When Shadows Fall (Callaways #7) Page 6

  "I want to build my own career," she admitted. "I've paid my dues. Now it's my turn."

  "You need to pick a more interesting subject. You can't go from secretary of state to a bunch of little old ladies who are probably making up half of whatever they're saying."

  "You're not going to talk me out of this, Colton." She paused as the bartender came over to their table and asked if they wanted another drink. "I probably shouldn't," she said. "I haven't eaten in a while, and I still have work to do."

  "No thanks," Colton said to the bartender. As the man walked away, Colton added, "I haven't eaten either. There's a good Italian restaurant right across the street. My friend's dad is the chef there. They have the best pasta and pizza in the city."

  "The desk clerk mentioned that," she muttered, glancing down at her watch. It was almost six—definitely time for dinner.

  "Why don't we get something to eat?"

  She should really say no. Colton had said what he'd come to say, and she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she was going ahead with her project. What else was there to talk about?

  "You're going to have to eat, Olivia. Do you really want to eat alone?"

  "It wouldn't be the first time." She'd eaten many meals on her own in Europe. But it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have some company, especially his company. Despite the fact that they appeared to be at cross-purposes, she liked talking to him.

  Colton might not be a brain like his sister, but he was intelligent, and he seemed to care a lot about his family. He was also really attractive, which made for quite an interesting combination. But she couldn't let herself think for a second that he wasn't going to use dinner as another opportunity to convince her to stay away from his grandmother.

  "Come on, say yes," Colton said impatiently. "It's just dinner."

  "Yes," she said, thinking maybe she should add impulsive and reckless to the list of adjectives describing her personality.

  His eyes sparked with approval. "Good. Let's go."

  Chapter Six

  Alonzo's had a great vibe, Olivia thought, as they entered the restaurant across the street from her hotel. The dining room had dark hardwood floors, cozy red leather booths and an open-air kitchen. With the smell of garlic in the air, her mouth actually began to water.

  The hostess, a cute brunette in her early twenties, gave a little squeal when she saw Colton.

  "You're alive," she said, giving him a big hug. "I was so worried about you. Greg said you got hurt in a fire."

  "Just smashed a couple of fingers," Colton said, extricating himself from the girl's arms. "Do you have a table for us?"

  "I always have a table for you," she said, casting Olivia a speculative look.

  "This is my—friend, Olivia," Colton said, stumbling a little over the word friend. "This is Theresa Alonzo, daughter of the owner, and sister of Greg, who works with me."

  "Nice to meet you," Olivia said, thinking Theresa didn't look all that happy to meet her. She obviously had a crush on Colton.

  Theresa muttered, "Hello." Then she led them to a booth at the far end of the room. "Do you want your usual, Colton?"

  "Olivia and I will take a look at the menu."

  "Papa made a special minestrone soup tonight," Theresa said, handing them menus. "You should try it."

  "Sounds good," Colton said. "Can you bring me a beer and a glass of merlot for my friend?"

  "I'll tell your waitress," Theresa said. "She'll be right over."

  As Theresa disappeared, Olivia smiled at Colton.

  "What?" he asked warily.

  "Someone has a crush on you."

  He immediately shook his head. "Theresa just turned twenty. She's way too young for me, and she's my friend's little sister."

  "I don't think either of those facts is a problem for her."

  "Well, it's a problem for me. I don't date anyone related to my friends or coworkers. That would be way too complicated."

  She nodded. "Because of the whole brotherhood thing?"

  "We look out for each other and for our families. What we do requires trust and commitment. We have to be able to depend on each other in a life or death situation, so the less drama we have with each other, the better."

  "Right." She really wished she had not asked the question, because she didn't want to talk about his job. She looked down at the menu. "So what's good here?"

  "Everything."

  He startled her by reaching across the table and covering her hand with his. A jolt of heat ran through her at his touch. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a little too breathless. She really needed to get a grip.

  "You said something to me earlier about my job, asking me why I did it, and I couldn't help thinking there was something behind your question and something behind the pain that just flashed through your eyes a moment ago. Did you lose someone in a fire? Did you get dumped by a firefighter? What's your deal?"

  She hesitated, not really wanting to get into it, but she had a feeling he wasn't going to let go of her hand until she answered.

  "My father was a cop. He died in the line of duty," she said shortly.

  "I'm sorry," he said, sincerity in his eyes. "I didn't expect you to say that."

  "That's the problem with questions. You never know what kind of answer you're going to get." She licked her lips as his fingers tightened around hers. She'd pull away in a second, but just for a moment she'd soak up the warmth and strength of his touch.

  "How old were you?"

  "I was sixteen, a junior in high school. My father answered a call for a robbery at a convenience store. He was the first on the scene, and the guy came out shooting. My dad died on his way to the hospital." She drew in a shaky breath. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

  "That's rough," he said, his gaze filled with compassion.

  "It was beyond horrific. And it seemed to go on forever. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and be alone, but for days after his death, cops would come to our house. The funeral was attended by thousands of police officers from all over the state. It was supposed to be comforting to see that sea of blue, but all I could think when I saw all those guys in uniform was—where were you when my dad got shot?" She blew out a breath and pulled her hand away from Colton's. As she sat back in the booth, she added, "And that is really all I want to say about it."

  He nodded. "Understandable. But can I say something?"

  "I don't know if I want to hear what you have to say. You remind me of my dad. He loved his job. He loved helping people. He had no idea how much we worried about him. Or if he did have an idea, he didn't let on, he didn't act differently. He just followed his dream, and he didn't care that his dream might take him away from us."

  "You sound angry."

  "I am, or I was," she amended. "I don't know what I feel anymore."

  "I hope you can feel some pride along with the anger, because your dad sounds like a hero."

  "He was a hero, I know that. And I am proud of him," she admitted. "Since I grew up, I have a better understanding of it all, but I can't completely let go of the sadness. I didn't want a hero; I just wanted a dad, someone who would choose my mom and me over his job. But he didn't do that."

  "Do you think you could make that choice, Olivia?"

  She stared at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

  "You seem pretty determined to go for what you want, maybe a little like your dad."

  "What I want isn't dangerous to me or to anyone else," she said defensively.

  "You don't know that. You're in the business of unraveling secrets, and it seems to me that secrets carry an element of danger."

  She supposed that was possible, but she'd never looked at her job that way. "I think you're reaching. Most of the secrets I uncover have to do with someone sleeping with someone they're not supposed to be sleeping with."

  "And that's not dangerous?"

  "It's not the same thing."

  "Maybe not. But my point is that you have a passion for what you
do, and it's difficult to walk away from your passion."

  "I suppose."

  "So, change of subject?" Colton asked.

  "Please."

  "What are you in the mood to eat? I know I mentioned pasta, but if you feel like splitting a pizza, they're unbelievably good."

  "Then let's split a pizza," she said, happy to have that decision made.

  "What don't you like?"

  "I like everything but anchovies and pineapple."

  He grinned. "So do I. See, we have something in common."

  "Something," she said, sipping her wine as he relayed their order to the waiter.

  When they were alone again, Colton said, "Now, I'd like to hear a little more about all those people you caught having sex with the wrong people."

  "I didn't catch them. I just happened to stumble on some of their affairs in my research."

  "Are we talking about Carlton Hughes?"

  "Yes. He had a fling with an intern. It's in the book."

  Colton groaned. "He couldn't be more original?"

  "Apparently not. But his wife stuck by him—I can't imagine why. Actually I can imagine why," Olivia corrected. "She loved his power, his stature and his money."

  "All aphrodisiacs. What other juicy scandals have you discovered?"

  "You're going to have to read some of Philip's books if you want to find out."

  "I might have to do that." He paused. "I know I said change of subject, but getting back to my grandmother."

  Now she was the one to let out a groan. "Colton—"

  "I don't think she had an affair with anyone, but if she did, no one needs to know about it. She's in her eighties, for God's sake."

  Olivia smiled. "I like that you're protective of your grandmother, but I'm not a threat to her."

  "You just told me you think she's hiding something, so how do you know you're not about to uncover something that could hurt her?"

  She met his gaze, seeing the worry in his eyes. "I guess I don't know."

  "Exactly."

  "You should really talk to your grandfather, Colton. If you can give me a good reason to walk away, then maybe I'll go."

  "What kind of reason are we talking about?"

  "I won't know until you find one."

  "I'm supposed to speak to my grandfather in the morning, before he leaves for Chicago. I'll see what I can find out. Otherwise, I'll be spending the next couple of days trying to keep you and my grandmother apart."

  She smiled. "Well, you'll do what you have to do, and I'll do the same. I really don't think you need to worry, Colton."

  "You know what I think?"

  "I'm afraid to ask."

  "I think you're about to lead us into an iceberg, and we're all going to go down."

  "If there's an iceberg to avoid, your grandmother probably knows where it is."

  "She may not remember," he said heavily.

  "Then I'll go home with nothing."

  He started at her words. "I forgot for a minute that you don't live here. Where do you live?"

  "New York City," she replied, thinking that her apartment seemed very far away at the moment.

  "How long are you planning to stay in town?"

  "Until I know whether or not I have a story to tell, but probably not longer than a week, maybe ten days. I'm using some of my vacation time for this project."

  "It could be a waste of time, Olivia."

  "My time to waste," she said lightly.

  Before he could reply, the chef brought out a steaming pizza and set it on the table in front of them. Then he stretched out his arms to Colton.

  Colton stood up and gave the older man a hug.

  As they broke apart, the man said, "I'm so glad to see you were not badly hurt in the warehouse fire."

  "I just had a minor concussion," Colton said. "This is my friend, Olivia. This is Raphael Alonzo, Theresa and Greg's father."

  Raphael had dark brown hair and eyes. He gave her a welcoming smile. "It's nice to meet you. It's about time Colton brought a pretty girl in here."

  She doubted that Colton had much trouble finding a pretty girl to have dinner with.

  "I don't share your pizza with just anyone, Raphael," Colton joked.

  "I made a special pie for you tonight," Raphael said. "And it's on the house. Your money is no good here."

  "I pay my own way."

  "Any man who saves my son's life eats for free," Raphael said firmly. He looked at Olivia. "Colton pulled my son out of a fire two months ago."

  "Greg has done the same for me many times," Colton said.

  Raphael nodded, then slapped Colton on the shoulder and said he had to get back to the kitchen.

  As Colton sat back down, he gave her an embarrassed smile. "Raphael is always a little dramatic. It's the Italian in him."

  "He loves you as much as his daughter does."

  "He's family."

  "You seem to have a lot of family," she murmured, wondering why she suddenly felt so alone. But she had her mom, she reminded herself. And she had friends. She didn't see them very often, but they were around. They were busy, too. Everyone had jobs, and her job kept her on the move. And it wasn't like she had coworkers. She certainly didn’t hang out with Philip. And Philip's personal assistant was a fifty-four-year-old woman, who was lovely, but she and Olivia did not have much in common.

  Everyone else she spoke to in the course of a day was usually involved in some way with the book they were working on, either with the subject or the publishing house or Philip's agent or Philip's fans.

  She frowned, realizing how much of her life revolved around Philip.

  "Something wrong?" Colton asked as he slid two pieces of pizza onto a plate. "You're not eating. Is there something on the pizza you don't like?"

  "No, it looks great. I was just waiting for it to cool down."

  "You're a terrible liar."

  "What am I lying about?" she challenged.

  "You were deep in thought a second ago. What were you thinking?"

  "I don't know. Nothing," she said vaguely. She certainly didn't intend to tell him she felt a little sorry for herself. "Let's eat." She grabbed a slice of pizza and took a large bite. The delicious mix of cheese, tomatoes, garlic and vegetables was amazing, and soon she was keeping up with Colton in a race to see who would get the last piece.

  Colton won, but he paused in his moment of triumph, his hand hovering over the one remaining slice. "If you want it, it's yours."

  "That's very generous."

  "Or we could negotiate."

  "What would be the terms? And they can't have anything to do with your grandmother," she added quickly.

  "That's no fun."

  "What would be fun is if you just give me that piece of pizza because you're a giving person who is here on this earth to make other people happy," she joked.

  He smiled. "I thought you didn't like heroes."

  "In this case, I might make an exception, because that pizza is really good."

  "Fine, it's yours." He dropped the pizza onto her plate.

  "And what do I have to do for it?" she asked warily. "Because I know there's no such thing as a free lunch, or in this case—pizza."

  "You're cynical, Olivia."

  She made a face at his words. "My mom said that earlier, but I don't think that's true."

  "Then prove it. Just say thank you and enjoy your pizza. No strings attached, because I'm just that good of a guy."

  He was enjoying being the good guy a little too much, but since she was still hungry, she decided not to make herself into a martyr. "Thank you," she parroted. "You're such a good guy."

  Colton sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. "You are not like anyone I have ever met, Olivia Bennett."

  The spark in his eyes almost made her choke on her pizza. She swallowed hard and then took a sip of wine. "How so?"

  He gave her a speculative look. "I'm not sure yet. But I think I want to find out."

  "Now you're j
ust trying to flirt me out of interviewing your grandmother."

  He shook his head. "There you go again, being cynical."

  "And you're not? How can you do what you do and not get a little dark inside?"

  His smile faded, and he didn't seem to have a ready answer to her question. Then he said, "I try to focus on the positive. But it doesn't always work. The other day—the day I got hurt—I lost someone. He was alive when I got into the room, but he was trapped, and before I could get him out, things got worse."

  His words made her feel terrible. "I'm sorry, Colton. I shouldn't—"

  "No," he said cutting her off. "Don't apologize. You're right. It's not easy to do what I do and not let the bad stuff get to me. But I have to compartmentalize. I have to focus on the good that gets done. That's not to say that the losses don't hurt, but I have to keep moving forward. And…" He paused. "I've always found a new challenge turns me in the right direction. I go hiking or rock climbing or I run a marathon. I turn my focus towards a goal I can achieve, something that's in my control, and that drives the darkness away."

  She nodded, thinking that for a guy who didn't look like he had more than five years on the job, he seemed very philosophical and pragmatic about it all. "Do you really run marathons?" she asked, trying to defuse the tension that had sprung up between them.

  "Okay, I was exaggerating. The farthest I've run is a half-marathon. I find running a little boring. But next spring I'm planning to challenge myself in a new way."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm going to swim to Alcatraz."

  "You're going to jump into the freezing cold San Francisco Bay and swim to a deserted island prison?"

  He grinned. "Can you think of anything more fun?"

  "I can think of a lot of things more fun than that."

  "Oh, yeah, care to share? Because I could be persuaded to try something else—if the right woman asked me."

  "You are such a flirt." She motioned to the waiter, who immediately came over. "Can we get our check?" she asked.

  "Your dinner is on the house," the waiter replied. "Can I bring you anything else, coffee, dessert?"

  "No, thanks." She turned back to Colton. "I should get back to Molly's journals."

  "I could help you go through them."