She dropped into one of the country-style kitchen chairs and regarded her brother, a small tingle of apprehension at her nape. “Now, out with it. What’s this all about?”
Sean took his time, measuring coffee grounds with an irritating slowness. “A friend of mine from Evanston PD is having some…” He paused, as if searching a mental thesaurus for the right word, “issues.”
Hearing this, she relaxed her guard. Sean wanted her professional advice. That she could handle. “Okay, so what’s his deal?”
“A little over a year ago, he was involved in a fatal shooting. The kid he shot had been holding up a convenience store with a fake gun.” He snapped the coffee ground reservoir into the machine with more force than necessary. “It should be illegal to make toy guns that look that friggin’ real.”
“I remember that, I think.” Chicago and its nearest suburbs, like Evanston, had more shooting incidents a year than anyone could keep track of. But the story of a police officer shooting a youth who’d turned out to be unarmed…well, that had made more than a small ripple in the media last year.
Sean continued, his brow furrowed. “You never want to be in a situation where you have to use deadly force, but to make the decision to shoot and then find out there was never any real danger…Well, that would eat anybody up.”
“He’s struggling with PTSD?” she asked, jumping to the most logical conclusion. An experience like that could understandably lead to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
“Well, not officially…”
She raised an eyebrow in question when he turned toward her to pass the cream and sugar.
“He saw a shrink after it happened—he was required to by the department—and she cleared him to return to duty.”
Letting the term shrink slide, she asked, “But you don’t think she should have?”
“I think Mac told her what she wanted to hear.” He paused, pouring coffee into Emily’s mug, and sensing he had more to say, she waited for him to continue. “On an intellectual level, Mac knows he did what he had to do, that there was no way he could have guessed the gun was a fake. But emotionally, I think he blames himself.”
He slid the mug across the table to Emily and, for the first time since he’d begun his story, looked her in the eyes. It startled her, the depths of worry she found there. Her perpetually jovial, not-a-care-in-the-world brother cared very much about this Mac.
She stirred a generous amount of flavored creamer into her coffee and pulled her thoughts together. “If he was cleared by a psychologist to return to work, then what makes you think he’s having—” She made air quotes with her fingers. “—issues?”
Sean looked down and studied the kitchen table for a moment, a sure sign he was choosing his next words carefully. “Last night, a call came over the radio about a domestic dispute on Dodge Avenue. A witness told the dispatcher that her neighbor was drunk and screaming at his wife on their front porch. And that he had a gun. I was a few blocks away and went lights and sirens to the address.” He paused, and Emily wondered if he was seeing the kitchen table, or if he was watching last night’s events play out again on its polished surface. “Mac called his location out on the radio. I knew he’d gotten there before me, figured he’d have the situation under control by the time I got there. Instead, I pulled up to the house to find Mac with his weapon still holstered and a gun in his face.”
Speechless, she realized why her brother had seemed uneasy about telling her the next part of his story. There was an unspoken understanding between them that she preferred not to confront the risks of his job. She’d already lost both her parents, the idea that she could lose Sean too was absolutely unacceptable to her. And until now, he’d always been careful to speak about his work in a light-hearted way. He’d tell funny stories about drunken college students or the occasional break-up of teenagers caught parking after curfew, but real police work? No, they didn’t discuss that.
Now, picturing her only brother in such a potentially lethal conflict, her stomach roiled with anxiety. “So, what’d you do?”
“I threw the squad into park, jumped out—practically before it stopped—and drew my gun. But in the three seconds it took for me to get out and take aim, the husband had dropped his weapon.”
Flooded with relief, the breath she’d been holding left her lungs in a rush. “Thank God he talked the guy into dropping his gun.”
Sean’s head snapped up, his voice filled with urgency and something she almost didn’t recognize coming from him—anger. “Emily, you don’t understand. If someone’s got a gun pointed at you, you shoot first and ask questions later. That ‘drop your weapon’ bullshit is just in the movies. There’s no room for error. No time to waste. When your life is threatened, you shoot. Period. End of story.”
She felt chastised and every bit the naive citizen in that moment. She had, in fact, been picturing a movie-like scene in which this Mac character calmly convinces the husband to drop his weapon, and Mac is the hero of the day for remaining cool in a stressful situation, resolving the incident without casualties. The reality was much more difficult to swallow. And the reality was that if her brother had been a few blocks closer, he could have been the one at gunpoint. And she sure as hell didn’t want her brother to try to reason with a gunman. She wanted him to pull the damn trigger. She wanted him to live.
She tried, without much success, to swallow past the tightness in her throat.
“That’s why I know he needs to talk to someone, Emily. It’s not just his life he puts in danger by refusing to shoot. He’s putting other officers, and possibly other people, in jeopardy too.”
“Did you talk to him about what happened? Ask him why he didn’t pull his gun?”
“He said he knew the old man wasn’t going to shoot him—that he wasn’t a threat. Though how he could know that, I have no idea.” Sean rubbed the back of his neck as if he could rub away the tension. “I’m worried that he’s paralyzed by self-doubt. And if he doesn’t get it together, someone’s going to get hurt.”
Emily nodded. She understood—and shared—her brother’s concern. “I know an excellent psychologist who specializes in PTSD.” Thinking she might have his business card with her, she reached for her tote bag. “I’ll give you his number.”
Sean shook his head and she stopped mid-reach.
“No. He wouldn’t want to see a therapist,” he said. “Besides, if the department got wind of the fact he was seeing a shrink, it might cause problems for him. They’d blackball him, pass him over for specialty positions and promotions. They’d start looking for any excuse to have him suspended or dismissed on the grounds that he’s psychologically unfit.”
She considered mentioning that counseling would be completely confidential, that his employers had no right to know Mac was in therapy, but she also knew that rumors flew fast in police departments. Instead, she gave voice to her biggest concern. “I hate to say this—I can see he’s your friend, but maybe he needs to be dismissed if he’s not able to protect himself.”
Sean’s reaction was immediate. “No.”
He paced the short distance between the kitchen table and the counter, running a hand through his hair and leaving a wake of short brown spikes. “Mac’s a good cop. Better than good. If he gets fired, he might not be able to work as a police officer again.” When he turned to face Emily, his mouth formed a tight, grim line. “It’s better if he handles this without the department knowing.” He hesitated before he spoke again, as if admitting something he wasn’t proud of. “That’s why my report doesn’t include that little tidbit about him not drawing his weapon. If our lieutenant knew someone had aimed a gun at Mac and he hadn’t reacted by drawing his own weapon…Well, let’s just say, he’d see that as cause for concern.”
“But, if he won’t see anyone, and you’re not willing to get the department involved to force him into counseling, how do you suppose I can help?”
Sean’s hopeful gaze snapped up to hers. “You could see him, Em
ily. You’re a good counselor. He could talk to you.”
“I thought you said he wouldn’t willingly go to counseling…”
“Well, maybe he doesn’t see talking to you as counseling.” His face went from visibly worried to mischievous, a transformation which she met with no small amount of trepidation.
“Maybe he thinks he’s on a date,” he said.
Silence.
Emily stared at her brother for a long moment. He had her at the end of a pendulum. She’d been at the height of worry, concern, and fear for him, and now he was swinging the pendulum to the other side where hilarity lay waiting. He had to be joking, trying to lighten the mood with this asinine suggestion.
Surrendering to the pendulum’s swing, she allowed the laughter brewing in her gut to bubble forth. But Sean merely looked at her with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised, waiting for her answer.
He wasn’t joking.
The laughter died an abrupt death. “Are you out of your goddamned mind?” she asked. “You can’t be serious. It’s completely unethical for one and for another…” She couldn’t think. “You know what? I don’t need another reason, the answer is no. Absolutely not!”
The doorbell chimed, interrupting her rant.
“That must be him,” Sean said cheerfully, turning toward the front door.
“Him?” she asked in a whispered shout. “What do you mean him?”
“Bryan McAvoy. You know, Mac? The guy we’re talking about? I invited him to dinner. Figured you guys could meet, see if you don’t hit it off.” He seemed to be enjoying this now, like every big brother enjoys torturing his little sister.
“Sean! I haven’t agreed to this nonsense. I’m not counseling your friend without his knowledge or consent. It’s ludicrous!” She shot out of the chair and grabbed her tote. “And I’m sure as hell not staying for dinner.”
She followed her brother to the front door, intending to let herself out as he let Mac in. He opened the door and stepped aside to allow his guest to enter, giving Emily her first glimpse of Officer Bryan McAvoy.
Well, hello Mr. Serious.
“Hey.” Dark brown eyes lit with recognition met hers. “Caramel Macchiato, right?”
CHAPTER TWO
Since the blue-eyed woman in front of him seemed incapable of speech at the moment, her mouth repeatedly opening as if to speak and then abruptly closing again, Mac turned to Sean for an introduction.
Sean’s bewildered gaze skipped from Mac to Blue Eyes and then back. “So…have you two met?”
Mac hesitated, waiting for the woman from the coffeehouse to answer, but she just stared at him, an expectant expression on her face. She appeared as interested in his response as Sean.
“Ah…not exactly. We just exchanged a few words this afternoon at Starbucks.”
That brought Blue Eyes out of her speechlessness. She laughed, the same low chuckle that had spread awareness—thick and warm like honey—through his nerve endings earlier that afternoon. “Exchanged words?” She threw Sean a self-deprecating look. “He’s putting it nicely. Like a total schmuck, I ordered a Caramel Macchiato before checking to see if I had enough cash on me.” She smiled at Mac. “And he swooped in to my rescue with his fifty-two cents.”
Uncomfortable being painted as the hero, as he was anything but, Mac said, “I was just trying to prevent a theft from happening. I saw the way you eyed that tip jar and was afraid you were going to help yourself.”
She laughed. “You noticed that, huh? I’m not going to lie. I thought about it.”
And for the second time that day, he found himself smiling. Genuinely smiling. It felt a bit strange, but also familiar, like coming across a photo of one’s younger self. No longer the face in the mirror, but recognizable just the same.
Sean, no doubt, noticed Mac’s expression and for some reason, seemed exceptionally pleased. Observing Sean’s grin, Mac’s instincts—honed from years of police work—told him this dinner invite was a set-up.
“Well, let me officially introduce you two then. Mac, this is my sister, Emily Simon.” Sean nudged Emily forward, and she moved with all the enthusiasm of someone being pushed in front of a speeding train.
Mac extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Emily. Sean’s told me a lot about you.” She accepted his handshake, her warm fingers fitting perfectly in his grasp. And even after he’d released her hand, the heat of her skin lingered on his palm.
“Really? That’s surprising. I’m afraid Sean’s kept me totally in the dark about you. Until about ten minutes ago.”
Her response confirmed his suspicions. Sean had arranged a blind date where they were not only blind to each other, but also to the fact it was a date. That bastard.
He flipped through his go-to excuses for getting out of situations like this. Something like, Oh damn, just got a text from my neighbor that my dog is loose again. Better run! Too bad he didn’t actually have a dog. Besides, Sean knew him too well to fall for one of his exit strategies.
Looked like he was stuck.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive. He’d definitely noticed her at Starbucks. He’d felt her eyes on him while he tried to decide what the hell a Caffè Misto was, and he’d enjoyed the view from behind as she ordered her drink. Far from stick thin, she had luscious curves in all the right places, perfect hourglass proportions.
But he hadn’t gone to Starbucks today to meet women. In fact, lately, he didn’t go anywhere to meet women, preferring his solitude to the complications of a relationship. And he’d been very upfront with the few women he had seen in the last year, making sure they held no delusions about him being relationship material.
And since Emily, with her fresh face, dark suit and buttoned-up appearance, had an aura that practically shouted relationship, he knew he would be wise to avoid her—even if it meant spoiling his friend’s matchmaking scheme.
Breaking the awkward silence, Sean asked, “Mac, what can I get you to drink?”
He opened his mouth to answer when Emily interrupted. “It was nice to meet you Mac, but I was just on my way out. I need to get going.” She hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder and took a step toward the door.
“Come on, Emily. Stay,” Sean said, pleading. “You haven’t even had any of your coffee yet.”
She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll take a rain check on the coffee. I have to go. I’ve got a thing…”
“What thing?” Sean asked.
“Just a thing.” Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Sean like two icy blue lasers. “It’s none of your business, big brother.”
“I’m sure your thing can wait until tomorrow, Emily. Besides, Julie and the kids will be upset if you’re gone before they get back.”
Amused by her discomfort, Mac enjoyed tracking the flush of color that bloomed from the neckline of her cream-colored silk blouse to her cheeks. Obviously, she was as unwilling to participate in Sean’s matchmaking as he was, but Sean wasn’t backing down.
“Fine. I guess my thing can wait until later,” she said, although her tone said something closer to I guess my strangling you can wait until later.
“I hope whatever you’re cooking is worth it, Sean.”
Sean beamed, triumphant. “Oh, trust me. You’re going to love it.”
* * *
Sean rummaged through the refrigerator in search of a beer for Mac, and Emily leaned against the kitchen counter. She gripped her coffee mug with both hands in the hopes that if she kept them occupied, she wouldn’t be tempted to use one of them to whack Sean upside the head. She blew on the steaming coffee and savored the aroma, unobtrusively studying Mac from above the rim of her cup.
Counseling skills clicking into gear, she analyzed his body language. Avoidance of eye contact. Knees pointed toward her. Head tilted away from her. Interesting. The head and body did not seem to be in agreement about her.
Did he realize Sean was trying to set them up? If he did, he certainly could
n’t have guessed Sean’s other motive.
Unbelievable—that her brother thought it was a good idea for her to play therapist to Mac under the guise of dating him. Of all the cockamamie schemes Sean had ever masterminded, this one took the stupid prize. And the unethical prize. And an honorable mention for dumbest idea ever.
But she could never stay mad at him for long, because—misguided as he was—he usually had the best of intentions. He was a fixer by nature, and it bothered him to see anyone struggle. And if Sean’s story was any indication, Mac was certainly struggling.
Oh, she’d forgive Sean for this stupid stunt. Eventually. She always did. But, for now, she embraced her ire. And that meant trying to make the situation as awkward as possible for him with her silence. Maybe Mac had the same idea. He hadn’t uttered a word since their introduction.
Sean tossed Mac a beer and his first conversation pitch. “Great fall weather we’re having, huh?”
Mac and Emily nodded. Ball one.
And the second pitch. “I love the huge, old trees in this neighborhood when they change color. But when those leaves fall, it’s going to be a bitch to rake.”
That earned an hmm from Mac as he tipped up his beer bottle and more silence from Emily. Ball two.
She anticipated the third pitch would be a curve ball.
“So Mac, Emily was telling me earlier that she was thinking of picking up the newest Dan Brown novel,” Sean said with forced casualness, taking a sip of his beer. “You’ve read it, haven’t you? Care to give us your review?”
Mac smiled, raised his eyebrows, and appeared to assess the ball to see if it was within the strike zone. “It was good.”
Talk to Me Page 2
