So This Is Love

by Barbara Freethy

  "What are you doing here?" Max asked.

  "I had to see her." Spencer tipped his head toward the park.

  Max saw a slender brunette pushing a little boy on a swing. She didn't seem to be aware that she was the focus of Spencer's attention. "I take it you haven't spoken to her."

  Spencer let out a heavy sigh. "That little boy should have been my son. She should be pushing our child on the swing, not some other man's kid. We talked about children a lot. We were going to have three, two girls and a boy."

  Emma sat down on the bench next to Spencer and gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's hard to see your role being played by someone else."

  Spencer turned to Emma. "That's exactly it. Some other guy has my part. It's not right."

  "Let me take you home," Max suggested.

  "I don't even know where home is anymore." Spencer gazed at Stephanie again. "My home was supposed to be with her." He drew in a long, ragged breath. "I loved her so much. She was my whole life—my everything. I just wanted to protect her. That's all I was doing that night. I was keeping her safe."

  Max's heart tore at the pain in his brother's voice, the anguish of emotions that still hadn't died, even after so many years.

  "How did I get to be the bad guy?" Spencer asked. "How did I lose her?"

  "Let's get out of here," Max said, knowing that he couldn't possibly begin to answer his brother's questions.

  Spencer ignored him.

  "She loved me, too, once," Spencer said, gazing back toward the park. "She's actually more beautiful than I remember."

  Max wanted to remind his brother that Stephanie was not the saint he'd made her into in his mind, but he doubted Spencer would listen to him.

  "You did keep her safe," Emma said quietly. "You did protect her, Spencer. Whether she acknowledges that or not, you know it's true. If you hadn't fought that night, who knows what that man would have done to her."

  "Thanks for saying that. Very few people see it that way." Spencer gave Max a hard look. "And I understand why you couldn't see it that way. Because you've never loved anyone the way I've loved Stephanie. You put your heart away a long time ago. For you there are no messy emotions." Spencer looked back at Emma. "Do you want someone whose heart is locked in a block of ice?"

  "Leave her out of this," Max said sharply.

  "It's okay. I can speak for myself," Emma said, her tone turning hard. "If you think Max is cold, then you don't know him at all, Spencer. He has deep compassion and a tremendous sense of loyalty. And he cares about you. He moved his whole life here to support you, although you probably haven't given him much thought these last few years. It's been all about you, what you lost, who you loved. What about Max? Do you know anything about his life? Do you even want to know?"

  Max was as shocked at Emma's words as Spencer was. She'd nailed their relationship right on the head, and she was the first person who'd ever called Spencer out. He should be pissed off that she was speaking for him, that she was getting into his family business, but at the moment all he could do was admire her courage and her honesty.

  "Max is a great person and you're lucky to have him for a brother," she continued. "From where I sit, you don't have too many people who care about you, so maybe you should appreciate those that do." She took a breath and looked at Max. "And yes, I know it's none of my business. I'll save you the trouble of telling me to shut up and go away." She got to her feet. "I'll meet you at the car."

  She strode away, her shoulders thrown back, her hair blowing in the breeze. Emma was really something else. He glanced back at his brother.

  "You're going to have your hands full with her," Spencer said.

  "Tell me about it." He sat down on the bench next to his brother.

  A moment of silence passed between them. "Did you really move back here for me?" Spencer asked.

  "And Mom," he said. "I thought you both might need some support."

  "I thought it was just a job transfer."

  "I don't believe you thought anything at all." Emma had inspired him to be more direct.

  Spencer gave him a quick glance. "You're right. I wasn't thinking about you, just about myself, my life."

  The words should have hurt, but the admission actually made Max feel better. At least they weren't pretending anymore.

  "I know I brought all my problems on myself," Spencer added.

  "Stephanie helped," he said. "You need to see her the way she really is and not just the way you want her to be." He waved his hand toward the park. "She's moved on. She fell in love again. She had a child. She's a wife and a mother. She's not your girlfriend anymore. You have to let her go. She let you go a long time ago." He paused. "And you already know that. If you didn't, you'd be at that park talking to her, instead of sitting here on this bench."

  "I needed to see her in her real life. She looks happy. I can see that she loves being a mother. She lost her family when she was young. But now she has a new family." He looked at Max. "Life isn't black and white. People are complicated—the good ones and the bad ones. You only saw the bad in Stephanie, but I also saw the good."

  "I'm a cop. I see good and bad in people every day of the week. I also see people who get stuck in a pattern that will ultimately destroy them. I don't want to see that happen to you. Let me take you home."

  "Mom sent you, didn't she?"

  He nodded. "She was worried about you."

  "I need to get my own place."

  "You will. You're starting over, Spencer. And it's up to you how you want to live your life now. No one else is in charge of it anymore. It's all up you." He stood up. "We both need to go to work."

  Spencer rose, sent one last wistful look across the playground and then followed Max down the street.

  "So what's with you and Emma?" Spencer asked. "You're a couple now?"

  "I'm not sure what we are."

  "Did you spend the night together?"

  "That's not your business."

  "You're making my life your business. And I'm going to take that non-answer as a yes." Spencer paused. "I like her. She doesn't pull her punches. You ready for that?"

  "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never met anyone who made me want to think about the future."

  "Until you met her."

  "Until I met her," he echoed. "But the men in our family have a lousy track record when it comes to love."

  "You sound like you think you have a choice."

  "Everyone has a choice."

  "Not when it comes to love, little brother. Trust me. I don't know much, but I do know that."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After dropping Spencer off at his mother's house, Max drove Emma back to his apartment so she could retrieve her car. Then he followed her down to the Hall of Justice where they had agreed to start the day. Emma wanted to look through the medical examiner's reports, and he wanted to check in with the sheriff's office in Lake Tahoe.

  As they waited in the lobby for the elevator, Emma said, "Are you angry with me, Max—for telling Spencer off earlier."

  "It really wasn't your business," he reminded her.

  "I didn't like his attitude. He doesn't appreciate what you've done for him." She gave him a thoughtful glance. "Although, you two seemed fairly chummy when you got back into the car."

  Max nodded, feeling optimistic now that Spencer had seen Stephanie and left her alone. Maybe Spencer really could start to move forward. And Max hoped his relationship with Spencer was also entering a new chapter where they could just be brothers and possibly even friends. "We had a good talk—an honest talk, and that's because of you, Emma. You opened the door and forced us to walk through it." He gave her a reassuring smile. "So, no, I'm not angry. I'm actually grateful."

  Relief flooded her gaze, and she let out a breath. "Good. I know that I sometimes speak before thinking things through. I do occasionally try to work on that."

  He laughed. "Yeah, let me know how that goes."

  She made a face at him. "At least I ha
ve some self-awareness."

  "At least you have that."

  "Spencer is going to be okay, Max," she said as they got onto the elevator.

  "I think he will be, too. Sometimes avoiding something is worse than confronting it. I was probably wrong to try to keep him away from Stephanie. It just made him want to see her more."

  "In the end he is the one who decided whether or not to speak to her. He can feel good about his choice, because he's the one who made it," she said.

  "I agree," he said. "So back to work?"

  She nodded as they got off the elevator and walked down the hall to his office.

  Emma sat down next to his desk while he turned on his computer.

  "Can I have your case file?" she asked. "I feel like we need to start at the beginning again and look at what we have with the perspective of the most recent fire and the targeted message to me. Sometimes facts look different through a new filter."

  He pushed a file across the desk to her. "Here you go."

  While she was reading through his interview notes, Max ran through his emails. Nothing new. He needed to check in with the sheriff's office in Lake Tahoe. It might be time to make a trip up there; although, he'd like to have an address first or least a smaller region to investigate.

  "We made a lot of the same notes," Emma commented. "Our minds work the same way—at least some of the time." She paused and pulled out a photo. "What's this?"

  "That's a rosary."

  She frowned. "I know what it is, but why is it in the case file?"

  "Sister Margaret had it in her pocket. Forensics tested it. The only fingerprints on it belonged to Margaret. There were no hairs, dirt, blood, nothing."

  Emma shook her head, confusion in her eyes. "This rosary would not belong to Sister Margaret."

  "Why not? I told Ruth Harbough that Margaret had her rosary with her, and she said that Margaret never went anywhere without it." He didn't understand why Emma was staring at the photo with such an odd look in her eyes.

  "The nuns at St. Andrew's carried a fifteen-decade rosary, to celebrate the fifteen mysteries. This is a five-decade rosary, the kind given to every eighth grade student at St. Andrew's at graduation." She looked up from the photo. "I need to see the Rosary itself."

  "It's in the Evidence Room. I can get it."

  "That would be great. The rosary I got at my graduation had a year engraved on the back of the crucifix, two numbers. If this rosary was in Margaret's pocket, it's possible it belonged to her kidnapper."

  "You just made a big jump."

  She met his gaze. "I have a feeling about this, Max. Where's the forensics report on the rosary?"

  "It should be in there, but I'll go get the real thing so you can take a look at it."

  "Thanks."

  * * *

  While Max went to get the rosary, Emma ran through the rest of the file. There was a short forensics report on the rosary, outlining what Max had told her previously. But there was a footnote listing the numbers zero-four on the back of the crucifix with a question of unit or serial number. Her heart jumped. Zero-four was the year her brother Aiden had graduated and in his grade had been the Moretti twins and Christian Brady. Had they been focusing on the right people all along?

  She set down the paper and thought for a moment, her mind racing in a dozen different directions. She was making a leap assuming that the rosary belonged to Margaret's kidnapper. On the other hand, why would Margaret have had it in her pocket?

  Okay, there could be another more innocent reason. She could have just had a rosary from that year and had it with her at school when she was taken… No, that didn't make any sense.

  So, she had a rosary from the year of three of her suspects, all of whom knew her, at least one of whom didn't like her. Christian?

  She pulled out her phone and called her boss, Scott McAvoy.

  "Emma," he said, relief in his voice. "Are you all right? I've been concerned about you."

  "I'm fine. I'm at the police department now, but I'll be in shortly. I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I need to get a list of applicants for the fire investigator position that I got last year. Or any applicants from the last two years would probably work, too. Is that possible?"

  "I should be able to get that list. You think the arsonist is an unhappy firefighter?"

  "His message stated that he was better than me, so I'm thinking there's a chance I beat him out for the job, and he's trying to show the world how incompetent I am by burning down buildings around the city." As she said the words, she felt incredibly angry, not just because of the attack on her, but because this revenge-filled person was destroying lives and property.

  "You may have to go back farther than two years to find someone with a grudge against you. This vendetta could have started when you were a firefighter. A lot of guys grumble about women taking their spots."

  "That's true, which brings me to my next question. Before you dig up the complete list, can you see if Christian Brady applied for the position?

  "Christian?" he echoed in surprise. "You like Christian for this, even with his father's bar as one of the targets?"

  "Maybe it was meant to throw us off. It's just a hunch, Scott. I could be off base."

  "I've always had a lot of respect for your hunches. I'll look at Christian's records."

  "Thanks."

  "I also wanted to let you know that the brass want a meeting later this morning with you and me. Can you be here in an hour?"

  She didn't like the sound of that. "Yes, I can be there."

  "Good. I would urge you to be a little more cautious than normal, Emma. You could be in danger."

  "It's more likely any building I set foot in could be in danger."

  "Are you staying at your parents' house?"

  "No, I'm staying with a friend. I'll see you in a while," she said, ending the call before he could ask her about her friend.

  Max returned to his desk and sat down. He took the rosary out of a plastic bag and looked at the crucifix.

  "Is the date zero-four?" she asked.

  "Was that a guess?" he asked with surprise. "Because you're right on the money."

  "It was in the forensics report. They thought it was a unit or serial number. That's the year the Morettis and Christian Brady graduated from St. Andrew's. Aiden was in that class as well. There may be other suspects in the group. We should run down the entire class list and see where everyone ended up and what they're doing now."

  "I'll ask Mrs. Harbough for that."

  "I feel like we're about to make a breakthrough, Max."

  "I hope so." Frowning, he added, "I wish I'd shown you that rosary earlier—or that I'd shown it to Ruth Harbough. I made an incorrect assumption. That was sloppy work."

  Max was very hard on himself. She could relate, because she held herself to the same kind of high standard. "Sometimes seemingly unimportant things became more important when you know the context. I had an advantage. I went to St. Andrew's, you didn't."

  "Don't make excuses for me, Emma."

  She sighed. "Fine, be pissed off at yourself. But we can't go back in time, so let's focus on the present. Was the rosary left in Sister Margaret's pocket as a clue—"

  "Or was it a taunt from the kidnapper?" Max finished.

  "Or maybe Sister Margaret put the rosary in her pocket to give us a clue."

  Max met her gaze, not looking quite as eager to follow her logic. "Why would our suspect be carrying a rosary from his eighth grade graduation? Who does that?"

  She sat back in her seat, frowning at his question. "I don't know. My rosary has been sitting in my jewelry box for years. I certainly don't carry it around with me. What if the kidnapper took Margaret to his home?"

  "Christian is living with his father, so that's unlikely. Isn't Tony with his dad? Jarod has his own place…" Max shook his head. "I don’t think Margaret was taken to anyone's home. We have to find a way to get her to Tahoe."

  Emma thought for a long moment
, different scenarios playing through her mind, but none of them quite ringing true. "I hate to admit it, but I'm stumped."

  "Yeah," he said. "Me, too."

  "Let's talk about it later. I have to go to my office. My bosses want a meeting."

  "Maybe I should go with you."

  She shook her head. "This is my job, Max."

  "I just don't want to let you out of my sight."

  She was touched. "That's sweet."

  "But completely unappreciated," he said with a knowing smile. "I know—you can take care of yourself. I get it. I do respect you, Emma. Just so you know."

  "What you just said…" She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Best foreplay ever."

  He laughed. "Respect gets you going, huh?"

  "I'd like to kiss you goodbye, but that wouldn't look good."

  Max's eyes sparkled. "You know that I'm going to be thinking about that missed opportunity as soon as you leave, don't you?"

  "Of course," she said teasingly. "And I kind of like the idea of you thinking about me."

  "That's pretty much all I've been doing the last few months," he said.

  The familiar pack of butterflies danced through her stomach at the intent look in his eyes. "I'll be thinking about you, too."

  * * *

  Emma's meeting with the fire department brass included her father, which did not make her happy. She doubted he would have been involved if she wasn't the fire investigator on the case and now the target of an arsonist. But there was nothing she could do. Fortunately, Jack didn't say much, letting Scott McAvoy run the meeting.

  She explained where they were on the joint investigation with the police department, and together the group reviewed her notes on the various fires under investigation. As they wrapped up, Scott told the group that he was compiling a list of people who had applied for fire investigator positions over the last five years, and that it should be ready by the end of the day. Then the meeting was over.

  Her father lingered behind in the conference room, waiting for them to be alone before he said, "Nice job, Emma."

  "Thank you." She liked seeing the fatherly pride in his eyes. It always felt good to impress Jack.

  "Where are you staying?" he asked.