approached. Though her brown eyes appeared bright, the faint dark circles under told a different story.
“Good morning,” Emily said firmly, stepping into the sheriff’s office uninvited and taking a seat in one of the two chrome-and-cloth chairs facing the desk. “I’d like a moment of your time.”
Renee nodded, her expression showing nothing but professional interest. “What can I do for you, Ms.
Gilley?”
“I’m here to find out what you’ve learned about the letter.” Another trick Emily had learned was to state things as though they were fact, rather than ask questions. This conveyed both a sense of confidence and of purpose.
“Nothing, actually.” Renee steepled her fingers on the desk in front of her. “We’ve had very little to go on, and since there was no specific threat—”
“Oh, but there was,” Emily interrupted firmly. Pulling her copy from her purse, she read the relevant line. “I know what you’ve done. You’ve stolen what is mine and you’ll pay for what you did. Tell the truth, or risk everything.”
Nodding, Renee leaned forward. “While I appreciate and understand your concern, the letter is too vague. If, for example, it read ‘I’m going to plant a bomb in your garage’ or something, we’d have cause to act. But the wording ‘you’ll pay’ conveys nothing.”
Biting back an instinctive response, Emily swallowed back her anger. Just because the sheriff spoke factually didn’t mean she didn’t have a private, visceral reaction. As a woman, she must. Emily knew she had to appeal to this if she wanted help.
“Do you have children, Renee?” Emily asked softly.
A quick shadow appeared in Renee’s eyes, then vanished. “No, I don’t.”
She held up her hand as Emily opened her mouth to speak. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get where you’re coming from.”
“Then how can you tell me it’s not a threat?”
“Because the letter did not directly threaten you or your son,” Renee said gently. “And if you read it again, you’ll see there is absolutely no specific threat in there—at all.”
Incredulous, Emily had to force herself to close her mouth. “You honestly don’t believe ‘you’ll pay for taking him’ puts me—or him—in any danger?”
“Ms. Gilley—”
Bulldozing through whatever platitude the other woman was about to offer, Emily stood. “Ryan is adopted, Renee. I know you had no way of knowing that, but I can’t help feel this letter is somehow related to that.”
A tiny frown appeared between the sheriff’s perfectly arched eyebrows. She sat up straighter, giving Emily a piercing look. “All right. I’ll check it out. I’ll need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” Emily watched while Renee grabbed a pen and pad.
“Did you go through a service, or was the adoption privately arranged?”
“It was private.” Emily managed to sound confident. “My former husband—I’m a widow—handled everything. But I located all the records he gave me back then and would be glad to provide you with copies.”
“I’d like that.” The sheriff stood, holding out her hand. “Just bring them by at your earliest convenience.”
Standing also, Emily shook hands. It was almost time for her to head to work. “Thank you. I will.”
“Have a good day.”
“Oh, I have one last question.” Turning in the doorway, Emily tried for both a casual expression and carefree voice. “What do you know about Mac Riordan?”
To her surprise, Renee laughed. “He’s an okay sort of guy. He’s new in town, and I don’t know him that well, though my friend Joe speaks highly of him. Mac used to be a cop, up in Albany, which is where Joe works. I heard Mac kind of spooked you a bit.”
“He did, a little.” With a cheery wave and a manufactured smile, Emily let herself out, sighing. The damn letter had succeeded in erasing nearly four and a half years of security, all at once. Mac Riordan’s appearance had made things even worse. After all, Albany was only several hours north of Manhattan.
She didn’t just have her own security to worry about. She had to keep her son safe. Clearly she had a decision to make—and quickly.
Once at work, Emily pushed the letter from her mind … and Mac Riordan, as well. Though as her lunch hour approached and she prepared to head out for her daily walk, she couldn’t help but think of him. Surely he’d taken the hint and wouldn’t show up in the park today.
If he did, she’d have to accept that he was stalking her. And then she’d have to quit her job, pick up Ryan and go home and pack, running away in the middle of the night without a single goodbye to anyone.
Heart pounding and feeling queasy at the thought, she shook her head. Maybe if she tried to think logically, it was possible the man simply liked her. She’d felt a sort of electrical connection, despite having all her barriers up. From the way he’d looked at her, blue eyes dark and full of promise, he’d felt it, too. Exhaling, she laced up her sneakers and nevertheless prayed he wouldn’t be there.
He wasn’t. The pressure in her chest and the sick feeling in her stomach eased a little as she enjoyed a quiet, uninterrupted walk. The sun shone brightly; a few white, fluffy clouds dotted the sky like sheep; and birds sang, dogs barked, and people all around her enjoyed the bright spring day.
After, perspiring slightly and feeling pretty good, she stepped into Sue’s Catfish Hut and greeted her friends. As she took her usual seat, she couldn’t help but do a quick scan of the restaurant for a sight of those broad shoulders and dark gray hair.
Again, Mac Riordan was conspicuously absent. For the first time all day, she allowed herself to relax, even though a tiny part of her felt disappointed at his absence. She enjoyed her meal, chatting with Jayne and Tina and sipping iced tea.
She went back to work with a light step, allowing herself to believe everything just might turn out to be all right. By the end of the workday, she felt almost normal.
After helping close up the veterinary clinic, she hopped in her car and headed over to the day care.
As soon as she arrived, Ryan flung himself at her, holding on to her legs with a fierce grip.
“Finally,” he groused. “It took you forever to pick me up. I’m all played out.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his choice of words. The after school programs at Mims’s Day Care tended to lean toward organized games, most of them physical. The tall trees made the heavily shaded playground the perfect place for youngsters to run off pent-up aggressions or simply play.
“Well, now you get to rest,” she said. “Grab your stuff and we’ll go.”
He did as she asked, snatching up his camo backpack and waving goodbye to his friends.
Once she’d buckled him
