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. h.e.l.lo 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 ftiry. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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."