FOR A MOMENT, Emma thought one of their ghosts had floated through the ceiling to the roof and punched her in the gut.
Of all the things she’d expected him to say, she never expected this.
She couldn’t see his face. He had it hidden from her, but she knew without seeing how full of angst he must be. There were so many questions, so many comments, so many condolences, but there was only one thing she wanted to know at that very moment.
“Ryan.” She hesitated, fearing his answer. It showed in her hoarse voice. “Where were you that day?”
He looked over toward the city. “On a rooftop near Trinity Church.”
Emma lowered her head into her hands and let the tears come. He couldn’t have been much closer without being inside the World Trade Center itself.
He stared off into space, as if momentarily stunned. “I swear there were times I could feel the heat from the fire on my face.”
“Oh, God.”
His brow furrowed. “I remember paper. Lots and lots of flying paper. Smoke. So much smoke. And…” Rocking back and forth, he balled his hands into fists and pushed them against his eyes. Hard. “I didn’t dare go to the edge of the roof and look down. But I could hear them. Falling.”
Emma gripped his hand. It felt so cold. She needed to say something, but all she could choke out was “I’m sorry.”
“Then the sirens came. Those poor firefighters, police, and EMTs…I didn’t want to see what they were seeing.”
Shaking his head, running his fingers through his hair, gripping onto the strands so hard she thought he might tear them from his scalp. “When the south tower started crumbling, I just couldn’t believe it. It was so surreal. The noise was thunderous. The dust cloud engulfed me. Even with the rag over my nose and mouth, I couldn’t breathe. It covered me like a blanket. I felt so guilty, praying to God I wouldn’t suffocate when all the people in that building had just died.”
Her hands weren’t fast enough to catch all the tears streaming down her face. She didn’t want to hear anymore, she couldn’t, but she had to. He needed her, and she had to be brave for him. “God, Ryan, what it must’ve been like.”
“That was only the beginning.”
“Yes, you watched the second tower fall.” How awful for him, living through that horror, knowing he’d have to do it again.
He shook his head, his shoulders trembling from suppressed sobs. He pushed himself into the corner of the building, rolling his body up tight. Emma gasped from the strong sense of déjà vu, but she didn’t have time to freak out about it. Ryan needed her.
That was all that mattered at the moment.
She crawled over, kneeling in front of him. “Ryan—”
“I felt so helpless. I was stuck. I couldn’t get down, and hiding my eyes didn’t block out the noise and the smell. But then I remembered. A voicemail from the night before. He wasn’t supposed to be there, Em, he wasn’t, but he had a meeting that morning.”
She shook her head in confusion. “You’re not making any sense.”
His white-knuckled hands gripped his knees tight, trying to pull them closer still. “I remembered just as the second building started to collapse.”
She put her hands over his. “I don’t understand. Remembered what?”
He opened his mouth and forced the words out. “As I watched the north tower fall, I watched my brother die.”
Emma heaved. “He was in the tower.”
“He was a chef for the restaurant at the top of the north tower. He wasn’t supposed to be there until later in the day, but they had a meeting that morning. Some days the only thing that keeps me going is the hope he had already passed on before the building was lost.”
Pulling a rag from her back pocket, Emma handed it to him. He mopped his face, but he didn’t look at her. “I prayed and pleaded he was late or he was stuck in traffic. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t.”
She wrapped him in her arms, knowing it must be killing him that he’d broken down in front of her. She hated to think it, but she was glad he had. She felt closer to him, understood him a little better.
He clutched her, still shaking. “I miss him so much, Emma.”
She had no words to comfort him. Just imagining her life without Frankie had her gasping for air. All she could do was hug him tighter.
“I hate the man I am now. I want to be the man I was.”
She stroked his hair. “Tell me about that man.”
“He laughed…so much. Took chances. Extreme sports. He fell in love.” Ryan took two deep breaths. “Now I’m afraid to do any of it.”
“You can be the man you used to be.” She pulled away slightly, wanting him to see the determination on her face. “I know you can.”
His eyes were bloodshot, his nose red, his face pale, but still, God help her, he was the sexiest man alive.
When he pulled her lips against his, he did it with an urgency that shocked her. His kiss was not sexual, more like an attempt to pull strength from her, asking if she would freely give it.
Nothing on earth could’ve convinced her to deny him.
He cupped her face, brushing tiny kisses across her lips. “I wish I was like you, Em. You’re strong and brave. It’s probably why I was such a jerk to you when we first met. I was jealous of the strength I saw in you. If you’d been up on that rooftop, you wouldn’t have let it get you down. You wouldn’t have nightmares that made you so afraid you never wanted to go back to sleep.”
She pulled away, shaking her head, her voice high with emotion. “Don’t, Ryan. I have no idea how I would’ve reacted. Don’t sanctify me.”
His red-rimmed eyes bored into hers as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Emma, I—”
The banging of the roof hatch flying open cut him off in mid-sentence. Startled, they both turned toward the hatch. Still a few hours before dusk, the sun’s rays fanned out over the city and sank toward the horizon, so close, she felt as if she could reach out and grab one.
But then, starting from the bottom and moving outward, the rays slowly turned from gold to a lovely blue.
Rising to his feet, Ryan took her hand and pulled her up. They inched toward the opening. Floating inside the sun’s reflection was a tiny woman. She had pixyish features, her hair piled high on her head. She was wrapped in a worn dark shawl and wore a nineteenth century dress. She pointed at the hatch, smiling. A feeling of love engulfed Emma.
She squeezed Ryan’s hand. “You see her?”
“Yeah.” He appeared as moved as she.
As they stared at the ghostly apparition, it held out a transparent hand toward Emma. On impulse, she reached for it, but Ryan pulled her back.
“No! What if she’s the one who hates you?”
“She’s not. I know she’s not.”
He gripped tighter, as if afraid to let her go, and Emma touched the ghost. Her hand grew cold from the contact, but in contrast, a warm glow spread throughout her body. For one second, the Lady in the Shawl tugged her toward the hatch before disappearing from sight.
Ryan let her hand drop. “I’m guessing she wants us to go.”
“Yes.”
“Em…”
She turned to face him. His head was down, hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma threw her arms around him. He stiffened and didn’t hug her back. “You never have to say that to me again.”
He nodded and stepped back.
Hurt melted over her, but she wouldn’t let him see it. “Unless you screw up or piss me off.”
“That should last about a day.” Well, at least she’d gotten a grin out of him.
“Come on.” She playfully punched his arm. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to find out what’s going on with that mirror.”
***
Humiliation, fear, and a tiny bit of gratitude battled inside Ryan as he followed Emma off the roof.
God, he hated himself right now.
He was humiliated that she’d seen him lose it, hated that she knew how much of a coward he was, and terrified that, if it hadn’t been for a ghost, he would’ve told Emma he loved her.
That, more than anything, scared the shit out of him.
He could never have her. Even if she and Tag went their separate ways, he’d be wrong to pursue her. A guy never went after his best friend’s ex.
What scared Ryan most was he loved her more than any woman he’d ever known. Including Julie. Julie was supposed to have been the love of his life.
She wasn’t.
Emma was.
How he knew that for certain was anyone’s guess.
He could be the man he once was. He could see in Emma’s eyes that she had faith in him. When she looked at him like that, encircled in his arms, her lips a mere breath away, he believed he could take on the world.
He used to be someone who fought for what he wanted, for what he believed in. This time he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. To fight and be the man he once was would hurt his best friend.
But could he just walk away from Emma, the woman with whom he now knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life?
Emotionally drained, his insides still shaking, he had to put his feelings on hold. Emma practically dragged him along, and the last thing he needed was to fall down a narrow, unstable flight of steps.
Or fall apart again.
Upon entering the master bedroom, Emma stopped so suddenly he nearly knocked her over.
“Emma, what the hell?”
“It’s gone.”
In confusion, Ryan followed her gaze. He walked over to the mirror, but nothing unusual jumped out at him. No cracks, no bull’s-eye. “Are you sure you saw it crack?”
“Positive.”
“Well, maybe our ghost knows Betsy would be upset if that mirror was broken, and fixed it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Can ghosts do that?”
“I dunno. Apparently, they can. Let’s stop the speculation and try to figure out what it was trying to tell you.”
They examined the mirror, checking it for words carved into the silvering or any identifiable characteristics, and studied the intricate carvings in the frame.
Nothing.
“Maybe it was made by some special artist?” Emma suggested.
“Do you know of any famous wood frame makers from the nineteenth century?”
She smirked. “No, not really.”
Ryan paced in front of the fireplace, pondering. “Maybe the mirror isn’t the clue.”
“Why the bull’s-eye then?”
“Maybe it’s a target?”
“You mean, we’re supposed to break it?”
“That’s unlikely, since the ghost could’ve done that herself.”
“What if…” Emma walked over to the mirror and ran her fingers along the wall beside it. “What if what we’re looking for is behind the mirror?”
“Can you take it down?”
Emma shook her head. “It’s attached to the wall.”
“I really don’t want to mess with this piece. I’ve done my best to keep it from being damaged.”
“So have we.” Her shoulders slumped. “Well, I can’t risk ruining this on the whim of a ghost.”
“Right. Besides, I doubt whatever we’re looking for is behind here anyway.”
Emma slid down the wall, rubbing her temples. God, she didn’t need a migraine right now. But with having her brother visit, Ryan’s panic attack, and now the letdown over the mirror, she’d earned it.
“Ryan, you know this house better than anyone. Can you remember anything you might have uncovered that could’ve meant something?”
He paced the room again, his thumb and forefinger stroking his chin. “No, nothing. The only oddity was the paper in the fireplace, and you found that. And the body, of course. Other than that, we haven’t found so much as a cubbyhole with an old handkerchief in it.”
Emma sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. “My gut is telling me it’s the mirror. Something about the mirror.”
“Maybe I could come over to your house tonight and we can do a few searches on the Internet?”
Emma rubbed her temples again. “I can’t, I have plans.”
Ryan’s jaw clenched for only a moment before he nodded and walked over to her. “I guess I can do the research on my own. Come here.”
Emma went all squishy inside when he took her hand and pulled her up toward him. She thought he was going to kiss her again. How could she not when the kiss he’d given her earlier was repeatedly pushing itself to the front of her mind?
Maybe it meant nothing to him, but it repulsed her that his innocent kisses of desperation made her tremble and tingle. God, she wanted to caress and touch every inch of that rock hard body, screw his brains out, and then hold him close until they both fell asleep.
Instead, he turned her around and massaged her neck at the top of her spine. If only he had found a cubbyhole. She’d love nothing more than to crawl into one right now.
“You’re getting one of those headaches again, aren’t you?”
“You picked up on that, huh?”
“You know, cheese and dark chocolate have been known to bring them on. Maybe you get them because of all those café mochas you drink?”
Turning to him, she looked at him in horror. “Bite your tongue.”
He chuckled. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He turned her to face him. “Not many people could handle hearing what I said up on the roof and then act like it didn’t change anything.”
“Yes, they could, if they cared about you enough.”
His breath hitched, his eyes rounded in disbelief. Well, of course he was shocked. She’d all but just admitted she cared about the man. She really needed to think before she spoke.
His gaze held hers for a few seconds more, and then he stepped back, lowering his head. “Thanks. I’m gonna go see how my men are doing. I’ll catch you later.”
She could see him physically close himself off to her. She wanted to cry out for him to come back, but she didn’t. He was just a G.C. she worked with, and it was best it stayed that way.