No In Between (6 page)

“What about after Rebecca returned to San Francisco?” Grant argues and then turns his wrath on me again. “Did you meet her then?”

“I never met Rebecca,” I say, and I swear my heart has moved to my throat. “The reason I had a job was to fill in for her.”

“So if Rebecca returned, you would have lost a dream job, right?” he says.

“What? No.” I pull my suddenly trembling hand from the table to my lap. “I could have kept my job. I talked to Mark about that.”

“Rebecca’s return date was before Sara started at the gallery,” David reminds him. “So game over and move on. Stop taunting her.”

“Actually,” Detective Miller says, “we aren’t prepared to disclose Rebecca’s specific travel dates at this point.”

David eyes her for several seconds and makes that snorting noise. “Let me get this straight. You’ve now decided Rebecca Mason came to the city, left again, and came back?”

“What I’m saying, Counselor,” she replies tartly, “is nothing. We aren’t prepared to release what we know about her travel at this point.”

“Of course you aren’t,” David says with acidic sarcasm. “How else would you victimize the victim?” He sighs heavily and motions with his hand. “Move on to another subject, or this interview is over.”

“Gladly.” Her attention lands on me. “Back to the club, then. Ms. McMillan—”

“I’ll spare us all some time,” Chris interrupts, leaning forward. “Sara was not, and is not, a part of the club.”

“Let her tell me,” she insists.

I repeat Chris’s words. “I have not been, and am not, a part of the club.”

Chris continues, “I took Sara to the club for one reason only: to show her what I’d been involved with, and why I didn’t want her to be a part of what I considered my past. We didn’t have sex while we were there. We didn’t go to the public areas. I didn’t even allow her to talk to anyone on the way in.”

“You didn’t
allow her
?” Detective Miller asks, sounding appalled.

“To protect her,” Chris explains.

Detective Grant scoffs. “We’ve heard that before.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, my defenses flaring for Chris.

David intervenes, demanding, “How is any of this related to Ava trying to kill my client?”

Again Detective Miller answers. “There’s a personal relationship between the defendant and the witnesses. We need to understand that dynamic.”

“Not for the bail hearing,” David counters.

Detective Grant replies, “You know as well as we do that we have to be prepared for anything.”

“Furthermore,” Detective Miller adds, “if Ms. Perez is awarded a lower bond and she’s released, it’s in everyone’s best interest that the DA feels comfortable putting his neck on the line to even take it to the grand jury to indict her.”

David’s brow wrinkles and his lips twist. “I smell a bad fish and it stinks to high heaven. I don’t like it when things stink. So fair warning. I gave you five minutes; you have about two left.”

Detective Miller instigates a back and forth with Chris. “You don’t want Sara at the club because you think it’s what? Dangerous?”

“Far from it. Mark Compton takes his responsibility to protect the members of the club seriously, or I would never have stepped foot inside. It’s simply not right for me or Sara.”

“Meaning BDSM, or the lifestyle, or . . . ?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the lifestyle, if that’s what you’re getting at. BDSM is like anything else. It’s right for some and not for others. It can be a way people cope with things they might not otherwise deal with. It can be a simple escape from everyday pressures. It has many healthy, pleasurable purposes, but like anything, it can be taken to unhealthy extremes.”

Her lips curl. “Did you take it to an unhealthy extreme, Mr. Merit?”

I dig my fingernails into my leg, worried about where this is going, but Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “A couple of pieces of chocolate every day is safe for one person, but for a diabetic, it’s life threatening. Unhealthy is defined by the person.”

“That’s a nonanswer,” Detective Grant says, sounding more than a little displeased. “But if you don’t want to talk about you, let’s talk about Mark Compton. Does he take this BDSM thing to an unhealthy extreme?”

“Asked and answered,” David interjects. “He said
extreme
is defined by the individual.”

“And I said it’s a nonanswer,” Detective Grant snaps, focusing on me again. “Ms. McMillan, when you were reading the journals did you find Mr. Compton’s behavior to be extreme?”

“She’s not answering,” David says. “That would be opinion, which is nonadmissible in court, and we all know the journals don’t even mention Mark Compton’s name.”

Detective Grant cuts him a look. “Since when are you Compton’s attorney?”

“I didn’t like your question.” David motions with his hand again. “Move on.”

Lips thinning, Grant removes two journals from his accordion folder. “Did you read
all
of the journals you turned in to us, Ms. McMillan?”

“Yes. I was trying to find clues that would tell me how to find her.”

“Did you read the entry where Mr. Compton used a knife to taunt Rebecca during sex?”

“Again,” David interrupts. “We don’t have any proof the man in the journal is Mark Compton.”

Grant doesn’t look at him. “Did you read the scene, Ms. McMillan?”

My throat thickens and I nod, fearing a squeaked out reply will show some kind of guilt during this witch hunt.

“Is that why you went to look for her?” he presses. “Because you were afraid for her?”

“We didn’t come here to discuss Mr. Compton,” David interjects.

“We need to know what Ms. McMillan’s motivations were so we know she’s rock solid in front of a jury. If she looks bad, the defendant looks good.”

“It wasn’t about the journal entries,” I offer honestly. “I hate the idea of people losing their belongings to an auction, which is why I didn’t get involved in auction-hunting when Ella did.”

He pulls one of the journals from the accordion file and holds it up. “You know this journal, I assume?”

I nod. “That’s her work journal.”

“Did you read this note she wrote?” He opens it to a page and flips it around, showing me a passage highlighted with a pointed sticky note.

I read the familiar passage out loud.
“Riptide auction piece. Legit? Find Expert.”
I glance up at him. “I brought this note to the attention of the private eye we hired to help find Rebecca. I was concerned that it might have somehow led to her disappearance. That’s how Mary and Ricco’s actions were discovered.”

“The private eye would be who?” Detective Miller queries.

“Blake Walker of Walker Security,” David supplies. “Which you know since you questioned him.”

“Simply making sure there wasn’t another private eye,” Detective Miller states, the tension between her and David palpable.

Detective Grant stays focused on me. “Were you concerned they might have killed Rebecca?”

“In my interactions with Ricco, it was clear that he was in love with Rebecca. I didn’t believe he would hurt her.”

“And Mary?” he presses.

“She was prickly with me, and my understanding is that’s how she treated Rebecca.”

Grant arches a brow. “Why was that?”

“We both worked with Mark on Riptide auction items, and he trusted us over her.”

“Did you ever sleep with Mr. Compton or engage in any form of sexual activity?”

“Asked and answered,” David says sharply.

Despite his objection, I say, “Never.”

Detective Miller shifts in her chair. “You seem to rule out Ricco as having anything to do with Rebecca’s disappearance. What about Mary?”

“She’s mean-spirited,” I say, “but Mary knew Ricco cared about Rebecca. He was vocal about it to everyone. And in my opinion, Mary’s more of a revenge kind of person. She’d want to hurt Rebecca and Mark—not kill either of them.”

Detective Grant moves the journal in front of Chris. “She marked out your name and her notes about you. Why?”

My heart starts racing. Do they know Chris fought with Mark over Rebecca? How would they know? Would Mark have told them?

“I don’t begin to assume I know why another person does anything,” Chris answers, in full avoidance mode.

The journal is scooted back in front of me. “Any idea why she marked out Mr. Merit’s name?”

Where is this going? Are they accusing Chris of something? “I saw no notes that indicated why in anything I read.” Somehow my voice is steady, though my knees aren’t.

David slaps his hands on the table. “And on that note, I’m going to ask my clients to leave so I can talk with you alone.” He pushes to his feet. “This interview is over.”

• • •

“I’m scared, Chris,” I say as we exit the police station into the parking lot, still reeling from the interrogation.

He stops walking and faces me, his hands settling solidly on my arms. “That wasn’t about you, baby. They’re using you for information. Think about them like you do Mark. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

“Mark can’t put me in jail.”

“They can’t, either,” he assures me. “You have an alibi.”

“But they implied that Rebecca came back and left again. They made it sound like I killed her to keep my job.”

“Blake would have seen another travel date. It’s all a head game. I’m confident you’re in the clear.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “And I’m hoping like hell I was in Paris the day Rebecca returned. I never checked the date. I didn’t have a reason to until now.”

I blanch. “Do you think they’re going after you?”

“No. I think they’re going after Mark. And they’ll use any intimidation method they can to put the knife in our hands if we let them.”

“They do seem to think he’s involved in her disappearance, don’t they?”

“Yes. They do.”

“Do you?” While I know in my heart that Mark’s innocent, I find myself holding my breath.

He will never belong to me as I do to him. I will never control him as he does me. I play by his rules and I never know how they will change, or what or who will be part of the new game each of our encounters becomes.

Rebecca Mason

Six

Rather than answer my question, Chris ushers me into the 911, where he shuts us inside. He sits with his wrists on the steering wheel, staring forward, tension rippling off of him. I hold my breath, still waiting on the answer to my question.

Finally, he turns to face me and says, “No. I don’t think Mark had anything to do with Rebecca’s disappearance.”

“Then why did you have to think about your answer?”

“Because he made decisions that led her to the place she ended up. I’ve tried not to blame him, but he has a responsibility and he has to own that, or he’ll repeat it with another negative outcome. I’m not sure he has that in him.”

Like Chris has owned what happened to Amber. “I was angry with Mark, too, but for all his sins, and he had plenty with Rebecca, he didn’t make Ava kill her.”

“No, he didn’t. And had Ava been someone else, Rebecca might have simply ended up like Amber. But he put both of them in situations that led to that kind of hate and anger. You say he loved her. I say he didn’t. Or he wasn’t
in love
with her like I am with you, any more than I was with Amber. You don’t drag someone you love into that kind of hell, and play the kinds of games he did with her mind and body. You climb out of hell to be with them.”

My eyes prickle and I lean into Chris and cup his cheek. “I love you. And Amber’s going to be fine, Chris.”

“Fine? She’s lost years of her life, and I let it happen.”

I realize now why I was so determined to save Amber. She’s not one of his scars. She’s an open, bleeding wound. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did. And that’s why I get Mark. I get his mistakes. I get the guilt he feels. And now, he’s living with the fear of his mother’s death. So we’ll help him get through this, but I need to be sure I know his state of mind, so I know how to navigate the situation. If he keeps denying his role in what happened, and refuses to make changes, this could be the end of the line with him.”

He kisses my hand and turns away, starting the car. I want to say more, but Chris’s cell phone rings and the opportunity is lost for now. By the time we near our apartment, Chris has confirmed that Jacob handled what turned out to be a reporter at the gallery and set up a meeting with him to talk about security concerns and options.

He ends the call and drives around to the back of our building to the garage. “I’m going to take my Harley to my meeting with Jacob, so you can have the car.”

“I thought I’d go with you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m going to try to connect with Mark after my meeting with Jacob and get a feel for where his head is, and I want to do that alone. And Jacob says Amanda is ready to quit after getting spooked today, so I assume you’ll want to go talk to her.”

“Oh no, that’s not good. There are only two of them as it is. Yes. I’ll go talk to her.”

Chris parks the 911 and leaves it running. When I join him on the driver’s side to take over, he says, “We’ll go pick out a car of your choice next week.”

“I have my Ford.”

“Give it to Amanda. You said she doesn’t have a car. We’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need a new car.”

“Yes.” He pulls me to him. “You do. One you feel is yours and meets my standards, which are high where you’re concerned.” He doesn’t give me time to argue. “Tell Amanda we’ll have security in place at the gallery by tomorrow. That should make her feel better. I’ll tell Mark when I see him.” He strokes my hair from my face and tilts my face to his. “Try not to worry too much. We’re okay.” He kisses me soundly and then crosses the parking garage to his Harley.

We’re okay,
I repeat in my head, thinking about what he’d said about Amber and Rebecca. Why do I think he said that more for himself than me this time?

• • •

When I arrive at the gallery’s back parking lot, I’m surprised to see Ryan Kilmer’s silver BMW parked near the door, not far from Jacob’s black sedan. Locking the 911, I head toward the building and call Jacob to let me inside.

“What’s Ryan Kilmer doing here?” I ask when he opens the door.

“From what I can tell, comforting Amanda,” he says as I step inside. “He arrived about ten minutes after I did.”

The mama bear in me flares to life, determined to protect Amanda. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“I take it you don’t approve of him?”

“Not a bit. She’s too young for him, and he’s—” I stop myself from saying “a Master,” unsure of what Jacob knows about that side of Chris’s life, “too old for her.”

Jacob’s eyes flicker a moment with what I am almost certain is understanding, but he says only, “I tend to agree. Will you be okay if I leave while he’s still here?”

A memory of Ryan and Mark cornering me at the open house for Ryan’s property is uncomfortable, but not frightening. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “It’s Amanda I’m worried about.”

“Understood.” He hesitates a moment, before adding, “Just a general warning about the investigation, speaking from experience. Anyone involved could decide to protect themselves by throwing someone else under the bus.”

“I know,” I assure him, thinking of my father and Michael. “I’ll keep my guard up. And thank you for everything, Jacob. I know it’s your job to be here for me, but you do it well, and it’s appreciated.”

His stoic features actually soften. “It’s my absolute pleasure, Ms. McMillan.” He pushes open the door to depart, pausing to add, “Walker Security is arranging for a man to be here by morning, but in the meantime it’s better to be cautious. If you leave after dark and Mr. Merit isn’t here, either have someone walk you out, or call me and I’ll come over.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.”

He exits and the automatic locks click into place behind him. I start to turn and hesitate a moment as a thought hits me. If there are cameras inside and outside the building, then any visit from Rebecca would have been recorded. If Rebecca came here, there would have been footage. And why wouldn’t she just come here or go to Mark’s house? How did she end up with Ava, whom she didn’t even like? There’s only one answer that makes sense. She came here, found out Mark was out of town, and went to the coffee shop. Mark said he never knew she had returned to the city. Maybe she went next door to muster her courage to come here, not knowing Mark was out of town?
Somehow,
she ended up with Ava.

I’m still considering the possibilities when I enter the business office to a ringing phone and an unmanned desk. Crossing to Ralph’s office, I find him packing his briefcase. Glancing at my watch, I note it’s barely six o’clock, early for the gallery to close. “Everything okay?” I ask, worried that Amanda isn’t the only one who might be ready to quit.

His eyes lift to mine. “As okay as we get around here, these days. I didn’t expect you back tonight.”

“Chris had a meeting, so I thought I’d stop in and check on things after your problem with the reporter. Where’s Amanda?”

“In the break room flirting with Ryan.” He leans on his desk, his crooked bow tie at half-mast. “He showed up about the time she was ready to walk out over that reporter stalking us all afternoon. Fortunately, she’s drawn to rich and good-looking men, and he convinced her to stay.” He lowers his voice. “And while I’m grateful he worked his mojo, she’s so over her head with him, it’s scary.”

He’s so right. “I know. I’ve tried to warn her away from him in the past. Obviously it didn’t work.”

“Try harder.”

He’s right again. “I will.”

“Good. Because she won’t listen to me.” He straightens. “Did you hear Bossman’s back in town?”

“I saw him at the police station. Did he call or come by here?”

“No. Ryan told us he’s here, and we’re hoping it means we can get back to some form of order.”

I’m irritated that Mark would communicate with Ryan but he won’t return my calls. Has this investigation become Chris and me against Mark and Ryan? Is it worse than that—against Mark, Ryan, and Ava?

No, that’s silly. Mark isn’t aligned with Ava. I pray Ryan isn’t, either.

Ralph slides his briefcase strap onto his shoulder. “Crystal has us closing at six since we aren’t operating the showroom. Are you coming in tomorrow?”

I won’t know until Chris has talked with Mark. “No decisions yet, but I’m just a phone call away, no matter what. And there will be security here starting tomorrow. No more reporters stalking you.”

“That’s welcome news. Shall we go herd Ryan and Amanda out of here, so we can all leave?”

“I think I’ll stay and try to talk to her, while I have a chance.”

“You sure? I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I think our talk will go better if it’s just her and me.”

He nods, giving me a hug on his way out. Pausing at the reception desk on my way to the break room, I’m stunned by the pages and pages of messages by the phone, though I suspect many are repeats. I
have
to help out here. There’s no way Crystal can handle Riptide’s massive operation and juggle Allure, too.

Since Amanda still hasn’t returned, I drop my coat and purse on her desk and head toward the break room. The soft murmur of voices has me peering cautiously around the doorway. Ryan and Amanda stand on the other side of the small kitchen table, facing each other.

He’s leaning close to Amanda, his head dipped low, and he murmurs something that I can’t make out.

Amanda leans away from him, giving me a partial glimpse of her face. “I’m not ready,” she whispers. “I can’t.”

Pretty sure I know what they’re discussing, I curl my hands into fists and it’s all I can do not to shout out my agreement. Of course she’s not ready. She’s a kid, an intern. He’s in his thirties, a Master with a depth of sexual experience.

“You
are
ready,” he insists, and I’ve had enough.

With a deep breath, I step into the room, and dare the deep muddy waters of butting into someone else’s life. “Ready for what?”

Ryan turns to face me, his light brown eyes skimming my body a bit too intimately. My stomach drops and I’m back in the moment when he and Mark tried to seduce me; when they trapped me, touched me. “Sara,” Ryan says softly, his voice almost as intimate as his inspection had been. “Good to see you. The last time we saw each other was in less than favorable circumstances.”

Is
that
what he calls Ava trying to kill me?

“I’ve been worried,” he adds. “How are you?”

“As good as any of us can be, under the still
unfavorable circumstances
.”

His mouth slips into a grim line. “Indeed. It’s not our best year, is it?”

His nonchalance over Rebecca’s death, and almost mine, makes me so angry, I decide no reply is better than what would come out of my mouth.

I focus on Amanda instead. “You’re not ready for what?”

She twists her fingers together in front of her. “Oh, I . . .”

“She wants a promotion,” Ryan offers, “and she’s afraid to ask Mark.”

His explanation is so fast and smooth, his stare so steady and unwavering, that I almost believe him. But I know Amanda almost walked out today and when I look at her, she cuts her gaze away, unintentionally telling me he’s lying. “I can talk to Mark for you,” I offer, pushing for the truth.

Her gaze jerks to mine. “No. Please no. I’m not . . . ready. Not yet. Please. Promise, Sara. Don’t say anything.”

“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” I say. “Just let me know.”

Her shoulders slump with relief. “Thank you. Yes, I will.” She casts Ryan a tentative look. “I’m going to go gather my things.”

She seems to wait for his approval, and he gives it with a nod. Then, and only then, does she rush from the room. Everything about the exchange screams Master and submissive.

I advance on Ryan. “Are you crazy?” I hiss softly. “Rebecca’s dead, and a million eyes are on the gallery and on Mark. This is
not
the time to be playing Master and submissive with one of the staff members.”

He arches a brow. “Mark? Not Mr. Compton?” He laughs. “He was crazy to think you’d ever call him Master.”

Unease ripples through me at the implication that they’d talked about turning me into their submissive, as they had Rebecca. “No,” I say, my tone crisp. “I wouldn’t, and neither is Amanda. She’s too young and too innocent, and frankly too immature, to take either of you on.”

“No woman in my life has to take me on, Sara. I’m not Mark. I know you read Rebecca’s journals. I can’t believe anything she wrote about me would have said that I was.”

More unease slides through me. He’s just admitted that he’s the other person in the journals. Then Jacob’s warning flickers in my mind, and I wonder if Ryan’s baiting me for information, trying to find out if he’s in the journals. I’m not sure why he’d care, though. Ava killed Rebecca. Didn’t she?

“My point,” I say, “is that now is not the time to bring your lifestyle into the gallery.”

“
My
lifestyle? Look in the mirror, Sara. It’s yours, too, and if you must know, I called Riptide looking for Mark, who hasn’t exactly been returning anyone’s calls. They told me he was headed here. I called the back-up line, and Amanda started rambling about some strange guy by the door. I was a few blocks away, so I came over to help. Now I’m going to give her a ride home. No games; just me being a gentleman. If Mark shows up, tell him I came by.”