Two

      Emma wondered about Connor Sinclair. She was curious why he was so angry, because she saw it in him, felt it in him. She didn’t want to think about him so much. He disturbed her, fascinated her, in ways she didn’t understand. Probably, it was because he was so hostile toward her. It had to be that.

      Tired of the lake house, she walked to the marina and got into Mamie’s speedboat. Nobody saw her leave, but then, she had the key and she could come and go whenever she wanted to.

      It was a beautiful early October morning. All around the lake, mostly trimmed with pine trees, a few hardwoods were beginning to show their lovely fall colors. The leaves turned more slowly here, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Up in North Carolina, people said, the leaf season was in full swing, attracting tourists from all over the piedmont. Around the North Georgia lake where Mamie’s house was situated, the maples were going to be glorious in their reds and golds. This was Emma’s favorite season. She loved the bright beginnings of the season, the many different shades that combined to turn the whole world bright and new in its last feverish gasp before winter.

      She turned the boat toward the wide-open part of the lake and revved it up. She laughed as the wind blew her hair back, bit into her face, made her feel alive and young, as if the whole world was hers.

      The sun was low on the horizon, making a bright trail in the water as she whirled the boat and sent it spinning toward the distant shoreline. It was so early that nobody was on the lake. She had it all to herself. She could step on the gas and never have to worry—

      There was a horrible scraping sound, a horrible jolt that shook the boat and Emma.

      “Damn it!”

      The angry curse came out of nowhere, like the Jet Ski that she hadn’t seen in the brilliance of the morning sun that blinded her for just a few seconds.

      She let off the gas, shaking from the collision and fear of what she’d done. She stood up in the boat, her eyes searching the water around her. There was a Jet Ski on the side of the boat toward the small cove.

      “Oh, no, oh, no!” she cried. “I’m sorry!”

      There was no answer. The Jet Ski revved and headed toward the distant dock. She knew at once whom she’d hit, and her blood froze. But he seemed to be all right. He got to the dock, and climbed off the Jet Ski. He sat there, seemingly disoriented, and called to someone.

      As Emma watched, three people spilled out of the huge, luxurious lake house and ran toward him.

      Unseen by the people in the cove, Emma eased the boat into motion and moved it back toward the marina. Her heart was racing like mad. She’d hit Connor Sinclair. He’d be out for her blood. He’d warned her. He’d threatened her. When he found out who’d hit him, she’d have no safe place to hide in the whole world.

      She had no place to run. She couldn’t go home. Her father would want to know why she’d come, why he wasn’t getting the money she was supposed to send him every month. He’d be furious. Mamie was overseas and she’d called just once to tell Emma that she’d be in places where she wouldn’t have cell phone service for a few days.

      Emma had all of a hundred dollars in her bank account and less than two hundred in savings. Not nearly enough to run and hide from a multimillionaire who’d want her arrested.

      She drove the boat back to the marina, aware that it had a dent on one side where it had hit the Jet Ski. It was a sturdy boat. It didn’t seem any the worse for the collision. She drove it into the slip and got out, pausing to ask the custodian if the boat could be dry-docked, because Mamie was going to be away for the rest of the year and it was turning cold.

      The older man smiled and said of course they could, and did she want him to beat out that dent in the hull? She smiled back, very calmly, and said that would be very kind; she’d hit a stump in the water too close to a cove.

      That happened more often than folks realized, he said, chuckling. When the dam was built, and the land flooded, which created Lake Lanier, many trees had been covered with the water that became the lake. He’d do the work and send Mamie the bill, he promised.

      Emma walked back to the lake house, prepared to find the lake police on the front porch waiting for her.

      But they weren’t. She spent a sleepless night worrying about it, waiting for it. Connor Sinclair was her worst enemy. He’d never stop until he made her pay for what she’d done.

      She hated her own cowardice. She was hiding from him, from retribution, from punishment. She hoped he wasn’t badly hurt, but what if he was?

      * * *

      On the second day after the incident, she got up enough nerve to call his lake house. It wasn’t listed under his name, just under its own designation: Pine Cottage. Only local people knew it was Connor Sinclair’s home.

      Emma called the number and let it ring. Her heart was running wild as it rang once, twice, three times, four...

      She was about to hang up when a female voice answered.

      “Pine Cottage,” she said, using the name local people gave the sprawling vacation home.

      “Is Mr. Sinclair available?” she asked in her most businesslike tone.

      “Connor?” the woman replied. “Oh, no, he’s at the hospital. He fell off the Jet Ski and hit his head. Poor thing, he has no idea how it happened...is this Jewell?”

      “No, this is Adrian Merrell’s personal assistant. Mr. Merrell was hoping to speak to Mr. Sinclair about an upcoming conference they’re both attending,” she lied.

      “Merrell? I’ve heard that name. No matter, Connor won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

      “I’m very sorry to hear about his accident. I’ll tell Mr. Merrell. Thank you. Goodbye.”

      She hung up. Connor was alive. He’d hit his head. Why wouldn’t he be going anywhere soon? Emma groaned as she wondered just how much damage she’d done. There hadn’t been anybody on the lake, she was certain of it!

      But the sun had been in her eyes. She’d been daydreaming, not paying attention. How could she not have realized where she was, whose cove she was near? She could have cried at her lack of good sense, at her own recklessness. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. But would that matter in the end?

      * * *

      She agonized about it for the rest of the week. On her walks, she got near enough to the big house to tell that people were still coming and going. There didn’t seem to be any frenetic activity. She didn’t see lake police or ambulances there. Perhaps he knew it had been Emma who hit him, though, and he was just biding his time, waiting to let her worry about what he was going to do about the accident.

      She finally realized that it was doing no good to wear ruts in Mamie’s carpet. She was hiding, like a coward. Whatever the consequences, she had to apologize and beg him not to press charges. She’d offer to work for him, free, to do anything within reason to help make up for injuring him. Surely he’d realize that she hadn’t done it maliciously. Then she recalled his warnings, his anger at her for earlier near-misses. He wasn’t going to be merciful. He’d want blood.

      But hiding wasn’t helping her, either. She was a nervous wreck. She might as well face the music. She didn’t want Mamie to suffer for something that was her own fault. However