"McCarthy."
"I met you a few days ago."
He nodded. She might have been concussed, but she was lucid.
"Emma." Michael touched her cheek to make her look at him. "Tell us
what happened."
"I thought I was imagining it."
"What?"
"That someone was after me. Could I have that water?"
"Sure." Because her hands were shaking, he closed his over them on the
cup. "Who was after you?"
"I don't know. Before I left London, I ... maybe it was my
imagination."
"Tell me."
"I thought someone was following me." She glanced over at McCarthy,
waiting to see the doubt, or the amusement. He only sat on the edge of
the captain's desk and listened. "I was almost sure of it. After so
many years with bodyguards, you just know. I can't explain it."
"You don't have to," Michael told her. "Go on."
She looked at him and wanted to weep because he meant it. She would
never have to explain to him. "While I was in New York, I saw someone
watching the loft. I was sure Dad had hired someone to look out for me.
But when I asked him, he said he hadn't, so I decided I'd been wrong.
The first night I was back, a car followed me home from the market."
"You never mentioned it."
"I was going to, but ..." She trailed off again. "You were upset
when you got back. And then I more or less forgot about it. I didn't
like thinking I was going crazy. I would think someone had been in the
house when I'd go out, that the phone was making noises. Like it was
tapped." She closed her eyes. "Typical paranoid behavior."
"Don't be stupid, Emma."
She nearly smiled. He never let her feel sorry for herself for long. "I
can't prove it had anything to do with tonight, but I feel it."
"Can you talk about it now?" He'd given her time. Now her hands were
steadier and the glassy look had faded.
"Yeah." Taking a deep breath, she related everything that she could
remember about the incident on the road. "I just kept going," she
finished. "I don't know if anyone was hurt. That other car. I didn't
even think about it until I was nearly here. I just kept going."
"You did the right thing. Check out her car," he asked McCarthy. "Emma,
did you get a look at the driver?"
"No."
"At the car?"
41 Yes." Calm again, she nodded. "I made a point of looking, of trying
to pick out whatever details I could. It was dark-blue or black T can't
be sure. I don't know much about makes and models but it was
good-sized. Not a small car like mine. It could have been a ...
Cadillac, I think, or a Lincoln. It had L.A. plates. MBE. I think
those were the letters, but in the mist I couldn't catch the last
numbers."
"You did great." He kissed her. "I'm going to have someone drive you to