by Rita Herron
Kate poured them a cup of coffee. “She really missed you when you were in the hospital.”
Emma glanced at the bouquet of carnations that had arrived from Grant. She and Kate had both been wary when the florist had rung the doorbell, then she’d seen the truck and relaxed. “Kate, I’ve been thinking about the accident.” Her fingers trembled. “Could I have done something to make someone hate me?”
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Heavens, no. What would make you ask something like that?”
Emma shrugged. “I was just thinking about what you said about me and Grant, about him working a lot.” She paused. “You don’t think I would have had a…”
“A what?” Kate asked.
“An affair.” Emma whispered.
Kate set her cup down with a thud, laughing wryly. “Heavens, no, Emma. You were so devoted to that man it was sickening.”
Emma’s heart fluttered in relief. “I was?”
“Yes, Emma, you were.” Kate gestured toward Carly. “And you completely turned into Mother Knows Best, too.”
Emma sighed and wiped Carly’s face with a damp cloth, mesmerized by the way Carly’s eyes lit up when she smiled at her. “I wish I could remember her.” She angled her head at Kate. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it? I’m her mother and I don’t remember holding her before last night.”
“Stop beating yourself up over it,” Kate said. “Everything will probably come back to you soon.”
Emma nodded, praying Kate was right. Carly bounced her legs playfully in the baby seat and Emma tilted her bottle, letting her drink the rest of the milk while Kate cleaned up the breakfast dishes. When Carly finished, Kate carried her into the den and changed her diaper. Emma lay beside Carly on a bright yellow quilt on the floor and played with her. Circus animals created a hodgepodge of colorful funny scenes on the blanket, and Carly seemed fascinated with it, batting her hand at the animals and kicking her feet in excitement. When she began to fuss, Kate laid her in Emma’s arms and Emma rocked her to sleep.
Eventually, Kate took Carly from her and moved down the hall to the nursery, Emma following.
“Are you getting tired, too?” Kate asked, as she settled the baby in her crib.
Emma looked down at her sleeping child, guilt clogging her throat. “A little.”
“Why don’t you rest a while?” Kate suggested. “I can throw something together for dinner.”
Before Emma could reply, the doorbell rang. She and Kate exchanged questioning looks and walked out of the nursery together.
“It might be one of your neighbors checking on you,” Kate suggested.
“Grant said we weren’t really close to anyone.”
“Well, maybe it’s one of your friends.”
Somebody I won’t recognize, Emma thought with a twinge of panic. And what if it’s the threatening caller?
Kate started to open the door, but Emma checked the peephole first and was surprised to see the deliveryman from the florist again.
Kate opened the door with a bright smile. “Looks like your hubby’s planning to woo you with flowers and gifts all day long.” Emma signed for the carnations, noticing a small package attached, and Kate tipped the deliveryman.
Slowly Emma slid her fingers underneath the seam of the wrapping and pulled it apart. Black tissue paper filled the box. She lifted the paper away, her fingers fumbling through the tissue until she contacted something hard. It felt like metal. A shiny flash of silver flickered through the black paper, and she finally unearthed the object, a silver locket etched with fine black lines—was it the locket she’d been wearing at the time of the accident? Had Grant found it or retrieved it from one of the nurses?
No, that didn’t make sense. Then she noticed the mangled condition. Dirt and soot stained the edges, probably from the accident. But who would have sent it to her wrapped like a gift? Surely Grant wouldn’t…
“Oh, my goodness!” Kate gasped. “The locket Grant gave you on your wedding day.”
Emma’s fingers trembled. “He said I wore it all the time. But I didn’t have it on in the hospital.”
Kate’s voice squeaked in affirmation. “I know. Grant was really upset. He asked all the nurses about it.”
Emma fumbled with the clasp, working furiously to open it, anxious to see the family picture Grant had been so eager to show her in the hospital. But when she pried open the dented heart-shaped locket, her chest constricted. She immediately saw the picture of Grant and Carly, but her photo was missing.
“There’s a note,” Kate said in a low voice.
“What does it say?”
“I can’t read it out loud.” Kate’s hands trembled as she handed the neatly typed message to Emma.
Emma’s breath became lost somewhere deep in her chest as she read the warning: Your perfect family is falling apart. Soon it will be destroyed.
GRANT WAS FRUSTRATED with the police and their lack of clues. His day deteriorated even more when he walked into the office and saw Pete, ready to go to the airport.
“You have the perfect family,” Pete said. “Take care of them while we’re in Paris, and we’ll take care of this deal.”
“I am taking care of my family.” Grant studied Pete, wishing he hadn’t confided in Priscilla. She’d obviously told Pete about the threats.
Priscilla leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Grant. You look exhausted.”
Grant ran a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. I just want the police to find the person who hurt Emma.”
Pete straightened his tie. “Do they have any clues?”
Grant shook his head. “Not yet. This morning I gave the police a list of everyone we know so they can start checking around.”
Priscilla gasped. “You don’t really think it’s someone you know, do you?”
Grant shrugged. “I hope not. Detective Warner’s hoping someone might have noticed a stranger hanging around outside the house lately.”
“You think someone was stalking her?” Priscilla asked.
“She didn’t mention anything before the wreck.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Priscilla said. “I’m sure the police will figure it out.”
She checked her watch and indicated it was time to go. Grant said goodbye and watched Pete and Priscilla head to the waiting taxi. A surge of resentment swept over him. He should be the one closing this deal, going to Paris and showing off his designs, not Pete. Once Emma regained her memory and the creep who’d caused her accident had been caught, their lives would return to normal. He wanted to take care of his family financially the way he’d always planned. He sighed and thought about Pete’s high ambitions and cutthroat tactics. He just hoped that by staying in town to protect his wife he wasn’t kissing his career goodbye.
Then shame hit him for thinking about his job. Emma’s safety was the most important thing in the world. And he couldn’t forget it.
“DID YOU PAGE GRANT?” Emma asked, still shaken by the locket and the note.
Kate nodded. “Three times. But he hasn’t called back yet.”
“Ma’am, I’ll have this dusted for prints. I’ve phoned the florist to see if they know who sent it.”
Emma twisted her fingers in her lap, her gaze straying to the box. Who was doing this to her, and why?
The phone jangled and she jumped, then snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Kate?”
“No, it’s me, Emma,” she said, relieved at the sound of Grant’s voice.
“What’s wrong? You paged me?”
“Yes,” Emma said softly. “Can you come home?”
She heard his breathing falter. “I’m on my way. What’s wrong, Emma?”
“I received a package today. A box with that locket in it.”
“The one I gave you?”
“Yes, but there was a message inside,” Emma said shakily. “A threat.”
He muttered a curse and Emma waited, winding the phone cord around her fingers.
“I
’m calling Detective Warner—”
“We’ve already talked to that officer outside. He’s here right now.”
“Good. Tell him to stay there until I get home.”
Emma agreed, then hung up the phone and glanced at Kate. Earlier she’d felt awkward with Grant. Now she couldn’t wait to see him.
GRANT’S HANDS TIGHTENED into fists as he read the threatening note. Rage unlike anything he’d ever experienced balled in his stomach. He wanted to crush the note and tear it into shreds to purge his anger, but the police officer had warned him not to touch the box or its contents. So he dug his nails into the palms of his hands and silently cursed. Something about that phrase Your perfect family… It seemed familiar, but why?
Then he glanced at Emma and saw the vulnerable, half frightened, half courageous look in her dark eyes, and guilt overwhelmed him. Without hesitating to contemplate his actions or the fact that she didn’t remember him, he dragged her into his arms and held her. He was an architect, not a he-man or a cop or a bodyguard; he’d never been anybody’s hero. But he’d damn well protect her with his life if he had to.
Emma’s soft curves pressed into his chest and he nearly moaned aloud at how wonderful it felt to have her back in his arms. At first she seemed tense, uncomfortable with their bodies pressed together, but he whispered soothing words in her ear, and finally she relaxed against him. He brushed a kiss across her temple and banked his temper and sexual desire, hoping to win her trust, wanting to be her savior. Lord knows, he hadn’t been able to keep her from being hurt so far.
“What do you make of it, Detective?” he heard Kate ask.
“We’ll check the box and the contents for fingerprints. Maybe we’ll get lucky. But even the craziest people usually wear gloves. Damn TV’s taught everyone how not to get caught.”
Grant glanced over Emma’s shoulders and saw the officer studying him, his eyes narrowed. “This is the locket you gave your wife, huh?”
He nodded.
“You two having any marital problems?”
His shoulders went rigid and Emma tensed in his arms again. “No, Detective, we weren’t.” Surely this man didn’t suspect him. Couldn’t he see how much he loved his wife?
Emma searched his face and he wondered if Kate had been feeding her some cynical gossip.
“Any ideas who might have sent this, Mr. Wadsworth?” Warner asked.
“If I did, I’d be on my way to kill the SOB right now,” Grant said, his calm tone lethal.
Warner raised a brow. “That so?”
“Yeah, that’s so.”
Carly stirred in the background and Emma hurried to the nursery to get her.
“I’ve put a tracer on the phone,” Warner said. “From now on, if you receive any packages, tell your wife to wait and let an officer open them.”
“Did you talk to anyone at the drugstore the night of the accident?” Grant asked.
“The pharmacist had a record of your wife picking up the prescription. One of the clerks also saw her leave, but said he didn’t notice anyone following her.” Warner frowned. “’Fraid it was a dead end. But we did find something interesting about your wife’s former boss.”
“Dan McGuire?”
“Right. He has a prior arrest record.”
Grant gripped the arm of the chair, stunned. “But Emma’s known Dan since high school. She never mentioned it.”
“He was arrested for selling stolen goods a year ago, but the charges didn’t stick.” Warner scratched his balding head. “No charges for violence or assault, though.”
Warner stepped into the alcove, his voice hushed, his gaze scanning the outer premises. “Have you considered taking your wife away for a while?”
“I thought about it, but the doctor thinks being home might jog her memory,” Grant said. “I’m installing a security system as soon as possible.”
“Good idea, Mr. Wadsworth. And you might want to get an unlisted number, too. Just to be on the safe side.”
Warner glanced at Kate. “You’re Mrs. Wadsworth’s sister, right?”
“Yes.”
“Ma’am, you and your sister get along all right?”
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Of course we do. What are you implying?”
Warner chewed his cheek. “Nothing, ma’am. Just doing my job. I need to account for everybody’s whereabouts the night of the wreck.” He looked almost apologetic. “Can you tell me where you were about ten o’clock that night?”
Kate’s mouth tightened. “I was at my apartment.”
“Can someone verify your story?” Warner asked.
“No, I’m afraid not. I’d just come home from a trip and I was tired, so I turned in early.” She glanced hastily at Grant. “I was asleep when Grant called me from the hospital. You know, Grant, you woke me up.”
“That’s right,” Grant said.
Warner nodded. “I’ve been checking your list. So far, your boss, Carl Rodgers, and your housekeeper, Martha Greer, have alibis. Mrs. Greer spent the evening with her daughter. Got her daughter’s message machine, but she’s out of town right now, so we’ll check with her in a couple of days.” Warner ran his thumb down the names on his notepad. “Still need to talk with the people you work with, particularly Priscilla Weston and Pete Landers.”
Grant told Warner about their trip to Paris as he walked Warner to the door. “Mr. Wadsworth, I hate to ask you this again, but it’s important I know. Were you and your wife having marital problems? Were you having an affair?”
“I told you no,” Grant said. “I love my wife.”
Warner studied his boots for a long minute. “Could Mrs. Wadsworth have been seeing someone?” He paused. “Say, maybe her boss?”
Fury streaked through Grant. “No, I don’t think so,” he said between clenched teeth.
“That’s ridiculous,” Kate added. “Emma would never be unfaithful.”
Warner stared at them. “Then your wife might have stumbled onto some illegal business while she worked with him. McGuire might have tried to kill her to keep her quiet. I’ll check it out.”
“I hope you make it fast,” Grant said. “I don’t want anything else to happen to Emma.”
Chapter Six
Emma tried to relax on the sofa while Carly cooed and batted her hands from her baby swing, obviously enthralled by the soft litany of children’s music floating from the CD player. But Grant was making arrangements for a security system to be installed, a reminder of the horrible threats on her life. And since coming home hadn’t triggered her memory, she wondered again if she should stay at Kate’s.
Only, Kate’s constant worrying was driving her crazy. In addition, her sister had made male-bashing her favorite pastime. Had Kate always disliked men so much? Or was her animosity for the opposite sex due to her recent divorce? And if Kate thought Emma and Grant had a good marriage, why did she seem hostile toward him?
Emma bit her lip in frustration, the trauma of the last few days taking its toll. She thumbed through one of the photo albums of Carly. She seemed like a happy well-adjusted baby. Would Emma’s amnesia affect her child adversely?
Shortly after the detective left, Kate decided to run some errands. Martha Greer had arrived with a homemade pound cake in one hand and a dust rag in the other. Although Emma didn’t remember the older woman, Carly seemed to adore her, so Emma assumed she must have liked her, too.
“Hi there, precious,” Martha said to Carly as she dusted the coffee table. “You getting your exercise this afternoon?”
Carly gurgled as she bicycled her legs, her pudgy cheeks glowing pink, and Emma’s heart contracted.
“How about you, Mrs. Wadsworth? You feeling all right?”
“A little tired, but I’m okay,” Emma said, resting her leg on a pillow. “And please, call me Emma.”
“Okay, dear. Now you let me know if I can do anything for you while I’m here.” Martha stuffed her dust rag into her apron pocket and straightened the magazines on the table. “Mr. Wadsworth
asked me to come every morning for a while to help out. Is that all right with you?”
“If it fits with your schedule,” Emma agreed. “With Carly here, I’ll feel more comfortable having some help, that is, if it’s not too much work for you.”
“Mercy, no.” Martha grabbed Carly’s finger and wiggled it. “I don’t clean the jewelry store till the evening after it’s closed.”
“Grant said that’s where we met. I don’t recall working there. Did you baby-sit for us before?”
“Every now and then.” Martha smiled and tickled Carly under the chin. Carly giggled and swung her legs playfully. “This little angel makes my day. I don’t mind sitting with her while you nap, either.”
Emma propped herself up, grateful she and Grant had chosen such a loving woman to help out. “Do you have any children or grandchildren of your own, Martha?”
“I have a beautiful daughter,” Martha said, a distant expression in her hazel eyes. “She’s about your age now, pretty and sweet as a picture.”
“Spoken like a true mother,” Emma said with a laugh.
“We talked about her last time I saw you. She’s gonna have a baby soon herself.” Martha’s gray eyebrows creased together. “They say you have amnesia? You really don’t remember anything?”
Emma pulled at a loose thread on the afghan beside her. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“That’s a shame.” Martha shook her head. “Must be awful to forget your own family.”
“It is,” Emma said, shifting restlessly.
Carly whimpered and Martha made a silly face at her, momentarily pacifying her. “My girl married and moved to Atlanta, has a fancy big house in Buckhead, got herself a nice-paying job in one of those executive offices. Her bosses think the world of her.”
“Atlanta’s not too far,” Emma commented. “Do you visit her often?”
“Not as often as I’d like. ’Course, you don’t know what that’s like now, but one day you will.” She jiggled Carly’s nose, bringing another giggle from the baby. “Seems like one day you’re holding your baby in your arms, and the next day they’re grown up and gone. Time just flies.”
