The Target

didn't get some disease from him."

    She saw her father pause a moment, and then he was gone from her view.

    Ramsey said, "The two of you are quite the duo. Look, Molly, you're an adult. I know it must hurt when he goes after you, but kiss it off. It's not important. There are lots more important things to think about and the most important is standing right there."

    "Mama, why is Grandfather angry?"

    Emma was standing in the doorway, her hair long and tousled, her nightgown with its pink bows nearly to the floor. She was clutching her piano against her chest. It was nearly as big as she was.

    Ramsey said, "She needs a doll."

    "Your grandfather wasn't what you'd call really angry, Em. It's late and he's older, you know? Older people get cross quickly when they get tired."

    "Boy, what a whopper."

    "Be quiet. Em, Ramsey is just trying to make a joke. I'm going to give him lessons. Now, come back to bed. I'll tuck you in."

    "I'll come with you." Ramsey walked to Emma and picked her up in his arms. "This piano weighs a ton, Emma. I think I'll have to remove an octave."

    Emma reared back in his arms and looked at him closely. "That was funny, Ramsey. Not as funny as Mama, but funny. Has she given you a lesson already?"

    "Thank you, Emma. She hasn't yet given me any lessons at all. Actually, I came out with that one all on my own." He took the piano, handing it to Molly. Emma sprawled against him, her head on his shoulder. She sucked her fingers.

    There was a queen bed in the bedroom. It was Molly's old room, he realized. There wasn't a ruffle to be had. What there was were bookshelves all up and down one wall, filled with paperbacks and hardcovers, piled indiscriminately. On the other wall were photos, dozens and dozens of photos. Many were framed, most were arranged lovingly and carefully on corkboards.

    "Mama takes pictures," Emma said to Ramsey when he laid her on her back. "She took all these when she was young."

    "I see," he said, and leaned down and kissed Emma's forehead. He stroked her hair back from her face. "You go to sleep now, Emma. I don't want you worrying about anything, all right?"

    "You won't leave, will you, Ramsey?"

    He'd already made that decision, with Molly's help, but still, what if something happened? Something he couldn't foresee made him leave?

    She whispered, "You don't know if you should tell me the truth. It's all right. Everybody lies. Except Mama. She never lies."

    "Is that so?"

    "Yes," Emma said. "Mama, will you come to bed soon?"

    "Yes, love, in just a little while. Ramsey and I have bunches of things to discuss."

    She turned off Emma's light, but left the door ajar. Just a slice of light shone into the room from the three Tiffany lamps standing at intervals in the wide corridor.

    Ramsey said, "I won't leave you, Emma, unless I have to, and then I'll tell you first."

    Emma didn't say anything.

    "We can hear her if she has a nightmare," Molly said quietly as she followed Ramsey back to his room.

    "Now," he said once they were in his bedroom, "tell me what you think we should do."

    "Beat up Louey Santera again."

    "After we beat him up."

    She sighed. "I don't know, Ramsey. So much has happened."

    "One of the first things is to take Emma to a doctor and to a child shrink."

    "Yes," she said. "I've been thinking about that. I don't want to take her to her regular pediatrician. He's a man. I want to take her to a woman."

    "That's probably smart."

    "I'll make calls tomorrow, get some names. Where do you think those men are, Ramsey?"

    "If they're here, they're cursing a blue streak. There's just no way in here. Miles told me he has six men patrolling the grounds around the clock. I think this place is more secure than the White House."

    "I heard Mason tell Gunther to bring in another three men to patrol. He's not taking any chances."

    "He loves you and Emma."

    "Yeah, right. It's all a matter of possession. He just doesn't want anyone messing with something he sees as his."

    "Whatever it is, it's still a start. We'll see. Tomorrow-" He rubbed his hands together. "Tomorrow I'll get to meet dear Louey face-to-face."

    "It won't be one of the high points of your day. Trust me."

    "As Emma would say, you made a joke."

    "Sometimes truth's funnier than fiction."

    LOUEY Santera was furious and it showed. His mouth was tight, his lips a skinny pursed line. Then he saw a reporter and the fury was masked immediately by a charming smile and a little-boy shrug. "Hi," he