No In Between (20 page)

Twenty-one

Chris’s plan to dodge the press works, and at nearly 7:00 p.m. we retrieve the 911 he’d parked in a garage several miles from the gallery without incident. We’re both starving but eager to get out of the city, so we choose the gourmet delight of Taco Bell on the go, and eat in the car by a parking meter. I’ve barely opened my burrito when I squirt taco sauce all over the dash and steering wheel, barely missing Chris.

He laughs and holds up his hands. “Whatever I did, I won’t do it again.”

Red-faced and giggling, I clean the dash, and when I reach for the steering wheel, he grabs me and kisses me. When I settle back into my seat, it’s with a warm glow instead of the deep chill of hearing about Ava’s release. And sitting there with him, wrapped in the cozy cocoon of the car, I have an “I’m so very blessed” moment. I’m alive. I’m with a man I love. And while that love stems from all the incredible things that define his character, and I certainly can’t complain about his hot factor, his easygoing humbleness gets to me. His ability to be this gorgeous, talented man, with money and power, and yet he loves Taco Bell in the car, the way I do. With so much loss and heartache in the air, it’s that small thing that fills my heart with emotion.

When we’re finally on the road exhaustion begins to take hold, and I snuggle on my side facing Chris, his leather jacket draped over me. “Are you tired?” I ask, feeling bad that I can rest and he can’t.

“Not yet, but I’ve done the time change from Paris many times. You haven’t. Rest.”

“I feel guilty.”

“About too many things,” he says.

“Did you hear about Amanda?” I ask, and it’s really not a change of subject. It’s about that word. Guilt.

“You are not Amanda’s keeper, Sara.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, but you’re letting worry over Ella and the connection you feel to Rebecca turn you into everybody’s mother. Save your strength.”

“My concerns for Ella and Rebecca may have led me to be gullible with Amber, but I’m not sure I care. She was crying for help.”

“You’re right, and I was enabling her instead of helping. Maybe your going to Paris was the catalyst that led to her finally getting help.”

“I hate to think that I pushed her to the final edge, but I think she was close to being there anyway. I could almost feel her struggles pulling her into hell. It’s hard to hate someone who makes you hurt for them.”

“I get that, and the connection to me. But you barely know Amanda.”

“It’s the Rebecca connection, and the way Ryan was trying to make her his next conquest. I don’t trust him. I know he has an alibi, but somehow, some way, I know he’s involved in Rebecca’s disappearance.”

“If he is, Ava will sell him out,” Chris assures me. “The good thing about people with no morals is that they gravitate to other people with no morals; then they undo each other.”

“She hasn’t so far, and he’s supposed to testify against her for attacking me.”

“She hasn’t felt any pressure yet. The murder charges were dropped, and her team is working to tear down the witnesses to get her off the charge of attacking you. But from what Detective Miller told David, the kid from the coffee shop is talking and he has a lot to say.”

I sit up straight. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, but it led to the search on the beach. I have a feeling Ava’s going to be talking real soon, and the truth is going to come out.”

I melt down into the leather seat and stare into the inky darkness outside. The truth is about to be discovered. And isn’t the truth what most people fear more than anything?

• • •

The sprawling country home that Chris has rented sits atop a hill with a gated entry. “The views are supposed to be magnificent in the daytime. There’s a heated pool, gym, and a private vineyard. More important, it has a space I can use as a studio, and room you can set up as an office to work on your consulting business if we decide to hide out here awhile.”

“It sounds fabulous,” I say, as we exit the car in the garage.

“I figured we’d want to stay at least until we get some of the media frenzy behind us.” He crosses to the door to the house and grabs the large envelope propped against it, opening it to hand me a key. “You also have the gate access code, and the garage remote they left us by the gate is over the visor on the car.”

I accept the key. “You already told the Louvre you can’t do the charity event?”

“Yes. I made it up to them in cash. Don’t worry about it; we’ll be there next year.”

“But maybe now that we’re cleared, we can go?”

“If we do, I can still attend the event, but at least now they can make plans if I can’t.”

The buzzer by the door goes off, and he scrubs his blond hair into a spiky, sexy mess. “That’ll be Katie and Mike.”

I glance at his watch. “Nine o’clock,” I say. “Right on time.”

“Sorry, baby. You heard me trying to convince her to wait until tomorrow, on our way here. But she was insistent she see us tonight.” He hits the intercom and Katie comes on immediately.

“We’re here and so are you. Wonderful!” she exclaims.

Chris tells her, “I’ll open the gates and you can pull into the garage next to us.” He reopens the garage and glances at me. “A little longer, and we can crash.”

“It’s okay. I love Katie.”

“Good, because you should be prepared for a wedding explosion. She’s going to lay one on you, I promise. Details will be planned and rehashed a million times. Just keep stressing small and intimate, like we talked about, or she’ll have several countries here.”

I smile at the idea of Katie’s excitement. Headlights flash in the driveway and I have the sense of how my life has changed—how I’d been alone six months ago, and now I am not. Emotion overcomes me and I turn to Chris, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you, too, and . . . and I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. I’m not leaving again. It was a mistake I won’t repeat.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean, I can’t lose you the way Mark lost Rebecca.”

“You won’t.”

“No one can promise that. She was going back to him. They had a chance and in a blink of an eye, she was gone.”

His hands rest on my shoulders. “You’re right. None of us can promise that we’ll live another day. But you can’t lose me the way Mark lost Rebecca, because you have nothing to regret with me like he does with her. And when I buried Dylan and came back to you, I knew it was all or nothing with you; no regrets.” The headlights flicker and a car pulls in next to the 911, but Chris doesn’t turn.

“No in between,” I whisper.

“That’s right.”

Car doors open and I hear, “Sara!” and I turn to find Katie and Mike coming toward us, both as distinguished and warm as I remember. They’re in their sixties and her gray hair is long and sleek, though his is getting a bit sparse on top. Both are elegantly dressed in casual, obviously expensive dress slacks; Katie’s are loose, flowy black satin.

Mike shakes Chris’s hand and then pulls him into a hug. I’m smiling when Katie goes straight for a big squeeze with me, and the distinct scent of roses reaches my nostrils, shaking me to the core.

Leaning back, she inspects me. “You look pale.” She gives Chris a reprimanding look. “Why is she so pale?”

Because you smell like roses, and I must be losing my mind.

Chris replies, “It’s been a hell of a day, Katie.”

She turns back to me. “It has been a bad day, hasn’t it? Life gets so messy sometimes, and people will do and say anything to get on top. Once, I was accused of sleeping with a reporter to get press for the winery. A bastard competitor made me look like a tramp. So I want you to know that nothing anyone says can sway us. You are your own story, here.”

“I’m with Katie,” Mike agrees and gives me a big hug, and dang it, now I know I’m nuts. He smells like roses, too, the cloyingly sweet scent staying with me after he steps away.

“Thank you both,” I say, touched by the story she shared to make me feel comfortable. And I do. I have zero sense of being judged by them. Chris was right; I had nothing to fear coming here.

“You can thank me by letting me help plan the wedding,” she asserts.

I laugh. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She smiles. “Excellent.” She motions to their shiny black BMW. “We brought some groceries so you can settle in and relax tonight.” She cuts Chris a knowing look. “See? We saved you starvation until the stores open tomorrow.”

Chris chuckles. “I should have known you’d come prepared. Thank you, Katie.”

She snaps her fingers. “Both you men.” She points to the cars. “Unload.”

Then there’s the unloading of bags and suitcases, followed by the stocking of the refrigerator in the gorgeous country-style kitchen with a dramatic stainless steel range hood above the stove.

“Coffee’s almost done,” Katie announces once we are almost settled. “We should go round up the boys and talk about the wedding. We can go shopping tomorrow.”

“We want small and intimate,” I say. “Just a handful of special people.”

“We can do that. At the chateau, right?”

“That’s what Chris and I talked about.”

Her eyes light with pleasure. “Excellent. Tomorrow we can pick the spot on the property. I’m so happy, Sara. You’ve been so good for Chris.”

“He’s been good for me.”

“That’s when you marry someone—when you make each other better.”

“We do,” I say, unable to keep the gravelly quality from my voice. “In every way.”

I hear Chris and Mike’s voices a moment before they appear, and Chris comes up behind me, wrapping his arm around me, as Mike does with Katie. A sense of being a part of a family washes over me, a warm blanket I’ve never had before. I’m in this safe place for the first time in my life.

“Do I smell coffee?” Chris asks.

Katie beams with satisfaction, and in a few minutes we’re all sitting around the table with steaming cups, chatting. “I’m so excited that you’re getting married,” she says. “Sara says you both want small and intimate.”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “
Small,
Katie. I know how you are. Don’t keep adding names once the list is together.”

“I won’t, but we need to work quickly if we’re going to set a date before you return to Paris.”

“Look out,” Mike says, holding up his hands. “She’s about to start talking a hundred miles an hour. I might need wine, not coffee.”

“I’m just excited,” Katie says. “I’ve waited Chris’s whole life for this. And frankly, at thirty-five, I was starting to think it wasn’t going to come.”

“Well, you can take a deep breath,” Chris teases. “With everything going on here we canceled the Paris event, so we aren’t in a rush. We have plenty of time, and Sara wants the trial behind us before the wedding.”

“Good decision,” Mike agrees. “You can’t deal with legal issues split between countries.”

“So, for a date,” Katie says, “how about Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m not sure the trial will be over by then,” Chris answers, sipping his coffee.

“Why don’t we plan for Valentine’s Day,” Katie suggests, “and then we can move it if we have to. We can work through the rest of the details in the meantime.”

I lose track of time as we chat about anything and everything, until Chris’s cell phone rings.

He glances at it, and I see the subtle tension in his face even before he looks at me and says, “David.”

“Our attorney,” I explain to Katie and Mike.

Chris answers the call with, “Tell me something good.” He listens for a few seconds, then says, “Give me a second.” He stands up and walks to the counter for the remote to a small TV hanging under a cabinet. I push to my feet and join him as he turns it on and finds the news, then says, “Got it, David. I’ll call you back.”

He turns up the sound and Katie and Mike join us to watch a male newscaster standing on a beach, wind gusting around him, the sea behind him.

“All we know at this point is that boxes have been carried out of the residence of Tom and Dorothy Merdock, whose son is Corey Merdock—an employee of Ava Perez, the woman who had confessed to killing the missing woman Rebecca Mason. Those charges were dropped after she said that her confession was coerced and there evidently wasn’t enough evidence to hold her. Ms. Perez is still being charged with attempted murder against Sara McMillan, who worked at the same gallery as Rebecca Mason. Police are mum on what they know about the whereabouts of Rebecca Mason, or what Corey Merdock has to do with this case. There was some talk of a seedy sex scandal wrapped around the case, but at present we haven’t been able to confirm or deny those details. The police are telling us they’ll address all issues in a news conference that may come as early as Monday morning. We’ll keep you posted as developments hit our news desk.”

Chris turns off the TV and silence surrounds us. Then his phone rings again and he answers it, doing more listening than speaking. When he ends the call, he runs a rough hand through his already tousled blond hair.

“Well?” I urge.

“David doesn’t know much. Detective Miller is staying close-lipped for the most part, but she let one big thing slip. They found another journal, and it’s believed that Rebecca wrote in it the night she returned to San Francisco.”