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
