I remember a woman, my mother. My biological mother, long, dark hair, wide smile. I remember warm hugs and a scent of something floral. Something nice, peaceful. I remember dancing with her around a room full of dolls and stuffed animals, a happy place. And my father, tall and blond, full of laughter. Cutting in to our dance, until we are a circle of three, holding hands and spinning in a circle laughing … I remember
"I remember a lot of bullshit," Emma Swan muttered, tossing her pen to the side and slamming the notebook shut. She leaned forward, head on the desk, and sighed.
She had hesitated to go to a shrink to begin with, but something within her couldn't rest until she knew the truth about her past. Dr. Anderson was well-known for helping people remember and work through past traumas, but she was starting to think his reputation was crap. He had her writing down all her "memories" of the past, before she was adopted, and it was all ridiculous. All she could tell from re-reading these journal entries was that she may or may not have had a dark-haired mother and blond father, and that they probably were a couple of crackheads who sat her on the couch watching Disney movies on repeat while they were out scoring drugs or whatever.
Maybe it was better not to remember at all.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it, not at all surprised to see that it was another text from Neal.
She was glad he was out of prison, really she was, and despite their past it warmed her heart to see him reconnecting with Henry. But he'd been bugging her for two days to meet with him about "something important," and she just didn't have the time.
Saturday was the Children's Hospital fund-raising gala, and it might be the biggest night of her professional life. Her father's company was providing security for the event, and he'd put Emma in charge. It was a test, she knew.
Michael Swan and his father had started Swan Security years before, beginning with home security and branching out over time into bigger projects. He'd always dreamed of bringing his son in as a partner one day. Unfortunately for Michael, his son was more interested in science than security, and his daughter was actually the one with an interest in the family business.
Emma knew her father loved her, but he seemed to be having some trouble accepting her in the job, despite how she'd taken to it from the start. She wondered, sometimes, if his reluctance was more about the fact that she was a woman or the fact that she was adopted. Neither option made her happy, but for different reasons.
At any rate, she'd worked harder than anyone else at the firm and had proven herself repeatedly to be worthy of his trust.
This job was a big one, as hundreds of wealthy and powerful people would be making an appearance at this fund-raiser. If she managed it smoothly, her mom had told her privately, her father planned to offer her a partnership in Swan Security.
And everything would go perfectly. She'd studied the ballroom and its in-house security like it was an exam she had to ace. She'd walked every inch of the place looking for weak spots and reinforced those with extra cameras and a rotating security patrol. Her contingency plans had contingency plans. She'd be on-site Saturday, mingling with the crowd and supervising her people, but if everything went as planned she wouldn't have to do a thing.
She glanced at her phone again, then sighed and texted Neal back.
Talk tomorrow when you pick Henry up?
As if work was not stressful enough, she was going to have to deal with Henry's first night away from her. She had full custody, and she didn't have to let Neal see her son at all, but Henry was excited about how they planned to "camp out" in a tent inside Neal's apartment. Neal had really gotten himself together, and she wanted Henry to know his father, but it was still tough to give up any of her precious time with the kid.
Standing and straightening her clothes, she double-checked that she had everything in order for her last walk-through of the ballroom — with her father, the building manager and the charity's event planner. It was only her professional future and her relationship with her father at stake.
No pressure there.
The walk-through went perfectly, and she could tell she'd impressed the building manager and the event planner with her setup. Her dad, of course, still managed to find fault with some of her plans, so she knew she'd be up all night reviewing her work, looking for holes in the security.
She sighed, telling herself that he would be just as hard on any other employee; surely he was just doing his job, trying to give them the best possible security.
She unlocked the door to her parents' house and slipped inside. "Mom? You home?"
"Mom!" Henry came rushing out of the kitchen and slammed into her for a hug.
She smiled and picked him up, squeezing him until he begged, giggling, for mercy. She instantly felt better. Nothing like a 10-year-old to brighten your day.
"Hey, kid. Where's grandma?"
"Kitchen," he said, laughing as she set him down. "We're making cookies!"
"I thought as much," she said, swiping some flour off his cheek. "I want in on this action."
They trooped into the kitchen, catching Jeannie Swan sneaking a bite of raw cookie dough.
"Mother!" Emma gasped in fake horror. "You always told me not to do that!"
"Busted!" Henry chimed in.
The older woman laughed. "Some things are worth the risk."
Emma leaned on the counter beside her. "You're such a rebel, Mom."
Jeannie slid a cookie sheet into the oven. "Henry, will you set the timer?"
"Awesome!" Her mom's oven timer was shaped like a frog, and Henry never seemed to tire of using it.
"How'd it go?" her mom asked.
She shrugged. "The clients are very happy with the plans."
Jeannie knew, of course, what she didn't say. "Your father is picky, Emma. It's one thing that makes him good at the job. But he's very proud of you, you know."
Actually, she didn't know, but it was pointless to have this conversation again. After a moment, she felt her mom's arm around her. "And so am I, honey."
Emma blinked back tears, thinking — not for the first time — how lucky she was to have been adopted by the Swans. She might have only false, ridiculous memories of her biological parents, but she remembered so clearly the day Michael and Jeannie had taken her home with them. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but once she'd been with them for a few weeks, Jeannie had asked her if she'd like to stay with them forever.
They'd been the only parents she'd known ever since.
A year later, they'd had a surprise baby of their own, and Emma had become a big sister. Though they weren't related by blood, Emma had loved Matt fiercely from the first moment her parents brought him home from the hospital.
She knew a lot of other orphans weren't as lucky as she was, and she tried to remember to be grateful even when things weren't going so well.
"I think we'll have pizza tonight," her mom announced. "Will you two stay?"
"Cookies and pizza," Emma said, exchanging a grin with Henry. "You're the best grandma ever. We're sold!"
Plz call me back.
Emma growled at the text and shoved her phone back in her clutch.
Neal had the worst timing ever. He knew she had to work tonight, and she'd already told him that taking Henry out of state for a week was out of the question. But, in true Neal Cassidy style, he was trying to find an angle, trying to con her into giving him his way.
Apparently the fact that he'd done a stint in prison for conning people out of a lot of money wasn't enough for him to learn his lesson.
Blowing out a breath, she put her ex out of her mind and focused on her job. She slipped through the swelling crowd, checking with her people and generally keeping an eye on things. The orchestra was playing some Cole Porter tune, people were dancing and sipping champagne, and things seemed to be going smoothly.
She even got a "well done, hon" from her father when he stopped by briefly to check things out for himself. It was a little embarrassing that at nearly 28 years old she was still seeking his approval; she wondered if she'd ever outgrow that.
On her next circuit of the ballroom, she noticed something going on at the entrance just past the metal detectors — a couple of her guys surrounding a guest. She knew they could probably handle it, but since she was close, she joined them.
"Everything OK, guys?"
"Aye," the guest answered for them, waving at the metal detector wand. "I was just informing these gentlemen that I have a bit of metal in my arm from a childhood accident."
He turned fully to face her, and she drew in a breath at the sight of him. He was dangerously attractive, with wild, dark hair and a beard with just the right amount of scruff. His eyes — lord, amazing, gorgeous blue eyes — scanned her from the top of her head down the deep v-neck of her chiffon gown and back up again. She could almost physically feel his eyes on her body, and her pulse sped in response. A slow grin spread across his face, upping the hotness quotient by a thousand.
She was sure she would remember meeting a man who looked like that, but something about him seemed very familiar. Maybe she'd seen his photo somewhere?
"Then again," he said slowly, holding his arms wide, "for safety's sake, perhaps you should pat me down thoroughly … just to be certain I'm no villain."
She rolled her eyes, waving her guys back to work, very determinedly not imagining what it would be like to get her hands on the handsome stranger. The guy wore the hell out of a tux, and she had a feeling he'd look even better without it.
Which was an idea she was going to put out of her mind immediately.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. …?"
He held out his hand. "Rackham, Jack Rackham."
She frowned, shaking the offered hand. It was warm, and his fingers trailed over her palm while letting go, as if reluctant to break contact. "Like the pirate?"
She wondered if she imagined that his smile dimmed for a moment before bouncing back. "Well, not many know of him."
"You'd be surprised," she said. Anyone who happened to watch the recent cable series about pirates would know, though she didn't say so. "You know, I don't recall seeing your name on the guest list, Mr. Rackham."
"It's Jack," he said, stepping closer — deliberately into her personal space. "There must be hundreds of names on that guest list."
"I have an excellent memory."
"Well, Miss …?"
"Emma Swan. I'm in charge of security tonight."
"Well, Miss Swan," he said, pulling out an invitation. "I'm a guest of Mrs. O'Bryan this evening."
"Ahhh." Ashley O'Bryan was a widow well-known for keeping company with attractive younger men. Her exploits with her brainless, built boy-toys were the subject of much gossip in town. This guy was a little older than her typical flavor of the month, and a lot more interesting. "Forgive me, but you don't seem like her usual … date."
"Shall I take that as a compliment?"
God, he was still totally in her space, staring at her lips in a way that started a warmth in her belly … and what the hell was she doing flirting with one of Ashley O'Bryan's himbos?
"Take it however you like," she said politely, stepping back. "Now, I've got to get back to work. Enjoy your evening."
"Perhaps the lady will save a dance for me later?"
She laughed. Maybe he didn't realize just how possessive the Merry Widow was? "I think you'll be … otherwise engaged, Mr. Rackham," she said, slipping into the crowd.
She didn't breathe easy until she could no longer feel his eyes on her.
Killian watched her disappear into the mass of people, absently scratching his neck.
As attractive as she'd appeared in photographs, Emma Swan was even more beautiful in person. And there was just something about her, something familiar, and not just the pendant ornamenting her very lovely chest.
His original plan was to charm her into a dance or two; he was certain he could relieve her of the pendant without her even realizing it was gone. He'd done it before.
But now he was reconsidering.
He wanted her, was incredibly drawn to her, and he didn't think he had imagined the spark of interest in her eyes — at least until he had claimed to be a guest of the widow O'Bryan. Of course, the woman wasn't even going to be here tonight, so it had seemed like a safe excuse for not being on the invite list.
It had been a slight miscalculation, though. He'd seen the way Emma's appraising look had changed to dismissal. He was, as far as she was concerned, nothing but some gigolo looking to romance his way into a comfortable living.
But there was that initial attraction, and he could work with that.
In fact, he suspected he would very much enjoy working with that. If he had his way, they would both enjoy it immensely, and he'd have that necklace — and hopefully the answers he sought.