Part 89 (1/2)

around a friendly wave that sent them about their business.

”When my father hears about this, he'll never let me surf again.”

”Why does he have to hear about it?”

”He always does.” She made a concentrated effort not to look at her

bodyguards.

”Everybody wipes out.” Beautiful eyes, he thought again, then looked

deliberately out to sea. ”You were doing pretty good.”

”Really.” She colored a bit. ”You're wonderful. I've watched you.”

”Thanks.” He grinned and showed a chipped tooth.

Emma stared at him as memory came flooding back. ”You're Michael.”

”Yeah.” His grin widened. ”How'd you know?”

”You don't remember me.” She pushed herself up to sit. ”met you, well,

it was a long time ago. I'm Emma. Emma McAvoy. Your father brought

you to the rehearsal hall one Afternoon.”

”McAvoy?” Michael dragged a hand through his dripping hair. ”Brian

McAvoy?” As he said the name he saw Emma take a quick look round to see

if anyone had heard him. ”I remember you. You sent me a picture. I've

still got it.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced over his shoulder. ”So

that's what they're doing here,” he murmured, studying the guards. ”I

thought they were narcs or something.”

”Bodyguards,” she said dully, then shrugged it off. ”My father

worries.”

”Yeah, I bet.” He remembered, clearly, the police photograph of a little

boy. It left him with nothing else to say.

”I remember your father.” She began to draw idle circles in the sand.

”He came to the hospital to see me after we lost my brother.”