"If you don't move, I might begin to wonder just what else it might be." The wicked laughter in his eyes made Babs realize that she was still draped across his body like a piece of wet silk. With a muttered comment that Sam was wise enough not to ask her to repeat, she rolled away, refusing to admit—even to herself—that she felt any reluctance to leave that warm body.
She swung her feet to the floor and stood up, hoping that the warmth in her cheeks wasn't translated into a flaming blush. It was one of the curses of her life that her skin flushed at the least provocation. She moved around the bed without looking at Sam again, snatching her clothes off the chair.
"I'm going to go get dressed. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can get home." She shut the bathroom door behind her.
Sam sat up against the headboard and stared at the closed door. His shirt had never looked half so good on him as it did on her. For such a shrimp, her legs were surprisingly long and very nicely shaped. The blue cotton that looked so utilitarian on him clung with remarkable faith to every curve of her softer body.
He muttered a curse and swung his legs off the bed. He only noticed such things as a matter of interest. He reached for his jeans and thrust his legs into them. No one had ever said that Babs Malone wasn't an attractive woman but she definitely wasn't his type. Not his type at all. It wasn't just physically either. She had a temper like a wolverine. It would be foolish to lose sight of that.
Besides, even if he was attracted to her—which he wasn't—right now he had other things to think about. Like how to tell her that her own family had arranged for her kidnapping.
He was no closer to an answer when Babs came out of the bathroom. Neither one mentioned the way they'd been pressed together when they woke up but neither of them could think of anything else. Sam looked at her, clad once more in her own jeans and pale blue silk shirt, and he remembered how soft and warm she'd felt against him. Babs didn't even have to look at Sam to remember the crisp feel of his chest hair beneath her fingers, the warmth of skin under her cheek.
"Ready to go? I figured we'd get started right away and then have some breakfast on the road somewhere."
"Sounds good to me." Babs made a production of looking around the room to make sure nothing had been forgotten.
"I already threw the pack in the truck." Sam waited until Babs left the room before shutting the door, making sure it was locked.
Yesterday's misty rain had disappeared, leaving the Idaho skies as bright a blue as a freshly washed dress. The sun shone with gentle spring warmth, drying up the puddles. It was a picture-perfect spring day. The small town was peaceful and quiet, there was nothing to disturb the perfection of the scene.
None of which explained why Sam felt an uneasy itch in the palms of his hands. He looked around carefully, seeking something to explain the uneasy feeling but there was nothing. Still, the feeling remained and he'd learned to trust that itch. He was suddenly very glad he hadn't decided to eat in town. He wanted to put some more distance behind them before they relaxed.
"Let's go pay our bill and get out of here."
"I'm just as anxious to be rid of you as you are to be rid of me." Babs's words held an edge of hurt and Sam opened his mouth to explain that wasn't what he meant. He shut it without saying anything. How did he tell her that he was uneasy because his palms itched? She'd think he was crazy.
They paid the bill and Sam asked about the best route to the nearest airport. The motel's proprietor showed
only the most cursory of interest in last night's guests but Sam didn't feel any easier.
Sam had parked the truck in back of the motel, wanting to keep it out of sight of the road. Walking back along the length of the motel, his eyes shifted from one potential hiding place to another. His instincts were insisting that danger lay nearby but there was no hint as to the direction from which it might come. He didn't have to wonder long. It was right in front of them.
Stepping around the corner of the low building, they came face to face with four men who did not look as if they were out for a Sunday stroll.
"There she is. Grab her."
Sam thrust Babs behind him, shoving the truck keys into her hand. "Run." He glanced back to see that she hadn't moved, her wide eyes fixed on the men forming a rough half-circle in front of him.
"Run, dammit!"
She looked at him and he wished he could take the terror out of her eyes. "What about you?"
"I'll be okay. Get the hell out of here."
She looked at him a minute longer and then turned and sprinted back the way they'd come.
"Go after her, Joe. We'll take care of him." The man who spoke was tall, pale and had the coldest blue eyes Sam had ever seen. He kicked out as Joe ran by him, sending him sprawling but he knew he'd gained Babs only a small headstart. Joe was already scrambling to his feet and the others were closing in. On the theory that offense is the best defense, especially when you're outnumbered, he lunged toward them, feeling his fist connect with satisfying force.
Babs had never run faster in her entire life. The image of Sam facing the four thugs lent wings to her feet. She flew by the dusty orange doors that marked each room of the motel. Behind her she heard the thud of heavier feet and she risked a glance over her shoulder. The man who was chasing her looked determined and terrifying. Adrenaline pumped harder, giving her an extra burst of speed.
She almost overshot her goal. She'd noticed earlier that the motel was really two buildings set close together with a narrow alley between them. It was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast but she needed room for only one. She turned right without slowing her pace, feeling her tennis shoes slip on loose dirt before gripping. The second she lost felt like an eternity but then she was in the alley, her footsteps echoing from the narrow walls.
The quick turn gained her a few precious seconds as her pursuer overshot the opening and had to circle back. Babs didn't stop to look. Her heart was pounding in her chest, whether from exertion or fright, she couldn't have said. Her mouth tasted coppery. The keys bit into her tender palm but she didn't notice the discomfort. She skidded out of the alley and ran for Sam's truck. Somewhere in his pack was his gun. She'd seen him put it there this morning.
Her fingers shook, costing her precious seconds as she struggled to fit the key in the lock. Behind her, her pursuer left the alley and ran toward her. Babs's breath left her in frantic sobs but the door opened at last. There was no time to find the gun, no time to run. He was right on top of her. She spun around, the door between them. She would never forget the way his face was contorted with anger, the look of triumph that lit his eyes. His arms were coming up, reaching for her as he slowed down for the last few feet that separated them. She was trapped and he knew it.
Babs shut her eyes and shoved the door open. There was a sickening crunch as the heavy metal slammed into a human body. She opened her eyes at the instant of impact, seeing the stunned disbelief in his eyes just before the door hit him, the frantic attempt to back away. But his own momentum carried him forward into the swing of the door. He dropped like stone. The door quivered a moment and then began to fall shut. Babs caught it automatically. She refused to look at the man on the ground. She didn't want to know if he was dead.
She climbed into the truck and reached for Sam's pack, forcing herself to think only of the next step. The gun lay on top, tucked into its holster. Her hands were steady as she pulled it free, flipping open the chamber to make sure it was loaded. It was.
Her knees were shaking as she stepped around the side of the building. Even before she could see them, the awful sound of fists connecting with flesh told her that the fight was still in progress. Outnumbered three to one, Sam was still on his feet but barely. His back was pressed against the wall of the building, his fists still up but his breathing was painful to hear.
Babs drew a deep breath and brought the gun up. "Freeze!" Her voice quavered and cracked but it was loud enough to get their attention. All four men turned
to look at her.
"Babs."
"Good God, it's the girl."
"She's got a gun."
"She doesn't know how to use it."
"I wouldn't bet on it." Babs's thumb pulled down the hammer. In the quiet morning air the click was ominously loud. She stared at them over the steel barrel, hoping her eyes didn't reflect her uncertainty. She knew how to shoot a gun but she'd never fired at a living thing.
For a few seconds it was a standoff. The kidnappers might be reasonably certain that she wouldn't shoot but they weren't ready to gamble their lives on it.
"Look, lady, you don't want to shoot anyone. Why don't you give me the gun." One of the men started forward and Babs tightened her hold on the gun, feeling trickles of cold sweat start down her spine.
"I'll shoot if I have to."
"Hey, what happened to Joe?" It was one of the other two. The man who'd been edging toward her stopped, his eyes narrowing. Sam edged along the wall, keeping an eye on the men.
"He's out cold in the parking lot." Babs could only hope she sounded a lot tougher than she felt. "Can you make it to the truck?" she asked Sam while still keeping her eyes on the trio.
"Sure." Sam laughed, the sound choking off on a gasp of pain. "Hell of a rescue, Babs."
"Thank you."
She backed away as Sam came even with her. Risking a quick glance at him, she had to stifle a gasp of dismay. He was upright but she had the feeling it was sheer willpower keeping him that way.
"This isn't over yet." Her eyes met those of the man who was apparently the leader. They were cold and mean. She hadn't seen his face but she knew his voice. This was the man she'd overheard casually planning her
death. Staring at him over the barrel of the revolver, she knew that he wasn't going to give up.
She backed away until she could see the truck out of the corner of her eye. The man she'd hit with the door was still lying on the concrete. She had no idea if he was alive or dead. At the moment, she couldn't afford to care. Sam pulled open the driver's door and slid in, ignoring the limp body.
Babs took one last look at the three men in front of her and then backed toward the truck. They followed but kept a respectful distance as long as she held the gun. She stopped next to the driver's door.
"I'll drive." She kept her voice low and her eyes on the men she was holding at gunpoint.
"I'm supposed to be rescuing you."
"You're in no condition to drive."
There was a moment's silence and then Sam heaved an irritated sigh. "I hate it when you're right." There was a pause and then his voice came again. "Reach back and hand me the gun. I'll keep an eye on our friends while you get in the truck."
The awkward exchange was made and Babs scrambled up into the seat. Sam leaned behind her, his arms against her back, the gun steady. The engine roared to life and Babs threw the truck into reverse, backing out of the parking place. She thrust the gearshift into first and put her foot down on the gas.
"Careful. This isn't Indianapolis." Sam turned to look out the back window. "They're running for their car. They didn't even check to see how good old Joe was. What did you do to him?"
"I hit him with the door." Babs tapped the brakes in token respect to the stop sign and pulled onto the highway. "I may have killed him." She was aware of Sam's eyes slanting toward her.
"I doubt it. Even if you did, I wouldn't waste too much time feeling guilty about it. You can bet he wouldn't have lost any sleep over killing you."
"I suppose."
Sam twisted to look out the back window. "They're following us. What the hell!" He grabbed for the armrest as the truck skidded into a right turn and shot down an alley barely wide enough to avoid scraping the paint.
"I've got to lose them." Babs spun left out of the alley. Sam closed his eyes as she made another squealing turn that threatened to overturn them.
"Look, don't get us killed. The idea is to avoid getting killed."
"Don't worry. I took a stunt-driving course a couple of years ago."
"Oh, great. Every bone in my body is broken. There's a car full of goons on our tail who'd like nothing better than to break a few more. And I'm stuck with someone who's had driving lessons from some suicidal maniac who tries to kill himself for a living. Just great. Look out! Didn't you see that car?"
"I saw it. I didn't hit it, did I?" She appeared to feel that was answer enough. Sam shut his eyes again. There were times when it was best not to face danger head-on.
The truck squealed around a corner, throwing him against the door. He swallowed a groan of pain, convinced that every breath was going to be his last. What did a few more bruises matter when he was going to die? Another quick turn and then they picked up speed. Sam opened his eyes, wondering if she'd speeded up because they were going the wrong way down a one-way street. From what he'd seen of her driving style so far, that seemed a likely explanation. They were on the highway. Wide open road stretched out in front of them.
"Great place to hide. They'd never suspect us of leaving town." He hurt in too many places to put much sarcasm behind the words.
Babs glanced in the rearview mirror. "I think I lost them a couple of turns ago. Besides, we couldn't dodge them in that little town forever."
"True." Sam leaned back against the seat. She looked at him, her eyes dark with concern.
"Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?"
He shook his head and then wished he hadn't. It hurt to move. In fact, it hurt to breathe. "I don't need a doctor. Just get us someplace where I can lie down and I'll be fine."
"You look awful."
"Thank you." His tone closed the conversation.
Babs drove in silence, watching the rearview mirror for any sign of pursuit, stealing glances at her silent companion. She didn't know if he'd fallen asleep, passed out or just didn't want to talk. Whichever it was, it left her with quite a few questions she didn't have answers for.
What she really wanted to do was find a nice quiet corner and cry herself to sleep. Maybe when she woke up this whole thing would turn out to be an extended nightmare. Of course, if it was a nightmare, then Sam Delanian didn't exist. Glancing at his still figure, she discovered that she wanted him to exist. She didn't want to wake up and find that she'd dreamed him.
She bit her lip, focusing her eyes on the road again. It was stress. That was what made him so oddly appealing. He'd saved her life and it was only natural that she would be grateful to him, but that's all it was. It had nothing to do with waking up in his arms this morning; or the way his eyes could laugh when the rest of his face was still; or the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin; or the thick lock of hair that was inclined to fall onto his forehead, filling her with an urge to push it back. She was grateful to him, that was all.
It was almost noon when she drove into a town considerably larger than the one they'd left behind. She pulled into a motel, parking the truck in back of the building where it couldn't be seen from the street. Not that it had done them a whole lot of good the last time but it was a simple precaution.
Sam roused when she shut off the engine, dragging himself into a more upright position and looking around, his eyes glazed with pain. "Where are we?"
"I don't know. Some town a couple of hours away from the last one. I'm going to get us a room."
"Okay." He caught her hand before she could slide out of the truck. "Be careful." His eyes held hers for a long steady moment. For some reason, Babs felt breathless. She nodded and slid out of the truck without speaking.
Twenty minutes later she was back with a room key. When she opened the door of the truck, Sam didn't move and, for one awful instant, visions of fatal internal bleeding flashed through her head.
"Sam?"
He twitched and opened his eyes, staring at her blankly for a moment. "You don't have to whisper. I haven't died."
Babs flushed. He'd read her thoughts with unnerving accuracy.
"I've got us a room."
"Good."
He pulled himself into a more upright position and Babs found herself wincing for him. "No one recognized you, did they?"
"Why should they? I've never been here before." She put her hand under his elbow, bracing him.
"Your picture has been in every paper in the country."
"It was probably a bad likeness."
"Actually, it wasn't all that bad." He grunted as his feet hit the ground.
"I'm surprised Aunt Dodie didn't give them my high-school graduation picture." Babs slid her arm around his waist, urging him forward.
"What's wrong with your high-school graduation picture?" The irrelevant conversation distracted him from the ache that seemed to have invaded every bone in his body.
"I looked like I had just swallowed a tablespoon of alum. My face was all squinched up." She fumbled with the room key for a moment before getting the door open. Sam stepped forward as she found the light switch. He stumbled slightly on the doorjamb and Babs threw her arm around his waist, feeling his groan more than hearing it. "Let's get you to a bed."
Sam said nothing as she guided his stiff footsteps to the nearest bed and eased him down on it. His breath left him on a long sigh of relief. He caught her hand when she would have moved away. Babs stared down at him, caught by the brilliant blue of his eyes.
"I'm supposed to be rescuing you, remember?"
He looked terrible. There was a scrape high on one cheekbone, his nose was swollen, his lower lip was badly split. He looked like a man who'd been in a fight with a Mack truck and lost. Funny how her heart seemed to skip a beat when she looked at him. She smiled, the shakiness of it reflecting her own tension. Without volition, her fingers reached out and smoothed back the heavy lock of black hair that curled against his forehead.
"Consider it a fair trade in the rescuing department."
Sam gave her a half-smile, his battered face stiff. "I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"
"None at all."
Chapter 5
The sound of his boot heels hitting the polished parquet echoed in the huge hallway. At another time, Emmet Malone might have paused to exchange stares with the portrait of his grandfather that hung on one wall, dominating the entryway. The resemblance between the two men was strong. Stubborn chins, gray eyes that held a little too much restlessness. It amused Emmet to know that, of all Carlisle Malone's descendants, he was the one who looked the most like him. It amused him because it galled the rest of the family and anything that shook them off their stuffy little perches, even for a moment, was worth a laugh.
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