Standard disclaimer. Waving to everyone who is enjoying the story

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite book series was Nancy Drew. Not the new series, but the original one, where Nancy drove a Roadster and called her friends 'chums' without any sense of embarrassment. In those books, Nancy was quite often drugged, knocked unconscious or kidnapped, but never once in the books did it describe the absolute pain one feels upon regaining consciousness when one's arms are tied behind one's back. She usually woke up bright and alert and within minutes found something handy to cut off the ropes, open the door or otherwise escape from the bad guy. She didn't find herself lying on a dusty mattress in a darkened room with no handy sharp edges for severing rope. I also don't remember her ever complaining of being thirsty, but I was. It made me so uncomfortable it was a few minutes before the real horror of my situation hit me and I began to panic. I wasn't Nancy Drew, this wasn't a book, and I had no idea what was going to happen next.

I'm not sure how long I was lying there, panicking, when I heard someone coming into the room.

"Why didn't you tell me about Richie Ryan?" It was Professor Laville, and he sounded angry. "He totally threw off my plan."

"Tell you what? He's Anne's boyfriend. Look, I did what you told me," came Marcus's voice, "I told them she never met me at the house. I don't know why Richie's suspicious."

"Because...never mind. Just...just go back with your girlfriend, try to throw them off the scent for a little while longer. The whole point of this was to meet Macleod on my own terms, not his."

"I don't like this. You never said anything about actually kidnapping Molly, you said…"

"I'm not paying you to like things, I'm paying you to do what you're told, and quite well, too, so shut up and go do what I told you to do."

I heard Marcus running away, then Professor Laville's measured tread as he came toward me, and I lay there, my eyes still closed, frantically doing calculations in my head. If Richie called Duncan on Saturday like he said he was going to he could very well be back in the states by now. Richie and Laville must have sensed each other when he came to the so called poetry reading, so if Richie came to the conclusion that Laville is my stalker, by now Duncan probably knows who to look for, so he won't have to wait for Laville to find him and carry out whatever diabolical plan he had in mind. At least that was what I was hoping.

"I know you're awake," Professor Laville said pleasantly, "so you can open your eyes now." I couldn't think of any reason not to, so I obeyed. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think I'm feeling?" I struggled into a sitting position, not easy considering both my arms and legs were tied, and stared at him, trying to make out his features in the gloom. "Where are we?"

"We're in the school's theatre. It's closed for repairs, so we shouldn't be disturbed."

"How surreal." My throat was so dry it felt like it was coated with sandpaper. "Could I have some water or something?"

"Certainly." He disappeared back into the gloom, and came back a few minutes later with a bottle of water that he held to my mouth. The water was warm, bordering on hot, but at that point I didn't care.

"I don't suppose you'd untie me now?" I asked when he took the bottle away.

"And give you a chance to do your kung fu? I don't think so."

"It's karate," I muttered. "Why are you doing this anyway? Why did you send me all those notes? You don't…I mean you're not…"

I wasn't sure how to ask the question, but he seemed to know what I was saying, because he said, "Oh, no, don't worry. I'm not obsessed with you, not even a little bit. I told you before it was all just a ruse."

"So all the Sting lyrics…"

"Don't mean a thing. They just lend themselves so nicely for stalking purposes, don't you think?" He still sounded like the slightly boring professor of English Literature that I'd known him as – it was hard reconciling this with the knowledge that he drugged and kidnapped me.

I was beginning to get a headache, probably yet another side effect from whatever drug he'd given me, and I really wanted to lie down until this all went away, but I hoped that if I kept him talking long enough, Duncan would find us before Laville was ready. "Seems a bit elaborate, doesn't it, stalking me just to get to Professor Macleod?"

He laughed. "Professor Macleod? My dear child, I've been watching him for over a year, and I know he's more to you than a professor. You mean something to him, and I mean to use that to my advantage."

My head was really starting to ache. "How? Professor…okay, fine, Duncan isn't one to run from a challenge. Playing at crazy stalker guy isn't going to stop him from fighting you. He doesn't scare easily."

"But he cares for you. He'll be worried for your safety, worried over what I might do to you, and his mind won't be completely on the game. I'll have an edge. I'll be meeting him on my terms." He leaned in closer to me so I could see his eyes glinting malevolently, "It works every time."

"If you believe that, then you don't know Duncan as well as you think you do," I said, trying to sound confident. "He's beaten better men than you, no matter whose terms he met them on. You don't have a chance of winning."

Laville was starting to reply when he tensed, his eyes flicking to the back of the theatre, and I knew that Duncan was there. "You have no hope of winning, you know," I said again, almost laughing in relief. "Duncan doesn't let personal get in the way of important, he never did. He won't get distracted, you'll see."

Before he could answer, the room filled with light so suddenly I had to shut my eyes against the brightness of it, and I heard the welcome sound of Duncan's voice demanding, "Let her go."

Laville grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, yanked me to my feet and spun me around so my back was pressed against his, His sword was out and pressed against my throat before I had time to even blink.

"Showtime," he whispered.