"Who is it?" Daegan demanded.

Laura wasn't finished. "Once again O'Rourke got off for lack of evidence or something. Again, no charges filed. Then he disappeared. Left Boston for good."

"How'd you find this out?" Kate asked. "If there was nothing in the papers...?"

"My friend talked to one of the employees in Frank Sullivan's household. Then he looked up O'Rourke's mother, Mary Ellen. She wasn't too happy about it, but admitted that the last time she'd heard from Daegan, he was in some small town in Montana."

"Oh, G.o.d."

"The guy's bad news, Kate. I was wrong about him."

"And why is he interested in Jon?" Kate asked, her blood rushing in her ears, her world tipping precariously.

"I don't know. I think you'd better ask him."

"Thanks, Laura, I will," Kate said.

"So call me when you find Jon," Laura said, her voice edged in worry. "And let me know what kind of game O'Rourke's playing."

"As soon as I find out." Kate hung up and tried to contain the rage that gnawed at her gut. Daegan had lied to her, lied to Jon, and used them both. Over and over again. As if their feelings were meaningless.

"What do you want from me?" she asked as she advanced on him and looked into eyes as dark as obsidian. "And what have you done to my son?"

"Nothing."

"Who are you?" she demanded, then let the dam break. Pointing to the phone, she said, "That was my sister, Laura. She told me all about you, how you're related to some Sullivan family, how you ended up here. I just don't know why!"

Daegan's eyes squeezed closed for an instant, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"You lied to me. To Jon!" she accused him, barely able to voice the words.

"I'm sorry."

"Why, Daegan?"

"Because I'm Jon's father."

The room seemed to shrink, his admission bouncing off the ever-closer walls. Kate had trouble catching her breath. She loved loved this man? This liar? This man who had tried to kill his own father and probably did murder his cousin? The stranger who had stalked her and her boy. this man? This liar? This man who had tried to kill his own father and probably did murder his cousin? The stranger who had stalked her and her boy. Jon's father! Jon's father!

"You're not, you couldn't be..." she whispered but she felt the truth as surely as if he'd driven a stake in her heart.

"I didn't believe it either. But it's true."

"Why would I believe you? First you're single, then you're married and divorced with a son, and now you're Jon's father."

"I'm single, never married, and Jon's my boy." The words ricocheted through the house as if they were bullets from a rifle.

"I can't...I don't..." She wasn't making any sense, couldn't think straight. Finally the one question that was important formed in her mind. "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"Where, d.a.m.n it?" she demanded, nearly hysterical.

"I want to find him as much as you do."

"So you can take him away from me!" Raw emotion tore through her, and she wanted to hit and scream, to wound him. She flung herself at him, ready to do physical damage, but his arms circled her, strong and protective, and she couldn't do anything more than sob wretchedly and strike his shoulder with a weak fist.

"I wouldn't do that," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Like h.e.l.l!" Horrified that she'd fallen into his trap again, she pushed away from him and her fears gave way to fury.

His jaw tightened and he tried to touch her, to lay a calming hand on her shoulder, but she backed quickly away, standing on one side of the table, he on the other. "Who are you, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, and what do you want?"

He raked his hands through his hair, then poured two cups of coffee. "Okay, Kate, I suppose you deserve the truth."

"I deserved it from the first time I met you."

He handed her a cup, which she ignored, then walked into the living room to warm the backs of his legs against the fire. As she sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, he explained everything, from the time Bibi had given him the news to yesterday when he'd decided to go back to Boston and have it out with his uncle to protect Kate and Jon.

She wanted to believe him, to think that there was a small streak of n.o.bility in his heart, but she didn't. Even all the attention he lavished on Jon was for his own ulterior motives. Nothing he did was anything but selfish.

The fact that Daegan had conceived a son with his cousin didn't bother her nearly as much as the thought that now Jon had two biological parents, one who wanted him desperately, the other who preferred he never show up.

Her ears were still ringing, her head pounding in pain, as she listened to Daegan and wished she could hate him. It would be so much easier to feel nothing but loathing and abhorrence for this man who had taken her love and abused it. Rage was a much safer emotion than despair.

"So I'm afraid I underestimated this investigator Robert hired-VanHorn. He probably s.n.a.t.c.hed Jon and it's my fault," Daegan admitted. "I must've led him here. I should never have stayed as long as I did, it wasn't part of the plan, but then I met you and...Oh, h.e.l.l, I got caught up in something I had no right to."

Her heart constricted. "So-where is Jon?"

"If Neils has him, and since he hasn't come home that's a real possibility, then he's on his way back to Boston, to Robert."

Kate was off the couch in a second. "Then what are we waiting for? We should call the FBI and go-"

She saw the sheriff's car rolling through the powdered snow covering her drive. Her heart leaped. Maybe Daegan had been wrong. Maybe the police had found Jon...But a lone deputy slid from the interior and slogged his way to the front porch.

Kate was already at the door.

"Ms. Summers?"

"Yes."

He was tall and dark skinned with a black moustache and a grim expression. "Deputy Brown," he said in a short introduction.

Her hopes plummeted and she was suddenly scared. More scared than she'd ever been in her life. Had Jon been hurt...or worse. "Have you found my son?"

"Not yet, but an anonymous tip came into the office. Someone claims to have seen your son with Daegan O'Rourke. He moved into the-"

"I know who he is," Kate said, stepping away from the door, allowing the deputy to enter and motioning to Daegan, whose every muscle was tense. His eyes collided with that of the law. "He's here now."

"Someone called in and said they'd seen you with the boy early this morning, Mr. O'Rourke. A little before eight, driving west."

"A lie."

"You were-?"

"At home, feeding the stock. I got over here just after eight, I think, and been here ever since."

"That...that's true," Kate added.

The deputy rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyone see what time you left your place?"

"No."

Kate's heart was hammering. The deputy couldn't be serious...or could he? Hadn't she, herself, accused Daegan of knowing where Jon was?

"Maybe you'd like to come down and make a statement," Deputy Brown suggested. "Just so we can clear this up."

"I don't think, I mean Daegan's been here with me..." she protested, wondering why she was protecting a man who had no heart, no soul. A man who would use her as well as his own son. For all she knew, he could've been sent by Robert Sullivan, and this Neils VanHorn character was just a figment of his imagination.

But she didn't believe it.

Daegan was too pa.s.sionate, too caring. He loved Jon. He loved her...or did he?

"I'm just doin' my job," the deputy reminded her. "You're the one who reported that your boy was missing." He turned his attention back to O'Rourke. "Now, just for the record, you're saying you haven't seen the boy today."

"That's right," Daegan said through tight, flat lips.

"And you've got a ranch in Montana, but originally hailed from Boston, right?"

Daegan hesitated a heartbeat. "Yep."

"And a long time ago you were the primary suspect in an unsolved murder case, the victim being your cousin Stuart Sullivan?"

A tic developed at the corner of Daegan's jaw. "You'd have to ask the Boston police about that."

For the first time Deputy Brown smiled. "We have," he said in a voice that was oily as contaminated water. "I think you'd better come with me..."

Jon strained against the metal handcuffs, tears stinging his eyes at the pain caused by the harsh manacles digging into his raw skin. If only he could collapse his fingers a millimeter more, roll his thumb into his palm a bit tighter. Getting out of these cuffs was the first step to surprising the slimy man named VanHorn-Jon had gotten a glimpse of the name on his credit card when he'd pulled it out at a gas pump-and escaping.

"Hey, take it easy," VanHorn called to the back of the van, his beady eyes flashing in the rearview mirror. "Who do you think you are-Houdini?" He snickered, as if he'd just cracked a hysterically funny joke. a.s.shole.

Jon stopped pulling on the cuffs and gritted his teeth. What a fool he'd been, falling into the smarmy guy's trap. Ever since the man had closed him into the van, Jon had been watching and waiting, poised for escape. But in two days and nights trapped in the van and chained to the bed in a cheap motel room, his chance never came. VanHorn was always careful to lock him up to the metal grating in the back of the van. Even when they stopped to take a p.i.s.s, the creep stood behind Jon, gun pointed at his back to keep him from bolting. Jon figured the man would slip up soon, as he'd been driving over forty-eight hours without sleep. VanHorn's once-clean shaven jaw was mottled with blond stubble and his eyes were starting to sag.

The man was ripe for a mistake.

And the moment he slipped, Jon would strike.

Somehow, he would escape. He had to get away, because the alternative...

He didn't want to think about the man chasing him...the killer of his nightmares.

He took a deep breath against the wave of sickness that made him sag against the dark gla.s.s of the van's windows. Although he was too exhausted to be terrified at this point, every muscle in his body was cramped and the burger he'd been given from the fast-food drive-through now burned in his gut like a ball of flame. He stared out the pa.s.senger window and noted the acres of wire fences and frosted, plowed-over fields that stretched across the flat horizon. From the road signs, he figured he was in Ohio somewhere, though he never was very good at geography, and except for the lack of hills, the miles of farmland out here didn't look much different from the countryside back home.

Home. It was hard to believe he could be so desperate to get back to Oregon, back to the life he hated, but then the instinct to survive was a strong one.

Even when all the odds were against you.

As they seemed to be now with this lowlife private detective "returning" Jon to his legal family. A clan of rich people back East, according to VanHorn. That was about as much information as Jon had gotten out of the man, who'd shut down when Jon had asked him what kind of parents would have their own son kidnapped at gunpoint.

Now, with VanHorn's energy fading, Jon figured it might be a good time to get the guy talking again. "You know, you could let me go right now and no one would have to know anything," he said, pressing his face to the grill of the divider behind VanHorn's head. Jon had seen some true crime shows on TV that showed victims who had actually gotten away by talking firmly with their captors. He figured it was worth a shot. "Drop me at a train station or a bus depot or something, and no one would be the wiser. I'll keep my mouth shut. I can say you kept me blindfolded."

"Sure, kid." VanHorn's grin was almost jovial. "I'll just drop you off and turn away a bundle of money. Why don't I just find the nearest airport and you can fly home, first-cla.s.s?" he snorted. "Thing is, you'll be flying first-cla.s.s once you hook up with your real family. First-cla.s.s all the way, with their kind of money. Believe me, you'll thank me when you get a load of them."

"My real family is back in Oregon," Jon said, thinking of Kate's dark brown eyes, the way her forehead crinkled when she worried about something. The way she hummed when she baked in the kitchen. He ached to be back there now, safe at home.

"Not so, kid. Kate Summer's not your mother, remember? That adoption was as phony as a three-dollar bill. You knew that, right?" VanHorn's eyebrows elevated in mock surprise. "No?"

Jon swallowed hard. "I don't care if it was legal," he lied.

"Ooh, got to respect the law," VanHorn said. "Because, and here's the thing, if Kate Summers actually isn't your mother, then she kidnapped you years ago. So what I'm doing now? It's not kidnapping, per se. I'm just a Good Samaritan bringing a boy home to his real family."

"Yeah, right." Jon's voice was flat. "My parents who decide they need me fifteen years later."

"Don't start getting all warm and fuzzy about your long-lost parents," VanHorn said. "They're not in the picture anymore."

"Then who's paying you to do this?" Jon asked in disbelief.

"Your fat-cat granddad, for one. He wants you to come and rule the family empire. Of course, there's another bidder in the auction. Your sweet Aunt Alicia. She wants to see you out of the running as heir to the family fortune. Seems your existence screws up her kid's chances of inheriting the family fortune. Too bad you were born a boy."

Jon squinted, shaking his head. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"Elimination. You ever studied history, kid? Do you know how Henry VIII got rid of some of those bothersome wives?"

A thread of panic seeped into Jon's veins at the thought. "He killed two of them." He pretended not to care. "So what...? Are you going to kill me?"

"Nah...I'm just delivering you to the highest bidder," VanHorn said casually. "I'll have you know, I never killed a man. But I have done some damage, messed some guys up pretty bad." He wrenched his neck around to glare at Jon face-to-face. "Which is what I'll do to you if you ever cross me, kid."

Jon's throat went dry at the blatant threat, and his mind opened to the image of running from the man.

Running, running...

Racing through the dark streets, his sneakers slapping against the wet pavement, his heart pounding in his chest.

Running from a killer...