So This Is Love (6 page)

"Do you still see your biological father?"

"The last time was probably seven or eight years ago. We ran into each other while we were both shopping at Union Square at Christmas time. He was with his second wife. It was awkward, and we both tried to get away from each other as quickly as possible." She paused. "What about you? How old were you when your parents divorced?"

"I was eight." He realized how quickly she'd turned the tables on him. He preferred to be the one asking the questions.

"Did your parents remain friends after the divorce?"

"God, no," he said forcefully. "I'm not sure they were ever friends. But I do know they became bitter enemies."

"I'm sorry. I touched a nerve, didn't I?"

"It happened a long time ago," he said with a dismissive shrug.

She gave him a speculative look. "It doesn't seem that way."

"Why don't we talk about the case?" he suggested. "What did you do today?"

"I touched base with the witnesses I spoke to last night to see if they remembered anything new. I also spoke with the woman who called in the fire. She's a nurse at San Francisco General, and she was driving home after her shift when she saw the fire. I don't believe she had anything to do with setting it. I also spoke to the bartender at Brady's. He said he left before Harry did. He didn't notice anyone hanging around the bar, nor was he aware of anyone who might have had a grudge against Harry or one of the other employees."

"What about Harry?"

"I called twice, but his son, Christian, told me that Harry took a sleeping pill. I'm hoping to talk to him later tonight or tomorrow."

"A little convenient," Max said dryly. He could see she was itching to defend Harry, who was apparently a long-time friend of the Callaways, but she refrained. "Anything else?"

"I checked with the insurance company. Brady's had a standard policy. Premiums were paid on time. No changes were made in the last five years. I checked Harry's credit report and didn't see any problems with debt that might give him motivation to burn down the bar for the insurance payout."

He wasn't surprised by her findings. The fire at the bar had to be connected to the fire at St. Andrew's. Sister Margaret's body made that connection. "I don't think the fire had anything to do with money."

She met his gaze. "I don't, either. So what's the motivation—attention, revenge, a thrill?"

"Maybe all of the above. The fact that Brady's was a firefighters' bar also makes me wonder if that was a factor."

"But the school fires had nothing to do with firefighters, so maybe that link doesn't work. Which brings us back to Sister Margaret," Emma said. "I thought she was an amazing teacher, but my brother, Drew, told me earlier today that Sister Margaret was much nicer to the girls than the boys. Drew, apparently, spent a lot of time in detention with Sister Margaret, along with some of the other boys in the neighborhood. I don't know what to make of that information. It probably means nothing, but I thought you should hear another perspective." She paused. "I feel a little guilty even saying it, because I'm sure that the boys probably deserved to be in detention, and she was just doing her job."

"It's good to look at all facets of her personality."

"Oh, and there's one more thing. Drew said that he heard Sister Margaret was once engaged to be married, and her groom ran out on her the day of the wedding. That, according to my brother, is why she disliked the boys and why she became a nun."

"That must have been a long time ago. I've gone through her relationships and history over the past ten years and that didn't come up."

"I think she was in her twenties. And, as I said, it could have just been a rumor."

"I have run into a few people who were not big fans of Sister Margaret," he commented, thinking about some of his interviews. "The new principal at St. Andrew's said she thought Margaret was stuck in her ways and not open to change. They were not on the same page. That's why the principal put another teacher in charge of the choir that Sister Margaret had run for twenty years. She wanted to freshen things up."

"I'm sure Sister Margaret didn't take that too well."

"The principal said Margaret was unhappy and mentioned she might have to rethink her employment." He paused. "But none of this information gives us a suspect. All we have is a possibly unhappy nun who disappeared after school one day. She had no financial problems. She had no known enemies. She lived a relatively quiet life of devotion to her job and her church. Very few people knew her well. Even her roommate, Ruth Harbough, said that Margaret was an extremely private person. Ruth claimed she had no idea Margaret was considering leaving St. Andrew's."

Emma stared back at him with a contemplative expression. "Where does that leave us?"

"I'm not sure. Let's look at the circumstances surrounding Margaret's death. She disappears the night before a fire. Her car was in her parking spot in the garage of her apartment building. Some trace amount of blood was found nearby, but not enough to warrant a suspicion of foul play. It's believed Margaret walked to work. She was in her classroom all day, and the last time anyone saw her was four o'clock. She dies a week later of a heart attack. There's evidence she was being held against her will. But no one actually killed her."

"I think that hesitation to kill her might have to do with the fact that Sister Margaret knew her kidnapper, or possibly because she was a nun."

"I agree. There's a good chance it was someone who went to the church or the school."

"So let's say the arsonist is a former student." Emma rested her forearms on the table. "How can we narrow that down?"

"We could start with the detention records."

"How far back would we go?" she asked. "Ten years? Twenty years?"

"I'd start at least ten years ago. The arsonist is most likely in his twenties."

"I would agree. Maybe even older based on the pattern of the fires," Emma added. She picked up her coffee and took a sip. "After I spoke to Drew, I tried to remember which boys in my class had been in trouble or what some of my brothers and their friends had done in school."

"Are you saying the Callaway boys weren't all saints?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Not by a long shot. Only Burke was perfect. I don't know if that came from being the oldest, or if it was always his personality, but he never did one damn thing wrong. Aiden came next in the line-up, and he was a terror. Drew was also rebellious but not as bad as Aiden. Sean just didn't care about school. All he wanted to do was play music. And Colton was another Aiden, just ten years later. I think it's safe to say that St. Andrew's was relieved to see the last of the Callaway boys. Although, they loved having me, Nicole and Shayla," she said with a smile.

"I'm sure you were perfect."

"Actually, I did get into trouble for talking too much in class and one teacher hated that I asked questions. He used to roll his eyes every time I raised my hand. I really annoyed him."

"I can imagine how he felt," he said dryly.

She made a face at him. "My questions are always good ones. Anyway, as I was saying, I was thinking back to problems at St. Andrew's and I have this vague recollection of a fire in the school dumpster when I was in the fifth or sixth grade. I remember standing out on the playground and hearing that some boys had been playing with matches." She frowned. "I just wish I could remember who did it. A lot of arsonists start with smaller fires in their juvenile years."

"St. Andrew's may have a record of that fire, although it was a long time ago. I'll check with Mrs. Harbough."

"Were you the one to tell her that Sister Margaret is dead?" Emma asked, a somber note in her voice now.

He nodded. "Yes, I spoke to her earlier. She was devastated. She said Margaret didn't have any blood relatives. She considered the church community her family."

"I wonder when the funeral will be," Emma mused. "I'm sure the church will be packed with mourners."

"And maybe suspects," he said.

"Maybe."

He could see the sparkle in her eyes as she worked the puzzle in her mind, and he found himself smiling.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"You're in your element."

"This is my job," she said.

"And you love it."

"I do. Probably more than I should. It already cost me one relationship. My ex-boyfriend thought I put more energy into my work than into him. And he wasn't completely wrong," she added with honesty. "I've always felt like I had a lot to prove, both to get this job, and now to do it well. I figured there was time for everything else later. Turns out I was wrong."

"If he couldn't support you, you're better off."

"To be fair, he thought I was the one who wasn't supporting him. But in reality, we were both too focused on ourselves to give the other person what they needed. And in the end Jon got what he needed from someone else."

"There's no excuse for cheating," he said. He'd never had any tolerance for infidelity. If someone didn't want to be in a relationship, then they should get out of it.

"I don't think there is, either. Wow, we just agreed on something. Miracles can happen."

He grinned. "Don't get too excited. It may never happen again."

"I'm sorry I brought my personal life into our conversation. The chocolate must have gone to my head."

"Good thing I didn't have any."

"Why? So you can continue to be the man of mystery?"

He shrugged. Seeing the determined look in her eye, he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting out of this conversation without giving her some personal information.

"What are you hiding?" she pressed.

"If I were hiding something, why would I tell you?" he countered.

"Because if you don't tell me, I'll start digging, and I'll probably learn far more than you want me to know."

"Why would you go to the trouble?"

"I like to know who I'm working with. Why did you come back to San Francisco after being away for so long?"

"Maybe I missed the sourdough bread," he said lightly. "Or the clam chowder."

"Fine, I'll figure it out myself."

He sighed. "You're like a dog with a bone."

"I've been called worse things."

"My life is complicated."

"Tell me something simple."

He drank his coffee as he thought about what he wanted to say. She would be able to find out just about everything with a simple Internet search. And with her resources, she could probably get every last dirty detail. He might as well give her his side of the story.

"Seven years ago, my older brother, Spencer, was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison. Today, he was released."

Her eyes widened. "I—I had no idea."

"My mother asked me to move back to San Francisco, so that I could help Spencer get his life back together. When Captain Crowley offered me a job a few months ago, I decided to take it. Tonight will be the first family dinner we've had in a decade, and I think it's probably going to be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable."

"Why? I would think everyone would be happy."

"My brother blames me for not getting him out of prison. And my mother feels much the same way," he said flatly.

"That's rough."

The compassion in her eyes undid him. This was exactly why he didn't talk about his family. He'd been holding in his emotions for a decade, and he had no intention of putting them on display now, but his stomach was in knots, and his heart was beating way too fast. He needed to move. He needed to breathe.

"I've got to get out of here," he muttered, jumping to his feet.

He was out the door before she took her next breath.

He raced down the hill, trying to burn off some of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. When he got to the bottom, he hit the beach, enjoying the hard work of walking through the shifting sand, the ocean breeze blowing in his face, the watery spray of the waves cooling off his heated body.

Finally, he stopped and sank down on the sand, staring out at the ocean that had gotten him through a lot of bad moments. He needed the sea to work its magic.

A few minutes later, Emma sat down next to him. "Are you all right, Max?"

"No," he said, his voice clipped.

"Can I help?"

"It's my problem, not yours."

"That's not exactly true. We're partners. What affects you affects me."

"You don't have to worry. I don't let my personal life impact my job."

"I'm not worried about the case. I'm concerned about you. You're hurting, and I don’t like to see people in pain."

"Then you should get the hell away from me."

"Max—"

"No, I mean it," he said forcefully, giving her a hard look. "You should walk back up that hill, get in your car, and drive away."

"And how will you get back?"

"I don't know. I'll take a cab. I'll walk. It doesn't matter. Just go, Emma."

"Why?"

"Because I feel in the mood to do something I shouldn't do."

Her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Then you shouldn't be alone."

"Emma, you have about two seconds…"

"Or what?" she asked recklessly, her sweet lips so tempting.

"Or this."

He put his hand on the back of her neck, pulled her close, and covered her mouth with his.

Chapter Five

She tasted like coffee and chocolate—warm, sexy, irresistible, and he couldn't get enough of her. He threaded one hand through her hair, holding her head so he could explore her mouth, slip his tongue through those soft lips, and completely lose himself in her. Everything faded away, all the worries, all the problems. It was just Emma—her scent, her touch, the give and take of her mouth.

One kiss turned into two, then three. He should stop, but he couldn't. Every breath made him want another taste, a deeper connection. He nibbled on her bottom lip and then slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Her breath quickened, but she didn't pull away. Instead her arms crept around him, and her breasts grazed his chest.

The tantalizing touch made him want so much more.

He pressed her back against the sand, loving the feel of her body beneath him. He wanted her clothes off. He wanted her skin bare. He wanted to bury himself inside of her.