by Rita Herron
He remembered Priscilla’s less-than-subtle attention, the sly coy remarks he’d let pass without notice, the offers of comfort that had hinted at more. He’d been flattered she thought him attractive, but was it a fatal attraction? And what did she have to do with Faye Simmons? Could they have been related? Friends?
Too many questions bombarded him, and he knew he had to have some answers. He rushed to his car and grabbed his cell phone, then dialed home as he raced to the restaurant. But once again, no one answered. Surely Emma had gone to Kate’s. He tried Kate’s number, but no one answered there, either. If Priscilla was responsible for hurting Emma, he would find out, then he’d find Emma and bring her home. He’d make her believe in them as much as he did.
Exhaling a shaky breath, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and steered the car onto the highway. Cursing a blue streak at the traffic, he pounded on his horn and wove in and out of the rows of cars, yanking the car into the parking lot of the Ritz, then jogging inside.
He saw Priscilla waving from a mauve lace-draped table and tried to collect himself, scrutinizing her as he made his way across the crowded dining room. In college Priscilla had been ambitious. He’d heard she’d even slept with one of the professors to better her grades. She’d said she and Grant would make a great team. Her green eyes raked him as he approached, and doubts assailed him. How many times had she come on to him and he’d turned her down without realizing what he was doing?
“Hi.” Priscilla captured his hand and squeezed it. Her hand was icy cold. “I’m glad you made it, Grant.”
“You said it was important.” He gestured at the table for two. “I thought a new client was meeting us here.”
A sly smile lit her face as she sat down and sipped her wine. “Actually it’s just the two of us today.”
He arched an eyebrow, hoping he was wrong about suspecting her of foul play. She poured him a glass of wine from the bottle in the wine cooler and handed it to him. His fingers tightened around the stem but he didn’t take a drink. He needed to play it cool and try to coax the truth from her. “So, what are we discussing?” he asked casually, settling into the chair opposite her.
“I told you I’ve been worried about you,” she said.
“And I told you things were going better with Emma.”
Her smile slipped slightly. “I’m not sure how you can say that if she still doesn’t remember you.” She tilted her head, her auburn lashes fluttering seductively. “But I remember you, Grant, way back in college.” She took another sip of wine. “I always knew you’d succeed and—” she took his hand and traced her finger along his palm “—I knew we’d make a great team.”
“But we never really went out, Priscilla. How could you know those things?”
“Because I watched you—in class, at the sorority house with the other girls.”
“You mean with Faye Simmons?” he asked, fear making his voice sound hard.
She straightened, looking stunned by his question. “Yes, her and the others. And then Emma came along and I thought I’d lost my chance. Until I landed this job at the firm.” She slipped a hotel key into his hand and he stared at it, momentarily stunned. When he finally raised his gaze to meet hers, the cutthroat business look he’d come to know in her eyes had transformed into cutthroat seduction.
“You can’t be too surprised,” Priscilla said softly. “I’ve been pretty obvious these past few weeks. When Emma was hurt and the two of you were having problems, I thought you’d realize how wrong you were for each other.”
“So you thought you’d step in and take her place?”
The pupils of her eyes dilated. “I could, Grant. I could give you everything she gave you, and more.”
Disgust ate at his calm, but he tried to mask it. “Look, Priscilla, did you take the job at the firm just to be near me?”
A brief glint of anger shot through Priscilla’s eyes. “It’s one of the reasons,” she admitted.
He studied her face. “Did you do something to hurt Emma? Are you the one who’s been threatening her?”
Priscilla’s gasp of horror took him off guard. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? Just because I want you doesn’t mean I’d try to kill your wife.”
Grant relaxed his hand and let the key clatter onto the table. “Then…this whole seduction, you…”
“This whole seduction is because I want to sleep with you, and I want us to open our own company.” Priscilla’s tight smile was steeped in fury. “With your skills and my marketing ability, we’d make a good team.” She hissed out an angry breath. “Both in the bedroom and the boardroom.”
“Look, Priscilla, I’m sorry, but Emma called and sounded upset. Then I found a picture of me in your desk—”
“You were snooping in my desk?”
“I was looking for a pen—”
“I’m not the only one who had a crush on you in college. Half the girls in the sorority did! Why aren’t you asking all of them if they tried to kill your precious Emma?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your sister-in-law, for example. She had the hots for you before anyone else even knew you existed.”
Grant’s jaw went slack. “Kate?”
Priscilla twisted her mouth into a nasty snarl. “Yes, Kate. She kept photos of you posted all over her closet door. She was furious when her little sister came for a visit and you started drooling over her.”
“Oh, my God.”
“She told everyone how much she hated Emma for taking you away, how her little sister always got everything she wanted.”
Grant jerked up, nausea rolling through him. “I have to go.”
Priscilla opened her mouth to speak, but he backed away, his insides quaking. Could it be true?
He rushed to his car, twisted the key in the ignition and took off, frantically dialing his home, and Kate’s as he drove. Still no answer at either. Snatches of comments Kate had made played over and over in his head. I’ve been so jealous of you and Grant… I found out I can’t have children… I love Carly like she’s my own… I hope one day I find a man like you.
Kate had wanted all their father’s money and had been furious when Emma refused her. She’d lost her husband. She’d lied about having a gun. And he’d taken Kate’s name off the list because he’d never suspected her.
A cold shiver engulfed him—Emma had actually stayed with her sister thinking she was safe. But that same night someone had almost killed her for the fourth time. Kate had been at the hospital, too. And she’d been at the house when someone tried to push Emma down the stairs. Why hadn’t he seen the connection before?
He slammed his fist on the steering wheel and raced to his house, praying that Emma would be there when he got home, that she hadn’t already gone to her sister’s and walked into a trap.
“WHY ARE YOU DOING this?” Emma cried. Her plea was lost in the cotton rag that had been stuffed in her mouth. She struggled against the blindfold over her eyes and the ropes digging into her arms, panic gnawing at her insides.
“Shut up and walk,” the agitated voice said.
The blunt muzzle of a gun jabbed Emma’s back, and she stumbled, a whimper of terror rising in her throat. Tangled briars and weeds scraped her arms and legs, and she almost fell on the cold ground, but a hand jerked her up and shoved her on. A tree branch slapped her in the face and leaves hissed beneath her feet. She paused to try to figure out where she was, how she might escape. She was in the woods somewhere. Near the river? She could hear the sound of water rushing over rocks.
“I said walk.” Another hard push jolted her forward, and she hit the ground on her knees. The sharp point of a stick sliced though her jeans and dug into her skin. She cried out again, but the gag muffled the sound, and she heaved, tears spilling onto the dirt.
“You took everything from me, everything I should have had. And you’re going to pay for it now.”
The image of dead bodies discovered months or years later in some
deserted stretch of woods flashed though her mind. Nausea rose in her throat, and her hopes faded with the sound of thunder that suddenly rumbled above her.
She was going to die in some muddy bug-infested thick of the woods, and Grant might never even find her.
GRANT RUSHED into the house, yelling Emma’s name. But the empty house greeted him with an overpowering silence. Where was the guard who was supposed to be watching the house? Had Emma dismissed him?
Then he spotted a note on the coffee table with a picture taped to it. A picture of Faye Simmons with the words Remember me scrawled below it.
Where was Emma? And what did Kate have to do with Faye Simmons? Unless…unless Kate had drugged Faye and caused her accident.
He didn’t have time to waste, so he rushed to his car and raced to Kate’s. His heart pounding, he jumped out and ran to her apartment, then banged on the door with a vengeance. When no one answered, he dropped his head against the door and yelled in frustration.
Seconds later he pulled himself together, massaging his head with his fingers, trying to decide where Kate might have taken Emma. Remember me. Faye had died at the river. He was desperate. That was the only place he could think of—Kate had taken Emma to the same place Faye had crashed.
Oblivious to the sweat pouring down his face and the cars honking at him, he drove ninety miles an hour toward the old bridge. Remembering Kate’s gun, he grabbed his cell phone and called Warner, relaying his suspicions.
“Your wife’s sister told Officer Parrish to go home. Said she and the housekeeper would be with Emma all day.” Warner cursed. “I’ll meet you at the river.”
THUNDER CLAPPED as Emma was prodded across a wobbly bridge, the wooden slats creaking beneath her feet. The stench of mildew and rotting wood assaulted her already churning stomach, and she staggered, hitting a broken board that snapped and plunged to the river below. She could hear water crashing against rocks and rushing downstream as she fought to keep her balance. Rain began to pelt her arms and mingle with the tears pouring down her cheeks.
The gun dug farther into her back, and she put her foot carefully in front of her. She stumbled and almost fell because of a gaping hole in the flooring. A sob fought its way into her throat. She swayed, straining for any sounds of other people, someone who might rescue her. A crow cawed somewhere in the distance.
And she knew this time she was going to die.
THUNDER CLAPPED as Grant bolted from his car. He decided against the trail and slogged his way through the heavy underbrush leading to the bridge. He hadn’t seen any cars, so he’d parked at the secret place he and the guys had discovered years ago, a shortcut to the old bridge where Faye had died. Rain pounded his head and shoulders. He squinted through the downpour, dove around a tangle of vines and moss-covered stumps, then paused by a tall poplar. His hands clutched the trunk with such force the bark scraped his palms and drew blood. But he barely noticed: His gaze froze on the horrible sight in front of him. Emma stood in the middle of the dilapidated bridge, rain pelting her skin and hair, her hands tied behind her, a gag in her mouth, her eyes blindfolded.
Anger unlike anything he’d ever experienced tore through him. He had to force himself to move slowly to the bridge, not go raging through the woods to rescue her. Kate had a gun; she could pick him off in a second, and then what? He listened for sirens as he scanned the area for Kate. His head jerked around at a mewling sound coming from one end of the bridge. Then he saw her. A lone figure huddled in a hooded raincoat, her hand trembling as she held a gun on Emma.
He moved forward on the balls of his feet so as not to make a sound, but his foot hit a tree limb that snapped and went flying in the air. The figure in the raincoat turned, and his lungs almost collapsed with shock. It wasn’t Kate who had Emma at all.
Chapter Sixteen
“Martha?” Grant said in shock.
“Stay right where you are, Mr. Wadsworth,” she ordered in a cold bitter voice.
He saw Emma stiffen, trying to locate the direction of his voice. He had to let her know where he was. “Don’t move, Emma,” he said. “I’m here.” Then he stared at Martha, willing himself to be calm, to stall until the police could arrive. “I don’t understand, Martha. Why are you doing this?”
She waved the pistol in the air, her eyes wild as she paced back and forth between him and Emma ranting, “’Cause it was you. You took my baby away, you killed her, and you have to pay for it. You have to suffer.”
She was irrational, her confused state scaring him almost more than the gun. Emma was soaked and trembling and frightened, but she didn’t appear hurt. Thank God.
“What are you talking about?” Out of the corner of his eye he kept Emma in his sight as he slowly inched toward the housekeeper. “What baby, Martha? How did I ever hurt you?”
“You wouldn’t marry her. No, you had to finish school. You had to meet some finer richer girl to play house with.” She pointed the gun at Grant, her hand wobbling up and down. “You didn’t even care about the baby.”
Grant held out a calming hand. “Martha, tell me what baby you’re talking about.”
“My grandbaby!” Martha shouted. Rain slashed across her face and dripped down her chin, the streaks of lightning highlighting her wrinkled skin, making her appear even more sinister in the harsh darkness. “Faye’s child. She was yours, but—”
“Faye?” Grant’s mind reeled. “You’re Faye’s mother?”
Martha nodded, and a low sob erupted from her. “She was my only girl and she died. Died ’cause she was having your baby and you didn’t want it. You wouldn’t do right by her—”
“But that’s not true,” Grant said, working to steady his voice. “Martha, Faye and I were only friends. I swear, we talked a few times, and she told me about the baby, but it wasn’t mine.”
“You’re lying!” Martha swung the gun back toward Emma. Emma seemed to sense Martha’s rising hysteria and shrank back, almost tripping on one of the loose boards.
“Don’t move, Emma,” Grant said, barely able to breathe.
“Shut up,” Martha yelled. “She’s the reason you wouldn’t marry my girl. You wanted someone with money—”
“No, Martha,” Grant said calmly, his heart racing. “I told you Faye and I were only friends. I helped her with an assignment or two. We talked. But that’s all. The baby wasn’t mine.” His chest ached with the breath he’d been holding. “Emma had nothing to do with Faye. You have to let her go.”
Martha shook her head, another sob escaping. “I saw your name, yours and that nasty Billy Hogan—”
“You killed Hogan?” Grant asked, trying to sound rational while his heart pounded double time.
“That’s right. He was sorry and no good.” She laughed shrilly. “After Faye died, I found her journal. She wrote about the baby, wrote about you, how you were going to be an architect. That’s how I found you, and I swore I’d make both you guys pay for what you did to my girl…”
Grant exhaled sharply, hoping Emma didn’t believe these ludicrous lies. “Martha, I don’t know what Faye wrote in the diary, but I promise you if she’d been pregnant with my baby, I would have stood by her. She dated a lot of guys—” he hesitated, not knowing how much to tell the woman “—and when she came to me, she didn’t know what to do. She said she wasn’t sure who the baby’s father was—”
“That’s a lie!” Martha shrieked. Thunder crashed again and lightning shimmied across the sky. He stared at Emma, desperately wanting to drag her off that bridge, knowing any minute Martha might go wild and shoot Emma, if lightning didn’t strike her first.
“I’m afraid it is true,” he said. “Faye didn’t think she was pretty. I told her she was. I tried to be her friend, really I did,” Grant said, still hoping to calm Martha.
“Stop it!” the woman screamed. “Stop saying those things about Faye! She was beautiful.”
Emma’s slim body was shaking so badly he thought she was going to collapse any minute and go plunging into the
frigid river.
“I know she was, but Faye was afraid to tell you about the baby, Martha,” he said. “She didn’t want to upset you. She loved you so much, Martha.”
His calmly spoken words seemed to sink in, but then the wildness returned to her eyes and she stepped onto the bridge. She jerked the blindfold from Emma’s eyes and pulled out the gag. His heart leaped into his throat. Fear and shock registered on Emma’s face, but she took a deep breath and looked at him, such love and trust in her eyes that he nearly fell to his knees. God, he had to do something to save her. There was so much he had to tell her. He had to show her how much he loved her. He had to ask her to marry him again.
“She hated Billy. If you weren’t the baby’s father, then why’d she write about you like she loved you?” Martha asked, her deathly calm frightening him even more.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Like I told you, we were friends.”
“Martha,” Emma interjected softly. “If Grant had fathered Faye’s baby, he would have done the right thing,” Emma said. “Think about it. You’ve gotten to know him over the past few months. Hasn’t he been wonderful with Carly? And look how he’s stayed by me during all this. He’s not a man who shirks his responsibilities.”
Martha’s face contorted in a snarl. “He should have taken care of my grandchild.” She turned to Emma and raised the gun to her face. “But he didn’t. That’s why you have to die. Then I can take Carly and raise her as my own.”
“That’s the reason you’ve been doing this?” Emma asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. The rain slackened to a sprinkle, but water still dripped down her face. “So you can take Carly?”
