The Target

"My mother was very wise. After the divorce, she took me far away from him, all the way to Italy. I wasn't raised with his influence. I remember how she'd cry every time she had to put me on an airplane to come to the United States, to him, for those summer months every year. I don't want Emma near him. My mother kept me away from him and I intend to do the same for Emma."

"Sanction a kill. That's what you said."

"You're right. It came right out. It's insidious, that kind of influence. Can you believe I ever want Emma to even know those words go together? A child growing up with a man like my father-I'd fear for that child and I'd be afraid of the adult that child would become. Now, that's enough. No more for you, Mr. Hunt. I think we should get some sleep. You don't know Emma. She'll be awake and raring to go at six o'clock in the morning."

"I know. She waited until seven after I got shot in the leg. I'd wake up with this soft little hand on my forearm, just lightly stroking up and down." He was silent a moment. "She's a great kid, Molly."

"I know," she said. "I know."

"We'll keep her safe."

"I know we will," she said.

It was deep in the middle of the night when a loud piercing scream brought Molly straight up in bed.

She grabbed her daughter and shook her. "Em, wake up, honey. Come on, wake up!"

She shook her again. Ramsey stood in the doorway, his heart pounding, his Smith & Wesson in his hand. He watched Molly sit up and pull Emma onto her lap. "Come on, love, wake up. It's all right. I'm here with you. Ram-sey's here too. Wake up, Emma."

Emma suddenly arched then twisted around, throwing her arms around her mother. She was shuddering and sobbing. Ramsey quickly sat down beside them and held them both tightly. After a few moments, he eased his hold and leaned back. He pushed back Emma's tangled hair from her ear. "It's okay, really, Emma, it's okay. We're here. No bad guys, just us."

She slowly stopped sobbing. She hiccuped. He looked at Molly over Emma's head. Her eyes were shadowed, then he saw her mouth was tight, saw the pain deep within her, visible now to him, and he knew what that pain felt like because he felt it as well. Emma said in a flat singsong voice, "I dreamed about him, Mama. He tied my hands and feet to the bed. He used twine. He said he didn't need rope because I was just a little girl. He said I was perfect and that he needed me more than God needed him. Only me. He took that twine and he wrapped me like a package." She fell silent. Ramsey and Molly waited, stiff, enraged, but she said nothing more.

They held Emma between them for a very long time. Finally, Molly said quietly, "She's asleep. Thank you, Ramsey. I'll hold her real close the rest of the night."

It was a very long time before Molly fell asleep again.

When she awoke, she felt Emma's wet kiss on her cheek. Emma took her arm and pulled it and she naturally turned over to curl around her daughter's back.

When Ramsey awoke early in the morning, he thought about Emma's nightmare, her flat dead words. Twine. He'd tied her with twine, as he would a package. He hadn't needed rope. She was just a little girl.

Not that it mattered. If Ramsey could get his hands on that man, he would probably kill him. Would he send the man through the system, confident that he'd be punished as he should be? He didn't know. He just didn't know. And he should know. He walked to the other bedroom, stood quietly in the open doorway, watching Emma and Molly sleep.

"Ramsey?" A little whisper of a voice.

"Good morning, Emma. Did you sleep well?"

"Oh yes. Mama's all snuggled in behind me. This is nice, but I have to go to the bathroom."

He heard Molly giggle.

He saw Molly kissing Emma's neck, telling her they'd both go and then they'd get her a bowl of cereal, with bananas, none of those disgusting peaches.

He went back to bed and pulled the covers to his chin. Louey Santera had beaten her. He didn't blame Mason Lord one bit for taking the bastard down. He'd have taken him down himself. He wondered, as he got up to go to the bathroom himself, if Molly had loved her husband before that.

12

EMMA WAS JUMPING out of her skin she was so excited. She started playing the two-octave piano as soon as she saw it, Ramsey standing just behind her, so surprised he couldn't speak.

She was playing a Mozart Sonata that had been the title song to an old film called Elvira Madigan.

All the salespeople in the toy store were beginning to gather around along with children and their parents. No one was saying anything, just watching Emma play on that little excuse for a piano and listening to the incredible music she was making.