Free Heart of the Night by Barbara Delinsky

listen. That’s the point, Suse. He needs someone with him. As time passes without word from Megan, he’ll get more and more uptight.”
    â€œSwell.”
    â€œTalk to him. Reassure him that we’re doing what we can, that the kidnappers want the money more than they want Megan, that she’ll be back. Just talk. You’re good at that.”
    â€œA cocktail party this isn’t,” Susan remarked and took another swallow of scotch.
    â€œCould’ve fooled me,” Savannah muttered.
    â€œI heard that.”
    â€œYou were meant to.” She reached for the glass. “You don’t need the drink, Susan.”
    But Susan wasn’t letting go. “You’re asking me to say sweet nothings at a time like this? Believe me, I need the drink.”
    Savannah didn’t want to get into a full-fledged fight just then. “Okay,” she said. “Have that one drink, but just one. Because I do need you clearheaded. I need you to try to learn more from Will about the situation here than he’s told me. I need to know about anything odd that may have happened around here in the last few weeks. He couldn’t think of anything when I asked, but something may occur to him with a little prodding.”
    Facing her sister, Susan remembered all the times over the years when Savannah had given out assignments. She was a natural at people management. “So I’m supposed to sit and prod?”
    â€œNot all the time. Be diplomatic about it—talk a little, prod a little, keep quiet a little. Putter around in the kitchen. I don’t think Will has eaten a thing all day, and the house is loaded with food.”
    â€œI was just kidding about that. Am I really supposed to be the cook?” She quickly took another shot of scotch. No sooner had she swallowed when she grumbled, “I should have told you I already had plans. It wouldn’t have been far from the truth. Dusty and Joy had asked me to drive up to Boston with them, but the weather was lousy and—”
    â€œKidnapped, Susan,” Savannah interrupted. “Megan has been kidnapped. We are not talking about her having her appendix taken out or getting lost at La Guardia. This is a little more important than a night on the town in Boston.”
    For a minute, Susan just stared at her. In a very quiet voice she said, “I know.” Then her attention was caught by something behind Savannah, her eyes widened in fear, and she murmured quickly, “Uh-oh. Trouble. There’s a guy behind you and he sure as hell doesn’t belong here—”
    Savannah whirled around. Sam was propped indolently against the arch between the dining room and the hall. She let out a small cry of relief and pressed a hand to her chest. “Sammy! Don’t creep up on us like that!”
    â€œYou know him?” Susan whispered in disbelief. Her eyes took in the tall, rangy form with its worn jeans and sweatshirt, its distinct five o’clock shadow, its long, wavy hair. “What’s he doing here, and why’s he staring at me?”
    Glancing back at her sister, Savannah whispered in return, “Maybe because you’re staring at him.” Continuing in the loud whisper that, if anything, mocked Susan, she said, “He’s part of the detail assigned to the house. He’ll be here as long as you will be.”
    â€œDetail?” Susan echoed. Not once had she taken her eyes from Sam, who heard everything that was said.
    â€œPolice,” Savannah informed her sister. She took pleasure in Susan’s shocked expression; her superior demeanor bothered Savannah.
    â€œ He ’s with the police?”
    Coming to life, Sam ambled forward. He extended his hand to Susan and said with a pronounced southern drawl, “Sam Craig, at your service, ma’am.”
    His hand remained empty and waiting for ten seconds, before Susan recovered her poise. As disreputable as he looked, the way