Talk to Me

by Stephanie Reid

  “Exactly.” He traced the marble pattern on the countertop with his thumb, realizing uneasily he’d never shared this with anyone else. “The day Martin did this,” he said, pointing to his scar, “was the day she packed up our things.”

  He was lost for a moment, remembering the fear he’d felt as a boy. His mother had come home and—after seeing the gash in his head—had gone into a rage. He’d never seen her so angry and at first he’d thought it was his fault. It wasn’t the first time Martin had hit him, it was just the first time he’d left a mark. And it was the first time Mac hadn’t been able to hide what had happened from his mother.

  Even as a young child, he’d picked up on the fact that his mother was loath to rock the boat. She was cautious and quiet and did everything in her power to make sure that Martin stayed happy. He supposed that’s why he’d hidden what had happened from her. He didn’t want to upset her, didn’t want to make any waves. Always pretend everything is fine. It was an unspoken mantra he’d learned from her.

  Blinking, he returned from his memories to realize Emily had gone completely still, anxiously searching his face, and waiting for him to continue.

  “We stayed at a battered women’s shelter for a few weeks while she tried to find a job. She didn’t have any marketable skills. No education. Doors were slammed in her face left and right.” Mac smiled, filled with pride for the woman his mother had finally decided to become. “But one day, after having yet another application rejected, she got assertive. She marched into the kitchen of the Marriott hotel and demanded to speak to the head chef. She asked him to let her prepare one meal for him. And if it wasn’t the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, then he could toss her out by her ear.”

  “What did she make?” Emily asked.

  “I don’t remember, but it must have been the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.”

  They both laughed.

  “She sounds like an amazing woman,” Emily said, still smiling. “But I think I’d already guessed that about her.” She placed a tray of vegetables and dip in front of him.

  Starving and happy to have something to gnaw on until dinner, Mac grabbed a celery stick. “You had?”

  “Well, she raised you, didn’t she?”

  Chewing another celery stick smothered in ranch dressing, he tried to decipher her meaning. Was he so difficult it would take an amazing woman to put up with him? Or was he so amazing he must have come from someone amazing? He decided to go with the latter. “I am pretty wonderful, aren’t I?”

  With no hint of humor or sarcasm in her clear blue eyes, she said, “You are, Mac. You really and truly are.”

  She took his breath away. Her simple declaration, delivered with such quiet certainty, such an honest expression, made him want to be wonderful. For her. Had the breakfast bar not served as a physical barrier between them, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to stop himself from taking her into his arms and showing her everything that was in his heart.

  * * *

  Emily sighed, twirling capellini noodles around her fork. Just when, exactly, had all her carefully laid plans scattered on the wind?

  She’d wanted to have statistics on her side when she fell in love. She’d wanted some kind of mathematical guarantee that she would not lose another person she cared about.

  But what did statistics prove? Her parents had been professors who’d lived healthy, safe lifestyles. And they’d died in a car accident. She was a counselor—as safe a job as any—and yet, someone had threatened to kill her. And then there was Juan, who’d lost his wife to cancer during what should have been the prime of their lives. The only statistical certainty in life, it seemed, was death.

  She’d clung to Mac’s profession like a shield, placing it over her heart, holding it up as the reason she could not love him. But somewhere along the way, she’d set down her shield and Mac had vanquished her heart. She was in love with him, and it was no use pretending otherwise.

  And now she was learning it was possible to lose someone to something other than death.

  Mac had given her a list of reasons why he couldn’t be with her. He thought she would resent his career. He thought he needed to be clear-headed to protect her. He thought he wasn’t capable of being in a relationship.

  He’d built himself an impenetrable suit of armor from those three beliefs.

  And if she didn’t find a way to break through those defenses she was going to lose him before she’d ever even had him.

  Somehow, she had to convince him that his being a cop was no longer a deal breaker for her, but a risk factor she was willing to face. And if he needed to keep a professional distance while this mess with Carl was being straightened out—well, so be it. But the one piece that remained a mystery to her was why Mac felt he couldn’t be in a long-term relationship. And she had very little faith she could surmount an obstacle when she didn’t understand the reason it was in place.

  Perhaps it was just her. Maybe he couldn’t be with her because he didn’t care about her. Although, she had difficulty believing that when his actions said otherwise.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.

  “Nothing,” she lied. “How do you like the capellini?”

  “Promise not to tell my mother?”

  Emily laughed. “When would I ever see your mother?”

  “I don’t know, stranger things have happened. Do you promise?”

  Emily sobered, thinking how much she wanted to be introduced to his family. “I promise.”

  “It was the best capellini I’ve ever had,” he said, patting his stomach.

  She tossed her napkin at him. “Liar.”

  He deflected the projectile. “I’m not lying. Look at me, I stuffed myself.”

  She laughed when he tried to push his gut out and couldn’t. There was nothing but muscle on those abs.

  She got up from the table and brought back the recently cooled brownies. “Well, I hope you left room for dessert.”

  “I always have room for dessert.”

  She loved seeing him smiling and relaxed like this. She prayed the big meal would put him into a food coma and he’d finally get some sleep tonight. If she could erase the faint shadows constantly lurking under those tired brown eyes, she would consider it a small miracle.

  She cut and served them each a brownie, and he leaned back in his chair, studying her. “So, I’ve been wondering,” he said. “How did you get these groceries today without a car?”

  “I borrowed Sandra’s car at lunch.”

  “Oh.” He thought for a moment. “The other day, you didn’t even have time to eat your can of soup at work. Was it an unusually slow day today that you had all this time to go to the grocery store?”

  She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, wondering why relaxed Mac had disappeared, only to be replaced by Officer McAvoy. “As a matter of fact, two of my clients canceled, and I had a long lunch.”

  “Did you go anywhere else over this long lunch?”

  “What is this? An interrogation?”

  Frown lines appeared around Mac’s mouth. “I’m just wondering how long I’m going to have to wait before you finally tell me what the hell you were doing, driving all over town, conducting private interviews with five different people today.”

  Emily’s mouth dropped open. “Did you talk to Detective Dorsey?”

  Mac’s eyebrows drew together. “No. Did you?”

  “Yes. I got some information I thought might be important to finding Carl, so I called him and told him about it.”

  “What information?”

  Emily ignored his question. “Wait a minute. If you didn’t hear about those interviews from Dorsey, then how did you know?”

  “What information, Emily?” he asked again.

  “Were you following me?”

  They stared at each other, standing off across the kitchen table. A tendon ticked in his jaw, tension evident in his stiff posture. “Ye
s, I followed you. I had to. I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

  She didn’t know what to think. He’d followed her without her knowledge. She supposed she should feel as if he’d violated her privacy, but instead she found herself wondering what would motivate him to do such a thing. And then she hoped she hadn’t done anything embarrassing—like pick her nose—while he was watching. “I wasn’t aware that my protection was a twenty-four hour a day detail.”

  “Carl vandalized your office and then sought you out at your home. It seemed a reasonable conclusion that he might target you at work.” He shrugged. “So, I watched your building.”

  “But why the secrecy? Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?”

  “I couldn’t take the chance that you’d tell me it wasn’t necessary. You’re so independent. You think you can handle everything on your own, but I don’t want you handling this on your own.”

  His protectiveness confirmed what she’d already begun to feel deep down in her core—he had feelings for her. Perhaps it was time to start poking at his armor. “Careful, Mac. If I didn’t know better, I might start to think you really cared about me.”

  He held her gaze, his mouth forming a tight line, and said nothing. She tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully, daring him to deny or admit his feelings.

  He did neither. “Tell me about this information you got today,” he said, returning to the original subject.

  Disappointed, she sighed. “I spoke with a woman who used to attend group therapy with Carl. She wouldn’t give me any information about him, but I noticed she had a tattoo of a heart with her initials and the initials C.F. inside. I called Dorsey with my hunch that she and Carl were romantically involved at one time, if not currently.”

  She watched the tension leave Mac’s shoulders when he leaned over the table and finally took up his brownie. He chewed slowly, his expression thoughtful. “So, Carl could be staying with her right now.”

  Emily grabbed her own brownie, relieved that their friendly camaraderie was reemerging. They were a team, working to solve a puzzle. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” She licked frosting from her finger and got a small rush when Mac’s gaze settled on her lips. “I listened at her door for several minutes. If he was there, I’m sure I would have heard them talking about the fact that I’d come looking for him. But, I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “He might not have been there when you were there, but he could have returned later.”

  “Exactly. In fact, I thought he had come back. As I was leaving Ginnie’s apartment, a man was following me, but I couldn’t get a good look at him because the lights had gone out.” She smiled—eager to make him laugh with the ridiculous events of her day. “But as it turns out, it wasn’t Carl. It was a flasher.”

  Mac choked on his brownie.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, alarmed when he couldn’t stop coughing.

  He took a sip of his soda. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Well, he didn’t actually flash me. But I’m told on good authority that there was an exhibitionist in the building.”

  “Guess it was a good thing the lights were out, huh?”

  Emily chuckled.

  “Did Dorsey say if he’s going to have someone run surveillance on her apartment?” he asked.

  “He didn’t say, but I talked to Sean about it too. He said he’d drive by the complex and look for Carl’s car while he’s on shift tonight.”

  Mac nodded. “Good.” He popped the last bite of his brownie into his mouth, taking time to chew before continuing. “So…you talked to Dorsey about this, and you told Sean, but you didn’t think it was important enough to tell me?”

  Had Emily not heard the hurt in his voice, she might have brushed him off, told him it had just slipped her mind, but—feeling in her gut that he’d misinterpreted her omission as mistrust—she decided to be honest. It would mean exposing her vulnerability to him, admitting her feelings, but it might be worth it. “We were having such a nice evening,” she said softly. “I just wanted to pretend, for one night, that I wasn’t here because you’re a cop, doing a favor for my brother.”

  When she raised her gaze, he was staring at her intently, his brown eyes unreadable. She held her breath, waiting for his response. She felt exposed under his scrutiny, but also exhilarated. She had made her move. It was his turn now.

  His voice was husky when he finally broke the silence. “From now on, I need you to tell me things like this. Otherwise, I can’t do my job.”

  His job. “You’re on vacation from your job right now, Mac,” she challenged, reminding him that he’d had a choice.

  “I might not get paid for it, but right now, keeping you safe is my job. And I can’t do it well if you keep me in the dark.”

  Emily nodded, feeling chastised, exposed and rejected, all at the same time.

  He stood up from the table and started to leave, but paused in the kitchen doorway and turned to face her. “Just one more thing, Em. The other night—I meant what I said. There are a lot of reasons why you and I wouldn’t work together.” His voice lowered to an almost inaudible whisper. “But never, for one second, should you believe one of those reasons is that I don’t care about you. Because I care. I care a lot.”

  Tears burning her eyes, Emily watched his blurry form leave the kitchen. A small part of her longed to go after him, to beg him to give them a chance. She wanted to demand he explain his stupid reasons so she could make her case against each one of them. But she had her pride. She would not beg. If she was going to risk her heart on a man, it would have to be a man brave enough to risk his own.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sheets—twisted from hours of tossing and turning—wound around Emily’s legs, making her feel trapped. Frustrated, she kicked them off and sat up in Mac’s bed. Exhausted as her body was, she couldn’t turn her brain off. And unfortunately, all her brain was capable of was replaying her evening with Mac over and over and over again.

  He had avoided her all evening, sitting out on his patio, nursing a beer. She couldn’t imagine he had enjoyed himself out there, the autumn air cold as it was. No. The only reason he’d stayed outside was to avoid her, and she knew it.

  Well, she hadn’t made him wait long. She’d washed her face, changed into pajamas, and fallen into bed, all before eight-thirty. No sooner had she pulled the comforter up to her shoulders than she’d heard the patio door slide open and then shut with a thud when he came back inside.

  Now, hours later, she looked around his room, desperate for something to take her mind off of him. But the sparsely furnished bedroom held little in the way of distraction. His dresser was bare, except for a small gun safe, a mason jar filled with loose change, and a picture of Mac with one arm wrapped affectionately around a woman she assumed was his mother. On his nightstand, next to his alarm clock, sat a stack of paperbacks, all thrillers and mysteries. Not a good idea. She needed an escape from thrills, not a story to whip her imagination up and start her worrying about Carl’s death threat.

  About to give up and attempt to sleep again, she remembered her messenger bag was in the living room. She hadn’t had a chance to review Ruth’s file at the office, and so she’d brought it with her to look over tonight. Ruth would be her first appointment in the morning and Emily wanted to be sure to review her case notes before she met with her.

  Barefoot, she padded over the wood floors of Mac’s apartment to find her bag. Since her eyes were already used to the darkness, and a full moon shone brightly through the windows, she had no trouble finding it behind the couch. She bent to retrieve it and straightened, glancing at the sofa. Folded neatly on the armrest was a blanket. The sofa was empty. Searching the living room, she saw him, sitting in the armchair, his face obscured by shadows.

  “Mac?” she whispered, not sure if he was awake.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just coul
dn’t sleep, so I thought I would go over some paperwork from the office.”

  His shadow nodded.

  “You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked.

  “No. But that’s pretty usual for me. I don’t need much sleep.”

  Emily doubted that. People who didn’t need sleep stayed up late reading or tinkering with their favorite hobby. People who couldn’t sleep stared off into space, keeping company with their worrisome thoughts.

  She dropped the messenger bag and came around to sit on the sofa across from him. “Sometimes when we can’t sleep, it helps to talk about whatever’s occupying our mind. Somehow, just saying it out loud can be a huge relief.”

  Mac let out a humorless laugh. “Shouldn’t we trade places? Maybe I should be on the couch, and you should sit here.”

  She bit her lip, forcing herself to pause before she responded. Mac’s sarcasm was a defense mechanism. She understood it, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Sarcasm aside, though, maybe he had a point. Was she falling into counselor mode again? She was offering to be someone’s sounding board even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do that anymore.

  But, she reasoned, counselors and friends had one intrinsic quality in common—they listened. Emily’s problem was that she’d never relied on her friends to reciprocate. She’d listened to their problems, but kept her own feelings and fears bottled up, placed neatly on a shelf and tucked away where only she could worry over them. Until recently, when she’d opened up to Julie and then Mac, she’d kept her relationships in an unbalanced state, more similar to a counselor-client relationship than a friendship.

  But Mac wasn’t her client, and she wasn’t his counselor. In the last few days, he’d been there for her numerous times. He’d challenged her, asking her when the last time she’d allowed someone to take care of her was, and when she’d broken down, he’d held her in his arms. He’d taken care of her and been there for her, and now, she would be there for him.

  “I’m not offering to be your counselor. I just want you to know that if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”