"I'll ask him. He's ... Dad," she said on impulse. "What is it

that makes you so comfortable with Michael?"

"He's steady as a rock. And he loves you as much as I do. He'll make

you happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

"I know. I love you, Dad. I'll see you soon."

Maybe it was just that easy, she thought as she hung up the phone. She

had a man who loved her, and who could make her happy. She'd never

doubted Michael's feelings, or her own. The doubts came from whether

she would be able to give anything back.

Bundling into a slicker, she raced into the rain. The least she could

give Michael when he returned was a hot meal.

She enjoyed pushing the cart up and down the aisles of the market,

choosing this, selecting that. By the time she checked out, she had

three bags loaded. Drenched, she settled back into the car. It was

only three, but she had to turn on her lights to cut the gloom. Jet lag

had set in, but the fatigue was almost pleasant, and suited to the rain.

The road was all but deserted. Other shoppers had planned more

carefully, or were waiting for the storm to pa.s.s. Perhaps that was why

she noticed the car behind her, turning where she turned, always keeping

two lengths behind. Turning up the radio, she struggled to ignore it.

Paranoia, she told herself.

But her eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror, and she could see the

twin headlights glowing steadily behind her. Emma increased her speed,

a little more than safety allowed on the slick roads. The headlights

paced her. She eased off the gas. The trailing car slowed. Catching

her lip between her teeth, she swerved into an abrupt left turn. Her car

fishtailed, skidded. Behind her, the car swung left, then slid across

the road.

Fighting for control, Emma punched the gas and managed to pull her car

out of the skid. On a burst of speed, she turned toward home, praying

the few moments' lead was all she would need.

She had her fingers around the door handle before she hit the brakes.

She wanted to get inside, to safety. Whether it was her imagination or

not, she didn't want to be caught outside and defenseless if the other

car cruised up. Leaving the groceries, she sprinted out of the car.

Then screamed when a hand clamped on her arm.

"Lady!" The young driver jumped back and nearly overbalanced into a

puddle. "Jeeze, get a grip."

"What do you want?"

The rain was dripping off a cap onto a blunt, freckled nose. She

couldn't see his eyes. "This your house?"

She had her keys, balled in her hand. Emma wondered if she could use

them as a weapon. "Why?"

"I got three pieces of luggage, American flight number 457 from New

York, for Emma McAvoy."

Her luggage. Emma nearly laughed as she ran a hand over her face. "I'm

sorry. You startled me. You were behind me when I left the market, and

I guess I got spooked."

"I've been waiting here for the last ten minutes," he corrected and

shoved a clipboard at her. "Want to sign, please?"