The Reluctant Lark Read Online Free PDF Page B

way into the taxi.
    Sheena’s heart seemed to freeze in her breast as she struggled instinctively to free herself.
    “Quiet down now,” her shadowy captor said soothingly. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
    “Let me go!” she gasped, as she wriggled frantically to avoid the large masculine form holding her immobile. “You can’t do this!”
    “Want to bet, honey?” came the breezy voice of the stage door attendant as he jumped into the taxi. “Get going, Peter,” he ordered the driver.
    The taxi took off with a screech of tires. Sheena’s resistance increased as stark terror gave her additional strength. This couldn’t be happening, she thought frantically. Kidnapping happened to other people, not to her. It was not as if she were a fabulously wealthy superstar. What could they hope to gain by this terrifying crime? Her breath was coming in little gasps as she twisted and kicked out at her captor.
    “Damn it, pass me the towel,” he growled. “We’ll have to use it. I can’t hold her without bruising her. She’s putting up too much of a fight.”
    “If you’re willing to accept the responsiblity. I’m not going to put my head on the block,” the sandy-haired man said tersely, as he put the folded cloth into his cohort’s hands.
    “Thanks a lot,” her captor said caustically. “Hold her for a minute.” As the transfer was made, he put his hand under Sheena’s chin and said, “Sorry, lady. I tried to make it easy on you.”
    Sheena opened her mouth to scream as her nose and mouth were covered by the towel. Were they going to suffocate her? The towel smelled sickeningly sweet, and she couldn’t seem to get her breath as the cloth was pressed down more firmly. Then she knew nothing but the whirling darkness.

Three
    The unremitting droning sound was a constant irritant to the nagging ache in her temples, and Sheena gave a little whimper of distress as she buried her face in the pillow to try to escape the noise.
    “Easy, little dove, everything is going to be fine. You’re safe now.” The deep, masculine voice was almost crooning, and she felt vaguely comforted as she slowly opened her heavy lids.
    Rand Challon was bending over her, a worried frown creasing his forehead, his golden eyes intent on her face. For some reason the sight of that hard, ruthless face filled her with an odd serenity despite the woozy disorientation she was experiencing.
    “How are you?” Challon asked quietly, his hand tenderly pushing a silky curl away from her forehead.
    “I’m sick,” she answered solemnly, turning her cheek to rub it against his hand. He was so warm and strong, she thought hazily. Just touching his hard, firm flesh seemed to ease the shakiness and fear shefelt. Fear? Why should she be afraid? she wondered dizzily.
    “I know you are,” Challon said grimly. “Damn it, I told them not to use chloroform. I damn near killed the idiots when they carried you on board the plane. You’ll be all right in a few minutes. They didn’t use enough to put you out for very long.”
    Chloroform? What was he talking about? What plane had she been carried aboard? “I don’t understand,” she muttered. As she looked dazedly at her surroundings, she felt a growing sense of panic. She
was
on a plane—and a very luxurious one at that. She was lying on a sumptuous cream velvet couch, and the other pieces in the room were done in shades of cream and gold that contrasted beautifully with the richness of the walnut paneling. The cabin was lit by one lamp on the table at the end of the couch, and the resulting dimness created a tranquil intimacy. There was a mirrored bar in the rear of the plane, and the effect was more of a luxurious lounge than the interior of a jet.
    “Where am I?” she whispered, levering herself up to a sitting position. She flinched as the movement sent a rush of pain to her head. She really did feel dreadful.
    “At the moment we’re about two hundred miles north of Montreal, Canada,”