Forgotten Lullaby (10 page)

Emma smiled warmly and touched his hand, her fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles. “She knows you, too. You're a wonderful father, Grant.”

He swallowed, wondering if she'd say the same thing if she could remember the past few weeks. The days and nights he'd abandoned the two of them for his job. And the night she'd had her accident, when he should have been home, instead of out with a client. And Priscilla.

 

E
MMA FORCED HERSELF
to eat, hoping to regain her energy, but the tension between Grant and Kate tied her stomach in knots. She either had to go to Kate's or send Kate home. Kate's negative attitude about men grated on her nerves. How badly had Kate taken the divorce? Maybe Kate needed counseling. Or maybe she'd already seen a counselor, Emma thought, irritated at all the missing details of her life.

The doorbell rang and Grant excused himself to answer it while Kate cleared the dishes. Seconds later he returned with a bouquet of fresh daisies.

“They're beautiful,” Emma said, sniffing the sweet fragrance as Grant placed them on the table. “Who sent them?”

Grant checked the card. “They're from my folks. They've called every day to check on you.”

“How sweet.” Emma unfolded the pale yellow stationery and read silently.

Emma swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks, touched by the handwritten letter. When she glanced up at Grant, tenderness warmed his eyes. He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Don't cry, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “My mom wouldn't want to upset you. She loves you.”

“It's so sweet of them,” Emma said.
I wish I could remember them. And you.

“You've always loved my parents,” he said as if he'd read her mind. “But my mom can be kind of long-winded.”

She nodded. “She sounds wonderful.”
Not like my mother.

“I finished the dishes,” Kate said, interrupting the moment.

Grant's smile faded automatically, and Emma tried to keep her fragile control, disappointed at the sudden tension in the room.

“You want to watch TV?” Kate asked.

Emma shook her head, aware Grant was watching her. “I'm feeling stronger this evening, Kate. I'm sure you're ready to be home, so you can leave anytime.”

Kate's surprised expression took Emma off guard. “But I told you I'd stay and take care of you and Carly.”

Emma patted Kate's hand affectionately, uneasy at the suspicious look Kate shot Grant. “I know and I appreciate it, sis. But it'll probably do me good to be here with Carly and Grant.” She forced a smile. “The doctor said a normal routine might trigger my memories.”

“And I'm not going anywhere tonight,” Grant added in a voice that warmed Emma all the way to her toes.

Kate frowned, then began to gather her things. “Okay, but call if you need me, sis.”

When Kate closed the door behind her, Grant slipped his hand over Emma's. “Thanks, Emma. It'll be nice, just the two of us tonight.”

“You mean the three of us,” Emma said with a slow smile, gesturing toward Carly's room.

“I mean the three of us,” Grant said with a wink. “But right now Carly's asleep and I have you all to myself.”

No, she wouldn't go to Kate's just yet, Emma decided. She'd stay here and get to know her husband again. And she'd try to make their marriage work.

The phone rang, waking Carly, and Emma went to her. Detective Warner's booming voice filled the line. “Did you find something?” Grant asked without preamble.

“Nothing specific yet,” Warner said. “At least not enough to make an arrest.”

“Is it about McGuire?”

“No, haven't found out anything else on him. But I've been checking on the other people on your list.”

Grant's fingers tightened around the phone. “Yeah?”

“The boy who witnessed your wife's accident said the Jeep he saw was a dark color. That guy, Landers, who works with you owns a black Jeep. It just so happens that Landers's Jeep is in the shop, having some bodywork done.”

Pete? Grant's heart stopped, the memory of his last encounter with Pete flashing through his mind. Pete had been more than ready to take over the Paris project for Grant, and he'd been agitated when Grant had contemplated going on the trip and leaving Emma. It was obvious Pete wanted the job promotion at work. Would he stoop to desperate measures to obtain it?

Grant's voice dulled to a low rumble, and the hair on the back of Emma's neck rose. Then Grant hung up the phone, hesitating before he looked at her, and her nerves stretched thin.

“What was that all about?” Emma asked.

“It was Detective Warner. He says the boy that witnessed your accident described the car that hit you as a dark Jeep.”

Emma searched his face, wondering if he was keeping something from her. “Did he say anything else?”

Grant shook his head. “He didn't learn anything more about McGuire.”

“You don't really think Dan had something to do with my accident, do you?”

Grant shrugged. “I don't know what to think, Emma.” He looked at Carly. “Is she sleeping?” Grant asked quietly.

Emma kissed the top of Carly's head. “Yeah. She dozed off again.”

“I'll put her in her crib.” Grant smiled as he gently curved his hand under Carly's bottom and lifted her to his chest. Carly seemed so fragile and small next to his broad chest that Emma's heart squeezed with emotion.

He returned a few minutes later, running a hand through his hair. “Are you ready for bed?”

An image of Grant carrying her to bed sent a sliver of awareness up her spine. But the tightness in his voice alarmed her.

“Grant, was there something else you wanted to tell me about the call from the police?”

Grant shook his head, averting his gaze. “No, nothing else.” He offered his hand and helped her stand. “Come on, let's get you to bed.”

Emma hobbled, feeling awkward and nervous. She wanted to alleviate the troubled look on Grant's face, but she didn't know what to say. He turned down the covers for her, then jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Can I get your gown for you?”

The huskiness of his voice sent a tiny thrill running through her. At the same time the intimacy frightened her to death. “I can manage,” Emma said quietly.

Their gazes locked, questions lingering in the air. Heat sizzled between them, the master bedroom simmering with lost memories, nights of lovemaking, a reminder of the vows they'd spoken and the life they shared, the marriage she'd completely forgotten.

Finally Grant backed toward the door, disappointment drawing his thick dark eyebrows into a V above the bridge of his nose. “Will you call me if you need anything?”

“Y-yes.” Emma winced at the uncertainty in her voice. He nodded, a frown tightening the fine lines beside his gorgeous blue eyes, then left. She hated causing him so much grief. He honestly seemed to care for her and for Carly. And if he was a faithful husband, the kind of soul mate his mother had described in her letter, this separation had to be torture for him. But what if
Kate's comments about not trusting men weren't based solely on her own experience? What if Kate knew something about her marriage she was afraid to tell her?

Their lives were suspended in space and time, and Emma realized she held the key to all the answers, locked somewhere in her mind. The question remained, haunting her day and night—would the answers be lost forever?

Emma huddled beneath the covers, staring into the darkness as she listened to the sound of the shower running. Knowing Grant was naked fueled fantasies she wasn't prepared to act on. Would she normally strip her clothes and join him? Would they make love with the warm water sluicing their backs and faces?

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 some
one 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.

 

G
RANT 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 pre
liminary 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.

 

E
MMA 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?”

“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, espe
cially 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.

 

G
RANT 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.