“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.
“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 fuck is going on, Sara? Chris just called and told me you’re with Detect
ive 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.
The moment I speak, David launches into a rant. “I’m not sure what kind of Jack and Jill trip he thought he was taking you on, but get up and leave. He snuck over there and pulled that shit knowing I was here. He won’t be showing your journal to anyone.” It’s hard for me to believe that, after my conversation with the detective, but I’m not going to argue. David doesn’t give me time to anyway. “Text me when he’s gone or if there’s a problem. I won’t be able to take the call unless it’s critical.”
“Yes. I will.”
“Good. Now get up and leave. Oh, and you did good calling me, babe. Kudos, sister.”
Babe and kudos, sister. I almost laugh. Really, what else can I do at this point? It’s like I’m living in a soap opera with really bad writers. I stand up and the detective follows me. “I’m sure you know I can’t talk,” I tell him.
“We’ll talk,” he assures me. “Maybe not now, but we’ll talk.”
A loud crash thunders from the counter, and suddenly Raf is on top of it with Corey straddling him. Raf manages to kick him away, and the next thing I know, they’re both tumbling behind the displays.
“Well, well,” Detective Grant murmurs, “isn’t that interesting. I was hoping our little meeting would stir up some sort of reaction, but this is even better than I hoped for. I might be a jerk, Ms. McMillan, but I’m a calculating jerk. Sometimes you have to put flames under a pot to make it boil.
“And just so you know, Ava will likely get out on bail, but I’ll get you your restraining order and I’ll get you a conviction. I’ll be in touch.”
He dashes toward the counter and I stand there stunned, watching as he climbs over the counter and throws himself into the scuffle. He grabs Raf and Corey hits him, and I dart for the door for help, bursting through the exit for Jacob.
“Fight,” I pant. “There’s a fight inside and the detective needs help.”
Jacob curses and opens the door. He takes one glance inside and grabs the walkie-talkie on his belt. “Kelvin, I need backup. Come get Sara now.” Then to me: “He’s two blocks away. Don’t move.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
He enters the coffee shop and I turn to watch for Kelvin, whom I’ve met before and trust, only to discover instead that I’m staring into the eyes of the worst mistake of my life. “Michael.”
Eighteen
Michael presses against me, his hands shackling my waist, and the feel of his hands on my body makes my skin crawl. “Let go of me,” I hiss, shoving at his unmovable chest. I hear the sound of sirens nearing in the background, but they aren’t here to rescue me. I need to rescue me.
He dares to slide his hand down my waist to my hips, and anger explodes from some deep, pent-up place I had forgotten existed. “I said, let go,” I growl, swiftly lifting my knee and fully intending to plant it in his groin. He captures my leg, the touch wrong in every way.
“You have two seconds before I start screaming,” I warn.
“You don’t want that attention right now.”
“Try me,” I challenge. “Go ahead.”
His eyes narrow and he seems to sense just how dangerous the ground he walks upon is, and he moves his body from mine. But his hands flatten on the wall beside me, his arms caging me in. But I don’t want to escape. I want to finally face him, and the past that’s haunted me for far too long.
“Why are you here?” I demand. He looks so civilized in his perfectly fitted black suit and deep blue shirt, no doubt chosen to match his eyes, yet he’s such a barbaric asshole.
“I didn’t come to San Francisco to testify against you,” he claims, lying as easily as he has a million times before. “I came here to protect you, since your ‘boyfriend’ can’t seem to get the job done. I’ll be right here in town until the trial is over, no matter how long I have to stay. You can count on it.”
I laugh and I sound a little insane, but it’s controlled insanity. My kind, and I’ll unleash it my way, in my time. “That’s truly priceless, Michael,” I say. “You’ve managed to turn this into a way to get back into my father’s good graces.”
“I didn’t ask to be called into this, but I’m here now, and it’s clear I’m needed.”
He’s so damn believable in the role of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Perfect, that it makes me sick to my stomach, thinking of all the people he takes advantage of. And I was one of them.
“You know what?” I demand. “Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you. Fuck you. And fuck you.” Shock slides over his face, and I revel in it. “If you think hanging around with the threat of butchering me in court is going to scare me into helping you get your job back with my father, you’re wrong. I’m already going to be sliced and diced by the press, so it doesn’t matter what you do.”
There’s a movement to my right, followed by Jacob’s harsh command. “Step. Back.”
Michael’s eyes glint with irritation but he’s smart enough to listen, pushing off the wall. A moment later I have Jacob on one side of me and Kelvin on the other, but Michael’s cold, calculating blue eyes don’t move from me.
“I’ll be at the Fairmont,” he says with barely contained anger. He pauses, for effect no doubt, and adds, “Indefinitely.”
“Go home, Michael,” I bite out. “There’s nothing for you here.”
His lips twist evilly. “I guess we’ll see about that,” he replies, a snide arrogance in his tone that makes me want to slap him, but he’s already turned away. He’s leaving, but he’s not gone. I have failed to get rid of him.
“Are you okay?” Jacob asks. If he’s been in a fight, his perfectly pressed suit and flawless face show no sign of it.
“Did he hurt you?” Kelvin asks, stepping closer, and I realize I’ve never seen him in a suit before. He heads the local Walker Security team, which makes him Jacob’s boss.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, and it’s remarkably true. “And I have Jacob to thank for that. He refused to leave my side even when I was with the detective.”
“Good thing he didn’t,” Kelvin comments. “Michael was supposed to be on a plane out of the city.”
“Apparently his travel plans and departure from his hotel were meant as a distraction,” Jacob says.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I say, shivering against a gust of cold wind. “Is Chris—”
“On hi
s way to kick my ass for letting this happen,” Jacob assures me, his frustration evident.
“It’s not your fault this happened, Jacob,” I assure him, “and I’ll be the first one to tell Chris that.”
“When I’m protecting you, anything that goes wrong is my fault,” he corrects. “I should have let the detective get his ass kicked.”
The coffee shop doors open beside us, and Corey and Raf are marched out in handcuffs. Kelvin rests a hand on the wall and lifts his chin at Jacob. “What the hell happened in there?”
“The kid, Corey, seems to have the hots for Ava, and apparently called Sara a lying bitch.”
I blanch. “Me? He doesn’t even know me.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Kelvin says. “Sounds like he was speaking Ava’s kind of language. How’d that turn into a fight?”
“Raf, who in case it wasn’t explained is technically still Ava’s husband. Sara wasn’t the lying bitch,” Jacob says. “He claimed Ava’s the lying bitch. Then it was all fists.”
I think back to the Chanel store, when Ava took a call from her Raf. “I thought he wanted Ava back?”
“That is not a man who wants his wife back,” Jacob assures me, cutting a look toward the police car as the back doors are closed. “I need to go talk to the detective before he leaves.”
“Go,” Kelvin orders. “I have Sara.”
Jacob takes off in a jog and Kelvin is already herding me toward the gallery, eager to escape reporters. As we walk, a sudden wave of emotion overcomes me. Fortunately, I have the short hike to beat it back down. I won’t let Michael have the power of destruction over me—not even in the form of a few worthless tears.
Once we’re inside the gallery, Ralph darts out of his office. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, though the dull throb starting behind my eyes and in my head argues differently. “I handled the detective. But you,” I add, “need to stop letting the police intimidate you. What time is it?”
He glances at his watch. “Ten to two; time for food. How about pizza?”
“Sure,” I say, though I’m certain I won’t be able to eat since Ava’s hearing is about to start. “You know what I like. Can you order?”