"It's good to look at all facets of her personality."
"Oh, and there's one more thing. Drew said that he heard Sister Margaret was once engaged to be married, and her groom ran out on her the day of the wedding. That, according to my brother, is why she disliked the boys and why she became a nun."
"That must have been a long time ago. I've gone through her relationships and history over the past ten years and that didn't come up."
"I think she was in her twenties. And, as I said, it could have just been a rumor."
"I have run into a few people who were not big fans of Sister Margaret," he commented, thinking about some of his interviews. "The new principal at St. Andrew's said she thought Margaret was stuck in her ways and not open to change. They were not on the same page. That's why the principal put another teacher in charge of the choir that Sister Margaret had run for twenty years. She wanted to freshen things up."
"I'm sure Sister Margaret didn't take that too well."
"The principal said Margaret was unhappy and mentioned she might have to rethink her employment." He paused. "But none of this information gives us a suspect. All we have is a possibly unhappy nun who disappeared after school one day. She had no financial problems. She had no known enemies. She lived a relatively quiet life of devotion to her job and her church. Very few people knew her well. Even her roommate, Ruth Harbough, said that Margaret was an extremely private person. Ruth claimed she had no idea Margaret was considering leaving St. Andrew's."
Emma stared back at him with a contemplative expression. "Where does that leave us?"
"I'm not sure. Let's look at the circumstances surrounding Margaret's death. She disappears the night before a fire. Her car was in her parking spot in the garage of her apartment building. Some trace amount of blood was found nearby, but not enough to warrant a suspicion of foul play. It's believed Margaret walked to work. She was in her classroom all day, and the last time anyone saw her was four o'clock. She dies a week later of a heart attack. There's evidence she was being held against her will. But no one actually killed her."
"I think that hesitation to kill her might have to do with the fact that Sister Margaret knew her kidnapper, or possibly because she was a nun."
"I agree. There's a good chance it was someone who went to the church or the school."
"So let's say the arsonist is a former student." Emma rested her forearms on the table. "How can we narrow that down?"
"We could start with the detention records."
"How far back would we go?" she asked. "Ten years? Twenty years?"
"I'd start at least ten years ago. The arsonist is most likely in his twenties."
"I would agree. Maybe even older based on the pattern of the fires," Emma added. She picked up her coffee and took a sip. "After I spoke to Drew, I tried to remember which boys in my class had been in trouble or what some of my brothers and their friends had done in school."
"Are you saying the Callaway boys weren't all saints?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow.
"Not by a long shot. Only Burke was perfect. I don't know if that came from being the oldest, or if it was always his personality, but he never did one damn thing wrong. Aiden came next in the line-up, and he was a terror. Drew was also rebellious but not as bad as Aiden. Sean just didn't care about school. All he wanted to do was play music. And Colton was another Aiden, just ten years later. I think it's safe to say that St. Andrew's was relieved to see the last of the Callaway boys. Although, they loved having me, Nicole and Shayla," she said with a smile.
"I'm sure you were perfect."
"Actually, I did get into trouble for talking too much in class and one teacher hated that I asked questions. He used to roll his eyes every time I raised my hand. I really annoyed him."
"I can imagine how he felt," he said dryly.
She made a face at him. "My questions are always good ones. Anyway, as I was saying, I was thinking back to problems at St. Andrew's and I have this vague recollection of a fire in the school dumpster when I was in the fifth or sixth grade. I remember standing out on the playground and hearing that some boys had been playing with matches." She frowned. "I just wish I could remember who did it. A lot of arsonists start with smaller fires in their juvenile years."
"St. Andrew's may have a record of that fire, although it was a long time ago. I'll check with Mrs. Harbough."
"Were you the one to tell her that Sister Margaret is dead?" Emma asked, a somber note in her voice now.
He nodded. "Yes, I spoke to her earlier. She was devastated. She said Margaret didn't have any blood relatives. She considered the church community her family."
"I wonder when the funeral will be," Emma mused. "I'm sure the church will be packed with mourners."
"And maybe suspects," he said.
"Maybe."
He could see the sparkle in her eyes as she worked the puzzle in her mind, and he found himself smiling.
"What?" she asked suspiciously.
"You're in your element."
"This is my job," she said.
"And you love it."
"I do. Probably more than I should. It already cost me one relationship. My ex-boyfriend thought I put more energy into my work than into him. And he wasn't completely wrong," she added with honesty. "I've always felt like I had a lot to prove, both to get this job, and now to do it well. I figured there was time for everything else later. Turns out I was wrong."
"If he couldn't support you, you're better off."
"To be fair, he thought I was the one who wasn't supporting him. But in reality, we were both too focused on ourselves to give the other person what they needed. And in the end Jon got what he needed from someone else."
"There's no excuse for cheating," he said. He'd never had any tolerance for infidelity. If someone didn't want to be in a relationship, then they should get out of it.
"I don't think there is, either. Wow, we just agreed on something. Miracles can happen."
He grinned. "Don't get too excited. It may never happen again."
"I'm sorry I brought my personal life into our conversation. The chocolate must have gone to my head."
"Good thing I didn't have any."
"Why? So you can continue to be the man of mystery?"
He shrugged. Seeing the determined look in her eye, he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting out of this conversation without giving her some personal information.
"What are you hiding?" she pressed.
"If I were hiding something, why would I tell you?" he countered.
"Because if you don't tell me, I'll start digging, and I'll probably learn far more than you want me to know."
"Why would you go to the trouble?"
"I like to know who I'm working with. Why did you come back to San Francisco after being away for so long?"
"Maybe I missed the sourdough bread," he said lightly. "Or the clam chowder."
"Fine, I'll figure it out myself."
He sighed. "You're like a dog with a bone."
"I've been called worse things."
"My life is complicated."
"Tell me something simple."
He drank his coffee as he thought about what he wanted to say. She would be able to find out just about everything with a simple Internet search. And with her resources, she could probably get every last dirty detail. He might as well give her his side of the story.
"Seven years ago, my older brother, Spencer, was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison. Today, he was released."
Her eyes widened. "I—I had no idea."
"My mother asked me to move back to San Francisco, so that I could help Spencer get his life back together. When Captain Crowley offered me a job a few months ago, I decided to take it. Tonight will be the first family dinner we've had in a decade, and I think it's probably going to be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable."
"Why? I would think everyone would be happy."
"My brother blames me for not getting him out of pri
son. And my mother feels much the same way," he said flatly.
"That's rough."
The compassion in her eyes undid him. This was exactly why he didn't talk about his family. He'd been holding in his emotions for a decade, and he had no intention of putting them on display now, but his stomach was in knots, and his heart was beating way too fast. He needed to move. He needed to breathe.
"I've got to get out of here," he muttered, jumping to his feet.
He was out the door before she took her next breath.
He raced down the hill, trying to burn off some of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. When he got to the bottom, he hit the beach, enjoying the hard work of walking through the shifting sand, the ocean breeze blowing in his face, the watery spray of the waves cooling off his heated body.
Finally, he stopped and sank down on the sand, staring out at the ocean that had gotten him through a lot of bad moments. He needed the sea to work its magic.
A few minutes later, Emma sat down next to him. "Are you all right, Max?"
"No," he said, his voice clipped.
"Can I help?"
"It's my problem, not yours."
"That's not exactly true. We're partners. What affects you affects me."
"You don't have to worry. I don't let my personal life impact my job."
"I'm not worried about the case. I'm concerned about you. You're hurting, and I don’t like to see people in pain."
"Then you should get the hell away from me."
"Max—"
"No, I mean it," he said forcefully, giving her a hard look. "You should walk back up that hill, get in your car, and drive away."
"And how will you get back?"
"I don't know. I'll take a cab. I'll walk. It doesn't matter. Just go, Emma."
"Why?"
"Because I feel in the mood to do something I shouldn't do."
Her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Then you shouldn't be alone."
"Emma, you have about two seconds…"
"Or what?" she asked recklessly, her sweet lips so tempting.
"Or this."
He put his hand on the back of her neck, pulled her close, and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Five
She tasted like coffee and chocolate—warm, sexy, irresistible, and he couldn't get enough of her. He threaded one hand through her hair, holding her head so he could explore her mouth, slip his tongue through those soft lips, and completely lose himself in her. Everything faded away, all the worries, all the problems. It was just Emma—her scent, her touch, the give and take of her mouth.
One kiss turned into two, then three. He should stop, but he couldn't. Every breath made him want another taste, a deeper connection. He nibbled on her bottom lip and then slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Her breath quickened, but she didn't pull away. Instead her arms crept around him, and her breasts grazed his chest.
The tantalizing touch made him want so much more.
He pressed her back against the sand, loving the feel of her body beneath him. He wanted her clothes off. He wanted her skin bare. He wanted to bury himself inside of her.
But Emma's arms were no longer holding him close. She was pushing him away.
He rolled over on to his side as she sat up and stared at him, her eyes blazing with desire, her hair tangled from his fingers, her lips red and full.
She stared at him for a long moment.
He didn't know what to say, and for once she seemed to have no words.
Slowly, reality seeped into his brain. They were on a public beach. There were kids throwing a ball to a dog not thirty feet away, and he'd been making out like a teenager.
"What was that?" she said finally.
"That was—what I've been thinking about the past three months," he admitted.
"Really?" she asked, a note of wonder in her voice. "I thought you didn't like me."
"I didn't like what you made me feel. There's been attraction between us from the start. You know that." He paused. "And you feel the same way, don't you? Because I'm pretty sure you kissed me back, Emma."
"You took me by surprise."
"Did I? I distinctly remember telling you to go. You didn't move."
"I don’t like to be told what to do."
"Yeah, I know. I should have said stay and then you would have left," he said dryly.
She frowned. "Max, that can't happen again."
"I know," he agreed. There were a lot of reasons why he shouldn't kiss her again, and they weren't all because of their professional relationship.
Emma tucked her hair behind her ears as the wind blew the silky strands across her face. "We should go back to work."
Despite her words, she made no effort to get up.
He rolled on to his back and stared up at the sky.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked a moment later.
"Nothing and everything."
"That covers a lot of territory."
"I feel…" He searched for the right words. "Like I'm at a crossroads. And I don't know which path to take."
"What are the choices?"
"One involves trying to salvage the relationship with my brother and my mom. The other takes me back to a world where I don't have to worry about anyone but myself."
"You didn't worry about your family when you were in Los Angeles?" she questioned.
"It was easier not to think about them when I was farther away."
"Can you tell me what happened with your brother, Max?"
"You can go online and learn everything you want to know."
"Why don't you save me the trouble and just tell me?"
"I already told you the short version. The long one will have to wait."
He sat up and brushed the sand off his sleeves and pants. Then he got to his feet, and held his hand out to her. After a moment, she took it.
He pulled her to her feet and held on to her hand longer than he should have. The heat between them still smoldered. Looking into her eyes, he saw the same awareness, and the same worry.
She pulled free and then dug her hands into her pockets as she started walking away. They didn't say anything on the way back to the car, or even on the drive back to Brady's. The destruction of the bar reminded him that the brief respite from work was over. He had a murderer to find, and she had an arson case to solve.
"We'll talk soon, right?" Emma asked, as she pulled up behind his car.
"Sure."
"I don't want what happened to jeopardize this case."
"It won't."
"Good. I'm going to chalk that kiss up to temporary insanity."
He smiled. "Insanity? That sounds about right." He opened the door and then paused, glancing back at her. "I won't kiss you again, unless you ask me."
"That's not going to happen."
* * *
Emma's protest was cut-off by the slamming of the door. Max had shown her a different side earlier in the day, but that last comment reminded her how arrogant he could be. She was not going to kiss him again—for many reasons. She'd worked too hard to get taken seriously at her job to jeopardize her reputation by having a fling with the cop on her case. Max might be able to get away with it. The guys in his department would probably all give him a high-five if they found out. But the fire guys would lose respect for her. It was a double standard, but one she had to deal with.
She just wished Max hadn't been such a good kisser. She put her fingers to her mouth, her lips still tingling from the intensity and force of his kiss. That hadn't been some brief, tender caress but an all-out assault on her senses. She didn't think she'd ever been kissed quite like that, with so much intensity and need, as if she alone could drive away whatever demons were plaguing him. Which reminded her that that kiss had not been solely driven by desire but also by emotions inside of Max, emotions that she didn't completely understand. It was obvious he was in some sort of turmoil. She'd never seen him so rattled. In the three months that she'd known him, he'd always
been in control. But he'd been out of control on that beach, and she'd liked him even more.
Blowing out a breath, she pulled back into traffic and headed home. It was after five and dusk was settling over the city. Despite the coffee and chocolate, she was feeling the effects of having been up most of the night. She needed to give her mind a rest.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of her parents' house. To her surprise and delight, she saw Sara Davidson leaving the house next door.
Sara had been her best friend in middle school and high school. They'd spent a zillion hours together, but after Sara's mother died, and Sara went off to college, they'd lost contact. That had changed two weeks ago when Sara had come home for her father's birthday. Her surprise visit had triggered a series of events, including a house fire at her father's house, and a reunion with Aiden, Emma's older brother.
As a teenager, Sara had had a crazy crush on Aiden. Back then the three year age difference between them had been too great. Not to mention the fact that Aiden was a reckless, rebellious bad boy, and Sara was a really smart good girl. But somehow the two of them had found their way to each other after ten years apart, and Emma couldn't be happier.
She threw the car into park and got out. Sara came across the grass with a smile on her face. She looked relaxed and happy, her big brown eyes filled with joy, her long brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She wore cute black boots over skinny jeans and a soft pink sweater.
"I didn't think you'd be back so soon. It hasn't even been a week," Emma said. "What happened with your job?"
"I gave them two weeks notice, and they told me to leave that day. It's basically what happens to anyone when they quit," Sara replied. "Aiden helped me pack up my apartment, and here we are."
"Big change," she said, a little surprised that Sara had thrown away her high paying attorney position in New York so quickly.
"I know," Sara said, a guilty smile on her face. "My boss thought I was crazy to leave when I was on the fast track to partner. But in truth I'd been thinking about leaving that job for the last few years. Being back in San Francisco reminded me of how much I missed the city. It was time to come home."
So This Is Love Page 5