slipping the note and a CD into each.
Just as he was about to put the last CD into the envelope addressed to one Samantha Murphy of Butte, Montana, he heard footfalls. The stairway door down the hall groaned open.
But what stopped him dead was the sound of small feet running down the worn carpeting toward his office and a single cried word. “Daddy!”
Oh, God. Zack.
He dropped the final CD to the floor, his heart catching in his throat, as his five-year-old son came running into his office. With dark eyes wild with fear, Zack threw himself into his father’s arms.
“Daddy, they made me get in the car. I didn’t want to. But I kicked the big guy and got away and ran—”
“It’s okay, Zack,” he said, hugging his son. He could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, slow and steady. They knew they had him trapped. They just didn’t realize how desperate he was.
With Zack still in his arms, he ripped out the mother board from the last remaining computer in his office, destroyed it, then rushed to lock the outer office door. Then grabbing up the envelopes and the fallen CD, he hurried them into his office and locked the door, knowing it was only a stopgap measure. There was no escape now.
He put Zack down and knelt beside him. Zack wore the little red jacket Lucas had bought him for the flight and the navy backpack they’d loaded with a few of his favorite toys. After all, they’d be traveling light.
“Are you all right?” he asked his son.
Zack nodded and put on his little tough-guy face.
It was all Lucas could do not to break down at the sight. He struggled, with his emotions, with his frantic thoughts. The men after him had known where to find Zack. This changed things, Lucas realized.
His mind scrambled for an out. But he knew there wasn’t one. Trying to hide the CDs would be futile. Destroying them wouldn’t save his son. Just the opposite.
Something heavy slammed against the outer office door, rattling the windows. Resigned, he did the only thing he could. He picked up the four CDs already in the addressed envelopes and dropped them down the mail chute. The sound of them sliding down to the first floor mail drop was muffled by the splintering of wood at his outer office door.
Lucas picked up the fifth CD box, and praying he was doing the right thing, slipped it into his son’s backpack, then he opened his desk drawer and started to take out the loaded .38. Earlier he’d been prepared to kill anyone who tried to stop him. Now, he glanced at his son and slowly closed the desk drawer without removing the gun.
Everything had changed.
He picked Zack up again and hugged him fiercely, committing to memory the feel of his son in his arms, fearing he’d never hold him again. His son. Of all his regrets, Zack was at the top of the list.
“Listen to me, Zack,” he said as the outer office door gave way with a loud crash. “I need you to be strong and very brave.”
Zack looked up at him, his eyes fearful, but full of trust and love.
Lucas explained what the boy had to do.
Zack nodded, tears in his eyes. “I will be very brave,” he said, his small body trembling.
Something large and heavy hit his office door with a resounding boom.
He lowered his son down on the floor. “Get under the desk and remember what I said.” The boy scrambled back into the hole. “Zack? I’m sorry about all this. I love you.”
Chapter One
Billings, Montana
Friday night
Samantha Murphy slipped off her high heels, shimmied her dress up to her hips and began to climb the rock wall. As she dropped to the patio on the other side, she heard the sound of fabric tearing. No more silk for undercover work.
She tugged down her dress, inspecting the rip up the right side clear to her knee. Great, she thought, as she slid back into her heels. Belatedly she realized she wasn’t alone.
“Champagne, miss?”
She spun around to find a waiter holding a tray filled with sparkling glasses. Behind him through the closed French doors to the house, she could hear the faint sound of classical music, the gentle tinkle of glasses and soft murmured conversation.
She and the waiter were alone on the patio, no doubt each wondering what the other was doing there. She had the distinct impression that he’d probably been taking a breather from the party and had caught her “revealing” grand entrance. She was glad she hadn’t worn her thong underwear.
While his expression remained impassive, she could have sworn she caught a glint of amusement in his eyes as he held out the tray.
Her cheeks warmed as she took a glass. “Thank you, I could use a drink.”
He gave her a slight nod and then moved to the French doors, opening them wide before disappearing inside.
She took a sip of the bubbly and watched him. While she doubted he’d go to the trouble of telling the hostess that a party crasher had just landed on the patio, she had every reason to be anxious. Through the open doors she could see men in tuxedos and women in expensive, formal gowns standing around making idle conversation over canapés and cocktails. She couldn’t have felt more out of place at a nudist colony.
She took another sip of the champagne and headed for the French doors.
But just before she reached them, she caught her reflection in the polished glass. She hardly recognized herself. The white silk dress hugged her curves—the rip up the right side seam almost looked as if the dress had come that way; the strappy high heels added a much-desired three inches to her slight five-foot-four frame; the sophisticated hairdo swept her usually wild mane up into an intricate maze of perky curls and strategically located tendrils that framed her perfectly made-up face.
“Not bad,” she whispered. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.
Feeling like Cinderella at the ball, she gave the woman in the glass a conspiratorial wink, checked to make sure the miniature camera was still snug in her bra between her breasts, and then braced herself. Chin up. Stomach in. Show time.
WILL SHERIDAN KNEW what he was looking for. He stood at the edge of the party, searching the crowd. He’d planned this, just as he’d planned everything else in his life. Now with his thirty-sixth birthday approaching, he was ready for the next step. Marriage.
That decision made, it was just a matter of finding his perfect mate before his birthday—his self-imposed deadline. He wasn’t worried. He’d taken some time off from his business to get the situation settled. He approached it as he had everything else in his life: methodically. Find the woman, romance her and, after the proper amount of time, marry her.
And he knew exactly what he wanted in a wife, so he didn’t think it would be difficult. It was one of the reasons he’d accepted his sister’s invitation. Katherine Sheridan Ashley threw the kind of parties he assumed his prospective wife would attend. The woman of his dreams would
