She shook her head. "You are enjoying this idea way too much."
"I'm just getting started. This will be fun."
"I shouldn't be having fun. I'm in the middle of a case."
"That's why you need a break, a few hours to not think about it. I find the puzzle pieces fit better when I stop trying to shove them together in a desperate attempt to go faster."
"Speed could save lives. It's hard for me to let go when I know what's at stake, how a minute can make a difference."
"It can make a difference, but you're not Superwoman. You can only go as fast as you can go. And you can only do so much on your own. You have a team behind you, who are also working hard. And I have people who are trying to get me information, too. For the next few hours, let's take a break, have a drink, maybe some food, talk to your family, convince them that your future is bright, and when it's over, we'll go back to work."
That sounded really nice. She pulled into the public parking lot across the street from Hannigan's Pub and shut off the engine. "Are you ready? Because I'm not sure I am."
"Absolutely. Come on, fake girlfriend. Let's convince your family you're not going to die alone."
"I hate you a little right now."
"No, you don't."
And the terrible thing was, he was right. It wasn't going to be that difficult to pretend she was interested in him. It would be much harder to pretend she wasn't.
As they crossed the street, Max grabbed Kara's hand.
"We don't have to start yet," she protested.
"You never know who's watching," he replied as he wrapped his fingers around hers, enjoying the simple contact more than he probably should.
He'd never been a hand-holder. It wasn't something he thought about, and when his girlfriends had wanted to take his hand, he'd always felt a little awkward. But tonight, he wanted to hold Kara's hand, probably because she didn't want him to. She prized her independence. She fought for her own identity, and he admired that. He also wanted to see a more relaxed version of her, one who wasn't racing against time, desperate to find a bomber, obsessed with work. And if he were being honest, he wanted to see that version of himself, too, a version he'd forgotten about over the last decade.
"Here we go," Kara said, taking a deep breath as he opened the door to the bar and they stepped inside.
Hannigan's Pub was exactly what Max had expected—dark wood, brass fixtures, Guinness signs, and walls covered with firefighter memorabilia and faded photographs. The place smelled like beer and fried food, and the air was loud with conversation and laughter. Jimmy Buffett played from the jukebox in the corner, and a huge three-tiered sheet cake sat on the bar. There was energy and friendship and love in the room, and when Kara's face lit up when she spotted her uncle across the room, he felt something he couldn't quite name—envy, maybe. A longing to be a part of something like this, but it wasn't real, and he shouldn't forget that.
"Kara," the tall, broad-shouldered man said as he broke into a huge grin and walked through the crowd to give her a big hug.
As she let go of his hand, he felt very much like an outsider, but he couldn't afford to show that emotion on his face.
"Happy birthday, Uncle Danny," she said as they broke apart.
"Wasn't sure you were going to make it."
"I couldn't miss it."
Danny's gaze shifted, assessing him with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent decades sizing up people in dangerous situations. "And who's this?"
"Max Malone. Danny Reid," Kara introduced.
He extended his hand. "Happy birthday. Thanks for letting me crash the party."
Danny's handshake was firm, measuring. "A friend of Kara's is always welcome. How do you two know each other?"
Before Max could answer, a woman in her late fifties with Kara's dark hair and eyes appeared at Danny's elbow, her gaze moving between them with undisguised curiosity.
"Kara, you made it," the woman said.
"Hi, Mom." Kara gave her mother a big hug.
Apparently, this was a hugging family.
