Sam dreaded returning to the McReynolds's headquarters.

Though the early morning sun shone brightly against the blue backdrop of sky, Sam would not consider his prospects particularly bright at the moment. He had so carefully constructed the date with Marissa, and if that bookish Mario hadn't arrived, no doubt Sam could have elicited the information that he wanted. Carson McReynolds had a firsthand witness who had heard Marissa's confession: Marissa had written the paper. Not only that, but the witness had heard mention of others who had helped in the paper's publication.

Just because the paper had not mentioned the McReynolds brothers by name did not mean anyone could relax. From the first paper to the next the accusations had grown bolder, and Sam knew that Carson would not abide a more direct accusation. Sam didn't really care a scintilla about Marissa Erinson, but he had no desire to see her harmed. She was a stupid, idealistic fool who had stumbled into a situation too big for her to handle. When push came to shove, Sam would save his own neck, but he wouldn't relish the idea of going after someone so completely helpless. He had pictured any thug work he would have been called into as roughing up a greedy shop owner who wanted the benefit of the McReynolds' protection without paying the cost. Beating up a girl just seemed beneath him.

Of course, her stupidity might cost him his job, or at the very least, his current position of prestige within the campaign. That thought made him regret that he had restrained his hand from slapping her when he had the chance, though he wouldn't admit it even to himself.

Even more concerning, Sam had no idea who had stolen the girl out from under his nose. A fleeting glimpse of a fleeing figure in a dark alley. If Mario Garner hadn't sat mindlessly in the common room, under the watchful eye of several guards, Sam might have suspected him. Mario, though, would not have possessed the physical prowess to get the girl out the window and successfully run with her away from so many pursuers.

The other mystery guest, then. When Sam had delivered his message to the McReynolds, he would interview the men at Calloway's. Surely someone could remember the unexplained man who had asked for Sam by name. Sam never really felt fear, but his body seemed to manufacture a close approximation as he approached the swanky exterior of Carson McReynolds' upper class brownstone.

Instead of sitting down in the library, as he normally did, Sam drifted around the room, toying with the diecast models that Mr. McReynolds loved to make in his spare time. Sam had never found the allure, perhaps because he just didn't enjoy concentrating for any length of time. Sam preferred to move, though he had learned well enough to put on a facade of cool composure when his office called for it. Carson knew well enough the reality behind Sam's mask because Carson had hired him for action, not thought.

When Carson opened the library door, though, Sam could tell that his lack of calmness had communicated the bad news he had hoped to couch in a positive light.

"Don't tell me you have nothing." Carson's glare pierced coldly through the warm light of the library.

Sam paused for a moment, uncertain of how to go forward. "The girl claims she did it all by herself," Sam hedged.

"But we know that's not true," Carson pressed. "So, if she won't give up her friends, you'll need to apply more pressure."

When Sam said nothing, Carson continued, bothered by what he read as reluctance. "You knew when I hired you that this might be part of your responsibilities. I will not tolerate any hesitation that might come from your personal regret."

"When I have her back, I will not hesitate; I assure you that."

The stillness in the air nearly choked Sam as it seemed that Carson ceased even to breathe.

"When you have her back?" the older man finally ventured, the tone of his words slicing like knives through Sam's usual self-assurance. If Sam had ever doubted the danger involved in Carson McReynolds, he doubted no more.

"We are apparently not the only one's interested in her. Someone came to Calloway's and literally snatched her out of my grasp."

Rather than blow up in a fit of anger, Carson McReynolds grew pensive. "A bold move. Do you think it was one of Moran's men? Maybe he got tired of waiting."

Sam tried not to react to the thought, though it bothered him immensely.

"I don't think so," Sam offered. He felt his usual confidence returning with Carson's thoughtfulness. "The Moran's have never really relied on stealth or smarts to get what they need. Whoever did this had both."

"Perhaps one of her friends?"

"Perhaps. I'm going to interview all the guys who were working Calloway's for the last several hours, but I thought you should know before I took the time to do it."

Carson McReynolds nodded, "You chose right, but now I need you to get back to work. I hope you're right about the Morans; needless bloodshed would draw all sorts of negative attention to our campaign."

Always the campaign, Sam smirked. "The good news is, the girl doesn't know what happened. If I find her, and she's in one piece, I'm pretty sure I can convince her that I had nothing but good intentions."

"If you can convince her of that after everything that has happened, I'll sign up to manage your political career instead of my brother's."

Even though Sam recognized the words as flattery, he couldn't suppress his grin. "Oh, I'll convince her."

As he turned to walk out the door, Sam Lincoln had every intention of following through, and if anyone could do it, he could.