Lou turned the letter over in his hand. There wasn't any purpose in

reminding Michael that the letter had been addressed to the

investigating officer on the case. "It's possible. It's the first lead

we've had on this in nearly twenty years." He remembered the police

photograph of

a little boy, and looked up at his son. "I guess you're going to

London."

EMMA ROLLED our cookie dough and tried to put her heart into it. She'd

always loved Christmas. This year, for the first time since childhood,

she would be spending it with her family. The kitchen smelled of

cinnamon and brown sugar, carols were playing through the speakers, and

Bev was measuring out ingredients for plum pudding. Outside, a light

snow was falling.

But her heart wasn't in it. She was afraid it was six thousand miles

away, with Michael.

As Emma pressed the cutters into the dough, Bev slipped an arm around

her. "I'm so glad you're here, Emma. It means everything to me, and

your father."

"And to me." She scooped up a cookie in the shape of a snowflake and

laid it on the baking sheet. "You used to let me do this when I was

little. If Johnno was around, he'd come in and pinch a few before they

were even cooked."

"Why do you think I sent him off with Bri?" She watched Emma sprinkle

colored sugar over the tops. "You miss Michael, don't you?"

"I didn't know I would. Not this much." She carried the tray to the

oven. "It's silly. It's only two weeks." After setting the timer, she

walked back to ball the dough together and roll it again. It felt good

to do something with her hands, to feel competent. In charge. "It's

probably good for me to get away. I don't want to get too involved too

quickly."

"Katherine says you're making wonderful progress."

"I think I am. I'm grateful to her for staying on with me in L.A. for

the last couple of months. I wasn't always," she added with a smile.

"But talking things out helped."

"You're still having nightmares."

"Not as often. And I'm getting back to work, finally pushing through

with the book." She paused with a cookie cutter in her hand. "A year

ago, Christmas was a nightmare. This year, it's almost perfect." She

glanced over as the kitchen door swung open. The cookie cutter

clattered to the floor. "Michael?"

"The housekeeper said I should just come back."

She didn't think. She didn't need to. With a cry'of pleasure, she

raced into his arms. Before he could speak again, her mouth was on his.

"I can't believe you're here." She pulled back, laughed, and began to

dust him off. "I've got flour all over you."

"I'm sure I can find a dozen things to do." Bev wiped her hands on a

cloth and slipped out the door.

"You said you couldn't come," Emma began.

"I had a change in schedule." He drew her close again, wanting another

taste. Desire rippled through him as her mouth moved warm under his.