When Shadows Fall (7 page)

"He told me that as well. I spoke to him right before I ran into you."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That I wasn't going to refuse to speak to his wife. I guess he didn’t like my answer, so he decided to bring in backup and send you over here."

"He didn't exactly send me. He asked me to keep my grandmother away from you. I thought it might be easier if I just talked to you about the situation instead of playing a game of keep-away. I prefer to be more direct."

She appreciated his candor. She liked being direct, too, but cynically she couldn't help wondering if his honesty wasn't just part of his plan to disarm her.

"Tell me about your grandmother," she said. "I only spent about twenty minutes with her, but she had so much energy in her eyes and her voice. She lit up the room."

"She's always been that way," Colton said, deep affection his voice. "She has a laugh that warms you from the inside out, like a shot of whiskey. But sadly, she doesn't laugh that much anymore. And some days she has no life in her eyes. She sits in a chair and stares out the window for hours on end. She doesn't recognize her husband of more than sixty years or any of her children or grandchildren. On those days we're strangers to her, and seeing her fade away is one of the worst things I've ever had to experience."

Dark shadows gathered in his eyes, and she could feel the despair within him. "I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't see that side of her today, and I'm happy about that. I keep hoping that the bad episodes will just go away, but realistically I know that won't happen." Colton rested his forearms on the table as he gazed into her eyes.

She licked her lips at the intensity in his gaze. She couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at her with so much purpose. She just wished his purpose wasn't to get rid of her.

"My grandfather thinks that talking about her life will upset my grandmother. He told me that agitation makes her blood pressure go up and that can sometimes trigger an episode."

She nodded. "I don't want to do anything to hurt your grandmother. But I have to ask you something."

"What's that?"

"What are you afraid of? What do you think your grandmother is going to tell me?"

"I'm not afraid of anything. I'm here at my grandfather's request. I told you—it's all about her health."

"I don't think it's
only
about that."

"Of course it is. My grandfather is incredibly protective. That's the kind of man he is. He's fiercely loyal to family and friends, but especially to his wife. She's his life. He adores her."

It was possible that was true, but she'd done too many interviews in the past four years with reluctant family members not to be able to discern between someone who was being protective and someone who had something to hide. Right now the Callaway men, especially Colton's grandfather, were falling into the second category.

"I'm quite capable of talking to your grandmother without upsetting her, and I understand the concerns about her health, but can I be frank?" she asked.

"Can I stop you?" he countered.

"You said you wanted to be direct and not play games," she reminded him.

He didn't look too happy to have his words thrown back in his face, but he nodded. "Go ahead then."

"I don't think you know why your grandfather doesn't want Eleanor to talk to me."

"I know what he told me, and I don't have any reason to doubt him or to think there's some sort of hidden agenda."

"Well, I do think there's a reason he hasn't shared with you."

"What are you basing that on?"

"My instincts. I've been working as a research assistant for a well-known biographer, Philip Dunston."

"Never heard of him."

"Well, a lot of people have. His most recent book just hit the
New York Times
and had the biggest first-sale day of any biography in the past ten years. The subject was Carlton Hughes, former secretary of state, but he's only one of many people I've researched over the last several years. I've become very good at reading between the lines and figuring out what someone's motive is."

"Fine. Maybe you have good instincts, but you've been researching public figures. My grandmother and her friends are lovely women, but I don't know anything that they did that would warrant a book about their lives."

"Just because you don't know doesn't mean there isn't anything. A few weeks ago, Molly Harper wrote me a letter about herself and her friends at the senior center. She told me that they all had amazing stories to tell and that they were part of a generation of women who had been silenced by men, and it was time to tell their story. She mentioned secrets and danger and doing something amazing without getting caught."

"What does that mean?" he asked with a puzzled look in his eyes.

"I don't know yet. Molly asked me to be the person who would give her and her friends a voice before they couldn't speak anymore. And that's what I want to do."

"My grandmother has never had a problem speaking up. If she wanted to say something, she would say it."

Olivia didn't believe that, and she wasn't basing that opinion just on Molly's letter but also on the conversation she'd had with the women and with Tom at the center. They'd exchanged very pointed looks at times, as if they weren't sure how much to say. They were definitely hiding something.

"Did you find anything interesting in Molly's box?" Colton asked.

"I've just started reading her journals. Molly was quite detailed in her writing. Unfortunately, I've only gotten through her childhood and into high school. You called right about the time I found out her parents were killed in a plane crash."

"I didn't know that. That's sad."

"I don't know what happened to her after that. I guess I'll find out tonight. Do you know if Molly has any relatives—a husband, children, grandchildren?"

"Her husband died a long time ago. She has some kids, but I've never met them. They would be my parents' age."

"Maybe I could speak to your parents at some point."

"I'm confused. Is the book about Molly or my grandmother?"

"I don't know yet, Colton. I haven't decided if there's going to be a book at all. It's too early for me to say."

He gave her a thoughtful look. "I'm not going to be able to stop you from talking to my grandmother, am I?"

"Not if she wants to speak me, too."

"You'd think I would have learned by now," he said with a frustrated shake of his head.

"Learned what?"

"Not to think I could change a woman's mind when it's made up," he said with a dry smile. "I have three sisters, a mother, a grandmother, a bunch of sisters-in-law and many female cousins, so I've had a lot of practice dealing with women, but apparently I like beating my head against a wall."

She couldn't help but smile at his words, and she also couldn't help but notice that he didn't mention a girlfriend in his list of females. "Are your sisters younger or older?" she asked, curious to know more about him and all of the Callaways.

"I have two older sisters and one twin sister."

"I've always found twins to be fascinating. Are you similar in personality? Do you have the ability to finish each other's sentences?"

"We're not alike at all. Shayla is a genius, for one thing. She skipped ahead of me in kindergarten and never looked back. She entered college at sixteen and is now a physician finishing up her last year of residency."

"High achiever," she commented.

"Oh, yeah, like most of my family, but Shayla's brain power is amazing."

"And you didn't get any of those smart genes?" She liked the way he'd spoken so admirably of his sister.

"I'm more street smart than book smart, but I hold my own. But we're not just different when it comes to IQ. Shayla has always been organized, studious, efficient and driven. She'd set her mind to a goal and she wouldn't stop until she got there." He paused. "Actually, you remind me of her a little. You have similar bulldog qualities."

"Great. I love being compared to a dog."

He smiled. "I was referring to your tenacity."

"You haven't seen me in action yet."

"I have a feeling I'm going to."

"If the adjectives you used to describe Shayla don't describe you, what words do?"

"Let's see. Impatient, impulsive, restless and determined."

She sipped her wine. "The first three are opposites of your sister, but driven and determined are pretty much the same thing."

He tipped his head. "I can compete."

"I have a feeling that not only can you compete, but you
like
to compete. More importantly, you like to win."

"There's a certain rush to doing something better than anyone else," he conceded. "You sound a little competitive yourself, Olivia. And determined. And driven."

"I want to build my own career," she admitted. "I've paid my dues. Now it's my turn."

"You need to pick a more interesting subject. You can't go from secretary of state to a bunch of little old ladies who are probably making up half of whatever they're saying."

"You're not going to talk me out of this, Colton." She paused as the bartender came over to their table and asked if they wanted another drink. "I probably shouldn't," she said. "I haven't eaten in a while, and I still have work to do."

"No thanks," Colton said to the bartender. As the man walked away, Colton added, "I haven't eaten either. There's a good Italian restaurant right across the street. My friend's dad is the chef there. They have the best pasta and pizza in the city."

"The desk clerk mentioned that," she muttered, glancing down at her watch. It was almost six—definitely time for dinner.

"Why don't we get something to eat?"

She should really say no. Colton had said what he'd come to say, and she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she was going ahead with her project. What else was there to talk about?

"You're going to have to eat, Olivia. Do you really want to eat alone?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." She'd eaten many meals on her own in Europe. But it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have some company, especially his company. Despite the fact that they appeared to be at cross-purposes, she liked talking to him.

Colton might not be a brain like his sister, but he was intelligent, and he seemed to care a lot about his family. He was also really attractive, which made for quite an interesting combination. But she couldn't let herself think for a second that he wasn't going to use dinner as another opportunity to convince her to stay away from his grandmother.

"Come on, say yes," Colton said impatiently. "It's just dinner."

"Yes," she said, thinking maybe she should add impulsive and reckless to the list of adjectives describing her personality.

His eyes sparked with approval. "Good. Let's go."

Chapter Six

Alonzo's had a great vibe, Olivia thought, as they entered the restaurant across the street from her hotel. The dining room had dark hardwood floors, cozy red leather booths and an open-air kitchen. With the smell of garlic in the air, her mouth actually began to water.

The hostess, a cute brunette in her early twenties, gave a little squeal when she saw Colton.

"You're alive," she said, giving him a big hug. "I was so worried about you. Greg said you got hurt in a fire."

"Just smashed a couple of fingers," Colton said, extricating himself from the girl's arms. "Do you have a table for us?"

"I always have a table for you," she said, casting Olivia a speculative look.

"This is my—friend, Olivia," Colton said, stumbling a little over the word
friend
. "This is Theresa Alonzo, daughter of the owner, and sister of Greg, who works with me."

"Nice to meet you," Olivia said, thinking Theresa didn't look all that happy to meet her. She obviously had a crush on Colton.

Theresa muttered, "Hello." Then she led them to a booth at the far end of the room. "Do you want your usual, Colton?"

"Olivia and I will take a look at the menu."

"Papa made a special minestrone soup tonight," Theresa said, handing them menus. "You should try it."

"Sounds good," Colton said. "Can you bring me a beer and a glass of merlot for my friend?"

"I'll tell your waitress," Theresa said. "She'll be right over."

As Theresa disappeared, Olivia smiled at Colton.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Someone has a crush on you."

He immediately shook his head. "Theresa just turned twenty. She's way too young for me, and she's my friend's little sister."

"I don't think either of those facts is a problem for her."

"Well, it's a problem for me. I don't date anyone related to my friends or coworkers. That would be way too complicated."

She nodded. "Because of the whole brotherhood thing?"

"We look out for each other and for our families. What we do requires trust and commitment. We have to be able to depend on each other in a life or death situation, so the less drama we have with each other, the better."

"Right." She really wished she had not asked the question, because she didn't want to talk about his job. She looked down at the menu. "So what's good here?"

"Everything."

He startled her by reaching across the table and covering her hand with his. A jolt of heat ran through her at his touch. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a little too breathless. She really needed to get a grip.

"You said something to me earlier about my job, asking me why I did it, and I couldn't help thinking there was something behind your question and something behind the pain that just flashed through your eyes a moment ago. Did you lose someone in a fire? Did you get dumped by a firefighter? What's your deal?"

She hesitated, not really wanting to get into it, but she had a feeling he wasn't going to let go of her hand until she answered.

"My father was a cop. He died in the line of duty," she said shortly.

"I'm sorry," he said, sincerity in his eyes. "I didn't expect you to say that."

"That's the problem with questions. You never know what kind of answer you're going to get." She licked her lips as his fingers tightened around hers. She'd pull away in a second, but just for a moment she'd soak up the warmth and strength of his touch.