Forgotten Lullaby (18 page)

Frustrated, he dressed for work, wondering if he should call Martha or Kate to keep Emma company today so he could go to the office, instead of working at home. And he'd have to ask Warner for another guard for the house. Irritated, he headed to the kitchen to make coffee. But first he called Warner.

“Do you have any news?” Grant asked without preamble.

“We've looked at all the files on the Simmons case. Can't locate any of the girl's family. So far, the only people who went to school with you and live in this vicinity are your sister-in-law and that woman you work with, Priscilla.” Warner clicked his teeth. “There was a guy named Billy Hogan, but he turned up dead a couple of months ago. Stabbed with a butcher knife.”

“Someone else who knew Faye was killed?”

Warner cleared his throat. “He was found in his house. He and his wife had a reputation for fighting, so the police arrested her. But she's been saying she didn't do it, so I'm checking into it. Matter of fact, I'm on my way out the door right now to meet with her.”

Grant hung up, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he considered the implications. Another person who'd known Faye in college had been murdered. Had Billy Hogan been one of Faye's boyfriends? Chilled to the bone, Grant went in search of coffee and found a steaming pot waiting on him, with a note from Emma.

“Carly and I have gone with Martha to the store. I thought maybe we could take Carly for a picnic if you have time today. I think some fresh air and family time would be good for all of us.”

He crushed the note and sighed, grateful Martha had accompanied Emma and wishing a simple picnic would cure the problems in their marriage. He cursed himself for being so cynical. The doorbell cut into his thoughts and he went to answer it, suddenly jittery about Emma being out of the house. But Priscilla stood on the porch, her briefcase in her hand. “Mind if I come in?” she asked, shivering as a gust of wind ripped through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the lawn.

“Of course not.” He gestured toward the foyer and watched as she shrugged out of her jacket, sweeping her red hair off her shoulder with her fingers. “What's up, Priscilla? Didn't you get my message?”

“Yes,” she said with a faint hint of disapproval. “But I really think you should come into the office, Grant.”

“I've been getting my work done,” he said defensively.

Priscilla's green eyes narrowed. “Oh, honey, what's wrong? You're still mad because I forgot to tell you about picking up Emma.”

Grant shook his head, too many other problems crowding his mind.

Priscilla moved closer to him, one manicured finger lifted. “You look like you haven't slept in days, Grant. Has something else happened?”

He shook his head again. “I have a lot on my mind right now, Priscilla. Just give it a rest and let me focus on work.”

A sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of her ruby-red lips, then her fingernail tapped against his coffee cup. “Why don't you pour me some coffee and tell me about it? Maybe I can help.”

“I don't think anyone can help,” Grant muttered beneath his breath, too tired to play games with Priscilla. He didn't care about the promotion anymore. “But come on and I'll get you some coffee.”

“Is Emma here?”

“No,” Grant said, leading her to the kitchen. “There's no one here but me.”

Priscilla squeezed his arm. “Then let's sit down and talk.”

Grant took one look at the genuine concern on her face and lost his resolve. After all, now they knew Emma's amnesia was permanent, he'd have to tell the people at the office. He might as well start with Priscilla.

 

“Y
OU'RE AN ANGEL
, Martha,” Emma said as Martha lifted a sleeping Carly from the car seat and carried her to the house.

“I'll put her in her crib,” Martha said, “then help you get that picnic ready.”

Emma gave a smile, wondering if Martha could read its lackluster quality. A black Lexus coupe sat in the driveway. Opening the front door for Martha, she heard voices coming from the kitchen, so she tiptoed, careful not to disturb Grant in case he was dealing with a client. Even with the renewed tension between them, he'd insisted on working at home to protect her, and she refused to encroach on his business.

She heard a woman's voice and hesitated at the kitchen door, her stomach knotting when she heard the woman ask about her and Carly.

“So Emma's never going to remember you?” the woman asked, her voice sympathetic. “No wonder
you've been so upset. What a terrible ordeal for both of you.”

Emma peeked through the doorway and spotted a gorgeous redhead sitting at the kitchen table with Grant, her hand covering his, their heads bowed close together.

“It has been. The police still don't have a clue as to who's been threatening her,” Grant said, his voice rough with emotion. “I should have told you before about the amnesia, but I kept hoping things would work out.”

The woman made a soft whispery sound and squeezed Grant's hand, her red fingernails walking up his arm to massage his shoulder. Emma's breath caught in her throat. Who was this woman?

“It's been so frustrating, Priscilla,” Grant continued.

Priscilla. The woman who worked with Grant, the one who'd told Emma she should be more supportive of Grant's career.

“I've tried to remind her about our past, but it upsets her. Now there's no hope, and I don't know what I'm going to do.” Grant's voice grew shaky. “She doesn't remember our wedding. Hell, she doesn't even remember giving birth to Carly.” He lowered his head, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead, and Emma's fingernails dug into the wooden frame of the doorway. Did Grant think she couldn't be a good wife and mother without those memories?

She stepped farther into the doorway, aware they were so absorbed in each other that neither of them heard her.

“I'm just not sure about our marriage now. I always thought Emma and I would be together forever, but now I don't know.”

Tears blurred Emma's vision and she swiped at them,
anger mingling with hurt when Priscilla, arms open for an embrace, reached for Grant. He hesitated, then fell into it, wrapping his arms around her.

The picnic basket slipped from Emma's hand and clattered to the floor. Grant instantly pulled away from Priscilla and stood, his chair scraping the floor in his haste, guilt flushing his face. Kate had hinted that Grant's co-worker was interested in him on a personal level, but she hadn't believed it. Now she wondered if Kate had been right.

“Uh, Emma, hi.” Grant knotted the napkin in his fist, grateful to see Emma home safe, but unable to believe she'd walked in at the very second he'd given in and allowed Priscilla to comfort him. He'd been so damn unhappy…but now Emma was looking at him with this shuttered expression. How much had she heard him say?

Priscilla stood, brushing her short black skirt with those red inch-long fingernails and pasting on a bright smile that looked fake even to him. “Hi, Emma, you probably don't remember me. I'm Priscilla Weston—I work with Grant.”

He cringed at the way Priscilla enunciated the words slowly, as if Emma was hearing impaired or mentally challenged.

“Hello,” Emma said warily. Her gaze shot back to him, and he saw the unspoken accusations.

“Priscilla came by to check on one of our projects,” Grant heard himself say inanely.

“Oh, is that what you were doing?”

“Well, yes, among other things,” Priscilla babbled. “We miss Grant at work. You really should encourage him to return to the office. We have two very important
deals pending, and Grant's input could mean his promotion and—”

“Priscilla,” Grant interrupted, “Emma doesn't need to worry about my business—”

“Is she right?” Emma asked.

He hesitated, the question taking him by surprise.

“Is she right?” Emma repeated, then moved into the room, her limp more noticeable probably because Priscilla instantly zeroed in on it. Insecurity flickered briefly in Emma's eyes, and he remembered her concerns over her scar. His throat suddenly felt thick.

“This is the second time Priscilla has told me this,” Emma continued. “Haven't I been supportive of your career in the past, Grant?”

He opened his mouth to refute her, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Tell me the truth,” she demanded. “Don't lie to me because I was in an accident or because I have amnesia. I don't want your pity, Grant.” She squared her shoulders. “And I don't want your guilt, either.”

Admiration and love and guilt all warred within him. And also sorrow for all they'd lost. “You have always been supportive,” he answered honestly. “Although there were times you wanted me to be home more. I wanted to get ahead. I was determined to have a successful career even if I had to work seventy hours a week.”

“It takes that kind of dedication at first,” Priscilla said. “You don't understand—”

“Is that why you turned to her, because she understands those needs?” Emma asked, her voice calm compared to the stream of emotions glittering in her eyes.

Fury swelled in his chest. “I haven't turned to Priscilla for anything but work.” Grant raked a hand
through his hair. “No matter what your cynical sister has told you, I've always been faithful to you, Emma.”

“Emma, don't—”

“Priscilla, let me handle this,” Grant snapped. “I think you should leave.”

Priscilla shot him an angry look, then snatched her briefcase. “Fine, I'll see myself out.”

Seconds later the door banged shut behind her and Grant's breath hissed out as Emma sank wearily into a chair. He moved toward her, his hands outstretched, needing to make her understand, but once again she silenced him. This time with a look of hurt so deep he felt his stomach knot.

“This isn't working, Grant.” She dropped her hands in her lap in a gesture of defeat. “I heard what you said. I thought making love would bring us closer, but since I told you about the amnesia, you've been more distant to me than you were the first day you brought me home.”

“I'm sorry, Emma. The news was a shock.”

“I know,” she said, compassion in her voice. She turned tear-filled eyes up to him. “And I realize you feel guilty, even though I don't want you to. I also know you want things to be the same as they were before the accident.”

“Can you blame me for that?” he asked, hating the anguish in his voice.

“No,” Emma whispered. “I'd like that, too. But it isn't going to happen.” A tear slid down her cheek. “We both have to accept that.”

“I know.” Grant felt as if his heart had been torn out. “I'm trying.”

Emma nodded, then said with heartfelt determination,
“I know that, too. Maybe it would be better if we had a few days apart.”

His shocked gaze swung to her. “What are you talking about? You're not going anywhere, not with that lunatic still out there somewhere.”

“We haven't heard from him in days. He may be long gone—”

“No, Emma,” he said, panicking as he remembered the conversation with Warner. “I'm not leaving you alone.”

Her lower lip quivered, but she stood and backed toward the door. “Then I'll take Carly and stay at my sister's for a few days. I can't stay here with you, not after the things you said to that woman about our marriage.”

 

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS
were horrible. The once homey house creaked with loneliness, so Grant poured himself into his job, all the while rationalizing that at least Emma was safe at Kate's. The psycho couldn't know where she was, but he'd insisted on a patrol car outside Kate's house, anyway.

He finished the scale model and made the final set of blueprints for the bid on Comp. Link, trying his best to ignore his co-workers. Pete's antagonistic attitude and Priscilla's smug comments, no matter how subtle, grated on his nerves. And the fact that Kate was probably doing her damnedest to turn Emma against him only drove the knife in deeper.

Of course Kate had reason now to dislike him; he had hurt Emma. He'd made love to her, then shut her out when she'd told him the truth about her amnesia. How could she forgive him when he couldn't forgive himself?

He got up from his computer and headed to the lounge for coffee, vaguely aware that two of the office assistants were staring at him, then began whispering. He frowned, wondering what gossip they'd started this time. Rumor had it that he and Priscilla were cozying up after hours. He'd done his best to avoid contact with Priscilla, hoping to diffuse the ill-found gossip.

Later, as he sipped his coffee, Pete dropped into his office. Spreadsheets lay scattered everywhere, and he'd tacked a stack of blueprints to his drafting table. Grant decided to find out if Pete had been spreading the gossip.

“We have to talk,” Pete said, his tone serious.

“I've been thinking the same thing,” Grant said, striving for calm.

Pete folded his long body into a chair. “All right, you go first.”

“If you've been spreading rumors concerning me and Priscilla—”

“I haven't been spreading rumors,” Pete objected. “If anyone's hinting there's something going on, it's Priscilla. According to her, she was at your house comforting you, and your wife walked in and saw the two of you in an embrace. Now your wife has left you.”

Grant froze. Pete's rendition certainly told what happened, but the facts were skewed. Or were they? And by whom? Priscilla or Pete?

“Listen, Landers, it's not what it sounds like.” Grant ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. “I was upset. For God's sake I just found out my wife has permanent amnesia. Priscilla simply gave me a hug.”

Pete's eyes narrowed. “And your wife saw it and left you?”

Grant couldn't explain to Pete, no one would under
stand his guilt. “She's staying at her sister's for a few days,” he explained. “She needed some space and she thought I did, too.”

“I'm sure Priscilla has been really kind about offering to fill up the space?”

Pete's snide voice fueled his anger more. “She's been understanding, yes. But there's nothing going on between us except work.” He waved his hand around the office, his anger and frustration focused on Pete. “Now let's talk about the real issue between us. You keep slipping in to take my place on business deals so you can snap up the promotion I've earned.”

“What?” Pete circled the desk and grabbed Grant's collar, his face livid. “You, man, are way off base. I don't give a damn about taking your job from you.”

Grant grabbed Pete's hand and jerked it loose. “That's the reason you stay here till all hours of the night?”

Pete's eyes widened in surprise. “Who told you that?” He paced across the room, a cynical laugh escaping him. “Let me guess. Priscilla?”

“It doesn't matter who told me. The fact is you're trying to undermine me.”

“That's ludicrous. I'm trying to help you with the deal because you have a personal crisis.”

“What do you care about my personal life? You're jealous of my place in the company.”

Pete shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “You're right, I am jealous of you,” he finally conceded, his voice low. “But it's not your job I want, Wadsworth, it's your
life.
”

A frisson of fear bolted through Grant. Did Pete mean he wanted to kill him?

Pete's sarcastic laugh echoed off the immaculately
decorated walls. “I want your life, Wadsworth—your wife and baby.” He sank onto the leather love seat and bracing his elbows on his knees, dropped his head into his hands. “You have it all, but you don't appreciate it.”

Grant's chest felt tight. “That's not true.”

Pete slowly raised his head and tears sprang to his eyes. “You don't know what's it like to lose your family, to have your wife there one minute and gone the next.” He snapped his fingers. “And to know your baby died and there's nothing you can do to bring them back.”

Grant remembered the note.
I lost my loved one and so will you.
Pete was obviously distraught. Could he be disturbed enough to take revenge on Grant? Then he remembered the suspicion that the killer knew Faye Simmons. Pete had been in California at the time, a couple of thousand miles from Faye.

Pete's agonized voice shook him back to the moment. “I look at you and I see myself two years ago, working hard, neglecting my family.” Pete tugged at the cuff of his left sleeve. “Jeanie kept asking me to come home early, to take off for the weekend with her, but no.” He shook his head. “I said there'd be time for us to take vacations and go on picnics and all that stuff later.” His bitter laugh filled the room. “Work always came first.”

Conversations Grant had had with Emma before the accident skated through his mind. Pete's attitude mirrored his own.

“Then one night she fixed this candlelit dinner. She was going to surprise me and tell me about the baby.” His voice grew scratchy and he scrubbed his hand over
his eyes. “But I didn't show. Instead, I went out with a client.”

Grant swallowed, already guessing the rest of the story. Pete continued, his voice pained as he relived his nightmare. “Jeanie was so upset she decided to go to her mother's, but it was raining and—” his voice dropped off “—she never made it. A drunk driver hit her and she wrapped her car around a telephone pole. Died before I could even make it to the hospital.”

The agony in Pete's voice diffused Grant's anger. He could only partly comprehend Pete's loss—he still had Emma. Or at least he had, until he'd been such an idiot.

Pete looked up, his eyes red and miserable. “When I went back to the house after I left the hospital, I found this little gift waiting for me. All wrapped up in this silly wrapping paper with a goofy elephant-shaped rattler taped to it.” His voice cracked. “It was a tiny pair of baby booties.” He held his fingers a couple of inches apart, indicating the size. “They were blue, and she'd bought this itty bitty Braves cap because she knew how much I like baseball…” A low sob tore from Pete's chest.

Grant's hand trembled as he placed it on Pete's shoulder. “I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't know.”

“Yeah, I'm jealous of you,” Pete continued hoarsely, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I've been harping on you to stay home with your wife, 'cause unlike me—” he raised his face and stared at Grant “—you have a chance to get it all back.”

Grant's eyes felt gritty. He sucked in a harsh breath.

“Sure I'm here working all the time,” Pete said with a shrug as he dried his eyes. “Work is all I have. I didn't realize how much my family meant to me till I
lost them. I can't stand to go home to that empty house.”

Grant understood the feeling too well. And Pete was right—he
could
do something about his situation. He had a chance with Emma. Memory or no memory, she was his wife. He still loved her and he damn well needed to show her.

 

“T
HANKS FOR LETTING ME
stay here, Kate. I think Grant and I both needed some time apart.” Emma wiped a drop of milk from Carly's cheek and kissed her tenderly.

“You two are always welcome.” Kate scooped Carly into her arms and patted her back. “I could happily keep Carly all the time.”

Kate tickled Carly's stomach with her nose. Carly cooed and batted at Kate's head.

“I'm sure Carly could sense the tension,” Emma said, “but I still wonder if I did the right thing.” She shrugged. “I feel like I deserted him.”

“Sounds as if he was the one backing off,” Kate said, bouncing Carly on her lap. “He couldn't deal with your permanent memory loss, so he pulled away emotionally.”

Emma chewed her lip. “I suppose. I know it was a blow to him.”

“It can't be easy for you, either,” Kate said.

“It is hard,” Emma admitted. “But I'm trying to look at this ordeal as a second chance. Grant has been wonderful to me since he brought me home, and I've fallen in love with him all over again.”

Kate looked shocked. “You told him that?”

“Sort of.” She gave Kate a forlorn look. “I told him I loved him, but I'm not sure he believed me.”

“He'll come around in time,” Kate said. “He really cares about you, sis. He stood by your bedside day and night after the wreck.”