So This Is Love

chapter Eight

Emma stopped by the Hall of Justice on her way back to the office. The homicide detail of the police department was located on the fourth floor. As she stepped off the elevator, she felt a little nervous at the thought of seeing Max again. The last time they'd been together he'd kissed her senseless on the beach.

She hoped that she'd just built up that kiss in her mind over the last twelve hours, but when she saw Max at his desk, there was no denying the sudden flutter of butterflies in her stomach or her racing pulse. She fought the urge to flee. She was here on business, and she wasn't going to let an inconvenient attraction run her off.

She sat down in the chair next to his desk. Max turned away from his computer to look at her. His green eyes darkened. There was a memory in his gaze. He was reliving their kiss, too.

She cleared her throat. "I spoke to Harry Brady a few minutes ago as well as his sons, Christian and Robert. I thought you might want an update."

"I should have gone with you," Max said, annoyance in his voice. "We agreed to work together."

"I'm sure we'll talk to them again. They gave me their employee information as well as the names of those individuals with keys to the bar. It's a long list."

"Great."

"Christian, Harry's oldest son, was antagonistic. I don't know if it was personal against me, or if he was angry about the fire and trying to protect his father."

"Why would it be against you? I thought your families were friends."

"They are, but Christian doesn't like female firefighters. He's made no secret of that. He doesn't want to put his life in the hands of a woman. Apparently, he's not that interested in putting this investigation into my hands either."

"What about his brother?"

"Robert has always been easier to get along with, but he didn't have much to say. Harry was very upset to learn about Sister Margaret's death. He's been in the St. Andrew's Parish for forty years, and both Christian and Robert had Sister Margaret for a teacher."

He stared at her. "What's your point?"

"I'm just telling you what I learned." She frowned, irritated with his short, clipped questions. "Why are you in such a bad mood?"

"I'm not in a bad mood. I'm busy."

"Busy working on our case?"

"How convenient of you to remember that it's our case," he said sarcastically.

"Okay, you are definitely in a mood." He did not want to talk to her, and maybe that was for the best. This arrogant, angry side of Max was much easier to handle than the charming, sexy side. She got to her feet. "I'm going back to my office. Let me know when you want to work together."

"Yeah, you, too," he shot back.

He was itching for a fight. "Look, I don't know who has pissed you off, but it's not me, and I won't be anyone's punching bag. So whatever you're going through, get over it before we talk again."

* * *

Max blew out a frustrated breath as Emma walked away. He'd thought he'd put her out of his head, that he'd gotten his priorities straightened out, but one look into her intelligent blue eyes, and he'd been filled with desire, wanting to touch her soft skin, feel the heat of her kiss, lose himself in her arms.

The irresistible pull to Emma made him angry. He didn't bring his personal life to work. But Emma was different. He'd never been attracted to anyone he worked with. Fortunately, his behavior just now had probably turned her off, which was a good thing. One of them had to back away, and since he seemed incapable of doing that, it might as well be her.

Although, she'd seen right through him, and he had to admit that he liked the way she'd called him out. She could read people really well, a fact that also scared him. He was used to keeping his thoughts to himself. But Emma slipped past his guard every chance she got.

With another sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, stared at his computer screen and tried to remember what he'd been doing before Emma had walked in. While he was pondering his next move, he got a text from the medical examiner's office. Hopefully, they were about to get a break.

Several minutes later, he entered the medical examiner's office and checked in with Maya Kyoto, an Asian woman in her mid-thirties, who'd been very thorough and detail-oriented on the two cases they'd worked on previously.

"What did you find?" he asked.

She held up a plastic bag that appeared to contain dirt. We found this in the victim's clothes."

"Tell me it's more than just dirt."

"See the little yellow buds."

"Barely."

"I believe they come from a plant called Tahoe Yellow Cress, which can only be found on the shores of Lake Tahoe. I still need to confirm it, but that's where I am right now."

His heart sped up. If he could figure out where Sister Margaret had been in the time period between her disappearance and her death, he'd be a step closer to finding her kidnapper. "You're a genius, Maya."

She smiled. "This isn't definitive yet, but I wanted to let you know in case it helps with the investigation."

"It just might do that." Lake Tahoe was about four hours east of San Francisco and was a popular vacation destination. If he could find the plant Maya was talking about, maybe he could find someone who'd seen Sister Margaret. "Is there anything else?"

"We're still waiting on pathology and toxicology reports. I tried to get a fingerprint off the rosary we found in her pocket, but no luck. She didn't have anything else on her, no jewelry, no identification, nothing."

He nodded, wondering where her personal items were. According to her roommate, when Sister Margaret had gone to work that day, she'd taken with her a large black handbag. It had never been found.

"Thanks," he said. "You made my day."

She smiled. "Remember that the next time I tell you to be patient."

"I'll try." As he walked back to his office, he felt re-energized. He needed to get Sister Margaret's picture up to the sheriff's office in Tahoe and also the local media. Maybe someone had seen her. He finally had a clue. Hopefully, it wouldn't lead to another dead end.

* * *

By lunchtime, Emma had worked her way down the employee list at Brady's. None of her phone calls had turned up any pertinent information. Everyone loved working at the bar and they were very concerned about whether or not Harry would reopen. No one had noticed any strangers hanging around, and no one seemed to be having trouble with a spouse or lover.

Sighing, she told herself to be patient. Arson investigation was a slow process. Clues did not usually come quickly unless there was an eyewitness. So far, she had yet to find one.

Deciding to take a break, she headed outside at one o'clock and walked around the corner to the Second Street Deli. The street was bustling with people. There were some tourists, but her office was located near the San Francisco Civic Center and most of the people who frequented the deli were local government workers.

The deli was run by Gus Halsey, a big, burly, scary-looking guy with tattoos all over his arms and a jagged scar that ran from his right eye to his ear. Gus intimidated a lot of people, but no one could deny that he made the best sandwiches in the area. Today there was a line out the door.

When she got to the front, Gus's stern expression softened. "Emma. Haven't seen you in a couple of days."

"I've been busy, but your most loyal customer is back."

"The usual?"

"Sounds good," she said, her mouth already watering at the thought of biting into Gus's delicious French Dip sandwich.

"You want cheese?"

"Always."

"Are you eating here or taking it back to your office?"

"I'll eat here." There were a couple of empty tables by the window, and she was tired of grabbing meals at her desk. Maybe a change of scenery would also open up her mind to new possibilities.

As Gus made her sandwich, she grabbed a soda out of the glass case and took it to the register. Gus's sister, Mary, gave her a smile. Mary had a sweet, round face that looked nothing like her brother's. Her normally cheerful eyes were fatigued today, probably due to the extra thirty pounds she was carrying around. Mary was very, very pregnant.

"It's almost your due date, isn't it?" Emma asked.

"One week late," Mary said, as she rang up Emma's order. "It's turned out to be a good thing, because my cousin was supposed to help out and he bailed on us. The next person we found said yes, then called in the next day and said no, she'd changed her mind. So we're still looking for a temporary cashier if you know anyone."

"I'll think about it."

"Here you go," Gus said, handing over her order.

"Thanks. It looks delicious." She took her tray to a table and sat down. A newspaper had been left behind, and her gaze immediately caught on Sister Margaret's photo. The accompanying article was short and to the point. Hopefully, the news coverage would bring forward someone who knew something.

She took a bite of her sandwich and skimmed through another article while she was eating. A long shadow fell over her table, and she looked up, surprised to see Max.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for you," he said. "I went by your office. Your assistant said you were probably here."

"So you do have investigative skills. I was beginning to wonder."

A half-smile curved his lips.

"And I see your mood has improved," she added.

"Can I sit down?"

"Are you going to be nice?"

"Yes."

"Then sit." She wondered what had changed in the past few hours, because this Max was not the one she had left earlier.

"I have a lead," he said.

"Now I understand the sparkle in your eyes." She sat up straighter in her chair. "Don't leave me hanging."

"An assistant medical examiner found some dirt and leaves in Sister Margaret's clothes and believes they may come from a rare plant that's native to the Lake Tahoe region."

"Really?" she asked, as a surge of excitement ran through her. "That could be a huge break."

"I've forwarded Sister Margaret's photo to the sheriff's office in Lake Tahoe and I also spoke to one of their detectives. He'll get the word out to the press and local law enforcement. Hopefully we'll find someone who saw her in the area and/or we'll be able to pinpoint the region of the lake where she might have been staying. It's still a long shot," he warned.

"At least it's a shot. It's more than we had before."

"I am feeling more optimistic."

"I can see that. Do you want to tell me what the hell was wrong with you earlier?"

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. I had a lot of things on my mind." He glanced around the deli. "I'm hungry. What's good here?"

"Everything."

"I like the looks of your sandwich."

"Then get your own," she said, taking another bite.

He smiled. "You don't even like to share your food, do you?"

"I grew up with seven siblings. If you didn't protect your food, you might go hungry."

"Somehow I doubt your parents would have allowed that. I'll be right back."

As Max went to order his meal, Emma thought about what he'd told her. Tahoe was a four-hour car ride away, and during that trip Sister Margaret could have been spotted by any number of people. Max had checked the neighborhood around St. Andrew's for witnesses, but maybe he'd been looking in the wrong place.

As Max returned to the table, she said, "A lot of people who live in San Francisco have cabins in Lake Tahoe."

"A lot being the problem," he said, popping open his can of soda.

"Maybe we could narrow it down to people who have a connection to St. Andrew's—students or teachers."

"Or parishioners," he reminded her. The school is connected to the church."

"Yes, but the fire was started in the school. I want to stick with that focus."

"I think that's a good idea." He sat back in his seat as Mary brought over his order. He'd also gotten the French Dip. He dug into it with enthusiasm, obviously happy to put their conversation on hold while he ate.

"This is good," he said as he downed the first half in a few bites. "I have to admit I'm a little surprised. This place is a hole in the wall."

"True, but Gus takes pride in his food."

He tipped his head toward the counter. "That's Gus? He doesn't look like your typical deli owner."

She smiled. "He's lived a couple of different lives."

"Well, in this one he's a good sandwich maker."

As Max ate, Emma sipped her soda and thought about the investigation. But as she watched Max wipe a dab of juice off his lip, she got distracted and a little hot. She forced herself to look away, to think about something else besides his sexy mouth.

"So how did your family dinner go last night?" she asked.

"It was all right. Maybe a little better than I expected. It started out awkward, but I had a conversation with my brother that for a moment felt almost normal."

"I looked your brother up online," she confessed.

There was no surprise in his eyes. "I figured you would."

"I know the basics. Your brother got into a fight and a man died. But obviously there's more. Can you tell me what happened?"

"You already know, Emma."

"Only the basics. Your brother claimed that the person he fought was stalking or harassing his girlfriend. Was that true?"

"Spencer believed it was true."

"What about you?"

"In the beginning I had no doubts. But his girlfriend's testimony didn't support Spencer's statements. I don't know if she got scared, if she was pressured by the victim's family, or if she really hadn't seen things the way Spencer had seen them, but her words sent Spencer to jail." He paused. "I thought she screwed him over big time, but Spencer doesn't hold her accountable. I think, crazy as it is, that he's still in love with her."

"Really? I can't imagine having fond feelings for someone who sent me to jail."

"It doesn't make sense to me either, but I didn't know Stephanie. I was living in Los Angeles. I never met her until Spencer was arrested."

"You must have tried to keep him out of jail."

"I did try. I just didn't succeed. Captain Crowley also helped, but in the end the jury believed the prosecutor's story. After watching the way the attorney put together the facts, I almost thought Spencer was guilty."

"Almost?"

"My brother is reckless and impulsive, and he was not one to walk away from a fight, but he was never the instigator. He never hit anyone unless he was defending himself or someone else."

She thought about his words. "If this guy was stalking Spencer's girlfriend, why wouldn't she confirm that fact?"

"She did in the beginning, but the prosecutor picked her story apart, and she crumbled."

"What was her story?"

He frowned. "You really want to hear all this?"

"I'm curious."

"Are you never not curious?" he countered.

"Rarely," she admitted. "Did Stephanie date Kurt Halstead?"

"No, she worked with him at his grandfather's investment company. They were friends, and he asked her out a few times, but Stephanie had started dating Spencer so she said no. She'd find flowers on her desk at work. She'd get text messages from Kurt asking her to meet up for drinks or lunch, some of those implying that he could help her get ahead at her job if she came to talk to him. She felt like Kurt was always watching her. On the weekends, he'd show up wherever she was. On a couple of occasions, she thought he followed her home. She didn't want to say anything to anyone, because she was afraid she'd lose her job."

"That sounds a little ambiguous."

"It got worse. More phone calls, some hang-ups, footsteps showing up in the mud outside of their first floor window. Spencer called me about it, and I told him to go to the police. But he said Stephanie didn't want him to do that. She was very focused on her career. She didn't think they had enough proof. But then proof arrived. Stephanie received an envelope at work with three photos inside. They were all of her—one as she unlocked her apartment door, another at the gym where she worked out and a third taken outside a restaurant where she was having drinks with girlfriends. There were words written on each photograph, all adjectives: beautiful, gorgeous, hot. That's when she realized that someone was watching her every move."

"What happened next?" Emma asked, caught up in the story.

"Stephanie showed Spencer the photos. He was livid. He wanted to go after Kurt, but Stephanie said she would take the pictures to the police. She left the apartment, but she didn't go to the police that night; she went to her boss's apartment. She wanted to get his advice on what to do."

"Didn't he tell her to go to the police?"

"No. He told her she'd better make sure it was Kurt before she accused him of anything, or her career could be ruined."

Emma frowned. "That's terrible advice."

"Unfortunately, while Stephanie was at her boss's house, Kurt showed up outside her apartment building. He was leaving a floral arrangement by her front door. He didn't realize Spencer was there. I think he thought they were out together. Spencer saw him and came outside. He confronted him on the steps. They started to argue. Spencer pushed Kurt. Kurt pushed back, and the fight was on. It ended two punches later when Kurt hit his head on the pavement. Neighbors called the police, and Spencer was arrested. Kurt died later that night without ever regaining consciousness." Max blew out a breath as he finished the story.

Emma considered his words for a long moment. "It doesn't really sound like Spencer did anything that wrong."

"That's because I'm telling you his side of the story. The prosecutor twisted everything. He produced witnesses who said that Kurt was afraid of Spencer, that Kurt and Stephanie were just friends but Spencer was insanely jealous. It went on and on. And the one person who could have really made a difference was Stephanie, but she fell apart."

Emma shook her head, unable to understand the other woman's actions. "Why?"

"I think it was all based on her fear of losing her job."

"Why would she want to continue working for the grandfather of the guy who'd been stalking her?"

"Spencer told me that Stephanie grew up in foster care. She was dirt poor, homeless at one point. She was obsessed with money and security. She finally had it, and she didn't want to lose it."

"But she was willing to send her boyfriend to jail?"

He shrugged. "I don't think she thought it would go down that way. None of us did."

"She didn't continue to work at the company after Spencer went to jail, did she?"

"Yes, she did," he said.

Emma stared at him in disbelief. "Oh, come on. Seriously?"

"The Halsteads didn't blame her. After all, her testimony got Spencer convicted."

"And this is the woman your brother harbors no ill will towards?"

"I don't know what he's thinking."

"Is Stephanie still in San Francisco?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She she saw the worry in his eyes. "Your brother wouldn't try to see her again?"

"I hope not. She's married and has a child. I told Spencer that. But he didn’t promise me he wouldn’t look her up. And she's obviously still on his mind."

"He's probably still asking himself why she did that to him. Did they stay together after Spencer went to prison?"

"No. Spencer says he broke it off. He couldn't handle the look on her face when she came to visit." He took a breath. "I'm not entirely sure it was all him though. He might be saving face. It's quite possible she dumped him. I just want him to stay away from her now. He doesn't need more trouble. And she is trouble." He ran a hand through his hair. "But will Spencer listen to me? I highly doubt it."

Emma understood his frustration. She'd felt powerless when it came to her siblings, especially her brothers. "It's going to be his choice," she said.

"I know."

"Were you and Spencer close when you were young?"

He shook his head. "Not really. There was a gap of four years between us. After my father took off, Spencer wasn't my brother anymore; he was a pseudo father figure. He told me what to do, and expected me to do it. Occasionally, we broke out of those roles, usually when we were surfing. That's when I thought Spencer was incredibly cool."

She smiled. "Is he like you—patient enough to wait for the right wave?"

"No. Spencer would have ten rides in before I had one. We approached life very differently."

"Maybe you should go surfing with him again, bring back some good memories."

"It's November," he protested. "It's cold."

She smiled. "With family, there's always a price. You can wear a wet suit."

"I'll think about it. I'd probably make more of a difference in his life if I helped him get a job. It won't be easy. He killed someone. Very few people want to work with a murderer."

"It was a fight that got out of control. I don't think I'd call your brother a murderer."

"Because I told you his story, but if you were looking at a resume…"

"I get it. But surely someone will give him a break." As she thought about whether or not she had any connections, her gaze came to rest on Mary, who was sitting on a high stool behind the cash register, absent-mindedly stroking her pregnant belly. "Why not here?" she said. "They're looking for a part-time clerk to cover while Mary is on maternity leave. It would be three months, probably minimum wage, but it would get your brother on the road to something."

Max frowned. "You don't need to get involved in helping my brother find a job."

"Why not?"

"Because we're already a little too involved." His gaze met hers. "I think we both know that."

"I'm just making a suggestion that could help your brother. It's not a big deal."

"Do you think Gus would hire an ex-con?"

She nodded. "Gus is an ex-con. He ran with gangs when he was young, and he got into trouble stealing cars. But he got his life together. I think he'd be the perfect person to consider giving your brother a second chance. I can ask him if you want."

"You do like to be in the middle of things, don't you?"

"I was born in the middle. Well, actually, that's not true. I started out as the baby, but after my mother married and had more children, I ended up in the fourth position out of eight. So I'm pretty comfortable being in the middle and getting into everyone's business. But in this case, it's a matter of practicality. I know Gus. You don't. My recommendation will go farther."

"You don't know Spencer."

"Then maybe I should meet him."

She could see in his gaze that that's the last thing he wanted to have happen.

"Let's put the idea on hold. Gus has a line, and I want to head over to St. Andrew's to speak to Ruth Harbough."

"She's working today?"

"She said Sister Margaret would want life to go on and responsibilities to be met."

"I can't remember a day in school when Mrs. Harbough wasn't at the front desk when I arrived. I'll go with you."

"All right," he said slowly.

"Trying to think of a reason to say no?" she challenged.

He tipped his head and a smile spread across his face. That smile made her catch her breath and doubt the wisdom of her latest decision, but Max was already getting to his feet. And she did want to talk to Mrs. Harbough.

As they walked out of the deli, Emma was stunned to see her ex-boyfriend approaching. This was no chance meeting. There was purpose in Jon's walk and in his gaze. He'd obviously come looking for her. She really needed to let her assistant know that giving out her lunch whereabouts was a bad idea. Not that Jon couldn't have figured it out on his own; she'd been eating at the Second Street Deli three times a week for the last year.

"Who's that?" Max asked, giving her a quizzical look.

"Jon," she ground out.

"That's your ex? The one who has been texting you non-stop?"

"Yes."

She hadn't seen Jon in several weeks, and she waited for some kind of feeling to hit her—sadness, anger, or relief. But oddly she felt nothing. She felt neutral. His expensive suit, his golden blond hair and hazel-colored eyes didn't ignite any lingering sparks. She felt like she was looking at a stranger, not someone she'd shared an apartment with. The heavy feeling left her chest. She was over him.

Apparently, he wasn't over her.