Once You're Mine

by Barbara Freethy

  Five

  Emma Callaway Harrison had short blonde hair that perfectly framed her face and warm, friendly, blue eyes. Tori had met her a few times in her teenage years, but she doubted they'd ever said more than a few words to each other.

  Emma had definitely changed since Tori had seen her last. She was seven or eight months pregnant, for one thing, and married to an attractive, tall, dark-haired man with intelligent green eyes, who gave her hand a firm shake upon introduction.

  With Max and Emma was a cute freckle-faced, red-headed child of about seven, who was introduced as Shannon.

  "It's so good to see you again, Tori," Emma said.

  "It's great to see you, too. And congratulations on motherhood."

  Emma patted her round stomach. "I can't imagine that I can get any bigger, and yet I do." She put her arm around Shannon. "But this little girl is a big help and she's going to be an amazing big sister."

  "I bet she is," Tori said, giving Shannon a smile.

  Emma glanced down at her daughter. "But it's time for you to get ready for bed, honey. Brush your teeth and pick out a book, and Dad or I will be in soon to read to you."

  "Okay, night," Shannon said, an Irish lilt to her voice.

  "She's adorable," Tori said, as they all walked into the living room. She took a seat on the couch next to Dylan.

  "Our little angel," Emma agreed, as she and Max sat down in chairs across from them. "We found her in Ireland with a little help from my grandmother. It's a long story."

  "I'd love to hear it sometime."

  "And I'd be happy to tell you, but Dylan said this is about the fire at 23rd and Harrelson Street," Emma said. "What's going on?"

  "I was in the lobby of the building when it was exploded. I was thrown out of the structure, but the person I had followed into the building died."

  Emma's gaze turned sober. "I heard about that. I'm really glad you're all right, Tori."

  "Me, too. I spoke to an investigator in your office today, Gary Kruger, and I answered his questions, but he couldn't tell me much. So Dylan and I met up tonight to talk about it at Brady's Bar and Grill. When we got to my car after dinner, there was a note tucked under the windshield wiper." She handed the note to Emma, who read it, then passed it on to Max.

  "We thought we should talk to you," Dylan cut in. "Tori doesn't think the police would be that interested in following up on this, but I'm hoping you might tell us differently, Max."

  "And you think this is related to the fire investigation?" Max asked.

  "It might be," Dylan said.

  "Or it might not," she added. "I'm an investigative journalist, and I've been working on other stories that involve city officials, government agencies and homeless shelters. I don't know that I've made any enemies, but apparently my questions in some area of my life have bothered someone. As a reporter, I've been warned off before, but I usually have a better idea of who's upset with me. I have no idea if I've inadvertently stumbled into something and someone thinks I know more than I do, or what."

  "Who knew you were going to be at the bar?" Max asked, repeating Dylan's earlier question.

  "My editor, my mom, my stepfather, and some family friends; that's it."

  "Do you live alone? Did you see anyone when you left your apartment?" Max continued.

  "I do live alone, and I didn't notice anyone following me tonight, but…" Her voice trailed away as she thought about the prickly feeling she'd been getting lately.

  "But what?" Dylan pressed, his gaze narrowing at her hesitation.

  "It's going to sound silly, but since I moved back to the city three weeks ago, I've had a weird feeling that someone is following me or watching me."

  "You've only been in town three weeks?" Max asked.

  "Yes. I moved back here from Boston. It was time to come home and the right job opened up. It's hard to believe I angered someone so fast that they would leave me a threatening note."

  "Can you see if any security cameras in the area around Brady's might have caught whoever left the note?" Dylan asked Max.

  Max nodded. "I can look into that tomorrow."

  "I'd also like to know more about the man who died in the fire," she put in quickly. "I'm assuming the police are investigating that. I know his name was Neil Hawkins, because Dylan found his ID."

  "Why are you so interested in this man?" Emma asked, her gaze speculative.

  "Because I thought he was watching me before I followed him to the hotel."

  "So that's why you think this warning note could have something to do with the fire," Emma said. "I've got it now. I'll talk to Gary tomorrow and see what he knows." She looked at her husband. "Would Tony be investigating the fire victim?"

  "Probably," Max said. "Tony Phillips is the police liaison with the arson unit. I'll ask him what he knows about the victim."

  She was thrilled at how willing Emma and Max were to help. "I really appreciate your help."

  "So you both have your assignments," Dylan said lightly. "Sorry to drop all this on you, but I didn't know where else to turn."

  "You don't have to be sorry," Emma said, with a wave of her hand. "You're family, Dylan. We help each other out when we can."

  "Well, I owe you one," Dylan said. "I'm a little surprised you're still working. Isn't the baby due any minute?"

  "Not for seven more weeks," Emma said. "But the finish line is getting closer. I'm both sad and excited about it at the same time. I can't wait to meet my baby, but I've enjoyed being pregnant. It took me a few tries to get here, so I want to savor every minute."

  "We should let you go," she said. "I know Shannon is waiting for a story."

  "We'll be in touch," Emma promised.

  Max walked them to the door. "Be careful, Tori," he said, a serious gleam in his eyes. "I wouldn't dismiss the note too lightly, not until we know more."

  His words scared her a little, but she nodded. "I intend to be very careful and very aware of my surroundings."

  He smiled. "Good. I'll get back to you tomorrow with hopefully some information."

  "Thanks," she said.

  "Goodnight, Max," Dylan said.

  Then they made their way back to her car, which they'd taken from Brady's.

  Dylan had insisted they stick together, and his car had been parked farther away than hers.

  "Emma looks happy," she said, as she got behind the wheel.

  Dylan fastened his seat belt. "She does. She had a rough few years, although I didn't really know about it at the time. Apparently she had a couple of miscarriages. She was worried about ever having children, and now she will have two."

  "And that's probably just the start. You Callaways like to procreate."

  "Hard to argue that point. It seems like half my cousins are pregnant or have just had a kid. My family is falling behind, something my mom likes to mention every now and then."

  "Mine, too," she said, as she drove down the street. "She keeps asking me where her grandchildren are. I suspect it will get worse now that I'm back in town. But I'm hoping she'll keep the pressure on Scott. He's the oldest, and now that he is getting married, he should also go first in the grandchildren department. By the way, I didn't want to tell my mom why I was meeting you, so I said we were going to talk about decorating Scott's car for after the wedding."

  "He told me the limo is taking him and Monica straight to the airport and then they're off to Hawaii."

  "Oh, well, that's fine. I didn't really want to decorate the car anyway."

  "So you didn't tell your mother about the fire?"

  "No, I didn't." She sent him a pointed warning look. "And you're not going to do that, either."

  "She didn't ask you about the cuts on your face?"

  "Apparently I didn't cover them up as well as I thought. I told her I got caught up in a rosebush."

  "And she believed that?"

  "I changed the subject fairly quickly. Anyway, I just want to make sure we keep all this away from my family and the wedding."

/>   "I understand."

  "Good. This weekend has to be perfect for Scott."

  "I don't know if weddings are ever perfect, but I'm sure it will be great."

  "Have you written your toast yet? I assume as the best man you're going to make one."

  "I'm working on it. I'm surprised you're not a bridesmaid." He sent her a questioning look.

  "I don't know Monica that well, and she has a lot of friends. I'm not at all offended. In truth, it's been easier not to be in the wedding party. Do you know any of the bridesmaids?"

  "I've met a couple of them. The maid of honor is a crazy party girl."

  "Really? Monica doesn't seem like that."

  "No, but this friend of hers from high school is. She tried to make out with me at the engagement party."

  She laughed at the annoyance in his voice. "And you said no? That doesn't sound like the Dylan I remember."

  "The Dylan you remember was seventeen."

  "And loved making out in the school hallway, or at the football game, or in his car."

  "Scott told you that?"

  "Seriously? No. I saw you, Dylan. You weren't exactly in hiding. I once saw you make out in a booth at Bob's Burgers for like ten minutes. I thought you were going to suffocate."

  He grinned. "High school was fun."

  Her high school experience had been a lot different than Dylan's. "For you, maybe. I was awkward and never seemed to wear the right clothes or say the right thing. It was not my favorite time."

  "Well, you don't seem awkward now, and I like your look."

  Her nerves jangled—not just at his words, but at the look in his eyes when she glanced over at him. She would have killed for an appreciative look like that from him ten years ago. But now—now she had to stay focused, not let herself get caught up in his charm.

  He was being nice to her, but that was because he had a protective streak a mile long, and he probably felt he owed it to Scott to watch out for her. She couldn't let herself think it was anything more than that.

  She turned the corner where Brady's was located and said, "Which car is yours?"

  "The Mustang at the end of the road."

  As she pulled up alongside the blue Mustang, she smiled. "I should have figured. You've always had a Mustang."

  "It is one of my favorite cars," he admitted. "Although, I had a better one until my brother Ian crashed it in the woods outside of Lake Tahoe."

  "I hope he wasn't hurt."

  "No, he was fine. My car was totaled. I couldn't salvage much more than a few parts."

  "I'm surprised Ian was driving your car."

  "I thought he needed to have a fun ride for a change. He's back to his usual boring sedan now, kind of like this car."

  "Hey," she protested, loving her hybrid silver Prius. "I love this car, and it's small enough to fit into most parking spaces in the city."

  "It does fit you," he said. "So, I'm going to follow you back to your apartment."

  "You don't have to do that."

  "Well, I'm going to, so don't try to ditch me."

  "It's miles from here and not close to where you live."

  "It's fifteen minutes out of my way. I want to make sure you get home safely. Don't argue. It's just going to waste time."

  The stubborn look on his face was one she was very familiar with. "All right. Thanks—for everything."

  "You're welcome."

  As she drove back to her apartment, it was actually somewhat reassuring to see Dylan's lights in her rearview mirror. She was trying not to read too much into the threatening note she'd received, but she had to admit she was a little rattled by the warning. And she was beginning to think the prickly feeling she got every time she left her apartment or work was not just paranoia.

  But why would anyone be following her? Warning her? She hadn't discovered anything earth-shattering—at least, she didn't think she had. Was the warning tied to the fire, to the man—Neil Hawkins? Or was it about her news article? Were they in some way connected?

  She groaned in frustration. Dylan was right. She asked too many questions—even of herself.

  A short time later, she pulled up in front of the entrance to her garage. Dylan drove up alongside her, and she rolled down the window. "This is me."

  "I'm going to park, and then I'll meet you in the lobby. I want to check out your apartment."

  "Dylan, you're taking this too far," she protested.

  "I'll just take a quick look around, make sure you're locked in, and then I'll go."

  Since he was already pulling away, she drove into her garage, parked in her spot and took the stairs up to the first floor. She let Dylan in, and he followed her up to her apartment.

  "It's not decorated yet," she said, letting him inside. "I've been so busy since I moved here, I haven't had time to hang pictures or finish buying furniture."

  "I can see that," he said, wandering around the very small living room, which only boasted a couch, a coffee table, and a TV. A small dining table with two chairs was by the tiny galley kitchen, in front of the windows that looked over the street.

  As Dylan wandered into the bedroom and bathroom, she moved over to the window. The street was quiet. No cars, no lights, no one walking.

  Dylan came back into the living room as she turned around. "All clear," he said.

  "I thought it would be, but I appreciate you coming inside to check."

  "It's not a problem." He tipped his head toward the window. "Anyone out there?"

  "No. I'll be fine, Dylan."

  His gaze still held concern and some doubt. "I hate leaving you alone."

  "I have a deadbolt on the door, and there's a security door on the first floor."

  "People get buzzed in through security doors all the time," he said.

  "Well, there are only six units in this building, so it doesn't happen very often here."

  Dylan's gaze moved to the wall behind her. "No way," he said, walking over to the cello leaning against the wall. "You still play this thing? It used to be as big as you were."

  "I surpassed its height awhile ago. And I do still play. It's relaxing."

  "I remember all the times Scott and I had to pick you up from your lessons. I couldn't understand why you didn't play something else, like a flute or a clarinet or a guitar."

  "Because I like the cello."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know," she said vaguely.

  "That's not good enough. You asked me why I like to restore cars. What was it about the cello that calls to you?"

  She glanced over at her instrument and thought of how she could explain it to him. "The cello lives in the richest and warmest part of music. It's full and vibrant, and there's so much range. You can get a majestic booming bass or a melodious sweet tone. And it's a very physical instrument to play. It takes the perfect balance of movement and posture to play well, and I feel like the cello takes my whole body into the music—if that makes sense." His smile made her realize that she'd probably over-answered that question. "You asked," she reminded him.

  "I did. It seems that we both have hobbies we love. Play something for me."

  "I don't think so."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, I think you and Scott used to say my playing sounded like a screeching parrot begging for its freedom."

  "I did not say that," he denied.

  "Maybe it was Scott."

  "I'm sure it was Scott. Come on. I took you to Emma's. I followed you home. I made sure your apartment was safe. You owe me."

  "And you want a cello solo as payback?" She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.

  He grinned. "Maybe I want to see if you're better than a screeching bird."

  "I'm actually very good."

  "Then impress me."

  "You're serious?"

  "And you're stalling." He pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. "Show me what you got, Tori."

  "Fine." She took her cello out of its case and sat down in the other chair.
/>   While it felt weird at first to be playing for Dylan, she soon got caught up in the music the way she always did. Music had gotten her through all the hard times in her life, and even now it was starting to release the stress of the past few days.

  She probably played far longer than Dylan had imagined she would, and she gave him an apologetic smile when she finally stopped. "Sorry, I lose track of time when I play. What did you think?"

  He gazed back at her with his magnetic blue eyes, and she swallowed a knot of emotion. It suddenly became very important to hear his opinion.

  "You're not just good; you're amazing, Tori. I guess all those lessons were worth it."

  "Thanks."

  "Why aren't you playing with an orchestra?"

  "Oh, that was a dream a long time ago, but as I got older, I realized that I probably wasn't good enough to make a living, and in truth it was really just something I wanted to do for me. News was what I wanted to work at."

  "Was that choice for you or for your father?"

  "He was part of it," she admitted.

  "Does doing his job make you feel closer to him?"

  "Yes. He was always so happy to share his job with me, his thirst for knowledge and truth. When I think of him, those conversations are big in my mind."

  "When I think about your dad, I remember him with that black suitcase with the pink ribbons. He always seemed to be on his way somewhere or coming back from somewhere."

  "I tied those ribbons on his suitcase. He didn't like the pink, but I did. I said he'd never have to guess which bag was his. He laughed and said he'd never take them off. And he never did." She shook her head. "Funny, the things we remember."

  "It is," he agreed, gazing into her eyes. "Memories are tricky things, though. Seeing you now, hearing you talk about the past, makes me realize that what I remember isn't exactly what you remember."

  She was confused by his words and even more unsettled by the intensity of his blue gaze. "What do you mean?"

  "It doesn't matter." He got to his feet. "I should go."

  "Okay," she said, setting her cello aside so she could stand up. "I'll see you tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner. Unless you're working?"

  "No, I'll be there."

  "Great. If you hear anything from Emma or Max before then—"