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“You’re safe here, Zack,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” he said.
Well, I am, Will thought.
“Come on,” she said, opening her car door. “There should be food in the house.” She started to climb out.
The rattle of handcuffs seemed to stop her. Will felt her gaze finally slide to his. Her look said she didn’t know what to do with him.
He jangled the cuffs and glared at her, more angry with himself than with her. He was the one who’d foolhardily gotten into her car, the one who’d been determined to get a date with her at any cost. Little had he known.
“Sorry.” She dug into the glove box, came up with the key and handed it to him. Why hadn’t he thought to look in there? Because he’d been too engrossed in this woman’s outlandish activities. Awkwardly, he unlocked the cuffs, not looking at her.
“I hate to tell you, but we need to stay here for the night,” she said. “In the morning, I’ll take you to town and rent you a car. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do. I have my reasons.”
He was sure she did. And he didn’t want to know them. Under normal circumstances, he’d have called a taxi. Or demanded she take him now to the nearest town.
But he doubted it was as simple as demanding she take him anywhere. Or calling a taxi. He wasn’t even sure where they were or how far it was to the next town.
And he had gotten himself into this.
“Fine,” he said. “But I can rent my own car.” He handed her the cuffs and key, and she and the boy got out. What was one night? But as she opened the Firebird’s trunk and took out her overnight bag, he reminded himself to watch her more closely should she ever kiss him again.
She put an arm around the boy as she opened the door to the house and ushered him in.
Will followed, not surprised to find the house compact, the decor simple, practical and very male. The air inside was cold and a little musty, as if whoever lived here hadn’t been around for a while.
“Would you mind building a fire while I change, and then I’ll scare us up some food?” she asked as she headed for what appeared to be the smaller of the bedrooms. “There’re split logs out back. I’m sure Zack will help you.”
SAMANTHA DIDN’T WAIT for an answer, just hurried off to get into less revealing clothing. From her bag, she took out jeans and a cable-knit Irish wool sweater. She caught her reflection in the mirror on the back wall and froze. Most of her hair had come out of the ponytail and now hung around her face in curls. She pulled out the scrunchie and ran her fingers through her hair, not wanting to take the time to find a brush.
The truth was, she didn’t want to look as if she’d been primping. Or that she might be interested in Will Sheridan. It was obvious he wouldn’t be asking her for a date when she dropped him off at the first town in the morning. This time, she knew she wouldn’t be seeing him again. Once more she couldn’t help feeling disappointed—and relieved. He was all wrong for her, anyway.
She headed for the kitchen and quickly busied herself making dinner, as she listened to Zack and Will bring in wood.
Moments later, Zack appeared in the doorway. “Can I play a game on the computer?” he asked.
She glanced down at him, shocked suddenly by how small and vulnerable he looked. She wanted to take him in her arms and reassure him. But she could feel the wall the little boy had built around him, and knew that sometimes such walls were all that kept a person standing.
She knelt down and gently touched his shoulder. “Of course, you can. Do you need help?”
He shook his head.
“Zack, I knew your mom and dad in college,” she said. “Your mom’s the one who hired me to find you.”
He nodded as if none of that mattered. “Can I play the games now?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later she heard the distinct sound of a computer game coming from the other room. She’d never been much of a computer-game person, but her cousin Charley who lived out on the West Coast could play for hours.
She peeked around the doorjamb. Will crouched in front of the woodstove. Not far away, Zack was on his knees in the chair in front of the computer, his small dark head silhouetted against the screen, reminding her of his father. A wave of regret washed over her, weighing down her heart. She hurriedly turned back to her cooking.
Soon the sound of the crackling fire in the woodstove and the faint hint of pine smoke drifted into the kitchen—along with Will.
He seemed to set the air around her in motion as he leaned against the wall beside the stove and watched, his arms folded across his chest, a frown on his handsome face.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She’d been expecting this. And dreading it. Obviously he’d gotten the wrong impression at his sister’s party. She hated to disappoint him further.
“My name is Samantha. Samantha—” she shot him a sheepish look “—Murphy.”
He nodded as if not surprised that she’d lied to him. She could see herself drop another notch in his eyes. At this rate she’d reach bottom in no time.
“I’m a private investigator.”
He sighed. That obviously wasn’t what he’d been hoping for, either. “You have some ID, I assume?”
She retrieved her purse from the bedroom and handed him both her driver’s license and private investigator’s ID.
He glanced at them, then at her, then handed them back. “Butte?”
She nodded, biting her tongue not to add, Want to make something of it? Butte wasn’t exactly considered scenic Montana, but she liked the old mining city, even with its open pit and its reputation as the “butte” of jokes.
“And the party?” he asked simply.
“I was on a job.” She waited for him to put two and two together. But he didn’t seem interested in what she’d been doing there.
“And the kiss?” he asked, getting to the heart of it.
She took a breath, reluctant to tell him that she’d used him as cover. “I liked it,” she said, unconsciously licking her upper lip. “A lot.”
His chuckle was short on humor. “I wasn’t asking for a rating.”
She turned away to dump a can of broth into the pot on the stove. Just get it over with, once and for all. “Okay, I used you. You came along at just the right time. You were cover.”
“COVER?” His ego went down to the mat for a ten-count.
She mugged an apologetic face over her shoulder. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Obviously. “Well, I think that covers that.” It just kept getting better. He stared at her, her back straight, shoulders tensed as if she were anticipating a blow.
She’d taken her hair out of the ponytail. It fell around her shoulders in golden waves, the same color as the freckles across the bridge of her nose.
He reminded himself that this woman had fooled him. True, the only real lie she’d told him was her name the night of the party. He wasn’t sure a “kiss for cover” constituted a lie. Possibly.
Everything else about her he’d made up himself. Because he’d wanted her to be the woman he thought she was. What a fool.
“Zack was kidnapped,” she said, when he didn’t ask.
Will told himself he didn’t really want to hear this. The less he knew, the better.
“I was hired to bring him back with the least amount of fanfare.”
He stared at her. “In other words, without the authorities knowing anything about it?”
“Something like that.”
Her evasiveness made him suspect there was a whole lot more he didn’t want to know.
He’d seen this sort of thing on late-night TV. People who specialized in stealing back children. Usually, though, the kidnapper was the parent who’d been denied custody. And the private investigator—Well, none of them looked like Samantha Murphy, that was for sure.
“And your plan?” he enquired against his better judgment. Mostly, he just wanted her to have a plan. Any plan. Just some common ground between them.
“Get him back to Seattle as quickly and safely as possible.”
He eyed her askance. “That’s it?”
She shrugged. “It’s the best one I have right now.”
It was obvious she went through life flying by the seat of her pants. And although she had one very fine seat, the whole concept appalled him.
“What if those two guys show up again?” he persisted.
“It’s unlikely they will, but I really didn’t expect them to chase us in the first place,” she said, and frowned. “Kidnappers routinely run the other way.”
He supposed she should know. “But still—”
“I’ve found you can’t really plan for most things, anyway.”
He would have argued that point twenty-four hours ago. Now he just studied her, wondering about the note of regret in her voice. He wondered who had let her down. Probably a man.
He knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. About the kidnapping. About Samantha. He hated to think just how much more there was to the story. And to this woman. He felt as if he’d only skimmed the surface, and that was terrifying enough.
“Why you and not the police?”
She dropped her gaze. “It’s complicated.”
He’d just bet it was. He reminded himself he didn’t want the whole story. But it did make him wonder. Who was he kidding? Everything about this woman made him wonder, when he should be concentrating on how he was going to get back to his own life. His birthday was rapidly approaching, and he hadn’t found what he was looking for yet.
Well, not exactly.
He watched her cook for a moment, liking the image she made. “What about the boy’s family?” he asked, unable not to. Zack had said the men who’d kidnapped him claimed they were friends of his “birth mother.” Odd words coming out of the mouth of a five-year-old.
She took a breath. “In a nutshell? He’s been living with his father in Seattle. There was a burglary at the computer company where Lucas worked. Now Lucas is missing and wanted for questioning by the police. Zack was at a friend’s house when he was abducted.”
“Where’s his mother?”
She stirred at the pot on the stove. “Cassie?”
He raised a brow. “How many mothers does the kid have?”
“Just Cassie, his birth mother who left when he was a baby, and his ex-stepmother Mercedes, who left after less than a year of marriage.”
This could explain the kid’s budding criminal career. It sounded as if the boy had been left more times than a Greyhound bus station. Will felt bad for him, knowing what that kind of instability did to a kid.
Well, at least Zack had Samantha now. And as unconventional as her methods were, she’d obviously go to any extreme to keep the boy safe.
But Will still couldn’t help worrying about her and the kid. “Is it just me, or isn’t it a little strange that first you have the burglary at the computer company where the father works, then the father’s disappearance, then the son’s kidnapping? And where do the kidnappers take the kid? To a rest home in Wolf Point, Montana.”
She wiped her hands on the apron around her waist and looked over at him. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Right.” And none of his business. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
He followed her sudden glance to the doorway. Zack was peering around the door frame, looking as sweet and innocent as any child Will had ever seen. Except, it was obvious the kid had been eavesdropping, hovering there long enough to hear most—if not all—of their conversation.
He checked to make sure he still had his watch. And his wallet.
“We were just talking about the men who abducted you,” she said, no doubt assuming, as he did, that Zack had been listening for some time. “Do you have any ideas why they did that?”
Zack shrugged.
“Not a clue, huh?” she persisted. “What about your dad? Any ideas where he might be?”
He shook his head and looked away. “Is dinner almost ready?”
She eyed the boy but didn’t push it. “Just about. Why don’t you help Will set the table.” She glanced in Will’s direction for consent.
Will realized he was hungry. Whatever she’d cooked up smelled wonderful. “Just point us to the dishes.”
They ate a surprisingly delicious casserole at the kitchen table. He was a little in awe of her ability to throw something this good together so quickly and with only a few ingredients. The woman did seem to have some burgeoning spousal talents. It was her other talents that concerned him.
Zack ate without a word, nodding or shaking his head when Samantha tried to draw him into a conversation. Finally she gave up.
After dinner and dishes, Will went into the living room while she put the boy to bed.
Leaving the bedroom door ajar, she joined him in front of the fire. He’d been staring into the flames when she approached. He found himself still very aware of her. And very curious. More curious than he should have been, considering she didn’t fit into his plans.
“How did you get into a profession like this?” he asked, still wishing she did anything else.
She warmed her hands in front of the fire, her gaze on the flames. The light played on her face. She really was beautiful in an innocent, wholesome sort of way. The irony of it didn’t escape him.
“My father and uncle and some of my cousins are cops, some others are private investigators.” She shrugged. “It was that or become a mortician.”
He knew she was joking, but a mortician sounded good to him right now. He watched her glance toward Zack’s bedroom, and saw the worry in the little furrow between her brows, in the slope of her strong shoulders, in the depths of her bottomless blue-green gaze. He warned himself to stay out of it.
He’d interfered enough just getting into her Firebird, refusing to get out and asking a lot of questions. Samantha knew what she was doing. She did this sort of thing all the time, right? And the kid, well, she’d find the boy’s father. Or get Zack to one of his mothers.
