So This Is Love

chapter Eighteen

At two, Emma was still waiting for a call back from Jarod. Frustrated with the slow pace of her investigation, she took a break and headed down to the Second Street Deli for a late lunch. There were a few people in front of her in line. Gus worked behind the counter, making sandwiches as fast as he could. Spencer ran the register with the same speed.

They seemed to make a pretty good team, Emma thought, as she watched them communicate in brief, short sentences. They didn’t waste time with questions or explanations. They just got their work done. She hoped the job would keep Spencer going for a while. It would certainly ease Max's mind to have his brother focused on rebuilding his life and not reconnecting with the woman who had pretty much ruined his life.

Emma was both impressed and a little bewildered by Spencer's feelings about his ex-girlfriend. Max said his brother wasn't bitter, that he still loved Stephanie, and Emma couldn't imagine why that was. It seemed to her that Stephanie had betrayed Spencer, but apparently he didn't see it that way. It was none of her business, but that didn't stop her from thinking about it.

The two brothers seemed completely different when it came to love. Max didn't want to love anyone or have any kind of relationship that came with expectations. Spencer seemed to love with every particle of his being.

She fell somewhere in the middle of the love spectrum, probably closer to Max's position than Spencer's. But unlike Max she did want marriage and children. She wanted to have her own little family unit some day. She just wanted to be sure she fell for the right man, a man she could count on, not someone like her biological father, who couldn't handle the pressure of a wife and kids, and not someone like Jon, who'd turned out to be shallow and selfish.

Max was a man who could be counted on. Only problem was, he didn't want someone to count on him. She wondered if he'd ever change his mind.

The line moved and she stepped up to the counter to order.

"The usual?" Gus asked. "Or have you switched to the veggie wrap?"

"I am trying to keep the meat to once a week, so veggies it is. How are things going around here?"

"Good. Better than I expected. Spencer works hard, does what I say. Can't ask for more than that."

"I'm glad. How's Mary?"

"No contractions yet, but she's happy to be home decorating the nursery. You want the sandwich to go?"

"No, I'll eat here today." She moved down to the register

Spencer gave her a brief smile. "Back again?"

"I work a block from here."

"Gus seems to have a steady clientele from the neighborhood."

"Are you getting a drink?"

"Right. I forgot." She stepped over to the refrigerator case to grab an iced tea. As she came back to the register, she saw Spencer staring out the window with an odd look on his face.

She followed his gaze to a woman with dark brown hair who was standing on the sidewalk in front of the deli. She had her hand on a stroller and was pushing it back and forth as she talked on her cell phone.

"I'll be right back," Spencer said, then moved quickly toward the door.

She watched as he approached the woman. He said something, then his expression changed abruptly. He held up a hand as if apologizing and then returned to the deli.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"I thought it was someone I knew. It turns out it wasn't."

"Are you talking about your ex-girlfriend?"

His lips tightened. "Max told you about her."

"A little. She was also in the articles I read about the case." She paused as Gus set her plate on the counter. "Thanks, Gus."

"You're welcome. I have to make a call. It looks like we have a break right now," Gus told Spencer. "Give me a holler if we get more customers."

"You got it, boss," Spencer said. "How are you paying, Emma?"

"Credit card," she said, pulling a card out of her wallet.

He ran it for her, then said, "Do you need a receipt?"

"No, I'm good. I'm sorry if I got too personal. I have a really curious nature, and sometimes a big mouth. Just ignore me. That's what Max usually does."

"You must drive him crazy," Spencer said.

"I think I do," she admitted.

"I did think the woman outside was Stephanie," he said, surprising her with his candor. "She's been on my mind a lot, especially since I got out of prison. Max thinks I'm nuts to want to see her again, but I feel like we need to have a talk—just one more conversation."

"Would that give you some kind of closure?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it would make things worse. But I can't seem to let the idea go. She's in the city. I'm in the city. How can I not talk to her one more time?"

"How do you think she would feel about seeing you again?"

He shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea."

"When is the last time you spoke to her?"

"Six and a half years ago—the last time she came to see me. I'd been in prison about five months then. She'd come two other times; that was the third visit. It didn't go well. She looked at me like I was a stranger. There was fear in her eyes. I think it came from the fact that I'd accidentally killed Kurt. But it was just a fight. He fell. He hit his head. I didn't know it would end up that way." He drew in a ragged breath. "After that visit, I wrote to her and told her not to come anymore. I was going to be gone a long time. She should be free to move on with her life. And that's what she did."

She thought about his words for a moment. "If you called it off, if you were the one to say don't come back, then why do you want to see her now?"

"Because I'm free. I'm who I used to be. I'm not wearing handcuffs or a jumpsuit. I'm not eating with plastic forks. I'm the guy she fell in love with and maybe I want her to see that guy again."

"Max said she's married now."

"I'm not trying to break that up."

"Aren't you, Spencer? What resolution comes out of this meeting?"

He frowned, not too happy with her question. "I don't know."

"You should think about that before you go to see her."

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked her. "I'm not talking about puppy love or a high school crush; I'm talking about deep, passionate, relentless love, the kind of emotion that takes over your life, that kind of feeling that becomes part of the air that you breathe."

She stared at him in amazement. She'd never heard a man talk about love in such a way. Spencer was really different from Max. As she considered his question, Max's image came into her head. It should have been Jon's face she saw. She'd spent a year with Jon, and she'd only spent a night with Max, so why was Max the one sending a tingle down her spine?

"No, I've never felt like that. I tried to talk myself into love once, but it wasn't real."

"Love isn't something you talk yourself into. It's something that runs you over like a runaway train. It's powerful stuff."

"Do you still love Stephanie?"

"I wish I didn't," he said. "But I can't forget what we had together. I know our love was real, whether it lasted for a minute or a lifetime, it was true."

"That's a beautiful sentiment."

"I read a lot of poetry in jail." He sighed. "Sorry, I'm talking way too much. But you asked and no one has asked me in a long time, because they don't want to hear my answer. They want me to move on."

"You're the only one who can decide when to do that."

The door to the deli opened, and Spencer straightened as a customer walked in. "I better get Gus. Nice talking to you."

"You, too."

She took her plate to a nearby table as Gus came back to fill orders. She gazed idly out the window while she ate, her mind jumping from one subject to another, but always seeming to find its way back to Max. She'd just finished her sandwich when her phone rang. Her pulse jumped. It was Jarod.

"Jarod," she said. "Thanks for calling me back. I need to talk to you about something. Could we meet somewhere?"

"I'm pretty busy today, Emma. What's it about?"

"Family stuff, but it is important. I can meet you somewhere. It will just take a few minutes."

"I'm doing a remodel on the corner of Twentieth and Vicente, if you want to come by the job site."

"Great. I'll see you in about twenty minutes." As soon as the call ended, she punched in Max's number. "I have a meeting set up with Jarod. Are you free now? Can I pick you up?"

"I'll be out front."

"Great. See you in a few." She slid her phone back into her bag and got to her feet. She waved goodbye to Spencer, then dumped her trash in the garbage as she headed out the door.

* * *

Max was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the Hall of Justice when his brother called.

"Spencer, what's up?" he asked, hoping there wasn't already a problem at his job. He just wanted Spencer's life to be drama-free for as long as possible.

"Your friend Emma was just in here," Spencer said.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, while she was eating I happened to notice a guy standing outside the deli who seemed to be watching her."

"What?" he asked in alarm.

"When she left the deli, I saw the guy head down the street after her, so I went outside. I could see him about ten steps behind her. Then they both turned the corner, and I don't know where they went."

His body tensed as fear ran through him. "Why didn't you go after him?"

"That was my first instinct. However, I did actually learn something from going to prison, and that was to mind my own business. Plus, I didn't think Gus would appreciate me abandoning my post. But Emma seems like a nice woman and my gut told me I should call you. I'm sure you probably think I'm just imagining things again. Paranoid Spencer, always thinking men are following women."

"I don't think that at all," Max said. "What did the guy look like?"

"I only saw him from the back. He had on jeans and a gray sweatshirt with the hood up. I didn't get a good look at his face, and the hood hid his hair."

The description reminded Max of the man he'd seen at Brady's just before that place had burned to the ground.

"I have to go back to work," Spencer said. "I hope Emma is all right."

"I'll make sure of it. Thanks for calling."

As Max finished the call, he saw Emma's car. He felt a wave of relief. He glanced at the other cars on the street, wondering if someone was still following her.

She stopped to pick him up, and he hopped into the passenger seat, quickly fastening his seat belt. Then he took another look in the side view mirror as she pulled back into traffic.

"Have you noticed any cars following you?" he asked.

She gave him a surprised look. "No, but I wasn't looking. Why?"

"Spencer just called me. He thought someone followed you down the street from the deli."

"Are you serious?" She frowned and glanced in the rearview mirror. "The car behind me has two women in it."

"This was a guy."

"I wonder if it was Jon."

"Has he called you again?"

"No, I haven't heard from him since we spoke the other day."

"This man was wearing a hooded sweatshirt."

"That doesn't sound like Jon. He's never not in a suit during the work week."

"It sounds like the guy I saw outside of Brady's last Sunday night."

"What exactly did Spencer say?" she asked.

"Just what I told you. He said he'd seen the guy outside the deli while you were eating and noticed that he took off as soon as you left. He had a bad feeling about it so he went outside and saw the guy walking behind you."

"That's weird. I didn't feel like anyone was watching me, but I was thinking about the Morettis and what I wanted to ask Jarod." She paused, her brows knitting together. "There have been a few occasions in the last few days that I have felt like someone was following me. The first time was when I went to Brady's for my dad's party."

He didn't like the sound of that. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I forgot about it until now. And the other times I chalked it up to my overly active imagination. Why would anyone follow me? There's no reason. It's probably just a coincidence that this guy started walking down the street at the same time I did."

"And that he was dressed exactly the same as the guy I saw outside of Brady's? I don't believe in coincidences, Emma."

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. We need to speak to Jarod. Are you going to let me do the talking?"

"I'll let you start," he conceded. "After that we'll see."

* * *

Jarod was hammering up drywall in the entryway of a newly remodeled first-floor flat. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and had a tool belt around his hips. He smiled when he saw Emma, but that smile faded when his gaze reached Max.

"Hi Jarod," she said. "This is Max Harrison. He's an inspector with the SFPD."

"I thought you came to talk to me about your family." Confusion and wariness entered his gaze.

"Actually, it's your family I wanted to speak to you about."

"What has Tony done now?"

"I think he's lying about something that involves you."

Jarod glanced over his shoulder. She could see two workers down the hall. Jarod motioned for them to follow him outside.

As they stepped out of the house, Jarod said, "Okay, what is this about?"

"It's about fire," she replied. "In this case, a fire set in a dumpster at St. Andrew's when you were in the eighth grade. Do you remember?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "That's what you came to ask me? You want to know about a fire from what—fifteen years ago?"

"Nineteen years ago, to be precise. And you haven't answered my question."

"Why are you looking into that old incident? Don't you have enough current fires to worry about?"

"There could be a link between the past and the present. According to the school records, you set the fire in the dumpster, and you were suspended for it. But the other day Tony told me that Christian Brady was the one who did it. Tony didn't mention you at all, which seems strange since he would have noticed you weren't going to school for a week. You walked there together every day."

"Yeah, I set the fire," Jarod admitted. "I was playing around with matches one day, and I tossed one into the dumpster. It was a stupid, impulsive decision, and I regretted it immediately. I was glad it didn't do any damage. So you think I burned down Brady's because I was once an idiot thirteen-year-old?" Anger filled his eyes. "Come on, Emma. I thought you were a good investigator, but you're just making shit up."

"Most arsonists start with small fires at an early age," she said, refusing to let his attitude intimidate her.

"Now I'm an arsonist?" he asked in amazement. "Seriously?"

"I didn't say that, Jarod. But I have a difficult time believing you were the one who set the fire. Tony was always the troublemaker, and you were always the one who tried to keep him out of trouble. Are you sure it wasn't Tony who set the fire and you who took the blame?" she asked, fairly certain that that's what had happened.

"No, it was me, so if you want to make a link between that old fire and these new ones, then the connection is me," he said.

She frowned, wondering why he was so eager to take the fall. "Do you want me to make that connection?"

"Can I stop you?" he countered.

"The truth will come out, Jarod. If you're trying to protect Tony—"

"I answered your question, Emma. That's all I have to say."

She felt frustrated by his antagonistic attitude. In her experience, people who had nothing to hide were a lot more receptive to questions. "You're not telling me something, Jarod. And I am a good investigator. I will figure it out."

"I can't believe you think I'd burn down a bar or kill someone, because isn't that why he's here?" Jarod asked, waving his hand in Max's direction.

"That's exactly why I'm here," Max said, entering the conversation for the first time. "Where did you go after you left Brady's Sunday night?"

"I went home."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"I met my girlfriend there around midnight."

"I'm going to need her name and phone number as well as your address and hers," Max added, pulling out a small spiral notebook and a pen.

Jarod blew out an irritated breath but gave Max the information. "Is that it?" Jarod asked.

Where did your brother, Tony, go after the party?" Max queried. "You don't live together, right?"

"No, Tony lives at my dad's house. Emma knows his address. I dropped Tony off before I went home. He'd had a few drinks, so he wasn't going anywhere."

"What kind of relationship did you have with Sister Margaret?" Max asked.

"The usual student/teacher relationship. I wouldn't say I loved her, but I haven't had any contact with her in years. I certainly didn't kill her." Jarod ran a hand through his hair, his gaze bewildered. "I can't believe you're coming after me, Emma. I don't have anything to do with this."

"We're not coming after you. We're just asking questions. And frankly, your uncooperative attitude only raises more suspicion."

"How would you like it if someone was accusing you of murder?" he challenged.

"If you are covering for Tony in any way—"

"I'm not," he said, cutting her off. "You can ask Tony the same questions, and he'll give you the same answers."

"But that's the thing. He didn't give me your name when I questioned him; he gave me Christian's. Why?"

"He probably forgot. It was a long time ago. And Christian was always talking about fire. He wanted to be a firefighter from the time he was ten years old. I'm sure that's why Tony thought of him. But Christian is a great guy, and he would never burn something down. He spends his life fighting fires. Plus, he'd never burn down his father's bar. That doesn't make sense."

"Do you have any idea who might have had a reason to pick Brady's and St. Andrew's as targets?" Max interjected.

"I can't think of anyone," Jarod said. "I just know it wasn't me or my brother. Tony is getting his life together. He's working a lot, and he's being responsible. We're not your guys, Emma. I'm not an arsonist. I just set one stupid fire. And there's no link between that one and the ones happening now. I hope you can believe that. Can I go back to work?"

She saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and she found herself wanting to believe him. "Yes, we're done for now. Thanks for talking to me."

As Jarod walked back into the house, Emma turned to Max. "What do you think?"

"I don't think he's our arsonist, but he could be protecting his brother."

"You don't really have any evidence on which to base that opinion, besides the fact that you don't like Tony."

"It's instinct. I don't trust him. I think he's worth checking out a little further." Max paused. "I was impressed by your persistence. You grilled Jarod. Never mind that you grew up with him. However, he didn't help his case by calling into question your investigative skills. That was like waving a red flag in front of a bull."

"You're not seriously comparing me to a bull, are you? Because that's not really what a man says to a woman he recently slept with."

Immediately, Emma wished the words back. She'd been trying to keep things professional, but she'd just turned them personal—very personal. "Forget I said that," she said quickly. She glanced at her watch. "I need to go. I have to meet Aiden at my new apartment. He's going to take some measurements for me. I'd like to have some shelves put up in the closet before I move all my stuff in. I can drop you at your office on the way."

"I'll go with you," Max said. "I want to talk to you about Ruth Harbough's son, Jeffrey."

"What have you learned about him?" she asked, as they got back into her car.

"He has a lot of bitterness towards his mother. He told me that she shipped him off to live with his father when he was twelve, because she wanted to have a personal life. For a long time he wouldn't even talk to her. But they reconnected a few years ago and were getting closer. Then Sister Margaret moved in, and suddenly Ruth no longer had time for him."

She gave Max a quick look. "Did Jeffrey think his mother was involved with Margaret romantically?"

"He said he suspected that she was, but she's never admitted it."

"Where are you going with this?" she asked.

"Not sure, but you might find it interesting to know that Jeffrey is a mechanic at a gas station."

"Which would make it pretty easy for him to get gallons of gas," she murmured. "You like him for a suspect?"

"He fits better with a motive for wanting to see Margaret dead than for setting fires to the schools. Although, his mother works at St. Andrew's, and he did say she chose her job over him."

She thought about that for a moment. "I keep going back to the fact that no one actually killed Margaret. She died after what we assume was a kidnapping. I just don't think her disappearance or her death was planned. Do you?"

"No, I don't. But I'm trying to cover all the bases." He paused. "What did you do today?"

"Well, I didn't find any new leads, but I did have an interesting conversation with your brother. It wasn't about you this time. It was about Stephanie. He was ringing up my order, and he suddenly dashed out to the street. He thought he saw her outside. But it wasn't her. When he came back in, he told me about his love for her."

Max shook his head. "Do I want to hear this?"

"Probably not. Your brother is very eloquent when it comes to his feelings."

"That he is," Max agreed. "Am I foolish to think Spencer will ever forget about Stephanie?"

"He said he'd like to have one more conversation with her, so I don't think he's planning to forget about her soon."

"If he tracks her down, it could be bad, Emma. She could call the cops. He could end up in trouble all over again."

She stopped at a red light and looked at his hard profile. She could hear the frustration in his voice. "I understand, Max, and you're right, Spencer should stay away from her, but I don't think he will. You can't control his actions. He's an adult. I know how it is with siblings. We want to protect them, but we can't. They have to make their own mistakes—just as we have to make ours."

He glanced at her. "Do you think last night was a mistake?"

"I don't have regrets, but I'm not sure what you want, Max."

"Do you know what you want?" he countered.

Some very dangerous words hovered on her lips—I want you. Somehow, she managed not to speak them.

The car behind her beeped its horn, and she realized the light was green. She really shouldn't be having this conversation while she was driving.

As she drew closer to the Marina, she noticed black smoke billowing into the sky.

"Fire," Max said.

"Yeah," she said, her body tensing.

"It looks like it's close to your place."

Her heart began to race and she pressed down on the gas. Sirens rang through the air. She saw engines racing through the next intersection.

She began to think the unthinkable.

She drove two more blocks, then turned on to her street and slammed on the brakes.

There was a line of fire engines down the block and a traffic control officer was already waving traffic toward a side street.

Emma pulled in front of a driveway and double parked, then jumped out of the car, silently praying that she was wrong, that it was the building next to hers, but as she came around the first fire engine, she saw the flames shooting out of a third story apartment.

"Oh, my God!" She turned to Max. "My apartment is on fire."