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thought Katherine would lift her psychiatrist's brow and make interested
noises if she told her. Poor Emma's gone off the bend again.
Thinks she's being followed. Wonders if someone's been in the house
when she goes out. What about those odd noises on the phone? Must be
tapped.
Christ. She rubbed a finger against her temple and tried to laugh. The
next thing she'd start doing was checking under the bed at night. Then
she'd be in therapy for life.
Well, she'd chosen L.A., hadn't she? Before long she'd have a personal
trainer as well as a therapist. She'd be worried about her polarity or
she'd start channeling for a three-hundred-year-old Buddist monk.
And then she did laugh.
After she stopped at the auditorium, she picked up her camera. Buddhist
monks would have to hold off, at least until she'd dealt with the
business at hand. Acts and presenters for the awards show would already
be inside. It would be like the old days, she mused. Watching
rehearsals, taking pictures.
It was a satisfying feeling to know that her past and her future had
found a way to meld.
When she stepped from the car, Blackpool stood blocking her path.
"Well, well. h.e.l.lo again, Emmy luv."
It infuriated her that he could still make her cringe. Without
speaking, she started to skirt around him. He simply s.h.i.+fted, trapping
her against the car as easily as he had once trapped her in her
darkroom.
Smiling, he stroked a fingertip down the back of her neck. "Is this any
way to treat an old friend?"
"Get out of my way."
"We'll have to work on those manners." He gripped her braid and tugged
hard enough to make her gasp. "little girls who grow up with money
always end up spoiled. I'd have thought your husband would have taught
you better-before you killed him."
It wasn't fear, she realized as she began to shake. It was fury. Hot,
glittering ftiry. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Let go of me."
"I thought we might have a chat, just the two of us. Let's take a
ride." He kept his hand on her hair, pulling her along.
She swung back, bringing her camera case hard into his midsection. When
he doubled over, she stepped back, and into someone else. Without
thinking, she whirled and nearly caught Stevie in the face.
"Hang on." He threw up a hand before her fist could connect with his
nose. "Don't hit me. I'm just a poor recovering addict who's come to
play guitar." He put a hand on her shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze.
"Is there a problem here?"
Almost carelessly, Emma glanced back at Blackpool. He'd recovered his
wind, and was standing, fists clenched. Emma felt a quick surge of
pleasure. She had taken care of herself, and very well. "No, there's
no problem." Turning, she walked toward the theater with Stevie.
"What was all that about?"
There was still a smile on her face. Pure satisfaction. "He's just a
bully."
