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He pulled out his phone and texted Emma to see if she and Max were home. She told him to come on over, so he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
Ria might not want his protection, but he would give it anyway, because he cared about her. She was an amazing woman, beautiful, strong, and brave. He still couldn't believe how daring she'd been to rig explosives to a boat and fake their deaths in order to escape from a criminal overlord. And it had worked. Everyone thought she was dead. If he hadn't seen her on the wharf months earlier, he'd still be haunted by dreams of a beautiful woman lost at sea.
Ria was definitely one of a kind—a survivor. She'd lived through the divorce of her parents, her mother's remarriage, the death of her father and her sister, and now she was raising her teenage niece, a generous and unselfish act that made him admire her even more.
It was clear that she and Megan adored each other. They were clinging together like the last two survivors on a life raft.
But it wasn't just them anymore. He was involved, and he was not going to let anything bad happen to either one of them.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Emma's building. She lived in a ground floor flat with a backyard garden that was rare in the city, and as he walked into her apartment, he was impressed by the charm of her home. It wasn't super girly; that wasn’t Emma's style, but there were fresh flowers and paintings on the wall, and the décor was a mix of male and female, oversized furniture and a big screen TV contrasted by soft pillows and throw blankets.
"You finished decorating," he murmured with approval. The last time he'd been in her apartment she'd just been moving in.
"Almost," she said, sipping on a smoothie.
"Did you just work out?" he asked, noting her yoga pants and workout top.
"Yes, I had to work off some stress this morning."
"Wedding stress?"
"No. Work stress. I've got an arsonist torching cars in the Sunset District, and it's pissing me off that I can't find him."
"You will," he said confidently. Emma was like a bulldog when it came to catching firebugs. She didn't quit, even when the odds were stacked against her. In some ways she reminded him of Ria. They were both ready to battle whenever they had to.
"So, what brings you to my apartment on a Sunday morning?" she asked, sitting down on the bar stool in front of the island in her kitchen.
"I have a question. I was hoping to talk to Max, too. Is he here?" He glanced toward the bedroom where he thought he could hear the sound of running water.
"Taking a shower," Emma said. "He should be done in a sec. He's not one for long showers, unless, of course, we're taking one together."
He groaned. "I do not want to hear about that."
She laughed. "I know. I just love to make you uncomfortable. You're so easy." She paused. "So, does this have something to do with Ria?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. I liked her. She's a little on the quiet side, but you two looked good together." Emma paused, speculation in her eyes. "When you introduced her to the family, you didn't mention it, but is she the woman from your past—the one you thought was dead?"
"Smart girl," he said.
She sipped her smoothie, then shot him a cocky smile. "I'll take that as a yes. So what's her story?"
"I'd rather tell both you and Max at the same time."
"That sounds intriguing. And maybe a little worrisome," she added, concern filling her gaze.
"Hey, Drew," Max said, as he came out of the bedroom wearing jeans and a t-shirt. "I didn't know you were coming over."
"Max," he said with a nod. "Sorry to intrude on your Sunday."
"We're not doing anything."
"Drew has a question for both of us," Emma put in. "I think it's serious."
"I'm right here. I can speak for myself," Drew said with annoyance.
"So talk," she told him.
"I need to get some information on someone. I'm pretty sure he's a successful international criminal. And I'm wondering if you can help me."
"An international criminal?" Emma echoed. "What on earth is Ria mixed up in?"
"Who's Ria?" Max asked.
