She got only a glimpse of her attacker before she felt the blow to her temple. She went down hard, landing on her side. Something cold pressed against her cheek, a wet spot on the rug where the snow had blown in from the open window. Pain radiated through her head. She tried to get up. But before she could move, she felt a needle plunge deep into her thigh. She let out a weak cry just before her mouth was covered with thick tape.

The drug was fast-acting, but not so fast that she didn't feel the heavy mildewed fabric of the huge bag as her body was stuffed into it and the drawstring pulled tight.

Chapter Eight.

Through the falling snow, Will stared at the office entry where he'd seen Samantha disappear minutes ago. The wipers click-clacked back and forth, as hypnotizing as the snow but a lot louder.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked Zack.

No answer. He looked over his shoulder to see Zack still sound asleep in the back seat.

Carefully, he reached over and shut off the engine, turned off the wipers. The night closed in. The snow fell in a silent cloak, making him feel all the more isolated. The lights of b.u.t.te seemed dimmed and distant.

He glanced at his watch, a little surprised he still had it. Did this mean he was gaining Zack's trust? The thought pleased him. He studied the time. Samantha had been gone for over five minutes. He just wished she'd come back out. The last thing he wanted to do was sit out here in the dark, thinking stuff he shouldn't be thinking-and worrying about her.

But he couldn't seem to help himself. He didn't like the idea of her going in there alone, but he reminded himself it was her office building and this was her job. And he was only along for the ride.

Right.

He considered the cla.s.sic brick building with its gingerbread trim. They didn't build them like this anymore. Too expensive. It was a shame, though. The brickwork was beautiful.

The diversion didn't work. He couldn't get his mind off Samantha. If things had gone the way he'd planned, he and Samantha would have been sitting in a nice restaurant right now, talking over wine and a delicious dinner. Instead, he was sitting in a dark car that smelled like greasy burgers, baby-sitting a kid she'd stolen. And she was- What was was she doing? He glanced at his watch, growing more anxious by the minute. A light flashed on, then off quickly, in the alley behind the building. It took him a moment to distinguish its source, to make out the shape: the back half of a dark-colored van. The vehicle must have been parked there the whole time. He just hadn't seen it through the snow and darkness, and wouldn't have if the driver hadn't opened a door and caused the inside dome light to come on. she doing? He glanced at his watch, growing more anxious by the minute. A light flashed on, then off quickly, in the alley behind the building. It took him a moment to distinguish its source, to make out the shape: the back half of a dark-colored van. The vehicle must have been parked there the whole time. He just hadn't seen it through the snow and darkness, and wouldn't have if the driver hadn't opened a door and caused the inside dome light to come on.

His heart hammered in his chest. Where was Sam? He stared at the van through the snow, suddenly very worried.

d.a.m.n. He didn't like this. Not at all. He hesitated, not wanting to leave Zack-even for a minute. It was probably nothing. He waited, torn between taking care of Zack and checking on Samantha.

Minutes ticked past. The van hadn't moved. He couldn't be sure if the driver was still inside. He rolled down his window to listen. The snow silenced the night.

He spotted movement by the van and heard a low curse. He could make out two dark figures now, as they came around the back of the van. They both wore coats with the hoods drawn up. One was slighter in build than the other. They were carrying something.

His heart began to pound. It appeared to be a large stuffed laundry bag.

It was the shape of the full bag that set his mind scrambling: the contents resembled a body. The two figures had the bag between them, each holding one end. It appeared to be heavy, as they trudged slowly through the snow.

He reached over and pulled the keys from the ignition, flipped the dome light so it wouldn't come on, then eased open his door, locked it and slipped out.

With the Bronco door locked and Zack asleep inside, he could buy a little time. But he desperately needed a weapon. He moved down the side of the building toward the van. He stopped at the corner. He could hear hurried voices at the side of the van.

"Pick up your end, dammit," the man snapped irritably.

"I'm doing the best I can," whined a female voice. "It's heavy."

Instinctively, Will reached down, and from a pile of rubble worked an old brick out of the snow. It wasn't much of a weapon, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He moved quickly, refusing to think about what was in the bag. Who Who might be in the bag. He let out a yell and raised the brick as he came out of the darkness at the edge of the building, hoping a surprise attack would have the effect he needed. might be in the bag. He let out a yell and raised the brick as he came out of the darkness at the edge of the building, hoping a surprise attack would have the effect he needed.

The woman dropped her end of the bag and ran for the van door. The man seemed to hesitate, just as Will had feared, and reached into his coat with one hand while still holding on to the end of the bag with the other.

Will was on him too quickly for him to do much more than release the bag. It thumped to the soft snow. Will brought the brick down hard. The brick did little more than glance off the man's shoulder, but the forward motion and the blow drove the man back against the side of the van.

Suddenly something gleamed in the man's hand. A gun. A gun.

The sound of the van engine turning over ripped through the snowy stillness. For one heart-stopping moment, the man seemed torn between giving up whatever was in the bag, and leaving with the van and the woman driving it.

But then the van lurched and the man scrambled after it, barely able to jerk open the pa.s.senger door and get in before the vehicle roared away down the alley and disappeared into the night.

Will dropped to his knees in the snow, his heart slamming against his ribs at what he saw sticking out of the top of the bag. A lock of golden-brown hair.

Frantically, he fought to untie the drawstring. It gave, and he opened the bag, hurriedly uncovering Samantha's face. Jerking the tape from her mouth, he felt for a pulse.

His relief made him weak. Sam's pulse was strong and steady.

As the sound of the van's engine died off in the distance, he pulled the bag from her body, scooped her up from the snow, and carried her to the Bronco. When he neared it, he saw that Zack was awake and looking out the window, his eyes huge.

"What's wrong with her?" the boy cried.

"She's all right," Will said as he slid Sam into the front seat. Zack climbed up to sit beside her.

She murmured something in her sleep, a groggy, almost drunken sound. That and her apparent lack of visible injury lead him to believe she'd probably been drugged. Something mild enough that she was already starting to come out of it.

"She's just sleeping," he a.s.sured Zack.

The boy looked skeptical. He was no dummy.

Will climbed behind the wheel, not sure where to take her. Someplace warm and dry, for starters. He would prefer to take her to the hospital, but he knew he'd be risking a possible brush with the authorities. The last thing he wanted to do was get Samantha in trouble with the law. Like she wasn't already. And considering the alternatives, he felt Zack was safer with Sam and him than with anyone else right now. At least, until they could find his father and get to the bottom of all this.

He reminded himself that he was now neck deep in it. That should have shocked him. Scared the h.e.l.l out of him. At the very least, worried him. What had he gotten himself involved in? Had he lost his mind?

"She's going to be okay," he said, wondering whom he was trying to rea.s.sure-Zack or himself. He squeezed the kid's narrow shoulder, then reached over to smooth Samantha's hair back from her face, the bruise on her cheek from earlier now dark against her suntanned skin. She sighed in her sleep, and he felt a terrible weight on his heart that he feared would never go away.

He found a motel on the edge of b.u.t.te where he could hide the Bronco from view of the highway, then carried Samantha into the room, Zack in their wake. She was starting to come out of it. In the distance he could hear sirens.

He put her down on the bed and began to take off her boots. Zack stood guard over her, a determined look on the kid's face. Once Will got her coat and boots off, he covered her with a blanket, trying not to think about her in that bag. Or the two people who had drugged her and put her there. He hadn't gotten a good look at either the man or the woman because of the hooded coats they wore and the snow. Just an impression of evil.

Samantha mumbled softly, her eyelids flickering. He got up and went to get a cold washcloth. When he came back, Zack was sitting next to her, holding her hand. The scene squeezed his heart like a fist.

"Here, put this on her forehead," he said, handing the washcloth to the boy.

Zack did as he was told, then sat studying Samantha's face.

"We probably should just let her sleep for a while," Will told the kid. He glanced toward the second bedroom. "I think there's a TV in there. I'll holler when she wakes up."

Zack seemed reluctant to leave Sam, but finally agreed. A few moments later, Will heard the sound of the TV.

He turned his attention back to Samantha, only to find her looking up at him, her eyes wide and pupils dilated.

SHE SAT UP too fast. Everything started to spin, and she fell back, closing her eyes against a wave of nausea. "Where am I?"

"In a motel room."

"Zack-" Her eyes flew open as she tried to get up again.

Will gently pushed her back down. "Zack is fine. He's in the other room watching TV." He sat down on the side of the bed. "He'll be glad to see that you're awake."

She focused on Will as she tried to still the nausea. Her head hurt and she felt sick. But still, he was the best-looking thing she could ever remember seeing. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" he asked softly.

Something dark at the edge of her memory shoved its way in. Oh, G.o.d. Oh, G.o.d. She closed her eyes again as everything came back in nauseating waves of fear and revulsion. Al's body behind her desk. Someone at the window. The blow to her head. The p.r.i.c.k of a needle in her thigh. And the bag. Oh, G.o.d, the smell and feel of the rough fabric of the bag covering her face- She closed her eyes again as everything came back in nauseating waves of fear and revulsion. Al's body behind her desk. Someone at the window. The blow to her head. The p.r.i.c.k of a needle in her thigh. And the bag. Oh, G.o.d, the smell and feel of the rough fabric of the bag covering her face- Her eyelids snapped open again. She tried to sit up; something cold and damp slid over her face. A washcloth. She caught it before it fell to her lap, vaguely registering that Will had gotten a cloth for her.

"I found Al in my office. He'd been shot twice in the chest. And then I heard something at the window-"

He took the wet cloth from her and pressed it to her cheek.

She covered his hand with her own and closed her eyes. "I heard someone behind me-" she could feel the lump on the side of her head throbbing "-someone hit me and drugged me." She opened her eyes, the horror too real. "The bag. They put me in a bag."

"Forget about it," he said gently. "It's all over now. You're safe. Zack is safe."

"But how-" She spotted Will's coat over by the door, still dripping with melted snow, his boots soaked as well. She looked up at him. Water droplets still clung to his hair.

He'd come after her. He'd saved her.

Tears welled in her eyes, emotions rushing over each other. Grat.i.tude that he hadn't listened to her and come after her when he had. Fear that something could have happened to him and Zack. And disappointment in herself. She'd needed him-and she didn't want want to need him. to need him.

"Did you see who did it?" she asked, trying to pull herself together.

"A man and a woman. That's all I can tell you. I didn't get a good look at either of them. It was dark and snowing so hard. They were bundled up. She was slight in build. The man was medium height, medium build. Sorry I can't give you more."

The descriptions could fit anyone. Except, she distinctly remembered seeing a flash of blond hair just before she was. .h.i.t. Ca.s.sie. Ca.s.sie. And the man Sam had heard in the background on the phone? And the man Sam had heard in the background on the phone? Lucas? Lucas? The thought rattled her. She forced it away as she pulled the washcloth from her cheek and balled it in her hands to still the shaking. The thought rattled her. She forced it away as she pulled the washcloth from her cheek and balled it in her hands to still the shaking.

"You're all right now," he said. His fingers glided like a breath over her cheek. He brushed a lock of her hair back from her face, his gaze kind and caring, and almost her undoing.

She sat up a little, leaning back against the pillows he'd plumped behind her head. She sucked in deep breaths, trying desperately to corral her emotions.

"They were going to kill me," she whispered, the fear so real she could still smell the bag over her head, the tape covering her mouth.

He took the washcloth from her and put it on the nightstand. "If they wanted to kill you, they'd have shot you like they did the kidnapper. I don't think they wanted to kill you. I'd say the bag was probably meant for Al."

She shivered. Maybe the bag had had been for Al. Because if it had been for her, they would have known beforehand that she would stop by her office. And the only way they could know that was if they knew she was supposed to meet Ca.s.sie tonight. been for Al. Because if it had been for her, they would have known beforehand that she would stop by her office. And the only way they could know that was if they knew she was supposed to meet Ca.s.sie tonight.

Ca.s.sie could have been the woman whom Will had described and whose name Al had tried to write in his blood. CA CA- What more evidence did she need? But the man- Not Lucas. She couldn't believe he'd burglarized the company he worked for. Let alone that he was involved in- Murder.

She closed her eyes. They'd put her in a bag. They'd had some plan for her. Dear G.o.d.

"I should call the police," she said, knowing that was true. A man had been murdered in her office.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

She opened her eyes, unable to believe Will Sheridan had said that.

He shook his head and smiled a little at her shocked expression. "You were right originally to protect Zack by not going to the authorities. Someone wants that boy, and until you find out what's going on, I think he is safest with us."

Us. She loved the sound of that word falling from his lips. She loved the sound of that word falling from his lips.

"Samantha?" Zack asked tentatively from the doorway between the two rooms.

She smiled and held out her hand to him. He seemed to hesitate, but only a moment. He came to her, and she drew him into her arms, hugging him tightly.

"I'm all right," she said, realizing it was true.

"I was going to order a pizza," Will said.

Zack lifted his head from her embrace. "Pizza?" His eyes lit up.

"That's a great idea." She knew he was just trying to keep things normal for Zack. She licked her dry lips, her face sensitive where the tape had been. Here with Will and Zack, things did almost feel all right. Temporarily. She didn't kid herself that it would last.

"Get the phone book and find us a pizza joint," he said to Zack. "How about a hot bath?" he suggested to her, as the boy went into the other room to look for the phone book. "Might make you feel better."

"Yes."

He insisted on carrying her into the bathroom. She rested her head against his strong shoulder, relaxing in the warm, safe feel of his arms around her, listening to the steady, sure beat of his heart and breathing in the male scent of him.

She felt intoxicated as he set her down while he drew her water. Her inebriation had nothing to do with being drugged.

"I can manage now, thank you," she said, when he'd filled the tub. "Thank you," she said again, this time for a lot more than the bath, knowing there weren't words to thank him enough for saving her life. She looked into his blue eyes, bright behind his gla.s.ses. "Are you sure, Will?" she whispered, so close to him she could barely catch her breath. "Now that we know just how dangerous it is."

He took off his gla.s.ses to wipe the steam from them with his shirttail. "My heart is set on seeing Seattle."

She nodded, feeling tears of grat.i.tude rush to her eyes. "You must think I'm not much of a private investigator," she said, biting her cheek as she watched his face.

He shook his head and smiled. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever met. You were just outnumbered. In a fair fight, I'd put my money on you anytime, Sam."

Sam? He'd called her Sam. Her heart leapt foolishly in her chest. No one had ever made those three letters sound so intimate. He'd called her Sam. Her heart leapt foolishly in her chest. No one had ever made those three letters sound so intimate.

He cupped her face with his hand. The strong, capable hand of a man who worked for his living. Maybe they had more in common than she'd first thought. She touched his hand.

"You sure you'll be all right in here by yourself?" Will asked her, his blue eyes dark with obvious desire. "I could wash your back."

She swallowed, consumed with the thought of the two of them in the tub. The temptation was almost too much.