little white puffball of a dog had probably seen her “visitor,” because she refused to make an appearance.
“How are you, Mrs. Daphne?” Lucas grinned at Bea, his dark hair ruffled. He had grown into his height, his shoulders filling out and his face losing the almost-too-pretty look of his youth. Now he had an edge of hardness and strength that Emma had to admit was appealing.
“It’s been too many years, young man,” Bea chastised, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d seen each other.
“It has been too long,” Lucas agreed before Emma could remind her aunt that they’d seen him the previous day.
His gaze shifted from Bea to Emma. He took in everything with one long sweeping look. Her hair...which she knew was sticking out in a million different directions, her faded oversize sweats and baggy T-shirt, her bruised and swollen cheek.
If she’d been a different kind of woman, she might have cared that she was a mess. She didn’t. Much. She touched her hair but resisted the urge to smooth down the wild strands.
“I’m making tea and scones. You want to come in the kitchen while I work? We can talk there.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, just hurried into the kitchen. She felt comfortable there. At home. She knew what to do with eggs and flour and sugar. She knew how to cook a roast and fry an egg. What she’d never been very good at was dealing with emotions and people and all the stuff that went with relationships.
Lucas followed Emma into the kitchen. She looked tired, her eyes deeply shadowed, her skin pale, the bruise on her cheek deep shades of purple and red. She’d left her hair loose and it fell to her shoulders in wild waves and curls, covering the stitches he knew were behind her ear.
“You should be lying down, not making scones,” he commented.
She looked up from the counter she’d been sprinkling with flour. “I tried that. It didn’t go well.”
“Why not?”
“It’s hard to rest when your brain is going a hundred miles an hour.”
“What’s on your mind, Em?” Lucas asked as he pulled a stool over and perched on it, watching while she measured flour into a bright yellow bowl. Henry raised his nose, sniffing excitedly.
“Down, Henry,” he commanded, and the dog collapsed onto the floor in a pile of lush soft-looking fur.
“What isn’t on my mind? Every time I close my eyes, I think about the guy who attacked me. The diner. I’m supposed to open soon, and I’m stuck here.” She gestured around the large kitchen. “With the way things are going, I’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of my life.”
“The rest of your life is a long time.” He grabbed a raisin from a box she’d opened, and she swatted his hand.
“Those are for the scones!”
“Sorry.” But he wasn’t really. He’d been at the office almost all day, tracking leads, looking through surveillance footage. He hadn’t eaten lunch, and all he’d had for breakfast was a bagel and a cup of coffee.
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right.” He laughed. “How about I make it up to you?”
“How?”
“The diner has been cleared as a crime scene. My boss gave me permission to let you go back there.”
“Really? That’s fantastic!” She looked up from the bowl she’d been scooping sugar into, a hint of color in her cheeks and a broad smile on her face.
“Yes.”
“Great!” She whirled away from the counter. “I’ve got to get cleaned up so I can go over there. The scones will have to wait.”
She darted toward the kitchen doorway, but he snagged her arm and pulled her to a stop.
“Hold on, Emma.” His palm rested against the smooth, warm skin of her forearm, heat racing through his blood at the contact. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m already a day behind myself. I have a schedule, and—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off the words. “We have video footage from a surveillance camera near a downtown bus stop that Henry tracked your attacker to.”
The excitement faded from her eyes, and she tensed. “Do you think the guy is in it?”
“It’s possible. Three men boarded the bus about ten minutes after you were attacked. One looked too old to be our guy. The other two fit the description you gave me. Tall. Muscular. If you’re up to it, I’d like to take you to the station and have you view some still photos we pulled from the tapes.” If she wasn’t, he planned to bring the photos to her.
It was imperative that she see them soon. Lucas’s boss had recognized one of the men. The guy had a criminal record and had served jail time. He’d also worked for Arianna when she’d owned Emma’s diner. Lucas didn’t tell Emma that. He didn’t want to influence her perception, taint her view of the photos.
“I’m up to it,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll get changed and then we can head out.”
She walked out of the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, and Lucas hated that he couldn’t change that. He’d wanted to come to Bea’s place with good news, but all he had was more questions than answers.
Hopefully, the video stills would yield more information. If Emma positively identified her attacker, they could get his picture out to the public and offer a reward for information leading to his arrest. If the guy was smart, he’d turn himself in. If he wasn’t, he’d try to hide. Either way, he was going to be found and he was going to be thrown in jail.
Lucas would make sure of it.
He snagged another handful of raisins and walked into the living room to wait with Bea.
EIGHT
Emma grabbed a pair of dark jeans and a thick sweater from her dresser and changed quickly, her heart beating a hard, heavy rhythm. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look at the video stills. It was more that she didn’t want to be reminded of what she’d gone through. It was bad enough that every time she closed her eyes, she saw her attacker lunging from the darkness. She didn’t want to go through pictures, hunting for him.
She’d do what she had to, though, because she wanted the police to catch him and throw him in jail.
When she was done, she’d go to the diner, put in a few hours of hard work. That would clear her head, get her more focused.
“Emma?” Bea called from the hallway. “Are you almost ready? Your young man is waiting.”
“He’s not my young man!” she called. “And I’m coming!”
She grabbed her purse and cell phone and opened the bedroom door, nearly running into Lucas’s muscular chest.
“Oops! Sorry!” She backed up, stumbling a little in her haste.
He put a hand on her waist, holding her steady. “Careful, Emma. You don’t need any more injuries.”
“Not with everything I have to do in the next couple of weeks. It would be really difficult to run a diner from a hospital bed,” she joked, sidling past him, her cheeks hot for reasons she refused to acknowledge. After she’d broken up with Camden, she’d told herself she was done with men. Finished. Forever. No more relationships. Nothing was going to change her mind about that.
No one was going to change it.
Not even Lucas.
“We’re not going to let it come to that,” he responded as they walked into the living room. Henry was lying on the floor there, nose to nose with Fluffy.