The Target

guy"

She sucked harder on her fingers, then pulled them out of her mouth and whispered, "Please be careful, Ramsey. He's a bad man. He even smokes."

"I'll be back soon, Emma. I'll be careful as a judge." The sucking slowed. She sniffed and swallowed. "That was kind of funny, Ramsey."

MlLES knocked lightly on the bedroom door, then quietly opened it. Emma was lying pressed against Molly. Ramsey was sleeping in a chair next to the bed, an afghan pulled up to his chin.

It was late, after eight o'clock in the morning. He paused, not knowing what to do.

"Is that you, Miles?"

"Yes, Ramsey. Should I come back?"

"No, it's time for us all to get up." He sat up in the chair and stretched. "I'm a damned pretzel," he said, and rubbed his neck. He started to get up, then Emma's hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed his hand. Molly awoke. She tried to sit up and not disturb Emma at the same time.

"I'm awake, Mama. I've got Ramsey."

"I see that you do. Miles?"

"Yes, Molly." He suddenly broke off and turned. "Oh, good morning, sir. As you can see, Ramsey and Molly were protecting Emma."

"This is ridiculous," Mason Lord said. "What the hell are you doing in here, Ramsey?"

Ramsey said quietly, Emma's hand still held in his, "If the two of you will please leave, Molly and I will get ourselves together. In case you're wondering why I'm in here, Emma had a nightmare. I stay close. It makes her feel safe again. Let me go now, Em. That's right." He leaned down and kissed her, then lightly patted her cheek.

Mason Lord turned away. They heard him say, his voice hard and cold and very smooth, "Good morning, Louey. I trust you have a whole lot to say to me this morning."

"So she's sleeping with him, huh?"

"You have a very plebeian mind, Louey. I suggest you go downstairs, have some bacon and toast, then prepare to tell me all about the recent happenings in your miserable life."

"I tell you, I didn't kidnap Emma. She's my daughter, too. Why do you call her Molly's daughter? Listen, you've got to believe me, I-"

Miles, thankfully, closed the door.

RAMSEY called Dr. Loo, telling her about Emma's nightmare that had seemed so real to her. Dr. Loo would see them right away.

Mason Lord stopped Ramsey on the way to the breakfast room and drew him aside. "I had Gunther bring the Mercedes around for you. You can drive it to the doctor's. I also heard about the search last night."

"We didn't find any evidence of an intruder, and no one really expected to. Emma dreamed about the man, then half woke up and saw him in the window. Adults could do that. It shouldn't be too much of a stretch to imagine a six-year-old seeing the bad man at the window. That's why we're seeing Dr. Loo right away while it's still fresh in Emma's mind." Ramsey frowned, looking just past Mason Lord's shoulder.

"What is it?"

"It's very likely that Emma could describe the kidnapper. I'd thought about it before, but I decided she didn't need that kind of stress. It was too soon. Maybe she could do it now. We could get a police artist out here."

"No police. They poke where they shouldn't. I'll get an artist and have him make arrangements to see you at Dr. Loo's."

Ramsey nodded and walked into the breakfast room. Only Emma and Molly were there. It was a charming room done in the Colonial style, with bowed windows looking over the back lawn with its glittering blue swimming pool. He sat down at the cherry-wood table with its hand-embroidered tablecloth, covered dishes set for them.

"I like Dr. Loo," Emma said as she started on her bowl of the special oatmeal Miles had made for her. "Do you really believe I saw him?"

"It's possible you didn't really see him, sweetheart. I hope we can find out what you really saw. Do you mind?"

"No." She sighed deeply. Ramsey hadn't ever thought a child could sigh like that.

Molly stood up and walked behind Emma. "Let me French-braid your hair, Em. It looks a bit ratty."

While Emma ate her cereal, Ramsey drank coffee, watching Molly do the French braid, her hands sure, her motions smooth. He'd have to learn how to do that. He remembered the pathetic braids he'd managed after he'd found Emma.

"Will you teach me that?" he said to Molly, who was twisting a rubber band around the bottom of the braid. She wrapped a pretty yellow puffy bow around that.

"Sure, no problem. Emma, do you mind Ramsey practicing on you?"