So This Is Love Page 2

  There was clearly a strong connection between the two, Max thought, wondering what it would be like to be in love and married to someone for fifty years. He couldn't even imagine it.

  Eleanor smiled at her husband. "We had so much fun in that house, big dinners with all the kids around the table. I was happy." She paused, her smile fading. "But then we had to leave. We had to move after that bad, bad day."

  "No one wants to hear about that," Patrick told his wife, his tone sharp and purposeful.

  "It's going to be okay, isn't it?" she asked, worry in her eyes as she gazed at her husband. "You said it would. You promised."

  "It's fine," he assured her. "It was a long time ago."

  "What was a long time ago?" Emma asked.

  "Don't add to the confusion with questions," Patrick said, giving Emma a harsh look.

  Emma quickly apologized. "I'm sorry."

  "I'm Patrick Callaway," her grandfather said, his attention turning to Max. "And this is my wife, Eleanor."

  "I'm very happy to meet you both." He wondered how he could extricate himself from a situation that seemed to be turning more awkward by the moment. He had no idea what Emma's grandmother was talking about, but her odd comments seemed to have left everyone at the table speechless.

  Eleanor suddenly stiffened, confusion in her expression as she pointed her finger at Max. "You're not Emma's boyfriend. You're not Jon."

  "No. I'm Max."

  "I like Jon." She gave Emma an annoyed and bewildered look. "Why aren't you with Jon? He always brings me those hard candies."

  "Jon and I broke up, Grandma."

  "But he loved you. You loved him. You were going to get married and have babies."

  Emma cleared her throat. "We decided it wasn't right."

  "So this man is your new boyfriend?" Eleanor demanded, not looking at all happy about it.

  "No, he's a colleague. We work together sometimes. That's all." She looked relieved when Burke arrived at the table, interrupting their conversation "Burke," she said with relief. "You're here. And Max is here."

  "So I see," Burke said, shaking his hand. "Did you meet everyone?"

  "Emma was just introducing me," he replied.

  Emma waved her hand toward the other members of her family. "My mom, Lynda, sister, Shayla, brother, Colton."

  Her mother and siblings said hello. Colton appeared more interested in whatever he was reading on his phone than the conversation at hand. Shayla gave him a very curious look. Fortunately he did not have to talk to anyone as a group of people approached the table to offer Jack congratulations.

  To give the newcomers more room, Max moved a few steps away. Emma did the same.

  "Sorry about that," she said. "My grandmother is in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and we never know what is going to come out of her mouth."

  "I'm sorry to hear that she's ill."

  "It's hard to watch her deteriorate. She was a very sharp woman when I was younger. I couldn't get anything past her." Emma frowned. "I can't believe she remembered Jon. He hasn't been around the family in months."

  "Apparently, the candies he brought her stuck in her head."

  "I brought the candies for her birthday. He just took the credit." Emma's gaze drifted back to her grandmother. "I don't know what she was referring to when she alluded to some bad, bad day. It was such an odd thing to say."

  "It sounded like your grandfather knew what it was about. He was quick to cut her off."

  Her gaze swung back to him, her eyes questioning. "I thought so, too. It's the second time in the last few weeks that Grandma has mentioned a secret, and the second time Grandpa has changed the subject. But I can't imagine what secret she would be keeping.

  "Have you asked your grandfather about it?"

  "No. You don't ask my grandfather things like that. To be honest, I've always been a little scared of him. He's the only one in the family who ever made me feel like a stepchild."

  Her comment surprised him. Emma seemed so confident, so sure of her place in the world, but in this moment he could see uncertainty in her eyes, and he wondered if she had to be good, had to be right, in order to prove herself to her family because she wasn't a Callaway by blood. It might explain why she was so determined to win, to succeed, to be the best at everything.

  "Anyway," she said, turning her focus back to him. "How come you never told me you grew up here, and don't say it's because I didn't ask. I spoke to you about Los Angeles and your reason for transferring, and you never said anything about the fact that you were actually coming home."

  "I haven't thought of this city as home in a very long time. I left when I was eighteen. That was fourteen years ago."

  "Is your family still here?"

  "Some of them."

  "Why did you leave and why did you come back?" she asked, as she took a sip of her water.

  "I left to go to college, and I came back because it was time."

  "That's deliberately vague, Harrison."

  "Maybe you should take a hint and drop the subject, Callaway."

  She gave a dramatic sigh. "Another person with a secret. I seem to be surrounded by them tonight."

  He smiled. "I don't know about that. Your Italian boys seemed up front and outgoing."

  "The Moretti twins? I've known them forever. They're not to be taken seriously."

  Her dismissive words made him feel oddly better about the interaction he'd witnessed earlier. "Are you sure about that? The first one looked really into you."

  "Tony is a huge flirt. He's that way with everyone."

  "If you say so."

  "I do say so," she said firmly. "What about you? No date tonight?"

  "Not tonight."

  "You do like to be the man of mystery, don't you?"

  "I've heard it adds to my charm."

  "Charm? You think you have charm?" she asked doubtfully.

  He couldn't help but grin at her disgruntled expression. "Apparently, you don't think so."

  "Tonight is the first time I've ever seen you smile. So maybe there's more to you than I thought."

  "Maybe there is."

  She stared at him, then said. "Well, I don't have time for mystery men. I have my hands full at the moment."

  He should be relieved by her answer, but he found himself oddly disappointed.

  "I should go and mingle," she added.

  "You should," he said, downing his drink. "I have to take off."

  "So soon?"

  "I have an early morning. Have a good night."

  "You, too."

  He set his empty glass down on a nearby table and moved quickly through the crowded restaurant. When he stepped outside, he was surprised to see a guy peering into the windows of the bar. He wore jeans and a big sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head. The man jerked when he realized Max was looking at him. He turned quickly and walked away.

  Uneasiness ran down Max's spine. His car was in the opposite direction, but something made him follow the guy down the street. The man picked up his pace when he reached the corner. Max did the same, but when he jogged around the block, the guy was gone.

  Max stopped, frustrated that he'd lost him, even though he didn't really know why he was in pursuit. But he'd trusted his instincts for a very long time, and most of the time his gut did not steer him wrong. Maybe this time, however, his instincts were off. He was on edge. His life was about to change in a big way, and he didn't know if he was ready.

  Turning, he walked back the way he'd come. When he reached his car, his phone rang. He pulled it out and saw his mother's number. His stomach muscles clenched.

  "Mom? What's up?"

  "I just want to make sure you're going to pick me up at eight o'clock tomorrow," she said.

  "I promised I would," he replied.

  "Don't be late. Your brother has waited long enough for this day."

  "I won't be late," he promised. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and then opened his car door and slid behind the wheel
, his heart racing a little too fast as he thought about the next morning—about the sixty mile drive north to the prison where he would pick up his brother.

  Chapter Two

  The fire call came in at three o'clock in the morning on Monday, three hours after the Callaway party ended. Emma had been asleep, lost in a crazy dream that involved her ex-boyfriend, Jon, the annoying Inspector Harrison and her grandmother, when she'd been awoken by the sound of her cell phone.

  It had taken a minute for the bad news to sink in. This wasn't just any fire, it was a fire at Brady's Bar and Grill, and first responders on the scene had determined the fire to be suspicious.

  She threw on her clothes and drove back to the bar. She had to park a block away; there was a line of fire engines and police cars blocking the street. As she walked toward the fire, she saw flames shooting out of the roof and through the broken windows. She felt sick to her stomach. The warm, cozy, neighborhood bar where she'd spent so many hours was totally engulfed with fire. It seemed a bitter irony that a place so special to the firefighting community was now going up in smoke. A few hours ago there had been dozens of firefighters celebrating her father's promotion. Now there were dozens fighting the blaze.

  Was that the point? Had someone wanted to make a statement in a place where firefighters gathered?

  Her mind whirled with questions as she drew closer to the scene. She scanned the gathering crowd for anyone who looked out of place or appeared a little too interested or too happy about the fire. It wasn't uncommon for arsonists to stay and watch their handiwork. It was part of the thrill. Some even called the fires in so they could watch the fire trucks come roaring down the street and see the terrified residents pouring out of their homes.

  Fortunately, this city block was made up of commercial buildings, with only a few second and third floor apartments mixed in, so they didn’t have many people to worry about. There were a dozen or so individuals wearing pajamas and robes standing across the street. The adjacent buildings had obviously been evacuated. Fighting fires in San Francisco was always a challenge as many of the structures shared common walls. A fire could spread through an entire block if it wasn't caught early.

  As soon as she arrived on scene, she checked in with the Incident Commander Grant Holmes, whom she'd worked under in her firefighting days.

  He gave her a tense nod. "Callaway. You got here fast."

  "I couldn't believe it was Brady's. We were just here celebrating my father's promotion."

  "Looks like it will be the last party here for a while."

  "How did it start?"

  "We found gasoline cans inside the front and back door. The rear portion of the roof collapsed seconds after the first guys in reported a deceased female. We haven't been able to get her out yet.

  Emma's stomach turned over. She knew several of the female servers at Brady's. "Do you have an I.D.?"

  "No."

  "Has the owner been contacted?" she asked, looking around for Harry Brady.

  "He was here with his son, Christian, but Harry started having chest pains, so the paramedics took him to the hospital."

  She was sorry to hear that. "I hope he's okay. This bar is his whole life."

  "Let's hope he wasn't the one who burned it down," he said cynically.

  She couldn't believe Harry would destroy his livelihood, but as the owner, he would be at the top of her interview list.

  As Grant moved away to talk to one of the crew captains, she saw Max walking toward her. He wore the same clothes he'd had on earlier, but his hair was tousled, and there was a shadow of beard on his jaw. He looked even sexier, if that was possible.

  "What do you know?" he asked abruptly.

  "Not much. There's apparently a female victim. I guess that's why you're here. They haven't been able to retrieve her body." She glanced at the building. "I feel like I'm dreaming. We were just here a few hours ago. Everyone was having a great time. Now, this raging blaze…"

  "An interesting irony," Max said. "Firefighters' bar goes up in flames."

  He'd jumped to the same suspicion she'd had, that someone had wanted to make a statement to the firefighting community. "It could be a coincidence," she felt compelled to say. "But I will find whoever decided to torch this place. This one isn't just business; it's personal."

  Max tilted his head, giving her a thoughtful look.

  "What?" she challenged.

  "Just thinking that the last two fires were also personal to you—the high school and St. Andrew's Elementary School."

  "I grew up in this neighborhood, and all three fires have been at buildings important to the community, but that's hardly personal to me. It's a matter of geography. It's not unusual for firebugs to work close to home. It adds to the secret thrill that they know something no one else does."

  "A logical point. But you have to admit that you're a common denominator."

  "So are a lot of people. Thousands of children have gone through St. Andrew's and the high school in the last twenty years." She paused. "Speaking of St. Andrew's, has there been any progress on locating Sister Margaret?"

  Margaret Flannery, one of the teaching nuns at St. Andrew's had disappeared a little over a week ago, right before the fire at the school that had destroyed two classrooms. Sister Margaret had also been a teacher at the high school a decade earlier, a fact that Max had used to link her as an arson suspect. But Emma didn't believe for a second that Sister Margaret was their firebug.

  "Unfortunately, no," Max replied. "What about your fire investigation?"

  She hated to admit that she was no further ahead on her case, but there were no witnesses to the school fire and no forensic evidence. Her investigation was basically stalled. "Nothing new. I need to focus on this fire. I'm going to talk to the neighbors."

  "I'll go with you," he said.

  "If you must," she said unenthusiastically.

  Her words brought a small smile to his lips. "I can be helpful, Callaway."

  "You can also get in the way," she retorted.

  "So can you, but don't forget we're on the same side."

  Somehow, it never quite seemed that way. Most of the time they were butting heads and challenging each other's results. They needed to find a better way to work together; she just hadn't come up with one yet.

  It didn't take long to speak to the small group of people huddled together. They were shaken up and worried about their apartments. No one had seen anything. They all reported having been woken up by firefighters or cops ordering them to evacuate. By the time they'd gotten outside, the fire was blazing.

  Emma jotted down names, addresses and phone numbers. After her first few questions, Max disappeared, and she couldn't help wondering where he'd gone. He usually liked to be right in the middle of the action.

  When she'd finished her interviews, she saw Max coming out of an alley between two buildings across the street. She walked over to him. "Where did you go?" she asked suspiciously.

  "Just looking around."

  "For what?"

  He shrugged. "It's probably nothing," he muttered.

  "Tell me."

  "When I left your father's party, I saw a guy outside of Brady's. He was staring through the windows, and he jumped when I came out, as if he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. He ran off before I could get a good look at him. He was probably in his twenties. He wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt with a hood up over his head."

  She doubted Max would have mentioned the man if he didn't think he was a possible suspect. She didn't like the way Max took over their cases, but she did respect his instincts.

  "There's our victim," Max said, moving quickly across the street, as two firefighters brought out a body. They set her down on a stretcher.

  Emma stepped up next to Max to take a look. The woman's features were shockingly familiar. She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth as waves of nausea ran through her. "It's Sister Margaret," she said.

  Max's eyes widened. "Shit!"<
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  It was hard to look at the lifeless body of a woman who had been a mentor to her, but she forced herself to do just that. Every detail was important.

  Sister Margaret had very short, white, thin hair. Her face had not burned, but her skin was very white with tints of blue. She wore black loose-fitting slacks that hung in shreds over her burned, blistering legs. What had once been a white button down shirt was blackened from smoke and dirt. The long sleeves had also been burned away, and her hands and fingers showed only remnants of flesh over the bones.

  Emma had to breathe through the urge to vomit. She saw burn victims a lot, but she never got used to it.

  "Her hands are burned," Max commented, as he, too, took a good look at her body.

  She wanted to say that there was no way Sister Margaret had set the fire, but she couldn't. Had the woman had a secret fascination with fire? Had she gotten caught up in her own work?

  There were no other visible wounds from a knife or a gun or any other type of weapon. Had she died from smoke inhalation or had something else happened?

  "The medical examiner should be able to tell us more," Max said, motioning for the paramedics to take the body away.

  "I can't believe this," she muttered, watching them load the body into the ambulance. Her mind ran through the clues they'd already accumulated. "Whoever set this fire killed Sister Margaret."

  "That's one theory."

  "Stop trying to make Sister Margaret the villain," she said sharply, taking out her anger and pain on Max. "She didn't do this."

  "I'm keeping an open mind. Maybe you should do the same instead of letting your personal feelings cloud your judgment."

  "My judgment is not clouded," she snapped. "You do your job, and I'll do mine."

  "We need to work together."

  "Not tonight we don't. You're not cleared to enter the building until the fire is out, but I can get in now."

  "Emma, wait," he said, as she turned to leave.

  "What?"

  His lips tightened. "Be careful."

  She didn't know how to take his words, because it almost sounded like he was worried about her.

  "I always am," she said, then strode away. She was relieved when the commander gave her clearance to enter the building. Sister Margaret's death had raised the stakes, and she wanted to find the bastard who'd killed her favorite teacher and torched Brady's Bar.