brooches—a wreath made of green and ruby crystals. Emma had picked it up at an antiques store in Boston.
Bea’s purple-white hair was in rollers, and Emma wasn’t sure if she’d left the house in a hurry or if she’d simply forgotten that she’d put them in. Bea had been forgetting more and more lately. The doctor had warned Emma that the disease would progress that way.
Alzheimer’s.
She hated the name, hated what it was doing to the only woman who’d ever really cared about her.
Emma frowned. Her aunt should be tucked in her bed at home, not sitting in a chair in the hospital. She needed plenty of rest, plenty of good nutrition and plenty of patience. That was what the doctor had said, and Emma had vowed that she’d provide every one of those things. Bea had always been stubborn though, and after she’d arrived with a bag of clothes and toiletries for Emma, she’d insisted on staying until Emma fell asleep. Apparently Bea had fallen asleep, too.
“Bea?” she called out quietly.
Bea didn’t move.
“Bea? she said again.
Still nothing.
She shoved aside her blankets and stood, her legs wobbling. She tried to take a step forward, but the IV pole was on the other side of the bed.
Not one of her best moments, but she’d make it work. She scooted back across the bed, the pain in her ribs so sharp her breath caught. Sweat beaded her brow, her stomach rolled and Bea just kept snoring.
A shadow moved across the doorway, blocking the light as she finally managed to get to her feet again.
She froze, her blood running cold.
She’d been trying not to think about the attack, trying not to remember the dark shadow lunging toward her, the fear, the panic as she’d been dragged back into the diner.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice wobbling.
“Lucas.” He stepped into the room, carrying the scent of balmy winter air with him. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“Trying to wake Bea. She needs to go home.”
“And you need to be careful.” He urged her back onto the bed, his hands warm on her arms, his eyes deep green. “You don’t want to hurt yourself worse than you already are.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, her cheeks hotter than they should have been. Because of Lucas?
Not possible.
Maybe she was feverish from the attack.
She touched her forehead, realized what she was doing and let her hand drop away.
“That bad, huh?” He settled onto the bed beside her, his long muscular legs encased in dark blue uniform slacks.
“It could be worse. I could be dead,” she murmured, looking at the wall, the floor, anything but his firm, muscular thighs.
“I’m glad you realize that, Emma.”
“What do you mean?” She met his eyes, felt something shiver to life inside of her. Memories of all they’d shared, maybe—long summer days spent hiking, biking, fishing. Long evenings spent on his parents’ front porch discussing life and goals and dreams.
“Henry and I lost his trail near a bus stop downtown. We were able to find his ski mask, but we couldn’t find him. Until we do, you’re going to have to take extra precautions.”
“He wanted money, Lucas. He didn’t find it. I’m sure he’s already looking for another victim.” That was what she’d told herself while the doctor stitched up the back of her head.
“He left your purse and wallet behind when he ran. Would someone who just wanted money do that?”
“Someone was banging on the door. It freaked him out.”
“I was the one banging, and he had plenty of time to pick up the purse when he ran past it.”
“He was probably too scared to stop.”
“I’ve been a police officer for a long time, Emma. I’ve worked hundreds of robberies, and I can tell you for sure, robbers don’t leave cash and wallets behind. Not if they can snag them during their escape.”
He was trying to make a point. The problem was, Emma’s head was pounding too hard for her to figure out what it was. “My brain isn’t functioning at full capacity, Lucas. What are you trying to get at?”
“He beat you up pretty badly, Em, for someone who was only after money.” He touched her cheek, his fingers trailing down a bruise that she knew was there.
“He kept insisting that I tell him where the money was. He hit me when I tried to run.” She eased to her feet, wanting to put some distance between them. She needed to think, needed to figure out exactly where he was going with his questions. “If money wasn’t his goal, then what was?”
“You?” He followed her across the room and stood so close that she could feel his warmth through the flannel pajamas Bea had brought for her. “I heard you broke up with your boyfriend a week before you left town.”
“Heard from who?” It certainly hadn’t been Emma. She preferred to keep the details of her breakup with Camden to herself.
“My grandmother. She and Bea sing in the church choir together. Bea wasn’t happy with the way your boyfriend treated you, and she let everyone in the choir know it.”
“That’s...embarrassing, but I don’t see what it has to do with what happened tonight.”
“Is it possible your ex is upset? That maybe he wants revenge? Or wants to drive you back into his arms?”
She laughed, her breath catching as pain shot through her ribs. “Please! Camden is way too busy to chase me down.”
“He’s a lawyer, right? A very successful one, according to Bea. He could have hired someone to do his dirty work.”
“No way. He’s not an idiot. He’d know that he’d get caught.”
“Smart criminals often make the biggest mistakes,” Bea said suddenly.
“You’re awake!” Emma turned to her aunt. Aside from the curlers, she looked the way she had when Emma was a kid. Pretty and plump and lively.
“How could a person sleep with all the noise the two of you were making?” she responded, brushing wrinkles from her skirt and using her walker to stand.
Two months after she’d fallen and broken her hip, Bea still didn’t have all of her mobility back. Emma wasn’t sure if she’d ever regain it, but she brought her aunt to physical therapy twice a week anyway. “I’d say that I’m sorry we woke you, but I’m glad you’re up. It’s three in the morning. You need to be home in bed.”
“I’ll sleep in my own bed when you’re able to sleep in yours.” She patted her hair, frowned. “What in the world?”
“You have your rollers in,” Emma explained.
“Why didn’t someone tell me?” She shot a hard look in Lucas’s direction.
“You just woke up. Besides,” he said, “I thought it might be the newest fashion trend.”
Bea responded with a quiet humph.
“I need to make myself presentable.” She shuffled across the room, her walker tapping on the tile floor. Her shoulders were more stooped than they’d been when she’d visited Emma in Boston the year before. Age had carved deep grooves in her face, but she was still the woman who’d walked Emma through the rough teenage years, who’d cheered her on when she’d gone to culinary school, who’d believed in her even when she hadn’t believed in herself.
She disappeared into the bathroom and closed