Dirty Secrets by Karen Rose Page B

sky and the balmy breeze and the swooping birds . . . Who could ask for a better place to just . . . be?
    She shook her head at her own wishing as she closed and locked the door. It was normal to want a home again after living alone. But she’d seen too many clients rush into relationships after the death of their partners, because the loneliness was so severe. Sometimes these new relationships worked, but more often they crumbled. Emma had broken Christopher’s heart once before. She wouldn’t do that to him again. If they were meant to be, it would work out. In its own time. She wouldn’t rush it.
    But she could make him and his daughter dinner, she thought, and headed for the kitchen. It had been more than a year since she’d cooked an entire meal, but . . .
    “Like falling off a bike,” she muttered.
    Her grandmother’s Alfredo sauce was simmering on the stove when the front door slammed and a panicked voice called out.
    “Chris! Megan!”
    Frowning, Emma peeked around the kitchen doorway to see a man roughly her own age pocketing a key. He was burly with a neatly trimmed beard and a pipe clamped between his teeth that made her think of Hemingway. This would be Jerry, she thought. Christopher had told her about his friend, the physics professor, shown her a picture of the two of them together with Megan. It had been a Christmas photo and they’d all been smiling. Jerry wasn’t smiling now, his mouth bent into a frown.
    Emma emerged from the kitchen, unsettled at the sight of a strange man. She told herself it was simply a residual reaction to the man who’d broken into her home and tied her up the day before. She was shaky after an assault. Go figure.
    “He’s not here,” she said, a wooden spoon in one hand. She wasn’t sure why she’d kept it in her hand. It would suck as a weapon anyway. “But he should be back soon.”
    The man narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re either Emma or Chris has finally broken down and hired a housekeeper.”
    “The first one. I’d be pretty lousy at the second. You’re Jerry.”
    His eyes popped wide. “How did you know?”
    “Christopher showed me a picture. He’s gone to pick up Megan.”
    The frown smoothed from the man’s face. “Thank God. I hadn’t heard from him this afternoon, so I went by the school just in case he hadn’t gotten back in time to get Megan, but she wasn’t standing out in front like I’d told her to. I almost had a heart attack.” Jerry dropped onto the soft sofa, his eyes closed, his cheeks gray above his dark beard. “I tried to call him on his cell, but I kept getting voice mail.”
    “He was probably talking to that detective, or his students,” Emma supplied and walked over to him, appraising him with a critical eye. “Are you all right?” He did look like a man on the verge of a heart attack. “Can I get you some water?”
    He opened one eye. “As long as it has scotch mixed with it. Light on the water.”
    Emma poured him a drink from the bottle she’d found in the kitchen. She watched him down the drink in one gulp and hold out the glass for seconds. Perhaps Jerry had more in common with the alcoholic Ernest Hemingway than a pipe and a beard.
    But before she could tell him the bar was closed, the front door opened and a young girl came in. Christopher followed and took an appreciative whiff. “You brought dinner, Jerry. You didn’t have to do that.”
    Jerry shook his head and aimed his thumb at Emma. “No. She’s cooking something.” He struggled to his feet, his eyes on Megan even though his words were for Christopher. “You didn’t call. I was worried sick.”
    Christopher’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Jerry. Detective Harris called when I got off the plane and I got sidetracked.” He turned his attention to the young girl who had dropped her backpack to the floor next to the door. She’d been standing there, regarding Emma through narrowed, hostile eyes, but standing behind her, Christopher