Emma didn't believe her. "We should get drinks or dinner one night. Or maybe I'll have you over here for dinner," she said with a smile as she handed over the application. "And I won't cook. We'll get take-out and catch up."
"Sounds like a plan. I'll call you tomorrow as soon as I hear. I feel very good about your chances, Emma."
"I do, too," she said, glancing around the room. "This place already feels like home, and I am so ready to start my life over again."
They walked down the stairs together. Alicia pointed out the door to the laundry room, and showed her the garage, and then they said goodbye.
"Thanks for waiting," Emma said as she got into Max's car.
"No problem." He set down his phone and started the car.
"Where do you live, Max? I don't think I know that."
"In an apartment in Hayes Valley near Golden Gate Park. It's nothing special, definitely not as charming as the one you just looked at. The rent is good, and it's not far from work."
"Did you spend a lot of time looking for a place?"
He shook his head. "It was the first place I saw. The job came though, and I needed a place to sleep, so I didn't put a lot of thought into it. I wasn't sure at the time how long I'd be staying anyway."
"Are you sure now?" she asked.
"No. I moved back for my mom and for Spencer. Once Spencer is on his feet, I'll have to rethink my situation."
"I can't imagine why you'd choose L.A. over San Francisco. This is a great city. And you have the same job here that you had in L.A. Your family is close by. Why would you leave?" She paused. "Are you missing your friends?"
"There are a few people I miss," he conceded.
"Female people?"
He shot her a quick look. "Are we back to that question?"
"You didn't answer it before. I'm curious. You're not bad looking. You must have had a girlfriend at some point.
"Not bad looking, huh?" he echoed with a grin. "You're really good for my ego."
"You know what you look like," she retorted. "So what's the story?"
"There have been women in my life, but no relationship that lasted more than a few months. I've always worked a lot, so there wasn't much time for anything else."
"Was it really lack of time that kept you from a serious relationship?" she challenged. "Or do you prefer not to let anyone get too close?"
"You think you have me all figured out, don't you?"
"Actually, I don't have you figured out at all, and it bugs me," she admitted.
He laughed. "You are honest, Callaway, I'll give you that."
"You call me Callaway when you want to put distance between us."
"What do you want me to say, Emma?" he asked, enunciating her name.
"I don't know. It's hard to get you past cryptic."
"I thought the mystery added to my charm."
"You do have some charm when you choose to use it, which isn't often around me," she pointed out.
"Because we have a professional relationship."
The reminder didn't ring true anymore. They'd moved past purely professional a while ago, but she let his words slide. "Was it difficult for you to be a cop and have a brother who was in prison?" she asked. It was a question that had been on her mind since she'd first read about Spencer's crime.
"In the beginning, there was some talk, but after the trial it went away. My friends and fellow officers in Los Angeles didn't know Spencer. It was easy for them to forget about him."
"Probably easier if you didn't talk about him, either," she put in. "And you didn't, did you?"
"There was nothing to say."
"Did you tell your girlfriends about him?"
"Once or twice. It didn't go well. Dating the brother of a murderer wasn't very appealing. They had to wonder at some point if I was like my brother. Bad genes can run in families."
She thought about his words. "Did you ever wonder that?"
He shot her a quick look before gazing back at the road. Then he said, "No."
"Are you sure?"
"All I wondered was how love could make people so crazy. I watched the emotion destroy every single person in my family."
"There must have been a flip side, a happy beginning…"
"And a terrible ending," he said darkly.
"So you've never been in love?"
"Never have and doubt I ever will." He glanced over at her. "And don't take that as a challenge or a call to action."
She smiled, knowing that a part of her had reacted in exactly that way. Max was starting to read her a little too well. "Why would I take it as a challenge? We're just colleagues, aren't we?"
"Yes," he said. "That's all we can ever be."
Another challenge.
Fortunately or unfortunately—their conversation was over. Max pulled up in front of her office building.
"Here you go," he said.
"We'll talk later?"
"Yeah, let me know if you find any new leads."
"You, too." She shut the door and watched him drive away, feeling oddly lonely. She'd been with him since lunchtime, and for half of that time he'd annoyed her, so why did she feel like she was already missing him?
Shaking her head, she went into the building and upstairs to her office.
She spent the next hour going over her notes. Then she got on the computer. Max had already run a check on Ruth Harbough, but what about the son, Jeffrey?
She found a Jeffrey Harbough living in San Jose. He was the right age and according to Max, Jeffrey had moved to San Jose to live with his father when he was twelve. She wondered about that. Why would Ruth have let her only son live solely with his father? Had there been behavioral issues? Or had Ruth wanted more privacy—maybe so she could have a romantic relationship with a woman?
She felt guilty even thinking that. Ruth had sworn to Max that her relationship with Margaret was platonic. There was no reason not to believe her, although, it might be interesting to speak to Jeffrey. In fact, she should get Max to go with her. Max had seen a man looking into the windows of Brady's Bar. If it had been Jeffrey, Max might recognize him.
She was about to pick up her phone to call Max, when a knock at her half-open door brought her head up. She was surprised to see her older sister, Nicole, standing in the doorway.
Nicole appeared to have come from work. Her long, blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a cream-colored sheath dress under a black blazer that matched her black pumps. Nicole was a part-time teacher at a private college in the city, but in the past few years she'd dropped her schedule down to only two days a week, so that she would have plenty of time to work with her five-year-old son, Brandon, on his developmental skills.
As Nicole entered her office, Emma noticed the weariness in her sister's blue eyes, which wasn't unusual. Nicole was always tired. Fighting to find a cure for her child's autism, dealing with a husband whose job took him away from the house for days at a time and maintaining a job kept Nicole extremely busy. But today there was more than just exhaustion in her sister's gaze; there was pain.
Emma got to her feet. "What's wrong? Is it Brandon?"
"It's not Brandon; it's Ryan. He moved out this afternoon."
"What?" she asked in shock. Ryan and Nicole had been having problems; that was no secret. Brandon's diagnosis had torn their family apart, but she couldn't believe their marriage was over. They'd been in love since they were teenagers. She didn't want to believe that the kind of love they had could end.
"Don't make me say it again," Nicole said, sinking down into the chair in front of Emma's desk. "I haven't told anyone else yet. Mom is watching Brandon right now. I had to go to a meeting at school, and I should have gone right home to relieve her, but somehow I found myself driving over here." Her eyes filled with moisture and shame. "They're going to be so disappointed in me, Em, especially Jack. Callaways don't fail."
"They'll understand," she said, although she doubted Jack would want Nicole to give up. Her stepfather
didn't quit on anything or anyone, and he expected his kids to put up the same fight. "Mom will definitely understand," she amended. "She divorced our dad. She knows that some relationships don't work."
"Our father was an asshole. Ryan is not." Her voice broke, and her lips trembled as she said, "I thought Ryan was the love of my life. Is it me? Am I the one to blame? I know Ryan thinks so. Do you, Emma?"
Emma didn't know what to say. Nicole's life had gotten so complicated and so difficult. She couldn't begin to judge. "Why don't we go somewhere and talk this out?"
"Do you have time?"
"For you—always. What time is Mom expecting you home?"
"Not for another hour. I cut my meeting short. I lied and said I wasn't feeling well."
"I don't think that was really a lie." Nicole had been a warrior mom the last few years, fighting with every ounce of strength that she had, but right now she didn't see that fierce determination anywhere.
Emma grabbed her bag from under her desk and stood up. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"Wherever they serve really big drinks."
Chapter Eleven
He'd never considered himself a family man, Max thought, as he pulled up in front of his mother's house on Tuesday night. His sense of family had been ripped apart when his father left. For years, his mother had been too depressed to really participate in her sons' lives, so he and Spencer had learned how to fend for themselves.
When Spencer went away to school and it was just Max and his mother in the house, the rooms had seemed incredibly quiet and still. He could barely remember what they'd talked about those few years, but their relationship had never had any depth. When he was in high school, his mom was working full-time, so they only saw each other a few hours each night. And as he recalled, they'd spent most of those few hours talking about Spencer. Spencer had been very good at keeping in touch, and his mother loved telling him all about Spencer's exploits. When it had come his turn to leave, she'd barely blinked. She'd just kissed him on the cheek, wished him well, and told him she'd see him at Christmas. But she hadn't seen him that Christmas, because Spencer couldn't come home, and she'd gone to visit him instead. That had been the final straw.
For the last decade he'd spent most holidays either alone or with friends, and he'd been okay with that. There was a freedom to being single. He'd never had to answer to anyone. He had complete control over every aspect of his life.
But sometimes he got a little lonely. Sometimes, he got that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him yearn for something he couldn't even define. Was that something family? Was it love?
That was a scary thought. Shaking his head, he pulled the key out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. When he entered his mother's house, the quiet gave him a bad feeling.
"Mom?" he called.
She didn't answer. He made his way down the hall and into the kitchen.
His mother was seated at the table, a cup of tea by her elbow, a newspaper in front of her, but when she turned her gaze to his, he saw the tears in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" He took the chair next to hers. "Where's Spencer?"
"I don't know. He wasn't here when I got home from work. I gave him a cell phone to use, but he's not answering my calls."
Max didn't like the sound of that. "When did you last see him?"
"This morning. I was going to take the day off, so we could spend time together, but Spencer insisted I go to work. He didn't want me hovering, asking him questions he didn't want to answer. He said he didn't need another jailer." She paused with a sniff, her eyes sad and confused. "Why would he say such a thing to me? I was trying to help him, Max."
Apparently, Spencer's second day of freedom wasn't going any better than his first.
"He's adjusting to life on the outside. It can't be easy for him," Max said, making excuses for his brother, because he knew that's what his mother wanted to hear.
"I thought we'd go back to the way it was. I guess that was stupid."
"More like optimistic." He wished he could make her feel better. But he'd never had that much effect on his mother's emotions. Spencer could make her laugh or cry or be deliriously happy, but Max had never been able to find that connection with her.
"You're being—nice," she said, suspicion in her voice. "Why?"
"Because you're upset."
"I didn't think you cared about my feelings. It's not like we've spent much time together the last several years."
"We both know why that is."
She nodded. "Yes, I blamed you for not getting Spencer out. My boy was in pain, and I was desperate to help him. I would have done the same for you, Max."
He somehow doubted that.
"At any rate, I want to help Spencer now, but he's changed. I thought he'd be happy to be free. But he's angry about all the time he lost. He can't see the positive. He can only dwell on the negative."
"He's missed a lot. I don't think he realized how much until he got out of the insular world of the prison. Now he can see what he's been missing, and it hurts more. It's going to take him awhile to get his feet under him again."
"I understand that. I don't know what it's like to be in prison, but I do know how it feels when your world is suddenly turned upside down. I felt like that when your father left. It took me years to accept that he wasn't coming back, that our marriage was finished.
She didn't have to tell him that. He'd had a front row seat to her anger. Instead of telling him bedtime stories, she'd railed for hours against his no-good father.
Glancing at his watch, Max realized it was after six and already dark outside. He was starting to wonder where Spencer was, too.
"I'm getting worried," his mother said, meeting his gaze. "You don't think Spencer has taken off, do you?"
"With no money and no car, probably not. Maybe he's job hunting."
"I suppose," she said doubtfully. "You don't think that he would…"
Her voice trailed away, but she didn't need to finish the question. He knew exactly what she was concerned about. "I don't know. I hope he knows better than to track Stephanie now. I'll take a look around the neighborhood. Maybe he's just walking around."
Relief filled her eyes as he stood up. "I think that's a good idea."
"I'm sure he hasn't gone far."
"I hope not. I'll get dinner started." She smiled. "I feel better now. You've always had a way of calming everyone down, Max. I'm really glad you're home."
* * *
As Max left the house, he paused to zip up his jacket. There was a chill bite in the air, and the fog sweeping in off the ocean sent a fine, misty spray against his face. The cold felt good. It was invigorating, re-energizing, and he needed the mental kick to clear his head. He was used to concentrating on his job without having to deal with family issues. He was also used to doing his job without having to deal with a distraction like Emma.
Sure, he'd worked with partners over the years. He still did. That was unavoidable, but no one had ever unsettled him the way Emma did.
He'd been shocked at how his mind had wandered when they'd been looking at her new apartment. He hadn't had those kinds of daydreams in a very long time. It was because she was off limits, because he couldn't have her. He wasn't supposed to touch her, so that's all he wanted to do.
He wasn't used to saying no to himself or to a woman, but when it came to Emma, that's exactly what he needed to do. Emma didn't just distract him from his work, she also made him think about things that he'd put out of his mind years ago, things like living with a woman, getting married, having kids, being part of a family, having in-laws.
And Emma was a Callaway—talk about pressure. They would want only the best kind of man for Emma, someone who would be absolutely and totally committed to her forever.
Just thinking about forever made him sweat.
So don't think about it, he ordered himself. Don't think about her.
He picked up his pace and crossed the street, heading
down to the beach. Both he and Spencer had liked to escape to the sea, and while it was too cold to surf, the sound of the crashing waves might still have drawn Spencer to the shore.
There was a kid's playground across the street from the beach, and the streetlight revealed a male figure sitting on a low brick wall gazing out at the sea.
Spencer!
Relief fled through him. He'd hoped Spencer would be nearby and not across town trying to see Stephanie.
He walked across the playground and sat down on the wall next to him.
Spencer glanced his way, not looking at all surprised to see him. "Did she send you out to look for me?"
"I volunteered. Mom is worried about you."
"Really? I had no idea. She only left five voice message and four texts," he said sarcastically.
"So you do have the phone she gave you."
Spencer let out a sigh. "I know I'm being an asshole. I was going to call her back but then I listened to her first message, and she started crying in the middle of it. She cried last night when I said goodnight and this morning when I asked for cereal. Did she always cry this much?"
"Yes. Don't you remember all the fights she and Dad had—all the emotional breakdowns before and after the divorce? She was a mess. She cried over everything."
"That was a long time ago."
"True, but she's always been emotional. She cried at your eighth grade graduation, the day you got your driver's license, the morning you left for college." Max shook his head. "Actually, when you went away to college, she cried for about three months straight." He paused. "In case you don't know—she adores you. When Dad left, she turned to you for support, and you stepped up. You took care of her and once you started doing that, you became her savior."
"Some savior I turned out to be."
"Your arrest and conviction did not lessen her opinion of you. When you went to jail, she felt lost again, but she kept her sanity and her focus by concentrating on getting you out of prison. Now that you're free, she wants you to be happy, and she's going to work as hard as she can to make that happen. She wants the two of you to be as close as you used to be."
So This Is Love Page 12
