Max Kellan missed a lot of things about Florida. Late-night boat parties, fire-emblazoned sunsets, that ocean-tinted smell that wafted along the shoreline after a summer rainstorm. Humidity? That obnoxious gift of nature didn’t come close to making his list, not when it meant his morning jog required a before-sunrise start time. Too bad that in the weeks since he’d moved to the upscale suburb of Sacramento, California, he’d been unable to reprogram his brain to allow for mid-to late-morning runs.
His feet pounded in familiar 7:00 a.m. rhythm as he focused on his breathing, felt the cool morning air wicking away the sweat building on his face and arms. His lungs burned in that familiar five-mile, pressing-himself-too-far kind of way.
Pushing his limits, embracing the aches and pains, forcing himself to feel reminded him he was still alive.
Having spent most of his thirty-three years on the strict, self-imposed routine that acted partly as life-preserver, Max didn’t feel inclined to abandon the regime. Yep. He’d had more than enough change to even think about ditching his schedule. Working out cleared his head, helped keep it clear. It had been a rotten six months. Max ducked his head in a useless effort of avoiding the wave of depression that threatened him. Near as he could tell, the only good thing to come out of the last year was his brother’s suggestion he make a fresh start of things.
Leave it to Joe to tell him the truth: that he’d wallowed too long. It was time to get up off the mat and fight back. But what to fight for? That was the question. What did an ex-firefighter do when he walked away from everything he knew? Come out to California, obviously. Plenty of space for him to live his life, Joe had said. A life on his own terms for a change.
With strings attached, of course.
Max grinned. As if he’d ever call his brilliant, beautiful, willful niece Hope a string. He’d been crazy about her from the day she was born. She was his video-chatting buddy, his email pal; they even competed against each other in that online game about birds destroying pigs. The few weeks during the summer she’d come out to visit him were what he looked forward to most. It didn’t matter how bad a day he’d had—seeing Hope’s face, hearing her voice, put everything in perspective. And now he got to see her every day.
If moving out here made his niece smile again—even a little—what was packing up his shattered life compared to that? The visible change in Hope since her parents’ less-than-amicable separation physically hurt him. His niece needed security, familiarity. With her father’s hectic travel schedule and her mother’s lack of parental interest, Hope needed reminding just how much she was loved.
All the things Max and his brother had growing up. Until they didn’t.
Taking up residence behind a country club had never been in Max’s plans. He was as blue collar as they came. His kid brother had gotten all the brains and earned his status by turning his ideas into a freaking fortune. Who was Max to complain when his new digs came with an amazing, inspiring jogging view?
He rounded the corner, picking up the pace as he headed for the driveway, his body already humming in that way it had when it knew he was nearly done with his daily overexertion. Coffee. Max’s blood pumped in anticipation. He needed coffee, stat.
He gave a cursory glance to the sedan parked on the street in front of one of those dinky wannabe SUVs. As if his appearance had triggered their release, two people climbed out of the sedan and approached him. He stopped jogging, planted his hands on his thighs and bent over, took slow, deep breaths to bring his pulse down to normal. He pushed his too-long hair back when it fell over his eyes. “Can I help you?”
Cops. The blazer one man wore wasn’t the only giveaway, nor was the badge on the waistband of his jeans or the uniformed deputy right on his heels. Despite this guy’s congenial expression and California-boy good looks, Max had spent enough time around the police to identify one from thirty paces.
The deputy behind him, however, appeared barely old enough to shave, with that fresh-faced blue-eyed optimism still shiny and new. Max tilted his head. He’d give it another year, two tops, before he tarnished. He shifted his attention to the woman shuffling about as she climbed out of her car.
She barely reached the detective’s shoulder. Jet-black hair that curved over her ears and brushed over concerned brows, along with the pale pink pants and shirt reminded Max of those flitting-fairy animated movies Hope was so nuts over. Not his type, Max told himself, trying to recall the face—and figure—of the last woman he’d dated. Instead, all his mind could come up with was this smiling pixie of a woman.
“Joe Kellan?” the seasoned cop inquired.
“My brother’s on a business trip.” Max didn’t have as easy a time catching his breath as he usually did. Probably because his pulse was beginning to hammer in an unsteady rhythm. “What’s this about?”
“You’d be Max Kellan, then.” The detective scanned the area as he approached. Between the steady hand on his badge and the serious tone in his voice, Max’s skin prickled.
“That’s what my driver’s license says, Officer.” Grudging respect didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy ribbing the boys in blue. He planted his hands on his hips and let his gaze return to the woman as she joined them. Any thoughts he might have had about aiming a smile at her faded as he caught the uneasy glimmer in her eyes. Wow. Max took a sharp breath. He’d never seen such dark eyes before, eyes that reminded him of the deepest dives he’d taken in the Keys.
“I’m Detective Jack MacTavish. This is Officer Bowman and Dr. Allie Hollister. Do you mind if we go inside?”
Doctor? Max’s smile vanished. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.” Cops and doctors on the doorstep first thing on a Sunday? Alarm bells Max hadn’t heard in months, had hoped he’d never hear again, clanged in his head. “Is Joe in some kind of trouble? Did his plane—”
“As far as we know, your brother is fine,” Detective MacTavish said. “We’ve been unable to get in touch with him or his wife. We’ve also been trying to reach you for the last few hours—”
“Yeah, my cell phone’s charging. It’s insi—” The words he planned to speak vanished from thought. “What is this about? Wait.” He searched his memory, eyes pinned to the woman’s face as she very lightly, almost imperceptibly, flinched. “Dr. Hollister. I know that name. You’re Hope’s shrink.”
“I’m her therapist, yes.” Dr. Hollister’s eyes narrowed in a way that told him she didn’t appreciate the moniker. “Please, Mr. Kellan—”
“Max. It’s Max. Tell me what’s going on.” His heart picked up speed, racing faster than it had at any time during his jog. His entire body went cold.
“Please.” Dr. Hollister took a step toward him. “Let’s go inside so we can talk. It’s about Hope.”
He dug in his pocket for the house key. Once inside, he managed to hold out until they had closed the door behind them. “Tell me.”
He leaned against the wall and stared blankly at the three people in his brother’s foyer. He focused on Dr. Hollister, daring her to blink, to look away. She didn’t blink. Nor did he see anything other than cool detachment in her stoic expression.
