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distracted Sam seemed. Was she thinking about problems ahead that she needed to resolve, and if so, exactly what problems?
    She'd been damned secretive about this urgent personal journey. Until last night, he hadn't realized how little he knew about Samantha Jones. They'd flown together on commercial jets several times, to San Francisco, New York, and once to London. They'd met frequently for planning sessions, working lunches and dinners. Twice, she'd attended major trade fairs with him, and several times she'd acted as his hostess for business dinners. Since Sam came to work for him, Cal had spent more time with her than with any of the women he'd dated. He knew she took her coffee black, preferred fish and chicken to beef, and would rather read a mystery than watch a movie on long flights.
    Twenty-four hours ago, if someone had asked him, he would have said he knew Samantha Jones very well indeed. Certainly, he knew that he could tell her he needed fifty more developers and support staff, with premises for them to work in, and she'd listen carefully, then say simply, "I'll look after it."
    And she would. Despite the way he'd been hovering this week, he knew she'd do exactly what she'd promised. But yesterday he'd realized that he didn't know anything personal about her, nothing beyond her relationship with Tremaine Software. She had an M.B.A. from the University of Washington's business school, but he had no idea where she'd lived before attending. He knew she was unmarried but didn't know if she had boyfriends, lovers, or even an ex-husband.
    Hell, she could be living with a man and, if she didn't tell him, he'd never know. If she was in a relationship, she probably wouldn't tell him.  
    He didn't know where she spent those weekends she took away from Seattle. He didn't know where she lived, although he could probably find that out by looking in her personnel file.
    The only personal details he knew were scraps gleaned over dinner yesterday. She had a sick grandmother, she'd grown up on Gabriola Island, and her parentage or birth circumstances must be such that she'd managed to acquire dual American and Canadian citizenship.
    By the time he brought her back to Seattle, he fully intended to know more. Tremaine's relied heavily on Sam, and he had a right to know exactly who she was.
    When he brought the helicopter to a stop outside the hangar at Nanaimo's Cassidy Airport, Sam immediately scrambled out.
    "Customs," said Cal, gesturing to the uniformed man approaching.
    The formalities were brief, and within moments they were alone on the tarmac again. "In that door," he told her. "I'll bring your bag to the car rental counter."
    She snagged a tendril of hair that had blown free and tucked it behind her ear. "I'll carry it in. I appreciate the ride, Cal. I'll be back late tonight, in the office early tomorrow morning."
    "I'll fly you back."
    He saw her eyes widen, realized she didn't want him to hang around and decided immediately that he wasn't going anywhere.
    "I'll find my own ride home," she said sharply.
    He shook his head. "You'll want to be here for more than a couple hours. Stay overnight. If we take off at six tomorrow morning, we can be back in the office before nine."
    The wind whipped around her, molding her jacket tightly against her breasts. She wrapped her arms around her midriff as if she were cold. "Cal—"
    "Get inside, Sam. I'll bring your bag."
    She hesitated, probably trying to think of a way to get rid of him; then she shrugged and turned toward the terminal.
    He pulled her bag and his own out of the chopper before he locked it. Then he hurried into the terminal, keeping her bag with him while he reported in and closed his flight plan. By the time he was clear of the paperwork, she was just turning away from the car rental counter, computer bag slung over her shoulder and keys in her hand.
    When she saw him, she held her hand out for her overnight bag.
    "I'll carry it to the car. You can give me a ride