Forgotten Lullaby (21 page)

Anger unlike anything he'd ever experienced tore through him. He had to force himself to move slowly to the bridge, not go raging through the woods to rescue
her. Kate had a gun; she could pick him off in a second, and then what? He listened for sirens as he scanned the area for Kate. His head jerked around at a mewling sound coming from one end of the bridge. Then he saw her. A lone figure huddled in a hooded raincoat, her hand trembling as she held a gun on Emma.

He moved forward on the balls of his feet so as not to make a sound, but his foot hit a tree limb that snapped and went flying in the air. The figure in the raincoat turned, and his lungs almost collapsed with shock. It wasn't Kate who had Emma at all.

“Martha?” Grant said in shock.

“Stay right where you are, Mr. Wadsworth,” she ordered in a cold bitter voice.

He saw Emma stiffen, trying to locate the direction of his voice. He had to let her know where he was. “Don't move, Emma,” he said. “I'm here.” Then he stared at Martha, willing himself to be calm, to stall until the police could arrive. “I don't understand, Martha. Why are you doing this?”

She waved the pistol in the air, her eyes wild as she paced back and forth between him and Emma ranting, “'Cause it was
you.
You took my baby away, you killed her, and you have to pay for it. You have to suffer.”

She was irrational, her confused state scaring him almost more than the gun. Emma was soaked and trembling and frightened, but she didn't appear hurt. Thank God.

“What are you talking about?” Out of the corner of his eye he kept Emma in his sight as he slowly inched toward the housekeeper. “What baby, Martha? How did I ever hurt you?”

“You wouldn't marry her. No, you had to finish
school. You had to meet some finer richer girl to play house with.” She pointed the gun at Grant, her hand wobbling up and down. “You didn't even care about the baby.”

Grant held out a calming hand. “Martha, tell me what baby you're talking about.”

“My grandbaby!” Martha shouted. Rain slashed across her face and dripped down her chin, the streaks of lightning highlighting her wrinkled skin, making her appear even more sinister in the harsh darkness. “Faye's child. She was yours, but—”

“Faye?” Grant's mind reeled. “You're Faye's mother?”

Martha nodded, and a low sob erupted from her. “She was my only girl and she died. Died 'cause she was having your baby and you didn't want it. You wouldn't do right by her—”

“But that's not true,” Grant said, working to steady his voice. “Martha, Faye and I were only friends. I swear, we talked a few times, and she told me about the baby, but it wasn't mine.”

“You're lying!” Martha swung the gun back toward Emma. Emma seemed to sense Martha's rising hysteria and shrank back, almost tripping on one of the loose boards.

“Don't move, Emma,” Grant said, barely able to breathe.

“Shut up,” Martha yelled. “She's the reason you wouldn't marry my girl. You wanted someone with money—”

“No, Martha,” Grant said calmly, his heart racing. “I told you Faye and I were only friends. I helped her with an assignment or two. We talked. But that's all. The baby wasn't mine.” His chest ached with the breath
he'd been holding. “Emma had nothing to do with Faye. You have to let her go.”

Martha shook her head, another sob escaping. “I saw your name, yours and that nasty Billy Hogan—”

“You killed Hogan?” Grant asked, trying to sound rational while his heart pounded double time.

“That's right. He was sorry and no good.” She laughed shrilly. “After Faye died, I found her journal. She wrote about the baby, wrote about you, how you were going to be an architect. That's how I found you, and I swore I'd make both you guys pay for what you did to my girl…”

Grant exhaled sharply, hoping Emma didn't believe these ludicrous lies. “Martha, I don't know what Faye wrote in the diary, but I promise you if she'd been pregnant with my baby, I would have stood by her. She dated a lot of guys—” he hesitated, not knowing how much to tell the woman “—and when she came to me, she didn't know what to do. She said she wasn't sure who the baby's father was—”

“That's a lie!” Martha shrieked. Thunder crashed again and lightning shimmied across the sky. He stared at Emma, desperately wanting to drag her off that bridge, knowing any minute Martha might go wild and shoot Emma, if lightning didn't strike her first.

“I'm afraid it is true,” he said. “Faye didn't think she was pretty. I told her she was. I tried to be her friend, really I did,” Grant said, still hoping to calm Martha.

“Stop it!” the woman screamed. “Stop saying those things about Faye! She was beautiful.”

Emma's slim body was shaking so badly he thought she was going to collapse any minute and go plunging into the frigid river.

“I know she was, but Faye was afraid to tell you about the baby, Martha,” he said. “She didn't want to upset you. She loved you so much, Martha.”

His calmly spoken words seemed to sink in, but then the wildness returned to her eyes and she stepped onto the bridge. She jerked the blindfold from Emma's eyes and pulled out the gag. His heart leaped into his throat. Fear and shock registered on Emma's face, but she took a deep breath and looked at him, such love and trust in her eyes that he nearly fell to his knees. God, he had to do something to save her. There was so much he had to tell her. He had to show her how much he loved her. He had to ask her to marry him again.

“She hated Billy. If you weren't the baby's father, then why'd she write about you like she loved you?” Martha asked, her deathly calm frightening him even more.

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “Like I told you, we were friends.”

“Martha,” Emma interjected softly. “If Grant had fathered Faye's baby, he would have done the right thing,” Emma said. “Think about it. You've gotten to know him over the past few months. Hasn't he been wonderful with Carly? And look how he's stayed by me during all this. He's not a man who shirks his responsibilities.”

Martha's face contorted in a snarl. “He should have taken care of my grandchild.” She turned to Emma and raised the gun to her face. “But he didn't. That's why you have to die. Then I can take Carly and raise her as my own.”

“That's the reason you've been doing this?” Emma asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. The rain slackened
to a sprinkle, but water still dripped down her face. “So you can take Carly?”

A hideous laugh filled the air. “I dropped hints that he was unfaithful, but you ignored them. Didn't even see that lipstick until they searched your car. I thought you'd die in that wreck, but no, you went into a coma. I tried to finish you off in the hospital—”

“You were there? You tried to kill me?” Emma's voice quavered.

Martha nodded. “Yes. But he came back to see you, sat by your side all the time. Damn him, he should have stayed with Faye.”

“And you tried to shoot me and later shoved me down the steps at the house?” Emma asked. “Then you broke into Kate's and tried to smother me again.”

Martha's head jerked up, the rain hood falling back, exposing her soggy gray hair. “Yeah, except you won't die,” Martha wailed.

“But why did you bring me out here? Why not just shoot me at home?”

“I knew they'd find you at home. Your sister would be back any minute and they'd know it was me. I wanted time to get away with Carly!”

“Why didn't you just kill me?” Grant asked. “I'm the one who knew Faye. Don't hurt Emma. Faye wouldn't want that.”

Emma gave him a beseeching look, but he had to lure Martha's attention away from her. It worked. Martha whipped the gun around toward Grant. “'Cause I wanted you to suffer the way I had, to know what it was like to lose someone, your baby girl…” Tears filled her tormented eyes, and Grant almost felt sorry for her.

“Is Carly the grandchild you've been shopping for?”
Emma asked, and he realized she was trying to distract Martha so he could edge closer to her.

Martha nodded, the lines beside her eyes softening. “Carly's going to be the grandchild I should have had years ago. I fixed Faye's room up for her. Little pink and blue teddy bears on the wall. She'll love it.”

Grant's stomach churned as the pieces fell into place, all the while edging closer to Martha.

“So Faye was the daughter you said lived in Atlanta, the one who was pregnant?” Emma asked.

“She would have lived in Atlanta one day, would have had a fancy job, a great place to live, just like I said she did, all those dreams I had for her,” Martha said in an oddly distant voice. “And she would have gotten married and given me grandchildren, and I would have loved them.”

A shudder rippled through Grant. Martha had completely distorted the facts surrounding her daughter's death, and he'd become the scapegoat.

“I'm sorry she died,” Emma said softly. “I know you miss her, Martha. But think about Carly. You love her, and she'll miss me if you kill me.”

“She loves me already,” Martha said, her teeth clicking as she vigorously nodded her head. “She loves me and she'll forget all about you.”

He was a hairbreadth away from her now. “You can't kill Emma,” Grant said, grateful when Martha swung around to face him, giving Emma time to pick her way off the bridge. “Faye wouldn't have wanted that, Martha. Faye would have been disappointed. She thought you were so good, so perfect. That's why she didn't tell you about the baby, she didn't want to disappoint you.”

His arguments seemed to be working. Martha's hand wavered.

“You don't want Faye watching you from heaven, seeing you blame an innocent woman for her death, hurting an innocent baby by taking her mother away from her.”

The wildness in Martha's eyes melted as she turned her face to the sky. She let out an anguished cry, then pointed the gun at herself. Emma gasped and Grant dove, knocking the gun from her hands. Martha fell to the ground. Then she curled within herself and lay on the wet boards sobbing, despondent, until the police arrived.

 

G
RANT GRABBED THE GUN
, and Emma fell into his arms as soon as he untied her hands, laying her head against his muscled chest and hearing his heart pounding. They were both alive, here together, and that was all that mattered.

“Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” His hands were everywhere at once, feeling to see if she was injured.

Emma shook her head, tears of relief clogging her throat. “I'm okay, Grant, really.”

He cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “I don't know what I would have done—”

“Shh, I'm here and I'm fine,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Where's Carly?” Grant asked, and she realized he'd probably been frantic about the baby, afraid Martha had done something with her.

“She's with Kate,” Emma said quickly. “Kate took her before Martha pulled the gun on me.”

“Thank God.” He brushed the rain and tears from her face, pushed back her damp hair and kissed her.

Warner walked over, nodding toward the police car
where he'd secured Martha. “You two want to come to the station later and give me a statement?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Detective.”

Warner tipped his hat. “I'm just glad it's over.”

Emma stared at the blue swirling lights, wondering if it would ever be over for the sick woman in the car. “She'll receive some therapy, won't she?”

“You can bet on it,” Warner said. Then he strode back to the car, climbed in and drove away.

Emma breathed in the crisp clean smell that follows a heavy rain. Grant cupped her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his, kissing her reverently. “I was so scared, so afraid I was going to lose you. I don't care about the past. Nothing matters except—”

“Shh,” Emma whispered, wanting for once to be able to comfort him. “When you showed up, I knew everything would be okay, Grant.” She brushed his mouth with a kiss, trying to tell him with her eyes how much she trusted their love. “I knew because I love you so much.”

“And I love you, too, Emma. I never want us to be apart again.”

“Never. You're not only my husband, you're my friend, my lover, my hero.”

A slow sexy smile curved his mouth as he fell to one knee. They both laughed when mud squished around his jeans-clad leg. Then he clasped her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “Will you marry me, Emma?” He grinned rakishly. “Again, that is.”

Her heart fluttered like the butterfly that suddenly glided out from behind a pine. “Yes, Grant, I'll marry you.”

He stood and swung her into his arms, kissing her face and neck. Emma smiled, tears in her eyes, but he
wiped them away and kissed her, then whispered a promise. “This time, sweetheart, we're going to have a wedding you'll always remember.”