Public Secrets

there was no one there but her own ghosts, she kept watching, waiting. Even walking down Rodeo Drive in bright sunshine she felt the tension in the back of her neck.
She was more embarrassed than afraid, and wished she had called a limo rather than driving herself.
She’d thought she would enjoy looking for just the right outfit, trying on both the outrageous and the classic, being pampered and cooed over by the clerks. But it was only a relief to have it over, to tuck the dress box into her car and drive off.

It was pitiful, she told herself, this persecution complex. Emma 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. Hello again, Emmy luv.”
It infuriated her that he could still make her cringe. Without speaking, she started to skirt around him. He simply shifted, 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 fury. “You bastard. 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.”
“And you’re a regular Amazon. Here I was loping across the lot, trying to play white knight. You stole my thunder.”
She laughed and kissed his cheek. “You’d have flattened him.”
“I don’t know. He’s a lot bigger than I am. Better all around that you punched him yourself. I’d hate to have gone on the telly with a black eye.”
“You’d have looked dashing, and rakish.” She slipped an arm around his waist. “Let’s not say anything about this to Da.”
“Bri’s very handy with his fists. I’d fancy seeing Blackpool with a shiner.”
“I’d fancy it myself,” she murmured. “At least wait until after the awards.”
“I never could resist a pretty face.”
“No, you couldn’t. Have you convinced Katherine to marry you yet?”
“She’s weakening.” They could hear one of the rehearsing acts playing before they entered the theater. Rough, unapologetic rock blasted through the walls. “She stayed in London. Said she had too many patients to take the time for this. But she