Talk to Me

by Stephanie Reid

  She rose to gather her things and tried not to decipher the meaning of the warmth that spread through her body when she heard Mac say we.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Emily! Come in. Come in.” Mac’s neighbor smiled with his whole face and charmed Emily immediately.

  “Mac told me what happened at your office this morning. Such a shame. People these days…” He shook his head like a disappointed school teacher. “I just don’t know.”

  “I know,” she said. “I couldn’t believe it myself.”

  “Well, not to worry. You’re safe here.”

  “Thank you, Juan, for opening your home to me.” She pointed to Mac with her thumb and cupped her other hand around her mouth in a stage whisper. “I tried to tell this guy it wasn’t necessary, but he’s a stubborn ass, and he wouldn’t let me go home.”

  Mac rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

  Juan barked out a hearty laugh. “Oh, Mac, I like her, she’s feisty.”

  “She’s something all right,” Mac said, cryptically.

  “Emily, what can I get you to drink? Iced tea? Hot tea? Coffee? Soda? Milk? Juice?”

  Juan’s eager hospitality made her smile. “Just ice water would be lovely. Thank you.”

  “Bottled water? Or from the tap?” Juan asked.

  She and Mac exchanged amused glances. “Bottled if you have it.”

  “Of course. Of course.” Juan disappeared into the galley kitchen, leaving her and Mac alone in the apartment’s entryway.

  To say it felt awkward would be an understatement.

  At her office, they’d shared such an intimate moment—not physically perhaps, but she’d opened herself emotionally to Mac more than she had to anyone else since her parents’ death. She’d let herself be vulnerable. And she felt they’d bonded somehow.

  But now, she stood uncomfortably by the door, unsure what to with her hands or how to stand and feeling utterly ludicrous for placing so much meaning in it all.

  “I should be back shortly after eleven,” he said.

  “Okay. Sounds good.”

  “Hey, why don’t you give me your cell phone, and I’ll put my number in it in case you need anything.”

  She retrieved her phone from her purse and handed it to him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “I know, but I’ll feel better knowing you have it.” He concentrated on navigating through her smartphone. “You don’t have anyone programmed into your speed dials.”

  “I know. I just got that phone yesterday to replace the one Jamie flushed. I haven’t had time to transfer my contacts.”

  “Well, I’m putting my number in your first speed dial spot. Number one.”

  He returned the phone, and she felt a quick thrill when their hands touched around the device. “Number one, huh? Somebody thinks pretty highly of himself.”

  He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but…”

  He reached out, giving her arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She wondered dizzily if he was going to lean in and kiss her goodbye, but after a moment’s hesitation, he dropped his hand. “All right. Well, enjoy yourself. Try to get some rest.”

  “I will. Thanks, Mac.”

  “Juan,” he said to the older gentleman, who graciously stood a few privacy-giving paces away, bottled water in hand. “Don’t forget.” Opening the door, Mac pointed to the deadbolt and chain lock.

  “Got it, Mac.” Juan shut the door and quickly locked the knob, deadbolt, and chain.

  He turned back to Emily, placing a paternal hand on her shoulder and ushering her toward the living room. “Please, come have a seat.”

  She sank into the comfortable overstuffed chair next to Juan’s recliner and took a sip from the bottle of water he’d given her.

  “I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay here this evening. I feel a little ridiculous about it. But I suppose I’m giving my brother some peace of mind by not staying at my own apartment.”

  Juan coughed out a quick laugh. “I don’t think your brother is the only one worried about you.” He slapped his knee. “You should have heard Mac when he asked me if you could come over. If that boy doesn’t have it bad, I don’t know who does.”

  Emily’s stomach dipped. “What do you mean?”

  Juan could barely contain his amusement. “Oh, he was so worried. ‘Make sure she eats dinner, Juan,’ he said. As if I would let anyone in my home go without a good home-cooked meal.”

  Emily didn’t know what to think. Was it possible Mac’s feelings went deeper than a sense of duty toward his best friend’s sister?

  “He’s very close to my brother. I’m sure he’s just doing what he thinks Sean would want.”

  “Hmph. If you say so,” Juan said, unconvinced.

  “It’s true. We really haven’t known each other very long at all.”

  Juan’s brown eyes took on a far away sheen. “Sometimes you don’t need to know someone very long to know they’re your other half.” He rose from his recliner, smiling. “Wait right here. I have something to show you.” He walked over to an old bookshelf where he picked up a framed picture then returned to his recliner, easing his aging body back into the chair. “This is my Vanessa and me.”

  Emily took the heavy pewter frame he handed her, reverently studying the beautiful young couple looking back at her. The portrait was in color, but had the muted, slightly yellowed hue of photos from the mid sixties. But there was nothing muted or subdued about the subjects. The young woman wore a simple white wedding gown and a radiant expression. And Juan—devastatingly handsome in his youth—looked like he’d just won the lottery.

  “What a beautiful couple,” Emily said, smiling.

  “Ah, Vanessa had all the beauty. Inside and out. She was a good woman.” He pointed to the picture frame, his voice wistful. “That picture was taken on our wedding day, just two weeks after I met her.”

  “Just two weeks?” she asked, astonished.

  “What can I say? When you know, you know.” He leaned back into his recliner, back into his memories. “It was nineteen sixty-eight, and I’d just been drafted into the Army. I met Vanessa and fell in love with her immediately.” He raised his gaze to Emily’s. “And not that puppy love, but the sock-you-in-the-gut, have-to-be-with-this-person kind of love. She was my soul mate, and I knew I wanted to marry her.” He looked longingly at the portrait so Emily handed it back to him. He took it, lovingly staring at his Vanessa. “I told her that when I returned from Vietnam, we would be married, but Vanessa was having none of it. She wanted to be my wife before I left.”

  How would she have felt in Vanessa’s place? It seemed an incredible risk, the possibility of marrying someone only to lose them to a violent and bloody war.

  “I told Vanessa that I didn’t want to make her a widow. That if I came home whole, then we could be married. But she told me, ‘Juan, I don’t care if you come home whole. I just want as much of you as I can have for as long as I can have you.’” The older man’s eyes grew misty. “I could never deny Vanessa anything, and so we married. The day before I left for Vietnam.”

  Emily’s throat tightened at the sound of raw emotion in his voice.

  “As it turned out, I came back a different man.” He shook his head in self-disgust. “I was angry. I drank too much. But Vanessa, she stuck by me, for better, for worse. And eventually she brought me back.”

  Emily stayed silent as Juan seemed to lose himself in a lifetime of unspoken memories.

  His voice was husky when he spoke again. “We had forty-three wonderful years together before she got sick and passed away. And not a day goes by that I don’t thank God she was mine.”

  Emily thought about her own fears of loving someone, only to lose them as she had her parents. Juan and Vanessa evidently felt their love was worth any risk. And even now, after having lost his lovely Vanessa, Juan clearly had no regrets.

  Between Julie encouraging her to take a chanc
e and Juan sharing the story of his once-in-a-lifetime love, Emily began to suspect the universe was trying to tell her something. And because in her heart she knew she was already half in love with Mac, she thought she might be ready to listen.

  She cleared her throat. “She sounds like she was a pretty special woman.”

  Juan nodded, his smile trembling. “She was. She really was.” He took a deep breath. “Would you listen to me? Going on and on and talking your ear off. I should get started on our enchiladas.” He leaned toward Emily, a twinkle in his eye. “I make the best enchiladas. Vanessa’s recipe of course.” He patted Emily’s knee and started toward the kitchen.

  Following him, Emily decided this might be a good opportunity to learn more about Mac.

  “So, how long have you known Mac?”

  Juan pulled a glass pan and other assorted bowls out of the cabinet. “A couple of years, I guess. He moved in a few months before Vanessa got sick.” He shuffled over to the refrigerator, grabbing tomatoes, an onion, a few assorted colored peppers. “He was a quiet neighbor. We didn’t see much of him. But when Vanessa got sick, sometimes I would come home late from the hospital and a few minutes after walking in the door, I’d hear someone knocking.” He smiled fondly. “And there Mac would be with a pizza and a couple of beers.”

  “He cares about people.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d voiced the thought, until Juan responded, “Yes. He’s a good man.” He looked up from the vegetables he was chopping and said with a wink, “And the ladies seem to think so, too.”

  “The ladies? Does Mac have a lot of girlfriends?” Please, let the answer be no.

  “Not a lot, especially not lately, but he’s no saint. He’s a healthy young man with a healthy appetite, if you know what I mean.”

  Unfortunately, she knew exactly what Juan meant. A question sprang to her lips before she could edit the pathetic out. “So…would you say he goes back for seconds or is he more the dine-and-dash type?”

  Juan thought for a moment, smoothing down his mustache, before answering. “Come to think of it, I usually don’t see the same girl twice.”

  Juan’s answer effectively sucked the wind out of her sails. She grabbed a baby tomato and popped it into her mouth, chewing to cover the frown she knew had formed.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea, though,” Juan said, looking at her with his knife paused over a green pepper. “Mac is a lot like I was at his age. We’re the kind of men who—once we open our heart to a woman, once we let her in, we don’t ever let her go.” He resumed chopping. “When Mac finally falls in love with a woman—it will be forever.”

  * * *

  Mac strode purposefully into the detectives’ office, stopping in front of Detective Dorsey’s desk. He skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Where are you at on this morning’s break-in?”

  Dorsey didn’t look away from his computer screen, answering in a bored voice. “Franks—Carl Franks, that is—definitely did it. All of her clients’ files were accounted for. Except his.”

  “Yeah, she told me that. So, does that mean you aren’t following up on her blind date? Frank?”

  Dorsey turned away from his computer to face Mac, visibly irritated. “Look, I know this is Simon’s sister and he’s a close friend of yours, but seeing as you’re not my superior, I don’t think I owe you any explanations as to how I run my investigation.”

  Mac made a conscious effort to control the volume of his voice, despite his rising frustration. “That’s a no then, isn’t it?”

  Dorsey held his hands out, palms up. “What the fuck do you want me to do, Mac? Chase down leads that don’t even exist?” He dropped his arms and pointed at Mac. “Other than your gut feeling that he was a creepy dude, what the hell kind of evidence do I have? Nothing, that’s what.”

  Mac tried to rein in his temper. He knew Dorsey was a good detective—competent and thorough despite his looming retirement, which made some cops apathetic—but he couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t doing enough. “So where’s Carl Franks then?”

  “Fuck if I know. He’s not at his house or crashing with any of his friends. And nobody’s talking.” Dorsey sounded less irritated with Mac this time and more pissed off at the dead end his case had reached.

  “You ping his cell phone?”

  “He doesn’t have one. Or if he does, it’s an unregistered prepaid phone.”

  “Shit.” Mac ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with Dorsey’s news.

  “You got the hots for this chick or something, Mac? I mean, geez,” Dorsey said with a gravelly laugh. “I’ve never seen you with your panties in such a twist before.”

  Mac gave Dorsey the same answer he recited to himself whenever he started to wonder what Emily meant to him. “It’s Simon’s sister. And I want to get the guy who thinks he can fuck with a cop’s family.”

  * * *

  Tapping his knuckles on Juan’s door, Mac listened to the low drone of the TV and waited as the doorknob, deadbolt, and chain lock were successively unlocked.

  “Hey, Mac. Come on in,” Juan whispered, leading Mac into the living room. “She fell asleep on the sofa.”

  Hands beneath her cheek, Emily lay curled up with a quilt covering her legs. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. A stray lock of bronze colored hair rested on her flawlessly fair cheek, and his hand reached out—of its own volition—to tuck it behind her ear.

  “She’s had a long day, I think,” he whispered to Juan. “I hate to wake her up.”

  He bent down and slid one arm under her head and the other under her knees. When she didn’t so much as stir, he lifted her off the couch. Working as a silent team, Juan opened his apartment door and then—using the key he had to Mac’s apartment—opened Mac’s door.

  Mac stepped over the threshold, turning sideways so he didn’t bump Emily’s head on the doorframe. “Thanks again, Juan. I owe you one.”

  Juan waved him off. “You don’t owe me anything. That’s what neighbors are for.” He gave Mac’s shoulder a quick, paternal squeeze. “And take it from a man who knows a good woman when he sees one—don’t you let that girl go.”

  Mac laughed softly, trying to joke to disguise the emotions welling inside. “If I let her go right now Juan, I’ll drop her.”

  Juan turned and walked across the hall to his own apartment, affectionately mumbling, “Ha ha. You know what I meant, smart-ass.”

  Making his way in the dark, Mac carried Emily back to his bedroom. When he’d stopped by Juan’s place earlier that afternoon, he’d also come by his own apartment to straighten up and change the sheets before Emily’s arrival. He realized too late that he’d forgotten to have her pack a bag, but it didn’t matter since she was already asleep and evidently going to sleep in her clothes. He laid her down gently, trying not to wake her, then moved to the foot of the bed to remove her shoes.

  He lifted her lower leg, feeling the lithe firmness of her calf in his palm, and had to beat back the impulse to run his hand up the length of her toned leg. Calling forth his reserves of chivalry, he went about efficiently removing her shoes. Very clinical. No lingering touches on her shapely legs. Much as he burned for it.

  “Mmm. Mac?” The sound of her voice, husky and deliciously sleepy, made his body tighten in response.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I woke you,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

  “S’okay.” She sat up on his bed.

  Lord help him, Emily was in his bed. And with her hair becomingly mussed, she was a vision that would tempt a saint.

  “Is this your bedroom?” she asked, taking in her moonlit surroundings. “How did I get here?”

  Not sure how she would feel about having been manhandled by him, he answered ambiguously. “Juan helped me bring you over. Do you want to borrow something more comfortable to sleep in?”

  “I called Julie and had her bring an overnight bag to Juan’s apartment. Do you know where it is?”

  Strange
. Juan hadn’t mentioned that. “I guess he forgot. He didn’t bring it over here.”

  She eyed the alarm clock on the nightstand. “It’s pretty late. I don’t want to bother him at this hour.” She sat up, pulling off her blazer. “I’ll just sleep in my clothes and get my bag in the morning.” After shucking her blazer and revealing the sexy silk shell beneath, she tossed it onto the chair beside his bed.

  It was innocent enough, but watching her remove her blazer made him wish she would just keep going—keep removing her clothes, starting with her silk shirt. Then he wanted to run his fingers through her tousled tresses and kiss her senseless. Instead, he cleared his throat and rose from the bed.

  “You’re not going to be comfortable in those dressy clothes. I’m sure I’ve got something that would work as a night shirt.”

  He pulled the chain for the light in his closet and squinted against the brightness of the uncovered bulb. His eyes adjusted, and after a few seconds of flicking through hangers, he grabbed one of his well-worn—and therefore softer—dress shirts. He guessed the tails of the shirt would hang down low enough to cover her well. Unfortunately.

  “Will this work?”

  Emily stood up and held the shirt against the front of her body, testing the length. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll just go change real quick.”

  Mac showed her to the bathroom and then grabbed an extra blanket and pillow to throw on the couch where he’d be sleeping. He sank down on the sofa and rested his head in his hands for a moment. One would think after the long day he’d had that he would be exhausted and ready for sleep, but instead his body was alive and thrumming. Thoughts of Emily sleeping in his bed, wearing his shirt—goddamn.

  He could no longer deny his intense attraction to her, but there were a million reasons why he needed to keep his distance—not the least of which was to maintain his focus on her protection. Giving his head a thought-clearing shake, he resolved to keep a professional distance between them.

  He heard the bathroom door open, and she appeared in the living room, proving that God had a sense of humor. The woman he’d just promised to stay away from was standing before him, her shapely legs exposed and looking incredibly tempting in his shirt. His woman, wearing his shirt. He should not be thinking about her this way. But his bigger problem at the moment was that he’d just stopped thinking—period.