"I know. The desk sergeant took it and doesn't seem to want to give it back. Can you imagine?"
Something clanged in the background, echoes of other voices drifted to him. Cold fear twisted in the pit of his stomach. Under her brave laughter Emma Machlen was scared to death. "What's wrong?"
"A funny thing happened on the way to the plant."
Had she been mugged? Or worse? Fury built, fast and heavy, heating his blood. "Are you hurt, Emma?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. If anyone had touched her…
"Not exactly. I—" She swallowed audibly. "I'm in jail, Max. I need you to come bail me out!"
Four
"Hi, Max! I guess I really did it this time, huh?"
At the sound of Emma's falsely repentant voice, Max wondered whether he should strangle her first, or grab her and hold her tight, or burst into laughter. In the hours he'd spent waiting, he'd contemplated all three.
In the end he retained his rationality and did none of them. Now that he knew she was safe, though, like a parent who's just saved his child from walking in front of a speeding car. Max wanted to shake her.
Clutching the bail slip tightly in his hand, Max shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair. "You are the most aggravating woman." He shook his head ruefully. "Only Emma Machlen could fall asleep in a car that was used for a series of burglaries."
She sat beside him and laughed unsteadily. "It's my criminal tendencies, Max. They finally won out over my…" She trailed off and cleared her throat.
That brave quiver almost undid him, but he resisted the urge to wrap her in his arms. Unless he wanted to walk facefirst into a wall, he'd need to concentrate on his surroundings. Ringing phones, voices raised in argument, the tinny voice of the dispatcher, all echoed acutely in his mind. He couldn't give in to the irrational feeling that they would trample him. He had to filter them out.
"How do you get yourself into these things?" he asked with a smile.
"It's a talent," she said. "Your lawyer is nice, Max. Thanks for calling him."
Max tensed. Emma was much too subdued. "What did he say about this whole thing?"
"He said—" Her voice lowered to a baritone. "Ms. Machlen. I hope you appreciate the seriousness of the charges against you.' "
Max grinned at her perfect imitation of his lawyer Jim's stuffy voice. "After which, you, of course, giggled in his face."
"Of course! It's all a mistake. The burglaries were committed by a ring of out-of-state thieves who flew into town, robbed houses, then flew out without a trace. It was the same kind of setup that foiled the police at your plant."
Of course it was a mistake. Max knew that with certainty, though why he was so sure baffled him. "Ah! That's why you're so good at breaking into houses!" he said in mock realization.
"Naturally." Her preening tone didn't quite cover her apprehension. "Thanks for telling them those designs weren't yours. Max. It saved me from the grand theft charge."
He swallowed heavily and stood. "Are you ready to go?"
"Sure. I guess I'll meet you at the plant later, huh?"
"No. Emma." he said sternly. "I'm not taking any chances. I can't let you loose on an unsuspecting public. Benno's waiting outside. I'm taking you home with me."
"You don't have to do that! I won't—"
"No arguments, Emma. This"—he waved the bail bond in the air—"makes me responsible for you." He grasped the handle of Dixie's harness. "Your arraignment is tomorrow morning, and I'm going with you."
She hesitated. "Max? I keep you busier than a one-armed paperhanger, don't I?"
Max turned away and smiled. "Yes, you do."
"I wouldn't have called you if I'd known anyone else in town."
"I know that."
She hesitated again. "Max, though I appreciate your lawyer, he's corporate. I seem to need the criminal type. A public defender."
"Is it the money?"
"We're going to go 'round like a button on a barn door about this, aren't we?" She sighed. "Of course it's the money. They impounded my car, which was rented, and they told me you're paying the fees. I'll pay you back."
"Don't worry about it." he said tersely, and walked toward the door.
Emma stared after him for a moment, sighed, then picked up her suitcase and drawings and followed him. She shouldn't have called him, she thought disgustedly. In the hours following her arrest she'd deeply regretted her impulse. But she felt so safe with him. The moment she'd seen him she'd wanted to run and throw her arms around him. Only the knowledge that he didn't want her in his life had stopped her. One sign, one little gesture from him, and she would have thrown herself at him.
He disturbed her more than she would ever admit. After twenty-seven years of butting heads with overdeveloped egos, of hiding behind her illusions, she had proven that she could hold her own in any battle of wills. But Max confused her. One minute he was ready to laugh with her, which she'd learned a long time earlier was her best defense, yet the next he acted as if he couldn't care less. His tense posture told her he was angry. She hadn't seen anyone that mad since she'd put Ben-Gay in her sister Diana's bra after she'd unfairly compared their bust sizes.
Damnation, she shouldn't have called him! If it hadn't been for that dark cell…
When she stepped into the bright morning sunlight, she flinched and hissed as it stung her eyes.
"What's wrong?" Max asked, turning in instant concern.
"Nothing. Just tasting freedom, I guess." She drew a deep breath of air. For the first time in hours she smiled with true happiness. "Lord, I hate being cooped up."
"Did they—they didn't hurt you or anything, did they?"
Her brows raised, she peered into Max's face. His anger had disappeared, and she saw the smudges under his tawny eyes, the lines of fatigue that had formed around his mouth. "Max, I grew up on a postage stamp of an island, the only goldfish in a tankful of Siamese fighting fish. I'm used to having a bunch of people around me."
"Emma—"
"Things happen, Max. Just because I went through Hill Street Blues via The Twilight Zone, you think I'm not okay? I'm as tough as an old nut!"
He stepped closer, reaching for her arm, and held it in a firm grip. "Don't joke about this, Emma. Did anyone hurt you?" he repeated, his words intense.
Emma's heart constricted. Maybe he cared a little, she thought, and tenderly touched a crease on his brow, smoothing the line with her fingertip. "It's been a long time since anybody's worried about me," she whispered in wonder. "I think I like it."
She leaned forward and did what she'd longed to do since she'd met him. She kissed him.
Max felt the brush of her lips on his, a touch, a simple thank-you, but his hands clenched on her arms with the depth of his reaction. His entire body shivered with the sensation her warm mouth caused. He wanted to crush her to him and explore the moist recesses, to taste the woman who'd haunted his existence. He wanted to throw her down right there and strip her naked, touching her silky skin in a way he'd only dreamed of.
But he'd be damned if he'd let her do this to him again. By sheer force of will he fought the emotions that welled to the surface, and set her firmly aside. "I wasn't worried," he said. "I was concerned, that's all. I just want to keep you out of trouble."
Emma watched him turn away, puzzled. She'd felt his hands on her arms and had thought for a moment that he would draw her to him. But he hadn't. He'd fought her instead, and that hurt her more than she'd ever dreamed possible. Just when she thought he might be different, that he might show some true tenderness, he'd shut down. He wanted everything on his terms. Fine, just fine. Maxwell Morgan was made of stone, and she was too tired to go excavating again.
Damnation, he was as hard and unyielding as Danny. And if she let him. Max would steamroll her too. "You've got more brass than an army mule," she said in disbelief. "You dare to presume you or anyone else is my keeper?"
"I don't see anyone lining up for the job!" Max had left himself wide open with that remark, an
d he knew it. He almost hoped she'd take the chance he offered. It would make things so much easier.
She didn't. "I'm twenty-seven years old," she said stiffly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've been doing it for a long, long time."
"You're so good at it that you didn't have sense enough to ask for a place to sleep."
"I had a place to sleep."
"Your car!"
"I've done it before."
He bit his lip. "Just what in the hell were you doing sleeping in your car anyway?"
"No room at the inn?" she quipped faintly.
"Dammit, don't start with me! I know you need money. Tell me why!"
She turned away, resenting his arrogant tone. "It's not your problem, Max."
Max opened his mouth but then closed it tightly.
They fell into an uneasy silence until Benno arrived with the car, and the silence held until they were on the highway. Max turned his face away from her, afraid his expression might reveal just how frightened he'd been. He couldn't afford to show her how close he was to laughter either. In spite of her ordeal, Emma Machlen continued to come up with the most outrageous images. Dammit, he wanted to be angry with her! He wanted to resent her intrusion! She'd done nothing but turn his life upside down since she'd blown into it. He wished the image he had of her body in his arms were less vivid.
"The barometer grass should arrive tomorrow," said Emma. "I called, and they're expressing it out."
"Good. The sooner you get started…"
The sooner she'd be gone. He didn't say the words, but he meant them, and Emma knew it.
Benno dropped her at the house, and Emma couldn't wait to escape the car. Max didn't say a word as Benno unlocked the door and let her in, but couldn't resist a parting shot.
"Put those designs somewhere safe," he called. "We don't want anyone else stealing them!"
She bit back a nasty remark.
After they left, she took her drawings into the library and set them carefully on Max's desk. They were his now, after all. Then she took her suitcase up to the room that she'd slept in before, assuming that's where she'd be staying.
As she opened her valise, she gasped. Everything had been tossed into it haphazardly, unlike her neat packing job. "Oh. Lord," she whispered. "They went through my clothes too!"
The horrors of the last hours repeated themselves vividly in her mind, her claustrophobic fear of the tiny jail cell, the suspicious-looking women who'd occupied It. Only her veil had protected her from their attentions, and she'd been absolutely terrified.
With a moan she bundled everything back into the suitcase and ran downstairs into the basement, hoping there was a washing machine there. An iron band seemed to tighten around her chest as she searched frantically. It had suddenly become Imperative that she feel clean.
She found the washer beneath the wooden stairs, and she jerked open the lid, threw all her clothes into it, and tossed in a cupful of soap. Her own filthy state didn't escape her notice, and she peeled off her jeans and T-shirt, then her bra and panties, and shoved them in too. She slammed the lid and punched the cycle button, furious to find that her hands were shaking.
She felt her skin crawl, whether in memory or some other reason, and she raced back upstairs to the bathroom. She turned the shower as hot as she could stand it, and scrubbed every square inch of her body until it burned. She washed her hair three times.
Tears blended with the water, but Emma clenched her teeth and swallowed the knot in her chest. "Damnation," she said. "Don't do this!"
There was only one person who could help her regain her perspective. Wrapping a towel firmly around her, she ran downstairs and placed a collect call. It went through quickly, and Cissy's familiar raspy voice answered. "What's wrong?" was her first question, and Emma rolled her gray eyes to heaven.
"Is it just me," she asked, "or do you scare everybody with that line?"
"When a Machlen calls," Cissy said with a chuckle, "it's inevitable that there's trouble." Her laughter quickly turned into a cough.
"Quit smoking," said Emma automatically.
"Quit stalling," Cissy shot back. "You called me last night, Emma-love. Everything was milk and honey then in spite of the bumpy start with your Apollo, so I assume somethin's happened to throw a fox in the chicken coop."
"Nothing I can't handle." She fought her tears.
"I don't like the sound'a that, sweetie."
"When are you leaving for London, you nosy old biddie?"
"Thursday. I'll be in St. Louis in a couple of weeks for some charity do, but you'll be gone by then."
"I'm not sure about that," said Emma. "I might be here longer than I'd expected."
"It's not a hitch in your perfume, is it? You're already cuttin' it as close as a wasp's whisker with this marketing thing and—"
"No, Cissy, it's got nothing to do with that. How does Uncle Jason like running the company?"
Cissy groaned. "He's havin' the time of his life. Just don't get him talkin' about it. Hell bend your ear right off!"
Emma hesitated. "Have there been any more problems?"
"Whoever it is who's been hasslin' ya'll, honey, is biding his sweet time. They think they got you, and they're just playin' jackal, waitin' for the lions to leave the pickin's."
"As long as nobody says anything to anyone."
"The Machlen clan sticks together like barnacles on a ship when they're threatened, you know that. Your momma and daddy were worried sick when I told them what you'd done. Raised hell for a solid hour with me for lettin' you too. Your aunt threatened me with shingles if I ever helped you again."
Emma grimaced. She knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of one of her family's famous tongue-lashings. And Aunt Rose's dire threats usually worked. But Cissy always gave as good as she got. "They'll get over it. They always do. Machlens don't hold grudges."
"So," she said, "if it's not the perfume, what's keepin' you there? All right, honey. Spill it."
Emma did. She told her the entire story of her arrest, leaving out Max's behavior and her own apprehensions. Cissy would know that anyway, and it was best forgotten. "So you see," she finished with a chuckle, "it was all a mistake. The car's plate number hadn't cleared their computer."
"You called Max when you could'a called me to wire you the bail money?" Cissy questioned.
Emma warmed all over at the mention of his name, but shook it off. "He was closer. It's really kind of funny. Cissy. Max wants me out so bad he can taste it, but he's stuck with me. He paid my bail. He signed for me. Does that mean he owns me? You know. I thought slavery was ab—"
Cissy sighed. "Look, Emma-love. I know it's none of my business—"
"That never stopped you before," she said with a feeble attempt at humor.
"—but for years I've watched you run like a jackrabbit with its tail on fire every time you get close to someone. I know you're attracted to Max by what you're not saying, and that Max is a strong man."
"Like a wall."
"Honey, just because a man is strong doesn't mean hell take your soul. Danny was a selfish man, and you were a lot younger then. You fell in love and gave him everything, it's your nature. You jump in with both feet and usually sink up to your neck. But you're a hell of a lot more stubborn than you were when you lived with him. You come out on top these days. Besides, some men give as well as take."
"Do they?"
"Yes, they do. Now," she said cheerfully, sounding more like the Cissy of old. "I want to tell you about Evan's latest stunt."
Emma listened to Cissy's tale of her agent, of a chorus girl, and something about a chicken, but her mind wasn't really on it. She thought of Cissy's advice, implied if not given. She was right. If there was any tenderness in Max, if he stopped fighting human emotions, she knew what would happen—she'd fall like a ton of bricks.
Well, she thought. No fear of that.
"I have to go. Cissy. Good-bye."
She sighed. "Good-bye, Emma-
love. Take care of yourself."
"I always do."
Emma hung up and stared into the shadows of the library for long moments. Then she shook herself. She needed movement, activity. She went downstairs. After tossing her clothes into the dryer, except for the one thing she could stand wearing wet—her bathing suit—she explored the basement, finding all the equipment she'd need for the next day, when the barometer grass arrived. She tested the tiny hotplate and found the ceramic dishes. Deciding to experiment, she pulled down a small bunch of fragrant sage from among the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling and began to work.
Hours later, lost in her occupation, she almost missed the sound. Someone was moving around upstairs. Max would have called out to her, wouldn't he have? The blood rushed from her face, and she tiptoed to the bottom of the basement stairs, listening intently.
Footsteps sounded, coming her way. With a frantic glance around she darted behind the freestanding counter, letting herself flow into it, veiling herself. Just in case, she thought.
A man came into view. A tall, lanky, dark-haired man who definitely wasn't Max. Frozen with apprehension, she watched as he checked her suitcase, swept the room with his gaze, then went back upstairs. Emma sat, numb. What could she do? Who was he?
Then she heard an unfamiliar male voice murmuring something, and she went cold all over.
"Oh, no." she whispered, Max's warning ringing in her ears. "It's a real thief!"
Five
"What do you mean, she's not there?"
Adam pulled the receiver away from his ear at Max's roar, his blue eyes widening at the string of expletives that followed. When the yelling died down, he settled the phone back. "I only said I couldn't find her. Max. Her suitcase is on top of the washer, her clothes are in the dryer—she's got to be around here somewhere. Listen carefully, I'll find her. I only called you because you said you'd sit on the phone until I did." Adam chuckled. "Good grief, it hasn't been that long since you dropped her off. What kind of trouble can she get into in a couple of hours?"
Max's silence was tense. "I'll be there in five minutes," he said.
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