Forgotten Lullaby

by Rita Herron

  At times she saw pain lingering in Grant’s eyes, and she wondered if it was fair to stay here in this house with him as his wife when she couldn’t truly be a wife to him. Was he simply staying with her out of loyalty?

  The telephone rang and she started, then stared at the machine, her heart thumping. Was it the threatening caller?

  Angry with herself for letting the calls upset her, she reached for the phone, preparing to tell whoever it was to bug off. But a woman’s lilting voice sounded on the line.

  “Hello, Emma?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “This is Priscilla—I work with Grant.”

  Emma wound the phone cord around her fingers. “Yes, he’s mentioned you.”

  “He has?” Priscilla sounded surprised.

  “Yes, he told me about you and Pete Landers and the trip to Paris.”

  “Oh, yes. The trip went great. We missed having Grant along, but the company loved his work.” Priscilla paused. “Is Grant there?”

  Emma frowned in confusion. “No, I thought he was at work.”

  “He was,” Priscilla quickly said. “But after lunch I had another appointment and when I returned to the office, he was gone.”

  “I see.” Emma shifted onto her uninjured leg, keeping the weight off her sore ankle. “Do you want to leave a message?”

  “Yes, if you see him, tell him we’re meeting with Mr. Bronson this afternoon. He wants to discuss the designs Grant drew up for him.”

  Emma twisted her mouth in thought. “I’ll tell him, but he’ll probably go to the office first. He isn’t driving me to the doctor until three.”

  Priscilla’s loud sigh wreaked with agitation. “Can you arrange for someone else to drive you? This is a very important meeting, Emma.”

  Emma stiffened at Priscilla’s condescending tone. She knew Kate would drop her at the doctor’s office, but Kate had an appointment later and couldn’t stay.

  “I realize you’ve had a hard time lately, Emma, but you really need to be supportive of Grant,” Priscilla chided. “He’s worked so hard to make a name for himself, and right now he needs to put everything he has into the company. He might be promoted. That would mean major money and status with the firm.”

  “I understand,” Emma said, rubbing her hand along her thigh. “When he comes in, tell him Kate will take me to the doctor, but he’ll need to pick me up at five.” Priscilla agreed and hung up. Emma’s leg was aching, so she hobbled over to the couch and propped it on the ottoman, then lay her head back and sighed. She was letting Grant down by not remembering her marriage. After talking to Priscilla, she wondered if she’d failed him in the past, as well, by not supporting his career.

  Too tired to think, she closed her eyes and drifted off. But several minutes later she woke up with a start. Even in her sleep, questions plagued her. She was a burden to Grant, she was sure. And she had to do something about it.

  She pushed herself up, grabbed her cane and went to the bathroom to freshen up before her session. She was going to talk to the doctor about running some more tests. She needed to find out if her memory loss was due to physical trauma or emotional stress. And if the results showed emotional stress, she’d arrange for the hypnosis. And if the tests showed permanent physical damage, she needed to know that, too. Then she and Grant could move on with their lives, one way or another.

  GRANT HURRIED BACK into his office to retrieve the files he’d left behind, anxious to get home to Emma and Carly. Each day he told himself to be patient, that one day Emma would wake up and remember him. But each time he saw the listless look in Emma’s eyes, he knew she hadn’t. It was eating at her, as well. He recognized the tension radiating between them.

  “I can’t believe you, Wadsworth,” Pete said, almost accosting him in the hallway.

  “What is it now, Landers?” Grant asked, mentally counting the number of times Pete had chastised him for coming in to work and leaving his wife. “Going to lecture me again about how I should go home?”

  Pete’s nostrils flared with anger. “I decided that wouldn’t do any good, you’re so hardheaded. But how dare you insinuate to the police that I might have hurt your wife!”

  “What?” Grant paused over the papers on his desk.

  Pete exploded. “They came to my office and questioned me about my Jeep. Just because it was in the damn body shop, they accused me of running your wife off the road!”

  Grant exhaled noisily. “Look, Pete, I had nothing to do with that.”

  Pete folded his arms, his expression furious. “Really? They said you gave them my name.”

  “I did,” Grant said, forcing a calm into his voice before they had the entire firm wandering in to witness their confrontation. “I had to give them a list of everyone Emma and I knew, all our friends and family, and the people we both worked with. It was a formality.”

  The angry splash on Pete’s neck faded slightly. “I know you don’t like me, Wadsworth, but I can’t believe you think I’d hurt your wife. What reason could I possibly have?” Grant’s silence seemed to fuel Pete’s temper again. “The job?” Pete asked in disbelief.

  “I never accused you of anything,” Grant said.

  “You think I’d stoop to murder to beat you out of a promotion?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Grant replied quietly. “And I’m sorry if the cops bothered you. They’re only doing their jobs.” They even questioned me, he thought, remembering how angry he’d been with the detective’s insinuations.

  Pete’s voice dropped an octave. “You just don’t get it, Grant. Some things are more important than your job.” Then he spun around and exited the office in a gust of anger.

  Priscilla nearly bumped into Pete as she entered. She arched an auburn eyebrow. “What’s going on with him?”

  Grant relayed the argument. Priscilla simply clucked, dismissing Pete’s problems with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about him, Grant. You have enough on your mind.”

  A muscle twitched in his neck and Grant rubbed it, rolling his shoulders to relieve the strain. Before he realized it, Priscilla had slipped behind him and pressed her fingertips to his sore neck and begun to massage. He dropped his head forward, unable to resist the tension release as she kneaded his aching muscles.

  “I know you’re having a rough time at home. Pete should cut you some slack.”

  “I don’t blame him for being angry,” Grant said. “But he never did say what happened to his Jeep.”

  “He told me somebody hit him in the parking lot. Didn’t even leave a note.”

  “It’s possible,” Grant agreed, rotating his shoulders in the opposite direction.

  “You need to concentrate on the Bronson account right now,” Priscilla said. “Not Pete. Bronson called and wants us for cocktails at four, then an early dinner.”

  Grant sighed. “I can’t, Priscilla. I have to take Emma to therapy.”

  “It’s all right—I talked to Emma. She said to tell you her sister’s taking her.”

  “Oh,” Grant said, feeling as if Emma had once again chosen Kate over him.

  Priscilla leaned over his shoulder, her perfume wafting around him. “Bronson wants you to build a scale model of the city within the city.”

  “Great,” Grant said, slightly uneasy when Priscilla’s hair brushed against his collar. He leaned forward, expecting her to release his shoulders, but she ran her hand over his arm and squeezed his bicep.

  “Are you feeling more relaxed, darling?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He straightened his tie and turned to face her, surprised she hadn’t moved.

  She brushed a piece of lint from his jacket, her hand lingering at his collar. “I really am worried about you, Grant,” Priscilla said softly, her ruby lips curving into a sensuous smile. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. If you ever need to talk or…anything else, let me know.”

  Grant swallowed. With Kate’s undermining him with Emma, Emma’s reluctance to let him touch her and Pete’s antag
onistic attitude, he should be flattered to have someone think about him for a change, but Priscilla’s catlike eyes seemed to be suggesting more than comfort.

  Or maybe he was so desperate for physical attention he was reading more into her gesture than she meant. Whatever her motive and no matter how tempting the idea of leaning on her, he couldn’t possibly have a personal relationship with Priscilla without seeing Emma in his mind. Only Emma didn’t want him.

  Priscilla’s hand feathered over his arm, her touch light, almost provocative. “You will let me know if you need anything, won’t you, Grant?”

  He caught her hand in his and squeezed it, then angled his head toward the phone. “Yes, thanks.”

  Priscilla’s smile widened. “Good. I’ll make the reservations and confirm with Bronson.” She sashayed toward the door, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “We make a great team, Grant, don’t you think?”

  His fingers tightened around the phone as he nodded. Yeah, but it’s only business, he thought, stifling images of what she’d seemingly offered. The diamond chips in his wedding ring sparkled as they caught in the light, and he forced his mind back to business.

  “I’LL LET YOU KNOW the results of the test next week,” Dr. Jacobs said. “Until then, go home and rest. You look exhausted, Mrs. Wadsworth.”

  “It was a long therapy session,” Emma said. “But I’m feeling stronger every day.” She settled her cane on the carpeting and stood, steadying herself. “Thanks for working me in for those tests.”

  Jacobs checked her chart. “Most of the swelling around your brain tissue has gone down. We should get a better indication of your condition from these tests.”

  “I want to try hypnosis if we find out my amnesia’s due to emotional stress,” Emma said.

  Jacobs nodded. “Let’s take it one step at a time, Emma. For now, that means go home to your family and rest. And try not to worry.” Jacobs opened the door for her to leave.

  “I’ll try. Now I’d better get going. My husband’s supposed to be picking me up.”

  Emma was surprised to see that Grant wasn’t in the waiting room. She made her way down the hallway and into the elevator, her muscles aching from her therapy session. Although her gait was still awkward, she was getting stronger every day, she reminded herself. And the threatening phone calls had petered off; she hadn’t received one all day. Of course, Grant had changed the phone number to an unlisted one, so perhaps they would end entirely.

  The office complex was shutting down, most of the offices empty. Maybe Grant was running late and had decided not to park. He’d probably be outside, she thought, making her way to the front door. The sun had set, dark skies hovering over the horizon. The gusty winter wind sent a chill through her spine as she looked out at the nearly deserted parking lot.

  She didn’t see Grant. She pulled her jacket around her more tightly and awkwardly searched the front of the building, then slowly walked around to the side parking lot. Shadows loomed from the corners, whispers of indistinguishable sounds echoing off the concrete. Tension fluttered through her—a product of seeing too many women attacked in parking garages on TV, she thought wryly. Her gaze automatically surveyed the vacant lot and she reached in her purse for the cell phone. Suddenly frightened, she turned to go back to the front. There was a noise behind her. The thump of shoes on the pavement. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a shadow at the edge of the building. Someone was following her.

  Panic hit her. She stumbled forward and tried to run. But someone grabbed her shoulder and pushed her to the ground.

  Chapter Nine

  Emma screamed as she pushed up and tried to run. She wielded her cane like a weapon, swinging it wildly. A cab rolled up and parked at the street corner, and she ran toward it, stumbling in the dark. The hands clawed at her again, but she dodged her attacker, almost losing her balance when her foot slid off the sidewalk.

  She screamed again and darted into the street, dodging an oncoming car. The car blasted its horn and careered on. Then a muffled popping sound rent the air. A gunshot?

  She lunged toward the taxi, swung open the door and collapsed into the back seat.

  “Take me to the police station,” Emma shrieked, scanning the street. “Someone just tried to shoot me.”

  AS GRANT REFILLED Adam Bronson’s glass in preparation for a toast to their business deal, a tremor rippled up his spine. Something was wrong.

  Priscilla automatically lay her hand on his thigh to get his attention, but he quickly removed it, his anxiety intensifying. Not only had Priscilla been late, she’d come in looking flustered and shaky.

  “Won’t you share the toast?” Bronson asked, his graying eyebrows arched.

  “Of course we will,” Priscilla said, glossing over the moment with her usual feminine ease. She refilled her glass, as well as Grant’s.

  “To the most ingenious architect I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in a long time,” Bronson said. “And to Little Raleigh, the city within a city that is going to be the next wave in development.”

  Priscilla smiled flirtatiously at Bronson, and Grant swallowed the wine, then checked his watch. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t get Emma off his mind. How had her doctor’s visit gone? Had she and Kate made it back all right?

  “Grant does have wonderful ideas,” Priscilla boasted with a wink. “And the best part is, he always follows through.”

  Bronson slapped him on the back. “That’s what I want to hear. How soon can you have this scale model completed?”

  “When would you like it?” Grant heard himself ask woodenly.

  “Three weeks—is that doable?”

  “Of course,” Priscilla agreed smugly. Once again she slid her hand over his thigh, patting it as she grinned at Bronson. “If we have to work together day and night, we’ll have it finished for you, won’t we, Grant?”

  “Um, yes.” Grant set his glass down. “Excuse me, please. I have to make a phone call. I need to check on my wife.”

  Priscilla caught his wrist. “Oh, dear. Grant, I forgot to tell you, Emma wants you to pick her up after her appointment.”

  “What time?”

  Priscilla cut into her cheesecake and offered him some. “I think she said around five.”

  Grant glanced at his watch in a panic. “Five. It’s nearly six now.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late,” Priscilla said lamely.

  He clenched his jaw, his anger at Priscilla almost overwhelming. “She shouldn’t have to wait.”

  Bronson eyed him speculatively. Grant muttered a brief explanation, reached into his jacket for his keys, then headed to the exit. His beeper went off just as he climbed into his car. He checked the number, his anxiety level rising when he spotted the detective’s number. His heart racing, he punched the numbers on his cell phone.

  “Mr. Wadsworth, I think you’d better come to the station.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s your wife.”

  “Emma? She’s at the doctor—”

  “No, she’s here. She isn’t hurt, but she’s pretty upset. She said someone tried to shoot her outside the doctor’s office.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Grant slammed down the phone and pressed the accelerator, cursing a blue streak. This was all his fault. Damn Priscilla. He could strangle her for not giving him Emma’s message. And he wouldn’t believe Emma was all right until he saw her himself.

  EMMA SIPPED THE TEA one of the officers had given her, trying to warm her hands and steady her nerves. Warner had assured her they would check the parking lot for a bullet. And Grant was on his way. When she glanced up and saw him enter the office, his face was a mask of misery. “Emma?” he said in a rough whisper. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Her resolve instantly crumpled and the tears she’d tried to hold at bay erupted, streaming down her cheeks. He was beside her in a second, his big strong arms enveloping her as he rocked her back and forth. “Shh, honey, it’s okay. I’m
here. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, not again. Not ever again.” He crooned soft words of comfort and stroked the hair from her face, his broad shoulders cradling her against him.

  “I thought someone was following me at the hospital,” she whimpered. “I heard footsteps and it was dark and I saw shadows,” she said, pouring every ounce of strength she had left into telling him the details of the night. “Then he grabbed me.”

  “Oh, God, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He cocooned her in his protective embrace and Emma clung to him.

  “I thought you were going to be there.”

  He pulled her back and cupped her face in his palms. “I should have been there, I would have, but Priscilla didn’t give me the message. I thought Kate was with you.”

  Emma searched his face for the truth. “But I told her Kate couldn’t bring me home.”

  His jaw tensed. “I’m sorry, she didn’t tell me until we were in the middle of dinner.” He ran his hands over her face, her hair. “I swear she didn’t tell me or I would have been there, Emma. I never would have left you alone, not with all that’s been going on.”

  “Mrs. Wadsworth,” Warner said, sidling into the office. “One of my men just called. He said he found a slug from a .38 in the parking lot.” He frowned at Emma. “I guess you were right. Someone did shoot at you.”

  Emma shivered and felt Grant tremble against her.

  “We’ll have it analyzed. We’re questioning folks to find out if there were any witnesses.”

  “You have to find this maniac,” Grant said, clutching Emma to him. “Don’t you have any ideas yet? What about the florist? Did you find out who sent the locket?”

  Warner shook his head. “The florist said it was dropped off by an independent service with a request to be sent to you with the flowers. Cash in an envelope.” Warner gestured toward a chair. “But there’s something else. You might want to sit down.”