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Babs flushed at the bite in his tone and drew herself up a bit stiffly. "Fine. You're so brilliant. You think of something."

  "Thank you, I will."

  The silence that settled over the room was thick with indignation. Sam looked at her and then looked away. She looked like a child who'd been unfairly punished. Her chin was set but her eyes held an edge of hurt. Not that it was his problem. He hadn't done anything out of line. Nothing at all. He glanced at her again. She was staring at her fingernails with such an air of deliberate unconcern that he almost smiled.

  "Oh, hell. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that. We've got enough problems without snapping at each other."

  She looked at him from under her lashes, judging his sincerity. She must have been satisfied with what she saw because she smiled shyly and shrugged. "I suppose it was a pretty dumb suggestion.''

  "Just a little naive." His smile took any possible sting out of the words.

  "What about a credit card? We could rent a car with a credit card." She looked so pleased with herself that Sam hated to discourage her. He shook his head.

  "Credit cards leave a paper trail. Since we don't know what's going on, I'd rather be as inconspicuous as possible."

  "Oh." She frowned and Sam forgot to do anything more than watch her think through their problem. She shoved her fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face for a moment. The instant she released it, it fell back, framing her eyes in a way that he was beginning to find irresistible.

  She smiled suddenly, her eyes meeting his delightedly. "You could steal a car. You know how, don't you?" It didn't seem to occur to her that he might be insulted by her assumption that he knew how to steal cars. He grinned, unable to resist the image of her creeping along behind him while he jimmied locks and hot-wired cars.

  "As a matter of fact, I do know how to steal a car but I don't think it's such a good idea."

  "Why not? Those thugs wouldn't be able to trace it and you said we needed transportation." The illegality of it didn't seem to occur to her.

  Sam's grin widened. "The police frown on such things. I have a feeling your family wouldn't be too thrilled to get a call from the local jail to come and bail you out."

  Babs stared at him for a moment and then her eyes began to sparkle with pure mischief. "I hadn't thought of the police. It would almost be worth getting arrested just to see Aunt Dodie's face."

  "From my one brief conversation with the woman I can understand your sentiments, but I don't think stealing a car is a good idea."

  "Well, then what are we going to do?"

  "I don't know yet. First thing, let's check out of here and see if there's someplace we can pick up a change of clothes and then we'll go get some food. By that time, I'll think of something."

  They checked out of the motel and drove Sam's truck to a shopping area on the outskirts of town. Shopping on a budget was a new experience for Babs. Sam handed her fifty dollars and told her to make it cover everything she needed. She'd never owned a blouse that cost less than fifty dollars, let alone a wardrobe that might have to last several days.

  She studied the money in her hand and looked after Sam who was striding into the men's department. She felt an odd surge of possessive pride when she noticed the way women's heads turned to follow him. Shaking her own head, she ventured into the new world of budget clothing.

  Half an hour later she met Sam in the front of the store, justifiably proud of her efforts. She was wearing a new pair of jeans and a lavender cotton blouse that she'd found on sale, and her sack contained another pair of jeans, two T-shirts and some underwear. They weren't the personally tailored garments she was accustomed to but she didn't mind. She felt remarkably adventurous and self-sufficient.

  Sam grinned at her glowing face before taking the bag from her. His grin turned into a laugh when she held out her hand to display the eighty-seven cents that remained of the fifty dollars he'd given her.

  "Remind me to introduce you to my mother. The two of you can swap notes about bargain hunting."

  "What's your mother like?" Her voice held a wistful note and he wondered if she was thinking about her own orphaned state. How much did she remember of her own parents?

  "She's great. You'll have to meet her one of these days. Are you hungry?"

  "Starving."

  "We have to conserve money but we can afford to indulge in a hot breakfast if you don't order steak and eggs."

  "I promise to restrain myself."

  The tiny cafe was at the very edge of town. It was a little too late for the breakfast crowd and too early for the lunch crowd. A few customers were finishing their meals, lingering over cups of coffee. The waitress wore a bright pink uniform and had hair to match.

  Sam and Babs ordered breakfast and ate without talking much. Babs was concentrating on her food and Sam was racking his brains to figure out where they could go and how they were going to get there.

  "... hate to have to haul back an empty truck."

  Sam stopped chewing, his complete attention on the conversation at the table behind him.

  "Yeah, that's too bad. Still, it'll make the going a bit faster."

  Going? Going where?

  "Where you headed this time, Frank?" It was as if Frank's companion knew how much Sam wanted that information.

  "Sacramento. Got a load of books to pick up. Somebody died and left all their books to a little place in Minnesota—their hometown or something."

  Sam finished chewing and swallowed, reaching for the biscuits that sat in the middle of the table and stuffing them in his pockets.

  "What are you doing? I was going to eat one of those." Babs gave him an indignant look.

  "Later. Finish your coffee."

  "What's the hurry?"

  "I've figured out how we're going to leave town but we've got to hurry."

  He gulped down the last of his coffee, thinking wistfully of thermoses and picnic baskets. Still, he'd done without hot food before. Hopefully, his companion could learn to do the same, at least for a while. He took some cash out of his pocket and hastily counted out enough to pay their bill, recklessly adding a tip when he didn't have the right change. Maybe the waitress could get a new dye job. They didn't have time to wait for change.

  Babs was still chewing when he stood up, taking her arm and dragging her from the booth to hustle her out of the cafe. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he saw the two men in the booth behind them exchanging chitchat with the waitress while they paid their bill.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Sacramento. Ever been to Sacramento? Great place." He still had her arm, towing her behind him as he headed for the midsize truck that was parked next to the building. There was only one. It had to be Frank's. He threw up a quick prayer of thanks that the rear of the truck was in shadow.

  "Why are we going to Sacramento?"

  "Why not?" He dragged her around the back of the truck, muttering a curse when he saw the padlock on the back. Still, all was not lost. He dropped Babs's arm and dug his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a thin metal strip.

  "What are you doing?" Babs automatically dropped her voice to a whisper, throwing a quick glance around as if expecting to see the SWAT team coming at them. "I thought you said you didn't want to steal a car."

  "I'm not going to steal it. We're going to catch a ride in it. Ah-ha." He grinned as the lock sprang loose. The door squealed as he pulled it open and he winced, hoping Frank wasn't going to come running.

  "Hurry up."

  Babs stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "We're going to ride in that? Why?"

  "Because it's free and no one will ever expect us to do something like this."

  "They won't expect us to do something like this because it's crazy." She gave the dark interior of the truck a dubious look.

  "This is the best plan. Honest." Sam didn't give her time to argue any more. She squeaked as his hands closed around her waist and he lifted her into the truck, climbing in immediately after her as i
f he were afraid she might try to escape.

  Babs turned to protest but he was already pulling the door shut. There was a row of windows high up on either side of the truck, just enough to give them a dim light. Sam turned and grinned at her, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness.

  "Isn't this great?"

  He held up his hand, listening intently. Babs winced as they heard a door slam at the front of the truck. Moments later, the engine roared to life. There was a grind of gears and then she pitched forward and would have fallen flat on her face if it hadn't been for Sam's quick reactions. Braced for the movement of the truck, his arms shot out and caught her. For an instant, she was crushed against his chest and she couldn't have said whether it was his nearness that made her breathless or her near fall. He set her back on her feet, keeping his hand under her elbow until she had her balance.

  "This is something you'll be able to tell your grandchildren about."

  She looked around the dusty, unprepossessing interior and then looked at him, her expression unenthused. "Sure. If I live to have any."

  ❧

  Emmet knocked on the door and then looked around. The house was small but beautifully kept. The lawn was neatly trimmed, and tidy flower beds flanked the porch. Settled in the midst of a modest neighborhood in Santa Barbara, the white-and-blue home could have served as a setting for Father Knows Best.

  Footsteps on the other side of the door drew his attention back to the reason he was here. It had been three days since Sam had called the Malone mansion. No one had heard a word about Babs since. If any one of the family had heard from the men who'd been hired to kidnap her, they weren't talking. Visiting Sam's mother was a far-out chance but Emmet didn't want to overlook any possibility.

  The woman who opened the door suited the house. Her face held a soft prettiness that immediately made him think of warm hearths and leather chairs. Her eyes were a clear blue, paler than her son's but no less striking. Her hair was a silvery shade of gray that might have looked cool on another woman. On Cecily Delanian, it looked warm and inviting.

  Unconsciously, Emmet straightened his shoulders and smoothed the unruly iron-gray hair that had never been quite tamed.

  "Yes?" Her questioning tone made him realize how long he'd been standing on her doorstep staring at her.

  "Mrs. Delanian?"

  "Yes. Have we met?"

  "No. I'm a friend of your son's."

  Her face paled delicately and she lifted one hand to press it against her chest. "Has something happened to Sam?"

  "No, no. As far as I know, he's fine." Emmet thrust his fingers through his hair, ruining any pretense of neatness. "Actually, it may have been stretching the truth a bit to say that I was a friend of his. We've only met once, in Mexico. But we sort of got to know each other pretty well and... Well, to be honest, I really need to know where he is." He stopped, aware that he was stumbling badly. He looked at her, his expression rueful. "Do you think I could come in and we could talk?"

  Cecily studied him for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful. Emmet resisted a surprising urge to shuffle his feet and tried to look as honest and upright as he could. It wasn't easy when you'd spent thirty years adventuring. He would have had an easier time looking just what he was—a little rough around the edges.

  "Come in. I was just making a pot of coffee." She unlatched the screen and pushed it open.

  Emmet wiped his feet on the mat and stepped into the small hallway. The house seemed to envelope him in warmth. From the polished plank floor to the quiet print of the wallpaper, it spoke of home and hearth. He noticed the house only peripherally. His eyes didn't shift from the slim figure in front of him. She was wearing a pair of lavender slacks and a pale gray shirt. It was simple, appropriate for a day at home and remarkably attractive.

  "Sit down. I'll pour some coffee." Emmet settled himself at the oak pedestal table. The kitchen was large and cheerful, big windows letting the spring sunshine spill through.

  Cecily set a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. "Would you like a sweet roll? I baked them yesterday. They're Sam's favorites and he'd said he might be home yesterday.''

  "Thank you." Emmet took the proffered plate with the sticky roll and set it next to his coffee. He waited until she'd seated herself across from him, her hands cradling a warm mug.

  "When did you hear from Sam last?"

  "A week or so. Is Sam in trouble?"

  "No. At least, I don't know."

  "You're Emmet Malone, aren't you?"

  "Oh, Lord, I didn't introduce myself. My mother is probably spinning in her grave. She never did have much luck drilling manners into me."

  Cecily waved her hand. "Don't worry about it. I recognized you from the picture on the back of your books. Sam didn't tell me he'd met you."

  "Well, the circumstances were a little peculiar. We were both in Mexico and there was a small altercation. We had cause to assist each other and we spent a bit of time talking."

  "Why are you looking for Sam? Does this have something to do with your niece?"

  "Yes. Anything you know would help."

  She drew her finger around the edge of her cup, her eyes on the aimless movement. "He told me he was going to find her, that he thought he knew where she was. Like I said, he thought he'd be home yesterday."

  "He didn't call you?"

  "No. But that's not unusual. Sam doesn't check in with me unless he's going to be gone a lot longer than he expected. You're obviously concerned. Do you have reason to think there's been some problem?"

  "Not exactly." Emmet studied her face, wondering just how much he should tell her. But there was no real question in his mind. Those clear blue eyes demanded honesty. "It's a complicated story and I'm afraid my family comes out of it looking less than good." He told her the whole mess, starting with the sale of the phony paintings, through Babs's threats, to his family's insane plan to kidnap her and then what he knew of Sam's phone call.

  "There's been no word since then. If anyone has heard from the kidnappers, they're not telling me. I don't think they'd dare to conceal a call from Sam or Babs. The only thing I know is that he had her and she was apparently all right but there's been not a word since."

  "You must be very worried about your niece." Cecily got up and brought the coffeepot over to the table, filling his cup, her expression full of warm sympathy.

  "She's the only one of the whole family that's worth a damn, including me. She's such a gutsy little thing, has been since she was a baby."

  "It sounds as if the two of you are very close."

  "I suppose we are. If you knew the rest of the family, you'd know it was self-defense. They're all a bunch of worthless parasites. Not that I'm much better. The ultimate example of the Peter Pan Syndrome at work." He lifted his coffee cup in mocking salute.

  "I think you're being a bit hard on yourself. Your writing doesn't sound like a man who's refused to grow up."

  "You've read my books?"

  "Several of them. I particularly liked your non-fiction book about the destruction of the Amazon rain forests. It was quite eloquent. I don't know why Sam didn't tell me he'd met you."

  Emmet stared at her, feeling an odd catch in his chest. "I don't know why he didn't tell me he had such a lovely mother."

  Cecily's eyes met his and her pale skin flushed a delicate shade of pink. She smiled. "If you want another cup of coffee, you could just ask. You don't have to flatter me." She looked away and then looked back, her smile taking on a shy edge that he found wholly charming. "If you'd like, you're welcome to stay to lunch. Perhaps Sam will call while you're here."

  "I'd like that. I would like to know that Babs is safe."

  She reached across the table and touched his hand gently. "Sam will take good care of her. Try not to worry. He won't let anything happen to her."

  Emmet turned his hand, clasping her fingers lightly, feeling a soothing warmth extend from the casual touch. "I hope you're right."

  "I am. Just you wait and see.
They're probably both safe and warm in a nice hotel somewhere while Sam decides what to do about your family. I bet they've ordered a nice hot lunch. You'll see. Sam will take good care of your niece."

  Chapter 7

  "This is, quite possibly, the most miserable excuse for a vehicle I have ever seen in my entire life." Babs was more resigned than angry and Sam threw her a quick smile.

  "You've just never ridden in the back of a truck before. Actually, this isn't bad at all."

  "Have you made a habit of hitching rides in the backs of moving vans?"

  "No. But I've done it once or twice and this one isn't bad. Look, we've got all the luxuries of home. Blankets, windows, a roof to keep off the rain and I've even got some food. I picked up a few things this morning while you were shopping, not to mention the biscuits I took from the cafe."

  "Don't mention them. Please." The dim light was enough to show him that she looked a little green around the edges, and he gave her a sympathetic grin.

  "You'll get used to it. It's like sailing. It just takes a few minutes to get your sea legs."

  She threw him a sour look. "I'm a lousy sailor."

  "Come on. Sit down and lean your head back. If you talk to me real nice, I'll give you a bottle of Perrier. That'll help settle your stomach."

  "Don't even say the word stomach." But she let him settle her onto a stack of furniture pads and leaned her head against a higher stack. Sam dug around in his pack, coming up with a familiar green bottle. He pried off the lid and handed it to her. It was still cool and she had to admit that the dry, fizzy taste of it felt good in her stomach.

  She leaned back, feeling the queasiness subside. Looking around, she was struck by the humor of the situation. She giggled and Sam looked at her, one black brow raised in question. She raised the bottle in a mocking salute.

  "This is probably the first time in the history of the company that Perrier has been consumed in the back of a moving van by two people who are on the run from they don't even know what. Perhaps I should write the company. They might want us to endorse it."