Lost and Found (5 page)

"Then I'll just have to take you in the bathroom with me and tie you to the sink." He smiled but there was something in his eyes that made her wonder if he wouldn't do exactly what he'd threatened.

"I promise I'll still be here when you get back." He looked at her for a moment as if weighing whether or not to believe her, and Babs's chin tilted. She was not accustomed to having her word doubted. He made up his mind abruptly.

"Fine. There's money on the table to pay for the pizza. I'll be out in a couple of minutes." He disappeared into the bathroom.

Babs sat on the edge of the bed. She was safe. She let the thought sink in. Really safe. Sam Delanian might be an overbearing pig but she didn't doubt that he could take care of her. If nothing else, he'd protect his fifty thousand dollars. Funny how that hurt just a little. After all, he didn't know her. There was no reason why he should see her as anything more than a means to get the reward. Heaven knew she ought to be accustomed to people seeing dollar signs when they met her.

She shrugged, tossing the towel over the back of the cheap vinyl chair that was the room's only furniture besides the bed and table. Tomorrow, she would see the last of Mr. Delanian. He would take her home, deliver her into the bosom of her family and disappear with his money. The thought should have made her enormously happy. The hollow ache in the pit of her stomach must be caused by hunger.

By the time Sam finished his shower, Babs was well into her second piece of pizza. She glanced up as he stepped into the room and waved an expansive hand at the enormous pizza box that took up a good portion of the bed.

"Not bad for a hick town. They must have an Italian cook."

"The name of the place is Harry's."

"Well, whatever their name is, it's good pizza."

"Right now even bad pizza would taste good." Babs was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed. Sam sat down at the foot, grabbing up a paper plate and selecting a slice of pizza dripping with cheese and mushrooms. "If I never spend another night crouched in the bushes, it will be too soon."

"Did you spend all night out there?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded, his concentration on the food.

"You must have really wanted that reward." He glanced at her, catching a momentary vulnerability in her expression.

"I wouldn't have left a dog with kidnappers. But there's no denying that the thought of fifty thousand dollars made last night's sojourn in the rose patch a little easier to take."

Of course, there was no telling now if he'd ever see that fifty thousand. After his conversation with her family, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with Babs. It was too bad he didn't know how to get hold of Emmet. From what he'd seen so far, Emmet might be the only sane member of the Malone family.

The pizza was devoured, the box stuffed in the trash can, leaving them with nothing to do but go to bed. Sam stretched, swallowing a yawn. A bed had never looked better. Glancing at his companion, he saw the doubtful look in her eyes as she looked from him to the room's one bed.

"I'm not going to offer to sleep on the floor," he told her bluntly.

"I didn't ask you to. I'll sleep in the chair."

"Well, you can suit yourself but I think you'd be more comfortable in the bed. You can sleep under the sheet and I'll sleep on top of it. Quite frankly, I'm too beat to care where you sleep. The offer of a shirt still stands. It would be more comfortable than sleeping in your jeans."

Babs looked at him, then at the chair and then at the bed. Sam was ignoring her, apparently uninterested in her decision. She glanced away as he tugged the snug black turtleneck off, revealing a lot of tanned skin and rippling muscles. The sight brought a funny little quiver to the pit of her stomach.

Too much pizza. That's what it was. She'd simply eaten too much and her stomach was feeling a bit out of sorts as a result. It didn't have anything to do with the mat of black hair that covered his chest then tapered down to a narrow line trailing across his flat stomach before disappearing into the waist of his jeans.

He unbuckled his belt and then reached for the snap on his jeans before glancing at her. Babs looked away quickly. Not that she'd really been looking at him. She couldn't care less what he did.

"Have you made up your mind? If you're going to use my shirt, why don't you change in the bathroom? By the time you're done, I'll be in bed."

"I don't care if you strip naked in front of me. I'm not a prude." Did that sound nonchalant enough?

"Maybe I am. Are you going to sleep in the bed or are you going to sit up all night protecting your maidenly virtue?"

She shrugged. "I think I'm safe enough with you. Like you said, I'll be more comfortable in the bed. I always sleep on the left side."

"Tough. Tonight you can sleep on the right." He lifted a hand, stopping her furious protest. "I want to be closest to the door. On the off chance that someone tries to sneak in during the night, I think it would be a good idea if they ran into me first."

Babs swallowed her protest, throwing him an irritated look. Did the man have to be so damn reasonable? "Guarding your reward?"

"You got it. Not to mention my professional pride. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if they kidnapped you back after I went to all the trouble of rescuing you. Now, are you going to go change or not?" He reached for his zipper and looked at her, one brow raised.

Babs snatched up the shirt he'd offered her earlier and stalked into the bathroom, wishing she were five foot nine so that she could stalk properly. At five foot nothing, a stalk was inclined to look more like a stomp.

When she cautiously opened the bathroom door a few minutes later, it was to find the room in darkness. She peered around the edge of the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark.

"It's safe. I'm modestly covered."

"It doesn't matter to me. I just didn't want to trip over anything in the dark."

She snapped off the bathroom light and cautiously made her way across the room, bumping her knees into the foot of the bed. Trailing one hand on the bedspread, she walked around it until she reached the pillows. Crawling beneath the sheet, she held her breath, overwhelmingly aware of Sam's long body only inches away. True to his word, he was on top of the sheet but the thin cotton didn't prove much of a barrier.

If he decided he wanted to change the rules there would be little she could do to stop him, but she wasn't afraid. At least she wasn't afraid that he'd attack her. She wasn't quite sure what label to put on the vague fluttering in her stomach. Too much pizza, too much tension since the kidnapping—those were acceptable explanations. She didn't want to look any further.

"Good night." Sam's voice coming out of the darkness was both unnerving and oddly reassuring.

"Good night." She had to clear her throat to get the words out, aware that her voice was even huskier than it usually was.

Despite the day's sleep, Babs was tired. It didn't take long for the lumpy mattress to lure her into sleep.

Beside her, Sam lay awake, listening to her quiet breathing. The neon light outside flashed on and off, creating patterns on the wall opposite the bed. He stared at the wall, all too aware of the warm body lying just inches away. She was spoiled and demanding but he had to admire her guts. A lot of people would have fallen apart under the stress of the past ten days.

But her guts was all he admired. Beyond that, she wasn't his type at all. He preferred tall, leggy brunettes. Short, curvy women with shaggy blond hair and eyes the color of a Hershey bar were not his style. It was a good thing, too. He had a feeling the next day or two was going to be difficult enough without the added complication of being attracted to Ms. Babs Malone.

B
abs woke slowly the next morning, reluctant to abandon the pleasant dreams that lay just beyond the reach of her memory. The bed felt warm and safe. She stirred, snuggling closer to the source of that warmth, surrounded by it. It had been a long time since she'd felt so cared for. There was a vague rumbling beneath her ear and she frowned, poking at her pillow.

"Careful. Puncture wounds are dangerous." The quiet words evaporated the last of her dreams. She opened her eyes and stared sleepily at the broad expanse of muscles that lay in front of her nose. No wonder the pillow had felt so hard. Her hand lay a few inches away, looking pale and fragile against all that tanned skin. She moved her hand, combing it through the mat of hair, feeling it curl around her fingers.

"Puncture wounds aren't the only thing that's dangerous." A much larger, harder hand came up to cover hers, stilling her sleepy movements. "I don't think you're going to respect me in the morning." The voice held quiet humor and Babs tilted her head back.

Sam's eyes were only inches away, bright blue, alight with humor and something else that she couldn't quite define. His lean jaw was stubbled with two nights' growth of beard, giving him a piratical look that suited him.

She blinked and then blinked again, awareness trickling into her sleepy brain. She closed her eyes but, when she opened them again, he was still there. Very large, very masculine and very close. She swallowed, becoming aware of just how close he was. She was plastered against him, her leg thrown over his hips, her head on his shoulder. The sheet was still between them but it was a fragile protection at best. Never in her life had she been so aware of the differences between men and women. She was surrounded by his masculinity, swallowed up in it.

"What do you think you're doing?" The indignant protest lacked force. It was hard to be forceful when you were practically draped over a man.

"I'm not doing anything." The look Sam gave her was full of innocence. "You're the one who moved to my side of the bed."

"I told you I always sleep on the left side." It was a weak excuse but the best she could come up with on the spot.

Sam's eyes were bright but he was kind enough not to challenge her. "That must be the reason."

"Of course it is. What else could it be?" It was also difficult to put contempt in her voice when she was vividly aware of the warmth of his skin under her hand.

"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?"