if I didn’t go with him—”

“What journal, and go where?”

“Notes I took on people Rebecca knew. He acquired my journal at the gallery during yesterday’s search. And he took me to the coffee shop.”

“The coffee shop that’s owned by the woman who tried to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Put that lousy piece of shit on the phone.”

I hold out my cell phone to Detective Grant, who looks amused rather than irritated. “Smart lady. I’m impressed, Ms. McMillan.” He puts the cell to his ear and says, “Hello, David.” There are several moments of silence before he chides, “Calm down. I’m aware of all of that.”

They begin going back and forth, and I can’t make heads or tails out of who is winning what battle. Afraid the detective is getting a little too loud, my gaze lifts and lands on the counter again. Frowning, I watch Corey, the college-aged kid who’s worked here as long as I’ve been around, and Raf in a deep, animated conversation. Corey seems to be getting more agitated, swiping his hands around to make his point. Raf holds up his palms stop-sign fashion, as if trying to calm the kid down.

The detective nudges me and hands me the phone back. “Your turn.”

Reluctantly, I drag my attention from the counter and accept the phone. Detective Grant glances over his shoulder, immediately moving his chair to the side of the table where he can observe the action.