by Rita Herron
Chapter Eleven
Grant prayed he would fall asleep, wake up and find that Emma’s memory had returned. For the first time in his life the projects sitting untouched on his desk didn’t spark his creativity or pump his adrenaline the way they normally did. He had three weeks to complete the scale model for the Little Raleigh project; he’d shaken hands with Bronson on the agreement. And his boss had arranged a final meeting with the president of Comp. Link for the Paris deal. The only emotion Grant could summon was apathy.
He toyed with a stack of miniature wooden pieces he used for designing the models, stacking them one on top of the other, but he was so frustrated his hand was shaking and they all came tumbling down. Just like his life was tumbling down around him. He stared at the strewn mass of sticks. He was simply biding time until Emma’s amnesia and the threats were gone, so life could return to normal. He would take Emma and Carly on a family vacation, he decided. He and Emma would snuggle and cuddle while Carly napped and he’d make up for all the time they’d lost. He’d wine and dine her and make her fall in love with him again. He forced a smile and picked up the scattered sticks. Yeah, he had to think positively. Soon this nightmare would be over and he’d have Emma back, exactly like before. As soon as she regained her memory.
SHE WAS GOING to win Grant’s love again, Emma decided. And she would start tonight.
She’d thought the news about her amnesia would upset her, and it had. Dr. Jacobs had suggested a counselor, and she’d agreed to give the woman a call. Then, uncaring that Martha and Carly were in the car with her, she’d cried the entire way home. Cried for Carly, for herself, for Grant.
She’d also realized in despair that she couldn’t help the police find the person who’d caused her accident.
But with the news came a certain sense of peace. It was time to move on with her life. Thinking about the way Grant had cared for her over the past few weeks, she realized she wanted to be with him, to reestablish the bond they had once shared. She wanted to make their marriage real.
Tired of feeling out of control, she called Kate to baby-sit. Emma smiled as she hung up. Her relationship with Grant might be better after tonight. She immersed herself in a hot bubble bath scented with a jasmine fragrance, and soaked until her sore muscles felt languid. After her bath, she applied jasmine lotion to her legs, wincing at the puckered red flesh of her scar. When the doorbell rang, she hurriedly donned a long green robe. Martha stood at the door, signing for a package.
“This came for you, Emma,” Martha said, carrying a big white box tied with a red ribbon to the dining table. “It’s from that fancy department store in town.” Carly cooed from her swing, waving her hands, and Emma paused to talk to her for a minute, her heart warming when Carly giggled at her.
“I wonder who it’s from,” Emma said, searching for a card. She had a moment’s hesitation when she remembered the last box she’d received. Maybe she should call the police. Then she noticed the card. It read: Wear this for me tonight. Love, Grant.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled at Carly. “Daddy sent me a present, sweetheart. Isn’t that sweet of him?”
“He’s a thoughtful man,” Martha agreed.
Emma opened the box and gasped in surprise. “Oh, my goodness, it’s beautiful!” She gently lifted the red satiny evening dress by its spaghetti straps. Both elegant and sexy, it had a low-cut neckline and beaded bodice, and was narrow enough to hug the hips and short enough to hang a few inches above her knees. She instantly imagined Grant picking it out for her. What had he been thinking when he’d chosen it? Was he planning a romantic evening for the two of them?
“It’s lovely, dear,” Martha said. “I’m sure you’ll look nice in it.”
“So, what do you think, Carly?” Emma asked, holding the dress up to the light. Carly cooed, her eyes sparkling as she watched the sequins shimmer.
Maybe Grant felt as badly as she did about last night, Emma thought. Perhaps he had reconciliation in mind, too. And maybe if she could overcome her insecurity about this scar, he wouldn’t be staying in the guest room tonight. He’d be sleeping with her.
GRANT ENTERED THE HOUSE, determined to control his baser instincts and win Emma’s trust and love. The minute he saw her sitting in the den holding Carly, his heart clutched.
“Hi,” he said, approaching her slowly.
“Hi.” Emma gestured toward Carly. “She’s finishing her bottle. She tried some peaches earlier and loved them.”
Carly batted her hand at the bottle as if she wanted to hold it and they both laughed, easing the tension. She wondered if he was going to mention the dress and decided not to bring it up. He was probably waiting to see if she’d wear it.
The phone rang, charging the air with renewed tension. Was it the threatening caller again? As Grant reached for it, Emma watched his face twist into a frown. When he hung up, he dropped onto the sofa with a loud sigh.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, propping Carly against her shoulder and patting her back.
“That was Detective Warner. He said he’s reached a dead end with the investigation, although they think the voice on the tape might be a woman.”
Emma bit her lip in frustration.
“He had this theory about Pete, the guy I work with whose wife died. Pete drives a black Jeep, wants my promotion, and he recently lost his family. Warner thought Pete might have gone off the deep end, but Pete has an alibi for the night of your accident. And the paint samples on his Jeep don’t match the ones found on your car.”
“I see,” Emma said, wishing the call had cleared everything up, instead of leaving more questions in its wake.
“Your boss, Dan, is clean, too. Hasn’t had so much as a traffic ticket in the past four years.” Grant propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, angling his face toward her. The urge to reach out and smooth away the worry lines around his eyes seized her by surprise. “Warner got the scoop on McGuire’s arrest record— Dan was set up by the guy he was working for. McGuire was so naive he didn’t realize the guy was using him to fence stolen goods until he saw his boss fudging the paperwork one day. When he caught on, his employer threatened Dan so he wouldn’t tell, but he went to the police, anyway. His boss tried to frame him for the theft, but eventually the cops got to the bottom of it.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s legitimate,” Emma said. “Especially since he’s interested in Kate.”
Grant nodded and stared at the floor, his mood dark. “But that means the police are back to square one.”
Emma fought the helplessness, trying to focus on her earlier plans. Now that she’d stopped trying to force her memory, she saw the effect the stress was having on Grant. His face looked hollow and tired, he had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his whole body radiated with tension.
She stroked the ends of Grant’s hair where it curled up around his collar. Startled, he swung his head around toward her again, his eyes wary. She smiled gently and traced her finger along his shoulder. “I know this is rough on you, Grant. You look exhausted.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I feel safe when I’m with you,” Emma said softly.
Some emotion flickered in the depths of his eyes, guilt, concern, desire.
“I asked Kate to baby-sit tonight. I thought maybe the two of us could go out to dinner.”
His eyes widened, the dark lashes fluttering up in surprise. Had he forgotten about sending the dress and the note?
“You’d leave Carly with a sitter and go out with me?”
Emma nodded, touched by the wonder in his voice. “Of course I would. Why do you ask?”
He shook his head. “You were a little nervous about it before.”
Emma smiled gently. “Are you saying I was one of those overprotective first-time mothers?”
A sexy smile lifted the left corner of his mouth, the irises of his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, to
night I want to be with you.” Emma’s tone was more serious now.
“I’d like that,” he finally said. Heat, dangerous, exciting and potent, darkened his eyes to purple. Then he ran a hand through his hair and stood. “Let me grab a shower.”
“I have to change, too.” Emma gestured at the baby food dotting her robe. “I knew better than to dress before I fed Carly.”
Grant smiled, seemingly relieved at her attempt to lighten the mood. Then they both headed to their separate rooms to get ready for the night.
MAYBE SHE WAS REMEMBERING their love, Grant thought as he splashed aftershave on his face. And maybe tonight the two of them would make progress in their relationship. He buttoned his white Armani shirt and pulled on gray dress slacks, ordering himself not to get his hopes up. At least an evening out would be a change, maybe a beginning. And at least Emma seemed to be trying. How long had it been since they’d been out to dinner alone? He sighed. Too long. Since before Carly was born.
Way too long, he decided, as he opened the bedroom door and saw Emma standing in the middle of the den. A shimmering short red dress hugged slender curves and dipped precariously low at the neck to reveal a hint of cleavage. His breath caught in his chest. She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
She’d brushed her shoulder-length golden hair until it shone. The diamond earrings he’d given her for their first anniversary dangled from her delicate ears. The thin straps revealed the creamy texture of her skin. Dark hose encased her long legs and dragged his gaze upward to the hem of the dress. Was she wearing a garter belt? His arousal was swift, and he itched to touch her, to hold her in his arms and slide those tiny straps down so he could kiss the skin at the base of her neck and then below.
But when she turned to face him and the light caught the twinkle of red satin, a strange horrible feeling engulfed him. Like déjà vu, a vision of another young woman wearing a shiny sequined red dress with spaghetti straps flashed into his head. Faye. He instantly saw her face, the tears streaking her cheeks at the homecoming party, the way she’d held her hand over her stomach when she’d told him about her pregnancy, her chest heaving with sobs. Then later, lying on the wet ground with blood dotting her face, splattered all over the red dress, the material ripped and smattered with mud and weeds… His hands started to shake and bile rose in his throat. Where had Emma gotten the dress? Had she gone shopping today? And why had she chosen red? She normally chose black or blue or green, darker, less flashy colors.
“Grant, don’t you like the way it fits?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“What?”
She gestured at the dress and swirled around as gracefully as possible, wincing only slightly with her injury. “I said, don’t you like the way it fits?”
He shook his head. “Where did you get that dress?”
Her eyes widened in confusion. “What do you mean? You sent it to me this afternoon.” She pointed to a white box on the floor in the dining room. “It arrived around five.”
Shock jolted him into action and he closed the distance between them, taking her hand in his. “Emma, I didn’t send you that dress.” Nausea gripped his stomach, wrenching through him. The blood, red like the dress, was everywhere, underneath Faye’s fingernails, on her silky hose… He shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the images. “You have to take it off. Now.” He gripped her hand, his voice urgent. “It’s… just like the one that girl from my college was wearing the night she died. I’m calling Warner.”
A horrified gasp escaped Emma’s mouth, the color draining from her face. He started to reach for the zipper to jerk the dress off but caught himself when he saw her tremble. Then she reached for the zipper, frantically tugging at it, and his stomach roiled. He gently held her hands and turned her around, then slid the zipper down, his breath catching at the sight of her smooth back. Another shudder rippled through him as she walked slowly to the bedroom, the tension once again winding through the room and destroying their hopes and plans. He heaved an angry sigh. Damn whoever was doing this to him. And to Emma.
He picked up the phone, his mind reeling with bits and pieces of the past few weeks as he tried to make some connection. The car accident—Faye had died in a car wreck. The dead roses—Faye had a blanket of roses on her casket at her funeral. The messages, now the red dress…
Whoever was threatening Emma must have known Faye Simmons. The person obviously blamed him for Faye’s death, just as he’d blamed himself. But this person was crazy; he or she had actually bought a dress similar to Faye’s and sent it to Emma, saying it was from him. Why did this lunatic want to hurt Emma?
Warner’s voice sounded on the line just as the twisted logic hit him. Revenge—the lunatic intended to kill Emma to get back at him.
EMMA STUMBLED out of the dress, a shiver tearing through her. Someone had sent her the dress as a reminder of another woman’s bloodshed. The realization repulsed her. Her hands shaking, she fumbled through her closet searching for another outfit, wondering if Grant still wanted to go out, wondering if she still wanted to. Would they be able to salvage the evening after this chilling incident?
She’d planned to have a nice dinner with Grant and subtly work up to telling him the truth about her amnesia. But he’d looked so shocked, so utterly appalled at the memory of the dead woman, she wasn’t sure he could take bad news on top of it.
She spotted a sapphire-blue silk dress that reminded her of Grant’s eyes and pulled it from the closet. It was sleek and sophisticated with a square neck trimmed in silver beads. Simple but elegant. Actually much more appealing to her than the red dress had been.
She gritted her teeth and slipped the dress over her head, determination filling her. She was not going to let this crazy person destroy her life. At least not without a fight. She surveyed her reflection in the mirror, touched up her hair and went to find her husband. Even if he wasn’t in the mood for dinner, she’d insist they go out. Then she would make him forget the horror of their situation and focus on the bright side. She was still alive and getting stronger every day, and memory or not, they still had each other. That is, if he still wanted her when he learned her memory loss was permanent.
ON THE WAY to the restaurant Grant tried to shake his black mood. But Warner’s words kept haunting him, and he needed to be honest with Emma. “Warner took the box and dress to check for fingerprints,” he said. “He thinks if he can trace the dress to where it was bought, it might lead us somewhere. The salesperson might even remember who bought it, then this whole mess could be over.”
“I hope so.” Emma wound her purse strap around her hand.
“He also agrees with me that whoever’s doing this must have known Faye Simmons.” Grant ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Maybe someone who blames me for her death and is trying to punish me by hurting you.”
“But you didn’t have anything to do with her death,” Emma argued. She reached for his hand and covered it with hers, making Grant’s heart pump with renewed fervor. This was the second time tonight she’d actually made a move to touch him; she wasn’t shrinking away from him anymore. “And I still don’t see a connection,” she said, her voice low. “Like you said, it’s been over five years since she died. Why come after you now?”
“I don’t know,” Grant said, stumped. “I really don’t, Emma. But Warner’s going to cross-check all the people I knew in college, including the kids at the party that night with the people we know now. Maybe something will click.”
Emma nodded, growing quiet. He put their favorite Bob Seger CD in the player and tried to relax as Seger’s husky voice began to sing Emma’s favorite, “We’ve Got Tonight.” As the music played, Emma’s tension seemed to dissipate slightly. And when they reached the restaurant, she graced him with one of her heart-stopping smiles as he offered her his arm and led her inside.
“When did you make the reservation?” Grant asked as a waiter escorted them to a candlelit lace-dra
ped table in a corner facing a cozy fireplace.
“Earlier today,” Emma replied.
The soft flowery scent of Emma’s bath oil sent his senses sizzling. “J. Bones was our favorite place,” Grant said, a twinge of hope resurging. “We came here for our anniversary. We even spent the night in the hotel here.”
Emma smiled and took her seat. “It’s beautiful. I’ve been thinking about a filet all afternoon.”
She always ordered the filet. He grinned, trying to forget about the earlier incident. Maybe this place, this luxurious restaurant and upscale hotel where they had spent a titillating anniversary night, would be the place that would bring back her memory.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his gaze scanning the dress she’d changed into. “That’s one of my favorite dresses. You said you bought it because it reminded you of my eyes. You were wearing it the night I proposed.”
He thought he heard Emma’s breath hitch, and he wondered if his obsession with their past history was going to upset her again. “I’m sorry, Emma, I know you don’t want to hear—”
“Shh, it’s okay,” she said softly. “We have a past together, Grant, and it’s not fair to not allow you to talk about it. I want you to relax tonight. We both need a break from all the tension lately.”
He smiled with relief. “I want that, too, more than you know.”
Her eyelashes fluttered almost flirtatiously, and his senses came alive, awareness, need, hunger ignited, all strumming through the air, reminding him again of the Bog Seger melody they’d heard in the car. They ordered wine and steaks and let the conversation drift to inane things—music and movies and things they’d talked about when they’d dated.
In a way it was like their first date, Grant thought, wishing he’d brought her flowers or candy or something romantic.
“Elton John’s coming to Atlanta in May,” he said. “I was thinking of getting us tickets if you’d like.”