Nobody But You B&N Page 2

  "Why do you say that? It sounds like a great idea to me, Spencer."

  "I'm probably too old."

  "You're thirty-seven."

  "That's old for a career change."

  "No, it's not. What do you need to do? Cooking school?"

  "I could definitely use some training. I saw some classes I could take, and Gus has some connections in the city. He thought he could get me a job as a sous chef if I learn a few more things."

  Max nodded, an approving light in his eyes. "You should do it."

  "I'm thinking about it." He was already regretting sharing the plan with Max, because he could see the excitement in Max's gaze. His brother was itching to fix his life in some way, because that was Max. He liked to fix things, save people, make everything better. It's what made him a good cop. But Spencer had to find his own way to his future.

  "What's to think about?" Max asked.

  "It will take me years to make even a tenth of what I was making as a commodities trader."

  "It's not about money. It's about doing something that makes you happy. And you just said you don't want to go backwards. So go forward. You have to start somewhere. It sucks, but it is what it is."

  Max was always pragmatic, and in this instance, Spencer appreciated the lack of bullshit. "Yeah, it is what it is," he echoed. He shifted his feet and tugged at his tie. "At least I won't have to wear suits as a chef. It's been a long time since I wore a tie. I forgot how constricting they are."

  "It wasn't my idea. Emma told me the tuxes were non-negotiable."

  "Emma is going to keep you on your toes."

  "Agreed. She's beautiful but stubborn."

  He grinned at the love in his brother's eyes. "I knew it would take someone like Emma to break down that wall around your heart. You fell hard for her."

  "I tried not to, but how could I resist? She's one of a kind. You should see her in action, Spence. She charges into burning buildings like it's nothing. She's fearless and determined and a really good investigator. And you know she's taken a lot of shit being a female firefighter, but she doesn't get down when people try to put her down. She just proves them wrong."

  "She's tough."

  "She always tries to be, but she has a softness about her, too. Sometimes she cares too much about her cases, about the people involved." He shrugged. "But I like that about her as well. She's just the whole package."

  "You're lucky you found her."

  "I am lucky." He checked his watch. "I'm also late."

  "You still have a few minutes. There's only one more person in front of us. How long could it take?"

  Max pulled out his phone as it began to vibrate. He looked down at the screen and muttered, "Damn."

  "What's wrong?"

  "A case I'm working on. I need to take this. Hold my place."

  "No problem."

  As Max moved a few feet away to take his call, Spencer glanced at the woman standing in front of him. Her wavy, dark red hair fell halfway down her back. She wore a black wool coat over a gray sweater, with blue jeans and black boots completing the outfit. A colorful scarf was draped around her neck. As she impatiently shifted her feet, he caught a glimpse of her profile, beautiful pale skin with a few freckles on the bridge of her nose, full pink lips, and green eyes set off by dark lashes. She was pretty. If she weren't scowling, she'd probably be even more beautiful.

  His gut tightened. It was stupid as hell to feel a spark of attraction for a complete stranger. However, the fact that he could feel any spark at all was surprising. He'd been deliberately numb for a long time, because if he couldn't feel anything, then he wouldn't feel pain, and he'd had enough hurt in his life. So he'd tried to stay detached from everyone. It had been fairly easy to do. There hadn't been anyone around he wanted to attach to.

  But now he was feeling hot and cold at the same time and a little off-balance. It was crazy. He didn't even know her, but he want to know her.

  He'd once been good at talking to women. In high school and college he'd had more dates than he could remember, but that had been a really long time ago. He was out of practice.

  But he had to start somewhere…

  Giving in to impulse, he tapped her on the shoulder.

  She jumped and gave him a startled look.

  "What?" she demanded, anger in her eyes.

  He cleared his throat, her green eyes so dazzling he couldn't think of what he wanted to say. "I was just wondering how long you've been waiting. And if this is the only line to exchange money?"

  Real smooth, he thought, feeling like a complete idiot with his inane questions.

  "This is it, and I've been waiting almost twenty minutes," she replied. "I didn't think there would be a line this close to the end of the day, especially on a Saturday. I can't miss my flight."

  "Are you going somewhere exciting?"

  She shook her head. "Excitement is the last thing I'm looking for. I just want a wide, sandy beach, a beautiful blue sea, and a lot of rum."

  "Sounds like the perfect vacation," he murmured, wondering what her story was and where the shadows in her eyes had come from. "How long will you be gone?"

  "As long as it takes to forget."

  "Forget what?"

  A shutter came down over her eyes. "Everything."

  "That's a lot."

  "I just want to go where no one knows me and start over. Ever have that feeling?"

  "Many times," he said, meeting her gaze. "Unfortunately, it's not easy to outrun the past or ourselves. Believe me—I know."

  She tilted her head, giving him a speculative look. "You don't look like a man who has anything to outrun. Unless, maybe it's your wedding…"

  "I'm the best man. My brother, Max, is the groom. He's getting married in an hour and taking his bride to Paris later tonight."

  "Very romantic. I hope their marriage is everything they want it to be."

  "That's cryptic."

  "Is it?" She shrugged. "I'm not very good at finding words these days."

  "Why not?"

  "That's way too long a story."

  "Maybe not for this line," he said lightly.

  Her frown deepened. "True. I think the man at the counter must be going around the world. He keeps asking questions about every kind of currency, some I've never even heard of." She paused as she glanced back toward the counter. "I think he's finally done. She's putting his money into an envelope."

  Spencer felt an unexpected wave of disappointment that in a moment this beautiful woman would be gone, and this oddly random conversation would be over. "What's your name?" he said, feeling a need to know something more about her before she disappeared.

  She hesitated. "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because I do."

  "Hallie Cooper. You?"

  "Spencer Harrison. We should get a drink sometime."

  "Do you always try to pick up women at the bank?"

  He smiled at her comment. "I never pick up women at the bank—or anywhere else for that matter. It's been a while."

  "Yeah? So why me?"

  "You have a mirror, don't you?"

  A sparkle flashed in her eyes. "You're direct."

  "I sense that time is running out. What do you say—Hallie Cooper? When you come back from your trip, we could get coffee, or something with rum, in case you didn't get enough on your island. All I need is your phone number." He pulled out his phone.

  "I don't know if I'm ever coming back."

  "You can't lie on a beach forever."

  "I'd sure like to try," she said with a sigh. "My turn," she said as the man at the counter walked away.

  "Seven digits, that's all I need," he said, feeling a little desperate.

  "You don't want to call me. Trust me."

  "Why should I do that?"

  She turned away, then flung a quick glance over her shoulder. "The last person I gave my number to ended up dead."

  And with that unsettling comment, she stepped up to the counter.

  He sta
red at her back, at the six feet of space separating them. He'd wait until she finished her money exchange, then he'd tell her he wasn't scared of ending up dead. In fact, there had been many times in the past seven years when he'd wished he were dead. Dying was sometimes easier than living. But he couldn't tell her any of that. He didn't want to scare her away.

  Although, hadn't she already made it clear she wasn't interested?

  Actually, he thought she was interested. She was just scared.

  Scared of what he wondered? What had happened to make her want to run to the other end of the world and never come back?

  "Looks like we're next," Max said, returning to his side.

  "Yeah," he said distractedly, his gaze still on Hallie.

  "What is it with you and redheads, Spence?"

  He smiled. "I like the fire. She's beautiful, don’t you think?"

  "Did you get her number?"

  "Not yet, but I haven't given up."

  "Good for you. It's about time you got back in the game."

  He didn't know about getting back in the game, but he did know that he felt a compelling need to not let this woman walk out of his life without another word.

  As he waited for Hallie to finish her business, he glanced around the bank, noting the holiday garlands, poinsettias and the Christmas tree in the corner. Christmas was less than two weeks away, and there was a festive atmosphere in the air, which probably had as much to do with closing being minutes away as with the upcoming holidays. There was only one other customer at the main bank of teller windows, and two female loan officers were chatting by one of their desks.

  He was about to look away when the front door opened, and two men walked in. They were probably in their twenties or thirties. Both wore jeans. One had a gray sweatshirt with a hoodie pulled over his head and sunglasses covering his eyes. The other had on a black jacket and a Yankee baseball cap, his eyes also hidden by dark lenses. These two did not want to be recognized. Why? He suddenly had a bad feeling.

  One man lingered by the door as the other got in line, waiting for the last customer to finish at the main counter. As the older woman left the teller window and headed out of the bank, the guy in line seemed to exchange some sort of signal with the man by the door. Then he stepped up to the waiting bank teller, a young Asian woman.

  Spencer frowned, looking around for a security guard, but there was no one in sight. "Shit!" he muttered.

  Max gave him a surprised look. "What's wrong?"

  "We've got trouble."

  Spencer had barely finished speaking when the man by the door turned the dead bolt and pulled out a gun. "Don't move. Don't anybody move," he yelled.

  Chapter Three

  As the limo passed by the front of the church, Emma could see her grandparents and parents standing on the steps, welcoming their guests. She hadn't wanted a huge wedding, but being part of the Callaway family had made anything small impossible. She was not only one of eight siblings; she had over twenty cousins, and a dozen aunts and uncles. Along with family, came the fire department, which was her second family, and quite a few members of the police department, who were Max's second family. So they'd given up on trying to cut down the guest list and decided to have a big crowd and a night to remember.

  "Is Max ready to deal with all the Callaways?" Nicole asked.

  "He's getting used to the constant crowd," she replied. "His mother is a little overwhelmed though. She seemed very nervous at the rehearsal dinner last night."

  "She's been nervous every time I've seen her," Nicole commented.

  Emma nodded. "Susan is high strung and emotional. She drives Max crazy with her drama. He's been taking care of her ever since his dad took off. And I guess she was even worse while Spencer was in prison. She's a sweet woman though. She just gets overwhelmed with what are usually little problems."

  "What's the deal with Max's father? Is he coming today?"

  "Max didn't invite him. He said his dad hasn't been part of his life, so why should he be part of his wedding? I can understand that feeling. I should have stuck with not inviting our father," she added, unable to keep the bitter note out of her voice. She'd spent weeks debating whether or not to invite her biological father to the wedding. He'd deserted her and Nicole and their mother, Lynda, when Emma was a toddler, and while there had been some sporadic contact over the years, she didn't think of him as a father. Jack Callaway was her dad. He was the one who'd been there through all the important moments of her life.

  "I'm sorry," Nicole said quietly, meeting her gaze. "I know you invited him at my urging. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to reconnect."

  "He wasn't interested in reconnecting. He's never been interested in me at all."

  "That's not true."

  "It is, Nicole. You share his love of history and teaching, but he doesn't understand me, and I don't understand him. It's fine. I just wish I hadn't given him another chance to reject me. I shouldn't have wasted all that time worrying about whether or not to invite him. He was never going to come."

  "Don't let his absence spoil the day."

  "It won't. I'm actually glad he's not here. Jack is the only father I need." She paused. "It's weird that Max and I both have a history of deadbeat dads, isn't it? Although, you and I got lucky when Mom married Jack. He's always treated us like his daughters."

  "I wonder why Max's mom didn't remarry."

  "I don't think she ever got over Max's dad leaving her."

  The limo came to a stop.

  "Showtime," Shayla said. "Are you ready, Emma?"

  "More than ready," she replied. The chauffeur helped her out of the car, and she moved quickly into the hallway where her wedding planner and cousin, Cynthia Callaway, waiting for them. Cynthia was a tall, willowy brunette who moved and talked at a very fast pace. She was extremely efficient and very organized. She'd taken care of every detail of the wedding and reception, and Emma didn't know what she would have done without her.

  Cynthia waved them into a small room. "You can wait here until we're ready."

  "Is everyone here?" Emma asked.

  "The pews are filling up," Cynthia answered. "But we still have fifteen minutes."

  "Any sign of Sean?"

  Cynthia shook her head. "Not yet. I texted him a few minutes ago, but I got no reply. Thank goodness he's not one of the ushers. We won't have to hold up the wedding for him."

  "I know he's not in the bridal party, but I still want him to see me get married."

  "Then he better get here in the next fifteen minutes," Cynthia said. "There's another ceremony after yours, Emma, so we can't wait forever, but I promise we'll wait as long as we can. I'll go check again."

  "Thanks." Emma had barely entered the dressing room when her bridesmaids began to disappear: Nicole to check on the ring-bearers—her son Brandon and Brandon's brother, Kyle, Sara to make sure her one-month-old baby girl didn't need a feeding, and Ria, who wanted to make sure that her niece, Megan was all set to be the flower girl and accompany the ring bearers down the aisle, which left Shayla.

  "I think you should touch up your lips," Shayla said.

  "Why? Max is only going to kiss it off."

  Shayla laughed. "Not until the end of the ceremony. Think of all the photos before that moment."

  "Fine. I'll add some more lipstick. But that's it. I want Max to recognize me after all."

  "Shoot, I left my makeup bag in the limo. I'll get it."

  As Shayla left, Emma's grandmother, Eleanor Callaway walked into the room. Eleanor was an attractive older woman with platinum blonde hair and blue eyes that were sometimes sharp and sometimes lost, as she battled Alzheimer's.

  "Grandma," Emma said, giving her a hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

  "Me, too." Eleanor waved her hand toward her husband, Patrick, who was hovering in the doorway. "Leave us be. I want to talk to Emma for a few minutes."

  "I'll be right outside," Patrick replied. "Don't be long."

  "I won't be." El
eanor took Emma's hands and gave her a smile. "You look gorgeous."

  "Thank you. So do you." Emma was happy to see a sharp gleam in her grandmother's eyes. "How are you feeling today?"

  "Like my old self."

  "I'm glad."

  "I don't know how long it will last, so I want to give you this before I forget what it is or who you are," she said with a touch of painful humor. Eleanor opened her gold clutch purse and pulled out a dark blue velvet box. "My grandmother gave me this when I married your grandfather, and I thought you might want to wear it—it could be your something old."

  Emma took the jewelry box out of her grandmother's hand and opened the lid. A beautiful gold heart with a sapphire diamond in the middle hung on a thin gold chain and sparkled in its velvet setting. "Oh, Grandma," she breathed, as she took out the necklace. "It's gorgeous."

  "My grandmother told me it would bring me luck in my marriage as it brought her luck. She was married for forty-three years before she passed away. And your grandpa and I are going on sixty-two years together."

  "I have a feeling it took more than a little luck for you to stay together that long," Emma murmured.

  "Oh, it took work, for sure," Eleanor said with a nod. "Your grandpa isn't the easiest man to live with."

  "You don't have to tell me that." She adored her grandfather, but she was not unaware of the fact that he could be angry and arrogant on occasion.

  She handed her grandmother the jewelry box and put the necklace on. It was perfect for her sweetheart neckline. She had debated on what to wear around her neck for a long time, but she hadn't had the right necklace until now. "How does it look?"

  Eleanor gave an approving smile. "Like it was made for you." She glanced around the empty room. "Where is everyone?"

  Emma shrugged. "Who knows? But I'm happy to have a moment alone with you. Thank you so much for this, Grandma."

  "You're welcome. I gave Nicole a ring from my mother when she got married, and I have something special for Shayla when it's her day." She paused. "I have to say Emma that you remind me the most of myself. I know we're not related by blood, but I feel so close to you. I always have, from the first minute your father brought Lynda to the house and introduced me to you."