On A Night Like This (Callaways #1)

mother was hungry for conversation and company. I think when I got older and was out of the house more, she felt the loneliness more deeply."
    "Why do you think your parents stayed together?"
    "Probably out of a sense of duty and responsibility. That's the kind of people they were. Once they made a promise, they kept it." She thought about all the times she'd wished her mother would run away with her. They'd go someplace warm where the sun beat down on their heads and people played music and laughed, and there wasn't icy quiet all the time.
    "Sara," Aiden prodded. "Where are you?"
    She smiled at him. "On a beautiful beach, watching my mom enjoy her life instead of suffering through it. She could have had so much more if she'd left my father. It's just so unfair. She loved life, and he barely tolerates it. But she's gone, and he's still here. And it's not that I don’t want him to be here," she said hastily. "That sounded bad."
    "I get it, Sara. You don't have to explain."
    "I feel disloyal, not just when I say the words out loud, but when I think them in my head."
    He smiled at her. "That's because you went to Catholic school and learned about guilt."
    "True."
    "Love and hate are complicated emotions," Aiden said. "Sometimes they're the same."
    "I don't want the kind of love my mom had. I want more for myself."
    "You should have more, Sara, a lot more. Don't settle for someone who isn't willing to lay down his life for you."
    "I'm sure that guy won't be difficult to find," she said dryly. "Most men aren't willing to put down their phones for me."
    He grinned. "You haven't met the right guy."
    She had met the right guy—a very long time ago. He just didn't feel the same way about her. She moved to the desk and opened the top right hand drawer and pulled out a notepad. "Write down whatever you think might help Jeanne do some research into Kyle's life," she said, pushing the pad and a pen across the desk. "Go back in time, high school, college, fire academy, friends, addresses. If you know where he did his banking, put that down. Any gambling connections would be helpful." She paused, as he made no move to pick up the pen and start writing. "If you've changed your mind, Aiden, it's all good."
    He looked into her eyes. "I just have a bad feeling about this."
    "Afraid of what you will find, or what you won't find?"
    "Both." A moment later, he picked up the pen.

Chapter Ten

    Emma felt sick to her stomach. Her job as an arson investigator required objectivity, but staring at the burned out classroom where she'd gone to kindergarten felt very personal. She had so many memories in this school, and in this particular room. She could remember sitting on the bright, colorful carpet listening to the teacher read stories about incredible places and kids having extraordinary adventures. She'd drawn pictures at one of the three communal tables, painted watercolors on the easels that stood at the back of the room, and built castles out of blocks.
    The kindergarten room had been a place of magic, a trip into imagination, a child's first entrance into the world of school and learning. Now the magic was gone, and there was nothing but blackened remnants of furniture and piles of ashes. She drew in a deep breath. She loved her job, but sometimes she hated it, too. But she would find joy in bringing whoever had done this to justice.
    "Callaway."
    His voice made her jump, spin around, and she was annoyed with herself for feeling so unsettled by Max Harrison's sudden appearance. She should have expected him to show up. He always seemed to be in her way these days.
    "Harrison," she said crisply.
    "Any clue as to who set this?"
    "Unfortunately, no. The arsonist covered his tracks."
    "Or hers," he said.
    "Ninety percent of arsonists are male. Your gender seems to enjoy fire more than mine. Do you have any information on Sister Margaret?"
    "Unfortunately, no," he said, echoing her words. "It's still possible she left of her own volition."
    "But you said there was some blood found in her parking garage."
    "A trace amount. She could have cut her finger."
    Despite his logical words, she sensed that he did not believe Sister Margaret had cut her finger. "Your instincts tell you something happened to her, don't they?"
    "From the interviews I've conducted with her friends and with her employer, it seems that her disappearance is out of character. The fact that there was a suspicious fire at her placement of employment is also concerning." He