Madison's head spun around as if the world was tilting. Someone had whacked her over the head and she had passed out. The pain in her skull caused her stomach to churn. She gagged, quickly coming alert to her surroundings.

Madison's body jerked in a steady motion, which didn't set well with her stomach. Something was wrapped around her head, and her arms were tied in front of her. Immediately, panic consumed her, and she struggled to breathe. She'd never been able to tolerate such enclosed spaces.

Fear clutched every nerve in her body. Her stomach lurched and she gagged again. Terror turned into desperation, and she brought up her hands, yanking at the covering to pull it off. The fabric was wool...and smelled like horses. Must be a horse blanket.

Thankfully, she was able to remove the barrier. The bright sun made her squint, but at least she could breathe easier. However, her head continued to pound which made her stomach lurch.

She was lying in what looked to be the back of a farm wagon as it jolted her body back and forth. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was walking outside the house and turning the corner on her way toward the garden in the back. Pain had rushed through her head for a brief moment before darkness invaded her thoughts.

She tried to lift her head, but the throb on the back of her skull wouldn't let her move. Breathing deeply—in through the nostrils, out through the mouth—she tried to bear the pain. Confusion ran amok through her mind, but the one thing she did know was that someone had taken her against her will. Who would do something like that?

Finally, she could look around without it being too painful. Trees waved from overhead as a small wind blew through their branches. Birds flapped their wings in flight. They were definitely not in town. Her guess would be they were far from civilization.

Doing the best she could, she scooted around to get a look at the driver. Seeing only the back of his head wasn't going to help her to know his identity. But his hair was a darker shade of chestnut and long enough to brush the collar of his black overcoat. Nobody sat beside him on the seat. By the rhythm of the wagon, she assumed they were going pretty fast.

Relaxing her body, she tried to calm her fiercely beating heart. Why would anyone want to kidnap her? Was it because she knew so much due to her visions? And yet, the only people who would know this would be Cameron, Rosie, and Alice. The only bad people she was aware of were Gaynor and Heath, and Gaynor was in jail...

She hitched a breath. But Heath hadn't been arrested at all. He had a violent nature because in Madison's vision, he struck Rosie across the face.

Madison lifted her head again and studied him better. Although she hadn't been able to see him well in her vision, she recalled what he'd looked like when she and Cameron went to Mr. Bailey's house. Chestnut hair...slender...black overcoat.

She'd bet money this was Heath. A cold shiver raced through her. She wasn't meek like Rosie, and if this fool lifted a hand to her she wouldn't hesitate to punch him in the face. But if he kept her hands tied, that method of self-defense wouldn't be an option. However, she did have strong legs and she knew of ways to kick that could make a mule groan in agony.

Finally, the wagon slowed and turned down a deep slope. She slid on the wagon, but thankfully, not very far. The road became uneven, jolting her back and forth. Gritting her teeth, she fought against the pain in her skull. The movement, combined with her throbbing head, made her nauseous again. If only she had something in her stomach, she'd gladly deposit it all over her kidnapper.

The wagon came to a stop. Her driver set the brake and jumped down. As he walked to the back, his gaze locked on hers. Just as she figured, it was the devil himself, Heath Langston.

"Ah, you are awake. How lovely."

He'll think lovely in a minute when she scratched his eyes out. "How long have I been unconscious?" she said with a dry throat.

"We have been on the road for approximately twenty minutes."

"Where are we?"

Shaking his head, he tsked as he scooped her up in his arms. "Miss Haywood, do you honestly think I'm going to tell you that?"

Her cheek pressed against his chest as he carried her into a rundown shack. He smelled like alcohol...a lot of it. In fact, he even swayed as he walked. Would the middle-aged man trip over his clumsy feet and drop her to the ground? Holding her breath she waited for that impact. Thankfully, he made it into the shack. He wasn't very gentle with her and practically tossed her on the cot in the corner of the room. Pain shot through her head, and she grimaced.

There were probably only two rooms in this tiny shack. A small fire heated up the room they were in. Three rickety wooden chairs sat by the hearth, and a broken bookshelf with only four books stood near the door. The two windows were covered by what appeared to be ripped bed sheets.

Madison struggled to sit up against the wall, and although her whole body ached, she managed to get in a position where she could watch him—and use her legs if necessary. "Mr. Langston, would you please tell me why you kidnapped me from Mr. Westland's home?"

Heath shrugged. "Why wouldn't I take you? After all, Inspector Westland took Rosie away from me."

He pulled out a flask from his coat pocket, unscrewed the lid and gulped down the liquid inside. Madison didn't need to ask what was in the small bottle. She could smell the alcohol from over here.

She arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware Mr. Bailey's house was given to you...and the reason we took Rosie was because you were keeping her against her will."

"That's not entirely accurate. If you remember correctly, Rosie had willingly come to the house."

"To meet Gaynor." She raised her voice.

"True, but within time, I would have convinced her that I was the man for her."

So he was in love with Rosie, too. Madison couldn't stop the snicker that bubbled out from her mouth. "Are you certain? How could any woman love a man who leaves bruises on her face?"

He glared at her as he tossed back another swallow of the vile drink. "You're quite a mouthy woman, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I say what's on my mind, if that's what you mean."

"I don't like women who are so vocal."

"So why did you kidnap me?"

"To right a wrong that you caused."

Madison shook her head. "I fear you're talking nonsense again, Mr. Langston. You must be completely foxed, either that or you're always a confused idiot."

He titled back his head and laughed. "Oh, I'm sure you're hoping I'll pass out from intoxication, but I'll have you know I think better when I drink. And it's rather nice to know I have the upper hand in this situation."

Madison didn't like how assured he acted. She somehow needed to take control. But the truth was, she was frightened out of her wits. Still, she mustn't show it. He would certainly use that against her.

"Mr. Langston, why don't you tell me what you want. I've grown rather tired of participating in your guessing game and I would like to go home."

"I'm afraid, Miss Haywood, that you shall just have to get used to my games, because you're not going anywhere until I get the money owed to me."

"What money?" She narrowed her eyes on him. "Do you actually believe I owe you money? Because if so, you are more insane than I first thought."

"If you hadn't found Rosie, I would have gotten money from my cousin's death. I would have been appointed to get his home, too."

"But Gaynor is in jail for murdering Mr. Bailey. Wouldn't you be the next heir to inherit?"

"I would have if you had not rescued Rosie."

Confused, Madison shook her head. "I'm not understanding what she has to do with anything."

"Because now the police are looking for me. They want to charge me with kidnapping."

He, for certain, wasn't thinking clearly. Obviously, the drink didn't help him think at all. "And kidnapping me is going to help your cause? I assure you, it's not."

He took a step closer and glared. "Little do you know, this is not just a kidnapping. You are my way out of this mess."

She shook her head. "I will not help you at all. You might as well turn yourself in because the longer you wait—"

"Will you be quiet?" he shouted as he rubbed his wrinkled forehead. "Turning myself in is not in the plan. Do you know what they do to men in jail...especially men who are my age?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's really none of my concern, however, I'm sure you will get your just reward for the crime committed." She paused before asking, "So what is your plan?"

He produced a leery grin that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise up. She knew this wouldn't be good.

"I'm certain a woman with your kind of talent will be worth a lot of money."

What was he talking about this time? Unless... Her heart sank. "How do you know about that?"

"Gossip gets around town of the deranged woman who thinks she sees visions."

Silently, she grumbled. I'm deranged, am I? She could certainly use this to her advantage, especially now.

"Sorry to tell you, but even the police don't believe in me. How could I be worth any money if they all think I'm crazy?" She arched an eyebrow. "But then I suppose if people think I'm mad, I'm in good company with you. Am I not?"

His cocky leer disappeared quickly. He scowled and leapt toward her. She raised her hands to block her face from his attack. Growling, he grabbed her arms. His grip tightened and the determination in his eyes hardened. A gush of air escaped his mouth and blew into her face. How much alcohol had he consumed? Nevertheless, she must use this to her advantage.

She kicked as hard as she could, catching her foot right on his left hand. He hissed and backed away, clutching at his injury.

His glare pierced right through her. "You want to get rough, do you?"

"I don't know what you want, Mr. Langston, but I will do everything in my power to keep you away from me."

He cradled his left hand as he massaged a spot near his knuckles. She studied his reaction closely. It seemed his weak spot was his left hand. If she could concentrate on kicking him there, perhaps she would come out the victor and escape. Of course, she'd have to find a way to get out of these binds around her wrists.

As she stared at him, something seemed oddly familiar. Almost like this had happened before. Why did she think that? The way his eyes glared in a painful scowl... The way he held his sore hand, and the way his dark, chestnut hair hung in his eyes.

In a flash, her memory jumped back to the vision she'd had of the little girl and the boy who'd kidnapped her. When an older boy jumped out of nowhere and cut him, these were the eyes she'd seen and the way he cradled his hand.

Oh, no! This couldn't possibly be... Could it?

"You kidnapped Rosie," Madison spoke her thoughts aloud. "You kidnapped me." She swallowed hard. "So could it be possible that you were the one who kidnapped Lord Hanover's daughter all those years ago?"

Madison quickly assessed his age—or what age he appeared to be. He could possibly be in his late thirties. Would he have been sixteen years of age back then? Suddenly, she could see the boy from the past in the man he was today. Indeed, this was that boy!

His glassy eyes opened wide. "How do you know about her?"

"I saw you take her."

"You saw me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course, you dolt. I have visions, remember?"

His fingers moved off his knuckles, and the scar she'd seen in her vision was plain as day. "Where is the girl?" she demanded. "What did you do with her?"

He took a step back and shook his head. "You have no proof. Besides, she ran away."

A sigh of relief escaped Madison's chest. At least the girl was able to get away, but then what really happened to her?

"I...I, um, tried to find her after Spencer cut my hand." His fingers rubbed the scar again. "But she was gone. I searched for her for weeks, but couldn't find her."

The name of the other boy hit her and she gasped. "Spencer Watkins? Is his mother named Gretchen?"

"How do you know Spencer?"

Madison recalled reading Cameron's father's notes on the case, and the part when he questioned Gretchen's family. The elder Mr. Westland described being suspicious of Spencer, but they had no proof. "Why did Spencer think you owed him money?" she wondered aloud.

He scowled. "Because I did."

"So you wanted to kidnap the girl and seek a ransom, but then Spencer stopped you."

Heath's jaw hardened. "When I told him who the girl belonged to, we both tried to catch her because she broke free. Spencer thought he saw a woman in tattered clothing take the girl, but we couldn't find her. It was like they had both disappeared."

His gaze narrowed on her and he lunged forward again, grasping her wrists. "You know too much," he snapped. "Perhaps you are worth more to me dead, rather than alive."