She’d walked this way on her own, he mused. He’d been very careful not to influence her direction. Then she systematically pointed out where a house, the stables would be. If she’d sat here before … He skimmed until his gaze rested on a big, smooth rock. It was only a few yards away, where the sun would be full and warm in the late morning and early afternoon. A spot for a dreamer.

Yes, if she’d sat there, resting, thinking, drinking coffee—

“What are you thinking?”

He brought his gaze back to her. “I’m thinking you may have sat against that rock there, drinking your coffee, planning. You got sleepy, perhaps even dozed off. But then you tried to shake the sleepiness off. You told me that in your dreams you didn’t want to be sleepy. So maybe you managed to get up, stumble in the direction of your car.” Turning, he looked back to where his sat. “Then the drug took over. You collapsed and the thermos rolled aside.”

“A drug—in the coffee.”

“It fits. Whoever kidnapped you was nervous and under enormous pressure. They didn’t take the time to look for the thermos. Why should they? They had you.”

“Then it would have to be someone who knew my habits, who knew that I was coming here that day. Someone who …” She trailed off as she looked down at the thermos.

“Someone who’s close to you,” he finished. He lifted the thermos. “This close.”

She felt the chill. The urge to look over her shoulder, to run came back in full force. Using all her self-control, she remained still. “What do we do now?”

“Now we find out who fixed your coffee and who might have had the opportunity to add something extra to it.”

It wasn’t easy to nod, but she did. “Reeve, shouldn’t the police have gotten this far?”

He looked past her, into middle distance. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

She looked down at the rings on her hand—one a diamond that should have symbolized faith. One of sapphires that should have symbolized love. “My father,” she began, but could go no further.

“It’s time we talked to him.”

* * *

It was dangerous for them to meet, but each drove down the long, rough road to the cottage. This was a time it would have been more dangerous not to meet.

The spot was isolated, overgrown, unlovely—a forgotten little cottage on a forgotten plot of land that had never been successfully tilled. That’s why it had been perfect. It was close enough to the little farm to have been convenient, far enough away from town to go unnoticed. The windows were boarded, except for one where the boards had been hacked away. They’d already discussed burning the place down, leaving the ashes to rot—like the body they’d buried in the woods behind.

The cars arrived within moments of each other. The two people were too disciplined, too cautious to be late. And both, as they approached each other, were strung tight with nerves. Circumstances had made it necessary for them to trust the other with their lives.