Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1) (22 page)

Chapter 24

Dear God, how obvious could she have been?
Emma shuddered.
I’d love to take care of you tonight
. Yeah, you bet she did, but did she have to say it out loud? Her subconscious must have been working overtime. Thank goodness the man knew what she had intended to say.

“So, let’s go then.” She licked her dry lips. “My car’s this way.”

Maxim walked beside her, not saying anything until he saw her Honda Civic. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit in there,” he said with a wry expression.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll push your seat all the way back.”

“Let’s take my car instead.”

“I can’t drive stick.” Emma opened the door of her car. “And I don’t like convertibles.”

“What?” He sounded offended. “What’s wrong with convertibles?”

“Too fast. And too bumpy.” She waved him in. “Come on, Maxim. I live only ten minutes away. You can fit. I’m sure of it.”

“If you say so.”

He slid in and Emma knew she’d have to eat her words. Even with the seat pulled all the way back, his knees were touching the dashboard. “It’s a little bit of a squeeze.”

“You think?” His eyebrows shot up comically.

Emma bit back a grin. “Sorry. We’ll be home before you know it.”

They stopped by Maxim’s car to fetch his overnight bag before hitting the road. He said he kept it for the days when he had to stay overnight at the prison. Luckily there was hardly any traffic. They made it back to her place all in one piece, with Maxim squeezed tight the whole way. He got out and stretched as soon as she parked the car.

“I think I hurt more now than before.” He groaned out loud. “My back is killing me.”

“Sorry. Was it really that bad?” She felt a tad guilty.

“Yes. I’d get rid of your car if I were you.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “It’s a deathtrap in there.”

“That’s because you’re huge.”
How dare he insult her Civic?
She’d had it since medical school and it ran just fine, thank you very much. “You wouldn’t fit in most cars.”

“You’re right. Most isn’t good enough. I only drive the best.”

“Oh. You are so arrogant,” Emma began before noticing the twinkle in his eye. “Is that a joke?” She laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What? I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Let’s just say you won’t be winning the Mr. Congeniality Award anytime soon.”

“Too bad. Another huge failure on my part. My father must be rolling over in his grave.”

His father
.
How could she have forgotten?
Emma felt like a heel. “I’m sorry. I forgot to ask about the funeral. How did it go?”

“Well enough.” He glanced over and forced out a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m doing okay. I wouldn’t have joked about it otherwise.”

“It still must be very hard.”

“He’d been sick for a long time.” Maxim took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m glad he’s at peace now.”

“Me too.”

“Too bad he never knew you. I think he would have liked you a lot.”

Aw. How sweet was that?
“Thanks,” Emma said, her heart skipping a beat. There he was, giving her that look again.

As they entered her studio, a certain lightness blossomed in her soul. Emma glanced at Maxim, suspecting the reason for her happiness. What a lovely compliment he’d given her, especially as she knew how much his father had meant to him. And he didn’t look as sick anymore. He was going to be okay.

“How’s your head?” she asked, ushering him to the sofa.

“Much better. The pill must be working.”

“Good. Thank you for what you did today. I’ll always be grateful.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I don’t want your gratitude.”

“Well, you have it,” Emma insisted. “Whether you want it or not. Let me get you some ice for that wound. Does it hurt a lot?”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to baby me, you know.”

“I’m not.” She pointed to his head. “That’s a nasty cut. I’ll get you some Motrin too.”

“Okay. Mind if I wash up? My head feels sticky.”

“Sure. But don’t scrub at the wound. Remember, the bathroom is that way.” She pointed to the only room with the door a couple of steps down. Her five hundred square foot studio was tiny, and she was sure he’d much prefer to be back at his place. He looked disgruntled just now. But too bad. They had no other choice. He was stuck with her tonight. Those neuro checks were important. She’d seen enough patients die from head injuries to let him be on his own.

Emma pulled out three Motrin pills from the medicine cabinet and deposited them on a small plate. She grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and put it next to the pills. Next she placed the plate on the end table by the sofa. Now for dinner. She opened the fridge, scanning inside and finding nothing but milk, yogurt, a few fruits, and chocolate cake. They’d have to order. She pulled out the stack of takeout menus. Thai, Chinese, Italian…she’d just gotten to the Greek one when he reentered the room.

Forget the menus.
My God, he looked incredible.
She knew what she wanted for dinner and it definitely wasn’t food. He’d showered and put on a tight black T-shirt, one that hugged every inch of his gorgeous, well-built chest. His biceps were huge and those forearms...those forearms were magnificent. Emma swallowed and hastily looked away.
God. Where was that ice pack?

“Something wrong?” He came closer.

“No. Of course not. Why?”

“You look flushed all of a sudden.”

“I’m fine.” She fanned herself with a hand. “Do you want dinner? I was going to order something.”

“What would you like?” He reached for a menu.

You. Anyway you like it.
“Anything is fine.” Emma threw the whole stash of menus at him and hastily darted around the counter as far away from him as possible. “I love all sorts of food.”

“Alright.” He gave her a funny look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” He was in sweatpants, of all things. They were gray, soft, comfortable looking, something nice to lounge in. Not sexy at all.
Good.
She could breathe again. But then she imagined herself snuggling next to those pants, feeling those long, powerful legs of his pressed against hers.

“Um, excuse me for a second.” She made a beeline for the bathroom. “Let me know what you want to order.”

Oh, my God. What was wrong with her?
Emma splashed some much-needed cold water on her face as soon as the door closed.
Get a grip, Em
. The man was her boss, here only because he was hurt. End of story. No point to be mooning all over him. She scrubbed off her makeup.
Was that a bloodstain on her blouse?
It must have been from Maxim’s wound. She took off the shirt and changed into a pair of skinny jeans and her favorite pink sweater.

“So have you decided on anything yet?” she asked, glad she had herself under control again as she rejoined him on the sofa.

“How about Italian?”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

“You like that, right?” he said, flipping to another menu.

“Of course.”

“I mean, we could try something else. Whatever you want is fine.” He went to a third piece of paper.

“Just order, Maxim. I can eat anything.”

He turned the menu over and glanced up at her, his eyes widening at her outfit.

“Is something wrong?” He had the most peculiar expression on his face.

“No.” Maxim dug a hand through his hair. “So you want to order?”

“Sure. Let me see.” She took the menu and did a quick perusal. Her stomach was growling, so anything would be good. “Vegetable lasagna, spaghetti with meatballs, chicken alfredo, lobster ravioli, two baskets of bread, two salads, and a strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Sound good?”

“Uh. My turn now?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“No. That’s for both of us.”
God, he must think she was such a pig. Or maybe not.
Maxim’s lips were twitching.

“Just for that, I’m not letting you share.” She laughed and swatted his arm with the menu.

“I didn’t say anything.” He chuckled, his silver eyes dancing.

It was as if someone reached inside her chest and squeezed out all the air. They were laughing together, she’d never thought it possible. This magnificent, wonderful, stubborn man who’d saved her life not once but twice. And those amazing eyes were stirring up her insides as nothing else. A warm feeling spread in her chest as her heart did a somersault.

Maxim cleared his throat and finally broke eye contact.
Was he noticing it, too
? This incredible pull and attraction between them?
Dear God, she hoped it wasn’t all one-sided. He stretched and rubbed his hand on the back of his head, suddenly wincing.

The wound! How could she have forgotten?
“Let me look.” Emma hastily leaned over. “It may have opened up in the shower.”

“Please order the food.” His voice was strained. “I’m fine.”

“Turn your head the other way.” Emma tilted his head with her fingertips and brushed aside his thick black hair.
Thank goodness, the staples were intact.
“It looks good.”

“I’m sure it is. Stop hovering, will you? It’s driving me crazy.”

“Okay, fine.”
What was wrong with the man? One minute he was joking with her and the next he was as tense as a board.

Emma went to the kitchen to order the food and by the time she came back, Maxim was absorbed in his laptop. So he wasn’t in the mood to talk, she could deal with that. She pulled out her iPhone to check if Charles had sent any updates.

Charles was supposed to conduct another CPT session with Sam today, but he had to attend a PTSD conference in San Diego so they’d tentatively rescheduled for Monday. He’d promised to confirm the time with her and to pass on any new information he learned at the conference. Sam seemed to be improving, not having a panic attack in over a week now but Emma was sure he still needed help. He seemed afraid of his own shadow sometimes.

Her cell suddenly rang. Maxim grunted at the interruption, not bothering to look up from his laptop.

“Charles. Hi.” Emma smiled, recognizing the psychiatrist’s voice immediately. “I was just thinking about you. How was the conference?”

“Productive. I learned some new data that may help Sam out.”

“Yeah?” Emma brought the phone to the kitchen and lowered her voice. Hopefully Maxim wouldn’t be able to hear from this far away.

“Yes. I’ll brief you on Monday.”

“What time on Monday?”

“Five thirty would be good.”

“Great. I can’t wait. Thanks so much, Charles.” She hung up the phone, her mood lighter than even before. She returned to the sofa and found Maxim still hunched over the laptop. “What’s taking so long with the food?”

“Beats me.”

“I hope they come soon. Are you hungry?”

“No.” He shrugged his shoulders and continued typing.

“Is your head okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“Did you take the Motrin I left out for you?”

“Yes.”

“The ice pack is all melted. Do you want another one?”

“Jesus, Emma. I’m trying to work here.” He glared at her, a ferocious scowl on his face as he picked up his cell.

“Fine. I’ll get out of your way.” She quit the sofa and camped out at the dining table.
What was up with the man?
He was like a grouchy beast all of a sudden.

“No, I need doctor’s notes for all of them,” Maxim demanded to a poor underling on the phone a few minutes later. “You bet. Fifty of them couldn’t be sick at the same time. Give them a letter of instruction if they don’t provide the notes. Yes, deduct their pay, too, if you have to.”

He shook his head and stood to pace the room. “And question every inmate in 207. What else? About the drugs, of course. Pay attention, will you? No, no 115. If they can name names, they get protection. Yes, that’s my order—deal with it.”

He rolled his eyes and dug a hand through his hair. “I don’t care if they’re busy. The K-9 units need to patrol 207. No, not once in a while. Didn’t you get my email? Every day for the next week. And I want the dogs in the OHU and Urgent Care, too. I don’t care if CIM needs them. Tell Banding we need them more.”

He tossed the phone down and plopped back on the sofa where he promptly began rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

“Are you okay? Is your head hurting again?”
The man was working too hard. Why couldn’t he rest like any normal person?

“My head’s fine.” He threw her another scowl. “Stop hovering so much, Emma. It’s very annoying.”

“Jeez, fine.”
Was it bad news he’d gotten from the prison?
One moment he was all good humor and the next angry as hell.
Or was it the meclizine?
She didn’t know but she wanted the pleasant Maxim back, not this ogre of a man who seemed ready to bite her head off.