Forgotten Lullaby (5 page)

“She managed a small jewelry store named Sentio's, but she hasn't worked since Carly was born,” Grant interjected. “And like I said, Emma doesn't have any enemies.”

“Hmm. Sentio's. That's a nice, upscale place.”

“Emma practically ran the place by herself,” Grant added. “You really think someone would try to hurt her
because they weren't happy with a piece of jewelry she sold them?”

Warner scoffed. “Sounds a little farfetched. What about the owner?”

“Dan McGuire travels a lot, goes on buying trips around the world. But Emma's known him since high school.” Grant noticed Emma give a start when he said Dan's name.

“I've heard of him,” the detective said with a scowl. “Anyway, like I said, call me if you remember anything else, Mrs. Wadsworth.”

“I will,” Emma said quietly.

“And you'll let us know what you find out?” Grant asked.

“Of course,” Warner said. “And send me that list ASAP.”

Grant nodded, then showed the officer to the door.

 

T
HE TENSION GREW THICK
as Emma listened to the heated whispers between Grant and the detective at the door. Kate lay Carly in the small bassinet beside the couch and put her arm around Emma. “It's going to be all right, sis. They'll find the creep who did this.”

Grant appeared in the doorway holding a manila envelope. “What's that?” Emma asked.

“Some of your personal things the police found in the car.”

The paper rattled as Grant pulled out a small wallet-size purse. Dry-cleaning receipts. A tube of lipstick. “I can't believe it,” he said, sounding irritated. “I was hoping they'd find your locket.”

Kate picked up the lipstick. “That's odd. I've never seen you wear red before, Emma.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, instinctively touching her
lips. “I usually wear plum shades. Or at least I used to.”

“You still do,” Kate said, giving Grant an accusatory glare. “Do you know who this lipstick belongs to?”

Grant shook his head. “How would I know? I don't buy lipstick or use it.”

“Perhaps one of your business associates wears red,” Kate said in a snide voice.

“I told you I don't know whose it is,” Grant said. “Besides, it was in Emma's car. I haven't driven the Honda in weeks.”

“You two, please don't argue.” Emma massaged her head again, wondering about Kate's suggestion, but the air stilled, hot and stale, and the room spun.

Grant and Kate both quieted as Grant hurried to help her sit down. “I'm sorry, Emma,” Grant said immediately. “I don't know what got into us.”

“I guess we're a little on edge,” Kate added hastily.

Emma sighed, letting out a shaky breath. “It's okay. This is hard for all of us. Could we just relax, please? I'm really tired.”

“Sure. I'll fix you some tea with dinner,” Kate offered.

Grant pulled his keys from his pockets, the metal jangling. “Since you're here now, Kate, I need to go to the office for a while. I have to pick up some work to bring home. I won't be gone long.”

“Sure.” Kate patted Emma's shoulder. “I won't leave Emma.”

“I'm not leaving her,” Grant said through clenched teeth. “But I've fallen behind at work the past few days. I want to bring some files home to finish while I help with Carly.”

“Stay as long as you like,” Kate said, patting
Emma's back. “Emma and I are going to reminisce about old times, anyway.”

“I'll be back soon.” He gently brushed the side of Emma's face with his fingertips. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin at the base of her throat, and for the longest moment he looked down at her, caressing her with his eyes. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Emma nodded, her throat clogged with emotion. “I'm tired. I think I'll rest a bit.”

Grant wove a strand of her hair around one finger. She thought he was going to say something else, but instead he leaned over and dropped a kiss on her temple, then kissed Carly on the cheek. “I'll be back in a little while, girls.”

Kate cleared her throat. “I'll make up the guest room for you, Grant.”

Grant faced Kate, anger evident in his glittering blue eyes. “Maybe you should go home when I get back, Kate. I think I can take care of my wife.”

“I told you I'm not leaving.”

“But—”

“I want her to stay,” Emma said, cutting off Grant's next words.

If possible, Grant's rigid posture stiffened even more. He gave her a hard, almost hurt look, then left without saying another word. Whereupon Kate mumbled something about not trusting men, and Emma wondered if she was talking about Grant.

Grant screeched into the parking deck and slammed out of his car, then strode toward his office building, his mind a blur of frustration. He couldn't stand having Emma look at him as if she didn't know him when once she'd looked at him with love, as if he were the only man in the world. He wanted her to love him again.

They'd been intimate for three and a half years. He'd seen every inch of her glorious flesh and tasted it, too. He'd buried himself so deeply in her sometimes he thought he'd lose himself. And he wanted to do so again. Soon.

Guilt nagged at him for running out on her right after she'd come home. Especially after that detective had upset her. Then at the door the detective had asked him where he'd been the night of the accident, as if he suspected Grant might have hurt his own wife. Dear God!

What if the cop was right? What if someone had been after Emma? If the person who'd hit her didn't know about her amnesia, they might be afraid she could ID him. What if there had been someone in her hospital room?

His body broke out in a cold sweat. He balled his hands into fists, his heart pounding so fast he could hear
the blood roaring in his ears. If he ever got his hands on the SOB who'd run her off the road and left her to die, he'd kill him.

When the cop left, Grant had wanted to comfort Emma. He'd needed to feel her in his arms. But Kate had been there. Emma hadn't needed him. She and Kate were going to reminisce about old times. They would talk about old high-school dates, none of which would include him.

He knew he was acting selfishly, but the realization hurt. There had been a time when Emma would have easily chosen him over Kate, but now… The past week had been pure hell, and he wanted to be alone with his wife.
But she doesn't want to be alone with you,
a dark voice whispered.

She'd jumped right in, asking Kate to stay. And separate bedrooms… He hadn't planned that far ahead. He'd thought—what? He and Emma would pick up like husband and wife? Not yet. But separate rooms…

He entered the building, stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the eleventh floor, grateful to have a few seconds to clear his head before facing his co-workers. The elevator dinged. The doors swung open, and he walked down the hall as if he'd been sent to face a firing squad.

“Hi, Mr. Wadsworth.” His secretary, Bernice Weaver, glanced up from her computer and gave him a sympathetic look over the rims of her glasses. “How's Emma?”

Grant tried to sound calm. “She's okay. Her sister's with her now.”

Bernice clucked, her gray curls bobbing as she shook her head. “I'm so sorry to hear about her accident. I'm glad she's all right.”

“Thanks,” Grant said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Having amnesia wasn't exactly being “all right,” but he didn't say so. He wasn't sure why he hadn't told his co-workers about Emma's condition. Maybe he was hoping Emma's memory would return and nobody would have to know. “I came by to catch up on some paperwork.”

Bernice handed him a thick stack of pink message slips. “Call Jonathan Ferguson as soon as you can.”

Grant flipped through the messages. He'd missed work, too. The activity, the challenge, the blueprints, even the boring meetings. “Where's the boss?”

Bernice pointed to Carl Rodgers's door. “He's in a meeting with Ms. Weston and Mr. Landers.”

“Pete?”

Bernice nodded as her fingers started flying over the computer again. She didn't even break speed as she spoke. “Yes, I believe they're discussing the Paris trip.”

“I thought Carl postponed the meetings in Paris.”

Bernice nodded. “I guess he changed his mind. I made the flight arrangements for them this morning.”

Grant gritted his teeth as he hurried to Carl's office. That little twerp. Pete's title as assistant didn't give him as much clout as he thought. Grant hadn't invested three years with this company to be pushed aside by a twenty-five-year-old playboy who'd barely learned to draw to scale, much less engineer a project the size and magnitude of the Paris one.

After a perfunctory knock on Carl's door, he stepped into the office. Carl, Pete and Priscilla sat huddled around the coffee table, deep in conversation. He cleared his throat.

“Grant, we didn't expect to see you.” Priscilla
quickly rose and greeted him with a warm smile.
Thank goodness,
someone
was glad to see him.

“Obviously.” Grant watched Carl hastily light a cigarette, his gaze drifting down to the papers on his lap. Pete leaned against the dark leather sofa and smiled, his perfect teeth flashing as he nodded to acknowledge Grant's presence. Grant disliked everything about Pete Landers, from his manicured nails and expensive clothes to his neatly clipped dark hair.

“How's Emma?” Priscilla asked, patting his arm.

Grant could read Priscilla like the
Wall Street Journal.
She intended to smooth things over. “She's resting,” he said, still directing his gaze at Carl. “I came for some paperwork to take home.”

Carl tapped his cigarette ashes into the ashtray. “I thought you'd need some time off.”

“I do,” Grant said. “We discussed postponing the Paris trip until I could reschedule.”

“Yes, we did. But my wife and I have been planning a trip around the world. I've decided to take a leave of absence, and since you're having problems, I'm placing Priscilla in charge. Everyone will be answering to her on this deal.”

Priscilla grinned, obviously pleased with the power she'd been assigned. She folded her arms across her hunter-green suit, the hem of her skirt rising to give Grant a lengthy view of her legs. He averted his gaze, only to catch his boss glancing back and forth between him and Priscilla. The eyebrow lift that followed shook him. Did his boss think that something was going on between him and Priscilla?

“I talked to Atkins yesterday,” Carl continued. “The company wants us to visit their international subsidi
aries. The Thorpe group is placing a bid on the account. We have until Friday.”

“If we can design the Paris facilities for Comp. Link, it would be a big coup for us,” Pete interjected. “They're planning to expand into every major city in the world.”

Grant ran a hand through his hair, debating. He'd have to give points to Pete for doing his homework— the little backstabber.

“You know I'd like you to be on this, Wadsworth,” Carl said. “You and Priscilla make a hell of a team. But time is money.”

Right. Grant had heard his boss say it a million times. And he'd always agreed. But this should be
his
deal, dammit, not Pete's.

“If you can wait a couple of days, maybe I can work it out,” he said. Maybe it would be best for him to go. Emma might be more comfortable with Kate. She hadn't exactly begged him to stay. In fact, she'd looked relieved to see him leave for a while. And the police were investigating the accident, so there was nothing he could do to help there.

“That would be terrific, Grant,” Priscilla said, her voice bright with enthusiasm. “You're already familiar with Atkins's little quirks.”

“I'll need to know by tomorrow.” Carl stabbed his cigarette in the ashtray.

Priscilla caught Grant's upper arm and rubbed it in a comforting gesture. “Listen, Grant, if there's anything I can do to help, let me know. I hate what you're going through. And you know I want you assisting me on this.”

Grant nodded, catching Pete's angry glare out of the corner of his eye. Pete would be tripping all over him
self to please Priscilla. It was a cutthroat business, and he refused to allow Pete Landers to rob him of the partnership he'd been working so hard to obtain.

Then he remembered Emma's fragile condition and his adamant
I can take care of my wife
statement to Kate. If someone had intentionally run Emma off the road and had tried to kill her at the hospital, she could still be in danger. He couldn't possibly leave her. He'd have to think of a way to stall Priscilla.

Pete trailed him to his office. “You know I can handle this, Wadsworth. You're not the only man around here who can land this account. You should stay home with your wife.”

“I think you should mind your own business,” Grant snapped.

“That's exactly what I'm doing—taking care of business,” Pete said with a smirk. “And you should take care of your family.”

Grant's temper soared. “What would you know about family? You're out with a different woman every night.”

Pete's voice became lethal. “You're right. What would I know?” Then he stormed off, his anger lingering as if he'd left it smoldering in Grant's office.

Grant barreled around his desk, swept up a stack of files, crammed them into his briefcase, then flew out of his office. He had twenty-four hours to decide what to do—or rather, to decide how to convince Priscilla to postpone.

Ten minutes later Grant climbed onto a barstool, his pulse still racing with anger. He had to get his emotions under control before he went home. The doctor had warned him that stress would only make things worse for Emma. She'd already suffered enough. He certainly
didn't want to add to her anxiety by taking his work problems home. Or by making her uncomfortable because he was there. Would she be relieved to see him go? The bartender slapped a napkin in front of him. “What'll you have, mister?”

Sweat had beaded on his forehead and Grant wiped it with his hand, Emma's battered face flashing before him. Two weeks ago he'd thought he had it all. Now all he had was trouble.

“Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double.”

The bartender grinned and reached for the bottle. “Got problems, buddy?”

“You wouldn't believe it if I told you,” Grant said. He and Emma had truly been thrust into a bizarre situation. He'd thought amnesia only happened in the movies. Now it was destroying his well-planned orderly life. And Emma's, he amended, realizing he sounded selfish.

A white-haired man across the room sat necking with a girl half his age. An attractive redhead in a short black dress flounced onto the stool beside him, the taut material clinging to her silicone-enhanced breasts. She offered him a come-hither smile. The sound of liquid splashing over the ice cubes soothed his nerves, and he immediately directed his attention back to the bartender, giving the woman the brush-off.

“Here you go, pal. Enjoy.”

He glanced at the time as he swirled the glass. Four o'clock. Cursing silently, he stared at the dark rich color of the liquor. He'd always made it a point never to drink before five.

“Oh, well,” he muttered, raising the glass to his mouth. “It's five o'clock somewhere in the world.” He wondered what time it was in Paris.

 

F
OR THE FIRST TIME
since Emma had woken up in the hospital, she felt the tension dissipate slightly. Carly was sleeping soundly in her crib. But she remembered the policeman's words and shivered. He had to be wrong—someone wouldn't intentionally try to hurt her. And if they had, she wouldn't have forgotten it.

Or would she?

Maybe it was some anonymous weirdo who'd run into her, some psycho with road rage. Or a drunk.

She twined her fingers together, her pulse beating out of control. Could someone hate her enough to want to kill her? Maybe she'd done something cruel to someone—

“Don't look so worried, Emma,” Kate said, scooting onto the sofa beside her.

“But what if that policeman was right? What if someone meant to hurt me, Kate?”

Kate twisted her mouth in thought. “I can't think of a single reason anyone would want to hurt you.”

Emma tugged her robe, clutching the lapels. “You mean that, Kate?”

Kate chuckled. “You won Miss Popularity in high school, didn't you? I was so jealous I couldn't stand it.”

Emma smiled slowly. “You were popular, too.”

“I had to work at it,” Kate said, settling an afghan around Emma's shoulders.

Emma shook off the disturbing thoughts as Kate continued, “Remember the night we threw that wild party when Mom and Dad went to Germany and Roy came over?”

Emma nodded, munching on the buttery popcorn Kate had made. “How could I forget? It took us days to clean up.”

“Roy got pretty sick, didn't he?”

“It's a wonder he survived.” They both laughed, and Emma clutched her sore ribs. “Whatever happened to him, anyway?”

Kate held up three fingers. “He's on his third wife. Maybe I'll be number four.”

Emma laughed. “Right. Todd would go crazy.”

Kate grew quiet.

Emma read the strange look in her sister's light-green eyes. “What is it, Kate?”

Kate picked at the unpopped kernels of corn. The kernels were her favorite part. At least Emma remembered that. “Todd and I are divorced.”

“What?” Emma leaned back against the sofa and stared at her sister in shock, her good mood fading. “But…I don't understand. You two had the perfect marriage.”

Kate snorted. “Yeah, until I found out he'd been cheating on me.”

Emma fingered the gold wedding band on her left hand, studying the diamond. “I'm sorry, Kate. I didn't—”

“It's okay,” Kate said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It happened over two years ago. I'm fine.
Really.
”

Emma swallowed, the reality of her amnesia returning. How many more times would she put her foot in her mouth?

The telephone jangled, breaking the awkward moment, and Kate tucked it under her chin. “Hello.” A long pause followed. “She's fine, Mom. Do you want to talk to her?”

Emma frowned and waved her hand no, but Kate
jammed the phone in her hand. “Go on and get it over with, sis.”

“Emma, how are you, darling?” her mother said cheerily.
Great. Her mother hadn't lost any of her stuffy charm.