My gut is telling me you're innocent." His gaze went to the gun and then back to her face. "Relatively innocent.

Her eyes widened. “Ooh… was it hate sex? I’ve always wanted to have hate sex.

John turned to her, with streaks of dried blood along his face. “Thank goodness we got the easy job.

For the record, you are knocking it out of the park with this speech.

Something was in her mouth. Sami's tongue slid along the edges of something plastic. Flat, low ridges, holes-an adjustable strap. A baseball cap?

Another taste. Hair spray. Gross.

Someone had stuffed her baseball cap in her mouth, and from the feel of it they had taped it in place. Her arms were tied behind her and she lay face down on the floor-of what? Her car. The carpeting scraped her cheek every time they hit a bump.

Panic flooded Sami's senses. She came instantly awake. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she willed herself to calm down. Her working motto flashed through her brain, panic never accomplished anything. Of course she had never been kidnapped and tied up before.

In the dim light of passing cars, she glimpsed things-paper gum wrappers, an old straw, one whopper wrapper, a CD cover.

That's where Sting went. Been looking for that for days. Man did she need to vacuum this car out.

A metallic scent hit her nose. She'd recognize that smell until the day she died. Blood. And by the odor, someone had lost a great deal of it.

You look like you should be on a Wheaties box with this haircut.