Public Secrets Part 281

"She had help."

He rose then, all but lunged from the chair to roam the room. It was

full of the tangible proof of his success. Gold records, platinum

records, Grammys, American Music Awards. Signs that the music he had

created was important.

Jockeying for s.p.a.ce with them were dozens of photographs. Devastation,

yesterday and today, Brian with other singers, musicians, politicians

he'd supported, celebrities. There was a framed snapshot among them, of

Emma and his lost son, sitting on the banks of a little creek and

smiling into the sunlight. He had created them as well.

Twenty years dissolved in an instant, and he was back on the sun

dappled gra.s.s, listening to the laughter of his children. "I thought

I'd put this behind me." He rubbed his fingers over his eyes and turned

away from the picture. "I don't want Bev to know, not yet. I'll tell

her when I think the time's right."

"That's up to you. I wanted you to know I'm going to reopen the case."

"Are you as dedicated as your father?"

"I'd like to think so."

With a nod, Brian accepted that. Whatever bond had been forged on that

horrible night two decades before had yet to be broken. But he had

another child to consider. "What about Emma? Are you going to put her

through all the questioning again?"

"I'll do everything I can to keep Emma from being hurt."

He opened a bottle of ginger ale. A poor subst.i.tute for whiskey. "Bev

seems to think you're in love with her."

"I am." Michael shook his head at the offer of a drink. "I'm going to

marry her as soon as she's ready."

Brian stood where he was and drank. The thirst was unbearable. "I

didn't want her involved with Drew. For all the wrong reasons. I've

had the opportunity to ask myself, If I hadn't pushed her, if I hadn't

objected so strongly, would she have waited?"

"Latimer wanted you and what you could do for him. I only want Emma. I

always have."

With a sigh, Brian sat again. "She has always been the most constant

and beautiful part of my life. Something I made thoughtlessly that

turned out perfectly right." With a ghost of a smile, so much like his

daughter's, he looked at Michael. "You made me nervous the day Emma

brought you to that miserable house of P.M."s in Beverly Hills. I looked

at you and thought, This boy is going to take Emma away from me. Must

be the Irish," he said as he drank again. "It seems the lot of us are

drunks or poets or seers. I've had a chance to be all three."

"I can make her happy."

"I'll hold you to it." He picked up the letter again. "As important as

it is to me for you to find who killed my son, it's more important that

you make Emma happy."

"Dad, P.M. and Annabelle have brought the baby. Oh, I'm sorry."

Emma stopped with her hand on the k.n.o.b. "I didn't know you were here,

Michael."

"You were shopping when I got back." He stood, casually taking the

letter from Brian and slipping it into his pocket.