by Rita Herron
Switching on the bedside lamp, she lowered the covers and lifted her loose cotton gown to examine her bruises. Purple and yellowish marks streaked her pale skin. The small cuts and scrapes still hadn’t healed. A jagged scar ran the length of her red and bruised thigh to her waist. Not exactly a sexy sight. No, even if she had her memory back, Grant probably wouldn’t want to see her naked right now.
He was handsome and masculine, his body almost perfect, or so she imagined from the way his broad shoulders and muscled body filled out his clothes. And her body was…damaged. Flipping off the light, she wiped a tear from her eyes, refusing to dwell on her imperfections. If her memory returned and they found out who was doing these awful things, then she’d worry about letting her husband see her flawed body. But for now, being with him intimately was not an option. She might not remember the past four years of her life, but she knew she had scruples. And making love to someone had always meant love in her book. Love, honor and marriage.
The peal of the phone startled her and she reached for it, knowing Grant couldn’t hear it from the shower. “Hello.”
A raspy whisper echoed over the line and Emma froze, barely able to make her voice work. “Who is this?”
A soft hiss filled the silence, then the low voice mumbled, “You’d better be careful. The people you trust are exactly the people who will hurt you the most.”
Emma clutched the sheet to her chest, her heart thumping with panic. “What are you talking about? Who is this?”
“You think your friends and family are perfect, but they’re not, Emma.” The sound of labored breathing rattled over the line, sending her nerves screaming. “Everyone has secrets. And those secrets will destroy you.”
A shudder coursed through Emma. “Why don’t you tell me who you are? And why you’re doing this!” But the phone clicked into silence. Emma dropped the receiver onto the cradle and stared at the closed door, her chest heaving.
Only the hallway separated her from Grant. She started to go to him, to ask him to hold her, to ask him what the caller could be talking about. But the eerie rasp of the caller’s words made her pause. If the person had meant to frighten her, he’d succeeded. He’d warned her she shouldn’t trust her friends or her family. Dan. Kate. Grant.
Grant obviously didn’t trust Dan. She was surprised about Dan’s arrest record. And her mother had hinted she and Kate hadn’t always gotten along, but Kate wouldn’t hurt her. Would she? And what about Grant? Was their marriage as wonderful as he’d said, as his parents’ letter had implied? Had she done something to bring this on herself?
She shivered, angry at the distrust the anonymous phone caller had wreaked in her mind. No, she wouldn’t go to Grant just yet. Not until she discovered who she could trust. And if the people closest to her had secrets they were keeping from her. Dark, silent secrets that might cost her her life.
GRANT PACED the hospital’s waiting room, hoping the doctor would have some encouraging news about Emma’s condition. She’d been acting strangely all morning, elusive and quiet. Almost withdrawn. As if her fears had taken an unnatural preoccupation in her life. After she’d read his mother’s letter yesterday, she’d relaxed around him and sent Kate home, a sign she trusted him enough to be alone with him. Even though he hadn’t told her everything about Warner’s phone call, he’d gone to the guest room with a tiny ray of hope bubbling inside. But every time he’d touched her this morning, she’d stiffened and pulled away.
He checked his watch, removed his cell phone, then called the hotel where Pete and Priscilla were staying, hoping the time change didn’t interfere with his reaching them.
Priscilla answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
“Priscilla, it’s me, Grant. How’s it going?”
“Oh, wonderful, Grant. It’s so good to hear from you.”
“Fill me in on what’s happening there,” he said, anxious to know about the deal.
“We met with Davis yesterday and he liked the preliminary sketches you did. He wants detailed cost analyses and bids from contractors before he’ll decide.”
“How many firms does he have bidding on the account?”
“Three. But he says he’s impressed with our firm and really likes your style.”
“And yours, too,” Grant said with a tight smile. “You have a way of working the clients, Priscilla.”
Her laughter rang through the line. “Are you saying my design skills are less than par, darling?”
“Not at all,” Grant said, annoyed by the fact that he had to answer to Priscilla. “But your charm goes a long way, especially in enticing the male clients.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Priscilla said in a soft silvery voice. “Now tell me how you are, Grant. I miss you here, you know.”
Heat warmed Grant’s neck. “Thanks, Priscilla. I miss being there.”
“How’s Emma doing?”
“She’s okay. She’s with the doctor now.”
“Grant, I know this is difficult on you. You’re always taking care of everyone else, and I worry so about you.”
Grant rubbed his hand over his face. “I’ll be fine, Priscilla. I just want Emma safe.”
“I know Emma was bugging you about spending more time with her before the accident, but don’t let that guilt trip keep you from coming back to work.” Priscilla’s voice dropped to a soft whisper. “We need you, too. Your wife doesn’t understand how valuable you are to the firm.”
Uncomfortable with Priscilla’s praise, Grant’s jaw snapped tight. He was feeling guilty, but he didn’t want to discuss it. And he didn’t intend to indulge in Priscilla’s flirtatious games to win his promotion. Damn Carl for putting her in charge. “Priscilla, tell me how Pete’s working out?”
She sighed. “He’s doing fine. A little overzealous, but I’m keeping him in line.”
“By the way, Priscilla, do you know anything about Pete’s car being in the shop?”
A clock chimed in the background. “No, I don’t even know what the man drives. Why?”
“No reason,” Grant hedged. “I think I received a message on my voice mail meant for him. Something about bodywork being done on his car.”
“I’ll ask him about it if you want. He probably needs to call the garage.”
“Probably. And Priscilla, keep an eye on him, will you?” Grant said, more serious now.
“Why, darling? What’s wrong?”
Grant knew he couldn’t accuse Pete of doing something unless he had concrete details. “I guess I’m just being paranoid, that’s all. Be careful, Priscilla.”
“Honey, I’m always careful. I can take care of myself,” Priscilla drawled with a touch of sexual innuendo in her tone. “And when I get back in town, I’m going to take care of you, too. You sound dreadful. Maybe I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Dinner? Maybe,” Grant said, not wanting to commit because of Emma. “Call me when you get back and we’ll set a date.”
When he hung up, he turned and saw Emma standing in the doorway. His heart lodged in his throat. She was watching him with a look of distrust in her eyes.
EMMA TRIED TO SQUELCH the feeling of hurt over hearing Grant laughing and talking with another woman. And that he’d used the word date in his conversation. Her earlier doubts were compounded by her memory loss and, she admitted reluctantly, by her own vanity regarding her physical scars. And that phone call the night before…
“How are you feeling?” Grant asked hesitantly.
“Fine.” Emma leaned on her crutches. “The doctor wants to talk to us together.”
Grant nodded and followed Emma back into the office.
“I suggested your wife use these crutches or a walker to help her get around until that leg gets stronger,” Dr. Dunlap said, gesturing as Grant helped Emma settle into a chair. “She’s going to need some physical therapy to regain her strength.”
“I’ll make sure she receives therapy,” Grant said. “Should she come here or do we need a referral?”<
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“I gave her the name of a physical therapist to work with—my nurse will set it up. The therapist can show Emma some exercises to do at home, also.”
“Great. I’ll help her if I can,” Grant offered.
“I can handle them,” Emma said in a tight voice, hating feeling so helpless and dependent.
“Emma still doesn’t remember anything about the accident,” Dr. Dunlap said. “I know you’re probably both frustrated, but it hasn’t been that long since the wreck. Physically she’s healing fine.” He gestured toward her leg. “We can perform plastic surgery later to mend her scar.”
Emma’s eyes burned with misery and she avoided Grant’s gaze, wondering about his thoughts.
“Could we try hypnosis?” Emma blurted.
“Are you ready for that?” Grant asked.
Emma opened her mouth to tell him she’d do anything to remember her life and get out of limbo, especially after that disturbing phone call, but the doctor cut her off.
“I think it’s too early for hypnosis,” Dr. Dunlap replied. “You need more time to heal, both physically and mentally, Emma.” He steepled his hands on top of his desk. “Once you’re feeling stronger, you may remember on your own.”
“But what if I don’t?” Emma asked, panic tingeing her voice.
Dunlap shrugged. “Then we’ll try hypnosis. But it can be stressful, so I really want you stronger first. Once you recover physically, your memory may come back and you may not need to be hypnotized.”
“I suppose he’s right, Emma,” Grant said quietly, a concerned look in his eyes. “We’ll have to be patient, sweetheart.”
Emma’s throat clogged with unspoken words. She hated not knowing whom to trust, and she didn’t know if she could afford to be patient. Finding out the truth might be dangerous, but not finding out could cost her her life.
GRANT WORKED AT HOME all afternoon, designing plans for a shopping mall to fit into the Bronson account, the city within the city he’d been working on earlier. At least with work he was accomplishing something. As for resolving the crisis in his home life, though, the answers remained aloof.
It was so damn frustrating. Be patient, he’d told Emma. But being patient was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
He stretched his stiff neck muscles and removed his reading glasses, placing them on his drafting table as he listened for Carly—she might be waking up from her nap. Emma had been tired when they’d returned from the doctor and had immediately lain down to rest. Carly was napping and, thank God, Kate had had an appointment. So he’d retreated to his home office, the only place he felt vaguely in control of his life at this point. That is, as long as he didn’t dwell on Pete Landers and the Paris account.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, he opened his office door and spotted Martha bringing Carly from the nursery. “I’ll take her,” Grant offered, crossing the room in quick easy strides.
“She had a good nap,” Martha said, patting Carly’s hand.
“Come here, sweetie pie.” Carly grinned at him, and his mind must have turned to mush, because he heard himself babbling baby talk that would have had the people at the office rolling on the floor with laughter. But Carly loved it. She swiped her fingers at his chin and latched onto his earlobe, tugging it.
“You’re pretty strong for such a tiny thing,” he said, nuzzling his face in her terry-cloth sleeper.
“She sure is,” Martha said.
“I appreciate your watching her while we went to the doctor, Martha.”
“It’s my pleasure,” the housekeeper said, beaming.
“Martha, how well do you know Dan McGuire?”
She looked puzzled. “He’s a kind employer. Personally I don’t know him all that well. He seems real nice, a charmer with the ladies.”
“Yeah, I got that impression.” He certainly tried to charm mine. “Did he…did he and Emma have any… problems?”
Martha’s forehead wrinkled. “Not that I knew of. He was usually leaving when I arrived.”
“Right,” Grant said, remembering Martha cleaned the store after hours. “Well, thanks again for watching Carly.”
“Nonsense.” Martha waved him off and gathered her things. “I love Carly.” She gave Carly a last kiss and left.
Carly began to fuss and Grant prepared a bottle for her. Carly latched onto the bottle just as the phone rang. He started to reach for it, but the sound died and he realized Emma must have answered it. Probably Kate, he thought, since she hadn’t been by. Let Kate and Emma talk for a while, he decided, wiping a drop of formula off Carly’s chin.
Then he remembered the threats to Emma and reached for the portable phone.
THE CALLER WAS THE SAME, Emma realized with a dull panic that knotted her insides. The same hushed whisper, the same heady warning that had made chills sweep up her spine.
“I warned you before. The people you trust will hurt you the most.”
The hateful words sounded even more horrible the second time. And the dead silence on the other end of the line when the caller hung up hit her with a wave of nausea.
“What did he mean he warned you before?”
Emma nearly jumped off the bed when Grant’s husky voice sounded from the bedroom doorway. But the calm resonance held an unleashed fury almost as potent as the rage in his eyes.
“Someone called last night,” Emma murmured, brushing her tousled hair over her shoulders. “Do you think they were on long enough for the police to trace it?”
“No.” Grant moved into the room, his tall frame outlined faintly by the late-afternoon sunshine streaming through the blinds. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Emma shrugged, biting down on her lip. Feeling vulnerable in the darkness, she flipped on the Victorian lamp on her nightstand. Hurt simmered below the surface of his anger, she noted, when he stepped into the circle of light.
“Why, Emma?” he asked again.
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to formulate a reasonable lie. “You were in the shower.”
His hand shook as he ran it through his hair. Then he closed the distance between them and stood over her, so that she had to look up to see his face. His hands sought her shoulders, rested gently on the top, but she could feel the trembling in his muscles as he fought to control himself. “You could have called me, Emma. I would have been here in a second.”
Remorse tightened her chest. “I’m sorry, Grant. Really. I…didn’t know what to do. I was scared.”
He tenderly thumbed the outline of her sweater along the shoulder, then traced a line up her cheek. “You didn’t trust me?” he asked, hurt coloring his quietly spoken words.
Emma hesitated, knowing her actions had already answered his question.
“That’s right, you don’t remember me,” he said tightly. “I guess you’re not even sure if I’ve told you the truth about our marriage.”
She lowered her eyes, hating the anger and truth in his accusation. But he tipped up her chin, forcing her to face him. “I really am sorry, Grant,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”
“What else did he say?” he asked, his expression clouded.
She strung together the first conversation verbatim, watching the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed.
Grant ran a hand through his hair again. “The caller ID simply said Raleigh. It could be a cell phone anywhere.”
Emma nodded, her fingers tracing over his knuckle. He followed the movement, his eyes darkening. Emma shivered, looking into the distance. “Where’s Carly?”
“In the playpen. She’s fine.”
Emma slumped, exhausted and scared. “Why is this all happening?”
“I don’t know,” Grant said, pulling her to him. “But it’s beginning to sound more and more personal.”
Emma leaned against him. “You’re right. It’s almost like the person knows me. And my friends and family.”
Grant’s blue eyes darkened with uncertainty. “And you’re wonderin
g if there’s some truth to what the caller said. You’re making a list in your head, wondering who you should trust and who you shouldn’t.” A deep labored sigh escaped him. “And since you don’t remember me, I’m at the top of that list.”
“I never said that.” Emma’s voice quavered.
Grant exhaled loudly. “Kate’s been telling you awful things about me, telling you all the reasons you shouldn’t trust a man.”
Emma’s fingers tightened on the edge of his shirt, Kate’s cynical comments reverberating in her head.
“Kate’s marriage failed, so now she wants to destroy ours,” Grant continued. “Her husband cheated on her, so she assumes all men are cheaters.”
“Maybe she does think that, but Kate wouldn’t do all this,” Emma argued. “She’d never threaten me or hurt me.”
“But she’s making you doubt me.”
“I overheard you making a date with Priscilla,” Emma admitted.
“That call was business, Emma. Business, nothing more.” He closed his eyes and dropped his hands to his side. “Kate’s wrong about me, Emma. Maybe I haven’t always been the perfect husband or the greatest father, but I do love you and Carly.” His voice became a pained whisper. “I wish you’d believe me.”
Emma’s heart lurched at the sincerity in his voice. She reached for him, but the doorbell rang and he went to answer it. She limped to the living room as the detective came in.
“Did you find out something new?” Grant asked.
Warner nodded. “I’m afraid so.” His gray eyes flitted over Emma, then Grant, his expression serious. “I need to ask you some questions about your past, Mr. Wadsworth.”
Grant’s dark eyebrows arched in surprise. “What’s this about, Detective?”
“It’s about Faye Simmons.”
Grant jammed his hands in his pockets, tension radiating through the room.
“You remember her, Mr. Wadsworth,” Warner said, his voice level. “The girl you dated in college, the one who died in a car accident.”
