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Chapter 1 - The Trunk
 

 

“What the hell is going on?”  Another bounce and another blow to her head.  The day before, disguising her voice through an electronic filter, Buffy had called the Watcher’s Council, which was based in Sunnydale just north of Los Angeles, and had informed them in a male voice that Buffy Summers, had been kidnapped.  She would be returned in exchange for $500,000.  Because that sounded so much more impressive, she wanted to ask for a cool million, but she didn’t think one of numerous slayers-in-training would be considered worth that amount.  But that was the problem.  She was just one of the many other slayers-in-training.  She had started receiving her powers later than usual slayers, and yes, her powers were still developing but slowly.  As it was, she was just a below average trainee, but she had heart.  Lots of it.  And what she wanted most was for the head of the council, Rupert Giles, to notice her.  She wanted to stand out and be noticed, which called for drastic actions.  So she had made the call the day before, and today she called again to let them know where to find Buffy Summers after dropping off the money in a shopping mall next to a Victoria’s Secret store.  That store should get Rupert’s attention if the money didn’t.
 

 

And then the plan took off on a life of its own.  She made the last call, swiftly duct taped her feet and mouth and handcuffed her hands.  That done, she got into the trunk of a red convertible BMW stolen from Giles and shut the lid.  So far, a stupid plan but not a difficulty until she felt someone get into the car, start it up and drive off.
 

 

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“Spot on perfect.  Today’s your day, mate.  The exact type red BMW called for.  The convertible part will just be a bit of tasty, chocolate icing on the cake.  Precisely what was ordered from the buyer.”  The man of average height with a lean, muscular build, light brown hair was dressed in a well cut charcoal suit, black driving gloves, and extremely dark sun glasses, a look designed to blend in but still look like he should be driving such an expensive car.  He congratulated himself on his good luck.  With the help of a electronic toys he had bought from a black-market electronics wizard, the car thief was in the car and starting the engine in under thirty seconds and another thirty seconds to drive around and around and then out of the parking garage.  Free and clear. 
 

 

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The driver headed for the old, run down, water front warehouse district.  When he came to the building he was looking for, the front, a miserable excuse for a façade, slid out of the way to allow the BMW to enter and then slid closed again when he pushed his remote control.  As he drove through a short, dark tunnel and came out into a garage, there were cars parked on either side, at least twelve cars total. 
 

 

After parking in the middle of the open isle, he calmly climbed out of the car.  Before two steps, he had pulled off his gloves revealing black nail polish, and by the third step he attacked his tie and yanked it off.  Next, he reached up and pulled off the brown wig he was wearing to reveal short hair dyed a platinum blonde.  Not a fool, he always wore a wig on a job since his normal hair was so memorable to any possible witness to the heist.  Upon taking off the wig, he went from the run of the mill business man to Spike.  The name explained a good deal of his real look.  Many said it was a Billy Idol look, but he preferred the updated term goth since moving on from 1980s music to alternative rock.  He walked through the office to a back room that he had converted into a bedroom and bath, rooms to change his clothes.
 

 

Besides his extreme look and being a professional car thief, Spike actually had another peculiar attribute.  Not a disease really, more of a serious condition.  He was a vampire, and if he had a choice, which he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be one of the fanged ones.  In fact, to make his situation worse, he was kind of an outcast from his kind because he was a hybrid vamp. 
 

 

In other words, he just wasn’t an ordinary vampire.  Not even from the very first night.  First off, his sire, Drusilla, had some serious bats in her belfry.  Those bats were not only flying around the bell but were ringing it.  Ding dong.  Ding dong.  The only reason she wasn’t in the loony bin was she would just eat all the other inmates.  Spike had always believed that was why he was never a good and proper vampire.  After the turning in 1880, Drusilla took him to a hotel and introduced him to his new family, a group of six vampires that traveled together all over Europe.  The alpha vampire, that right bastard, taught him to hunt, taught him to kill, taught him to feed, and other blah, blah, blah vampire things.  And William, Spike’s real name, stayed true to his human nature and wanted to please and be accepted by the group.  They expected him to be vicious with blood rush ringing in his ears.  One night on the hunt, a railroad spike was handy so he used it during the kill.  He used it again and again and again.  As a result, he became Spike.  Not soft, polite, sensitive William, but hard, raucous, and viscous Spike.  The first few years as a fledgling, Spike ran amok, always looking for a good fight.  
 

 

It was eight years into his life as a vampire that Spike noticed that he preferred the fight to the feeding.  In fact, he left more and more fights without biting and drinking away some person’s life.  The farther he got from his turning, the more William’s personality started to blend with Spike’s.  Gradually, Spike no longer even wanted to feed from humans at all.  As an alternative, he would pick up a pint or two from a butcher and fulfill his thrust.  All he could figure out was that when Drusilla had turned him, she had botched the job royally, leaving William still inside along with the demon.  The pair of them, human and demon, eventually learned to exist together seamlessly so that now, not even Spike himself could tell them apart except on very rare occasions.  Consequently, he was a vampire with a human soul.  That simple, but…not really. 
 

 

The other vampires could tell something was wrong and shunned him, making him feel like the dozy prat in a school yard that no one wanted to play with.  He knew that this new unlife style of his would never be accepted by his family.  No kidding.  So he took off on his own, never traveling with vampires again.  Since he was looking for a new unlife, he decided travel to the new world.  So he found a boat sailing for America and stowed away.  For the most part, he lived in the human world and around demons that don’t kill humans.
 

 

That’s where his little story eventually rambled through the years to grand theft auto, which had been his business for the last two decades.  Now vampires may avoid him, but demons that were merchants were happy to deal with him, and he had a very important demon client, Hectoriz, that Spike had an order from for a specific five cars due tomorrow, and the car he just parked in the garage was number five.  Fini.   
 

 

After taking a quick shower, he started to dress to go out for a little fun.  He was meeting a couple of friends to hear a new retro-rock band playing at a mixed demon and human club.  In fact, he may even indulge in a bottle of champagne to celebrate.  His money man was due any minute and then he was going to see what beautiful ladies wanted to dance tonight.  He never brought them home; he just didn’t, not wanting the complications, but he could certainly have fun for awhile.
 

 

He pulled on a skin tight black t-shirt, and then added a rich purple, silk button down which he buttoned up so that only a inch or two of his t-shirt was showing.  Next he slid into soft, black leather pants and well worn boots.  He didn’t have a mirror for the obvious reason, but he would wager that his outfit would do the trick with the sweat bits at the bar.  Last was a faint amount of eye liner to set his eyes off, a throw back from the eighties, which did make him wish he could see in the mirror to make sure he got it right.
 

 

Throwing his black, leather duster over his arm, he headed back into the office area to wait.  Wasting time, he went through the red, leather back pack that had been in the front seat of the car.  The driver’s license read Buffy Summers and had a picture of a young blonde, who Spike figured would probably be pretty if she didn’t have such a frown and too much makeup.  She looked like a raccoon.  Oh bullocks, now he really did want a mirror to check his own liner as compared to the said animal.
 

 

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Since Spike had a radio always playing in the office, the first bang he heard was so faint it barely registered with him.  But the series of three bangs definitely grabbed his attention and gave it a good shake.  He hurried to the window overlooking the cars in the warehouse, even going so far as pressing his hands and even the tip of his nose against the pane, Spike waited to hear another sound.  He didn’t have long to wait.  The banging started up again and continued long enough for him to zero in on the BMW he had just snagged.  In fact, the car was shifting and bouncing.   “What the bleeding hell was is going on down there?” 
 

 

Startled would be a King Kong sized understatement.  Grabbing a tire iron on his way to the now rocking piece of German engineering, Spike cautiously walked around the car.  Was it a demon or human or what?  ‘Right, the trunk it is, mate.  How bad could he or she be if they got stuck in a trunk.’  Taking a unneeded breath to prepare himself, he carefully, staying as far back as possible, sharply jerked the trunk open.  What he saw in the trunk shocked him so much that he shut the trunk and flew backwards all under two seconds.  In fact, he landed on his leather clad ass.
 

 

Standing back up and shaking himself like a wet poodle out of his shock, Spike ran through what he had just seen.  Blonde girl.  Check.  Feet taped together.  Check.  Mouth taped.  Check.  Hands cuffed.  Check.
 

 

Since the banging had not occurred again, he tried to convince himself that he hadn’t seen a girl in that car at all.  He was just seeing things, hearing things.  He cautiously stepped back up to the car, assumed a defensive stance just in case but more relaxed than before, and opened the trunk again. 
 

 

Nope.  Not his imagination.  One car, one girl.  Oh, balls.
 

 

Spike just stared down at the girl, recognizing her as the owner of the purse he had been looking through.  She was squirming around, obviously and vainly trying to get free, and he didn’t need to hear her words to know that she was pleading with him for help. 
 

 

‘Ding, ding, ding.  Dinner is served.’  Spike mentally slapped his inner demon for the offensive thought as he slammed the lid back down..  Granted, he was hungry, but dinner wasn’t going to be her.  It was just a bad joke by a cheeky demon.
 

 

After taking a deep unneeded breath, Spike took a moment to access the situation.  Didn’t help.  “Why me?” Spike mumbled.  Not sure what to do, he left the girl in the trunk for the time being.  After shrugging into his duster, Spike locked up the garage good and tight and headed across the street to the clean dinner that screamed low rent.
 

 

Before the door had even closed, the red-headed waitress with the 38D sized chest behind the counter called to him.  “Hi, Spike.  What can I get for you?”
 

 

“Hey, Glenda.  Cup of coffee.”  Spike answered by long time habit as he headed over to the pay phone on the wall.  He had never had a land line phone installed into the garage because they were so easily traced.  Hellooo.  Stolen goods here.  And call him old fashioned, well he was old, he had never bought a cell phone.  He didn’t really want one because he liked his privacy and the only people that he wanted to call could be found at the bar where his friends met, The Welcome Mat, which was the same place he had been headed tonight.  He walked up close to the man already on the phone to get his attention.  “Hey, man, how long are you going to be on there?”
 

 

The phone hog held up three fingers.  “Three minutes.  Just three more minutes.” 
 

 

Spike wanted to jerk the handset out of the git’s hand and shove him through the wall, but instead he walked over to the counter and sat down where Glenda had set his cup.  Every time he could catch the caller’s eye he would tape on his watch, mouthed words at him like “please” or “get off,” or putting his hand up to his ear shaped like a phone and pantomimed handing up.  As creative as his guestures were, none worked.  Finally Spike called over, “Sir, sir?  Look, I really love my wife, and she is in the hospital…”  The quiver in his voice and the words he said was all it took.  The prat told his friend that he had to go and relinquished to phone to Spike.
 

 

Spike didn’t even let the person who answered the phone say hello.  “Xander.  It’s Spike… Where the hell are you.  You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.  Yeah, I got it, but…Xander…Xander!...Shut your gob, would you already.  We have a problem…Yeah, a big problem.  Get you arse in gear and get over here now!”  Spike hung up the phone.  “Glenda, luv, I need that coffee to go.”
 

 

 

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TBC
 

Chapter 2 – The Trouble
 

 

 

 

“What the fucking hell is going on?”  Buffy gritted out, wishing that she had a cigarette and a flashlight, in that order.  Actually, Buffy’s priority number one was to get out of the damn trunk so the flashlight would have to come first.  If she had one, that is.  She changed tactics.  First she had been kicking on the roof of the trunk.  Now she started kicking the lock keeping her in the trunk. 
 

 

Ever since she found out that she was supposed to be some slayer girl thingie, her life has been a mess.  Well, more of a mess than it had already been. Giles, the head watcher guy, showed up one day at her foster home and took her with the barest of explanation to the Watchers’ Council to train with the other slayers-in-training. Vampires and demons?  What’s up with that?  Bam.  One day she was the bane of her foster mother’s existence, and the next, she was playing kung fu with other girls.  Ok, she could do that.  Also, she now had good food and shelter, and everyone was nice to her.  Great.  But, and there was always one of those damn buts and it wasn’t even attached to a good looking male, she had been there a year, and her slayer powers were not developing.  To be exact, her strength was only slightly above normal and hadn’t changed. 
 

 

As a result, since she was the one that was at the academy the longest, it was easy for people to overlook her.  She just blended into the scenery.  Needing attention?  Voila, a kidnapping.  She had never known her dad, and she was taken away from her crack head mom when she was five years old, so she was starved for attention.  For her scheme, she had fixated on the head of the Watchers’ Council, Rupert Giles.  Father figure much?
 

 

It should have been so easy.  Make a couple of calls giving them directions, tape herself up, get in the trunk, and wait for the rescue.  She just hadn’t known that she was waiting for the car to be stolen.  Of all the bad fucking luck?  Buffy continued kicking at the lock with what slayer strength she did have.
 

 

One moment she was in the dark, and the next she was looking at the ceiling of the garage.  Well, score one for Buffy.  She scrambled out of the trunk the best she could while being bound.  First she went for the tape around her mouth.  When it was finally off, she took numerous deep breaths before attacking the tape on her legs.  Last, she reached into her right boot and pulled out the key to the handcuffs.  And using that little jewel, she freed up her right hand, but not bothering to unlock the left.  After all, the handcuffs could come in handy as a weapon. 
 

 

There were expensive cars everywhere, and normally she would take the time to drool on each one, but not this time.  Ignoring them all, she walked around checking every door.  All she found were locked.  Rushing back to her car, she found her cell phone where it had slid under her seat when the car was in the process of being stolen. 
 

 

“Hello, Watchers’ Council.”
 

 

The person that answered the phone was so calm that Buffy wanted to reach through the line and snatch her bald, as her no good mother use to say.  “This is Buffy Summers.  I need to talk to Giles.  Fast.  Like last week.”
 

 

When Giles came on the line, he was just as calm.  Maybe she should snatch him bald, too.  “Buffy?”
 

 

“Giles.  I need help.  I’ve been kidnapped.”
 

 

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed.  He had suspected that she was faking the kidnapping, but now things were different.  “That I know since the car wasn’t where it was supposed we were told it would be.  Where are you?”
 

 

“I don’t know where I am.  All I know is that I’m in this huge warehouse with all these cars.”
 

 

“Have you tried to leave?”  He talked as if Buffy were a child.
 

 

Yep, she should snatch him bald when she saw him next.  “Duh!  Of course I tried, but every door is locked.  Giles, I’m scared.  You have to help…Wait, he’s back.”  Buffy slammed the phone closed, threw it in the car and ran to the far side of the garage, hiding behind a yellow Ferrari.
 

 

Spike walked in and relocked the door and immediately headed for the red BMW.  Bloody hell, the trunk was open, and when he looked inside, it was empty.  Bloody fucking hell.
 

 

“Can I have my car?”  A female voice called from his right.
 

 

Spike ducked behind the car and peeked around until he could catch a glimpse of her.  Feeling like a grade A ponce, he hid because if she saw his face, she could identify him.  She had caught a glimpse when he had opened the trunk, but that was only a glimpse.  Of course his hair stood out, but he could always dye it.  He just wanted her gone and her car left behind.
 

 

“Hey, can I have my car back so I can leave?  I won’t tell anyone about this place.  Promise.”  Instead of sounding scared as Spike would have expected, her voice now sounded impatient.
 

 

“Look, ducks, I’m sorry.  You don’t know how sorry I am that you are here.”  He was trying to hide his British accent but was doing a lousy job, especially after just calling her “ducks.”
 

 

Buffy started creeping to her right, towards the tunnel he had come in through.  “Then give me my car back, and I will leave.”
 

 

Now this he knew the answer to.  “You’re going to have to leave.  You got that part right, but you are leaving without your car.”
 

 

Normally, Spike wasn’t particularly thrilled with being a vampire, but this time he was thankful for the speed that came with his demon.  He caught up with her at the door to the outside and turned her around by the shoulders.  Hiding his face be-damned.  “Look, I don’t…”
 

 

Slaammm!  Buffy brought her boney little knee up into the man’s leather covered crotch as hard as she could and judging from his reaction, it had been pretty hard.  She snickered as he hopped around as she turned back to the door, the unfortunately locked door. 
 

 

When he could finally stand easier, he held up a hand, palm towards her, and told her, “I don’t want to fight with you.”  Lot of sodding good that did him when she attacked again.  They tussled until he could throw her off.  Granted he was way stronger than she was, but he just didn’t want to hurt her.  “Hey, Lenox Lewis’ sis, I don’t want to fight with you.  Why don’t we come back into the garage and chat this out.”
 

 

The next attack was worse, sending them rolling down the tunnel.  Mostly defending himself from her stronger than expected blows, they rolled towards the cars.  That’s were he finally got the upper hand, and opened his mouth to give her a blistering…
 

 

“I’ve got to pee.”  Buffy’s eyes implored Spike to help her with the delicate problem.
 

 

That definitely wasn’t anywhere near on this planet what he was expecting the blonde to say.  Her look was on the harsh side, but her voice sounded like a little girl.  Oh, man, he wanted to refuse her request just out of perversity, but the Victorian inside him couldn’t deny the lady, even a lady that had just knocked his stones up to his waist. “Now, I told you that I don’t want to fight, so if you do anything between here and the loo, I am going to tie you back up like you were in the car.  Got it?”
 

 

“Got it.”
 

 

It was a small restroom.  He showed her where everything was located, and when she wasn’t paying attention, he took the handcuff still dangling from her left wrist and locked her to an exposed pipe near the toilet.
 

 

Buffy jerked frantically on the pipe.  “Hey, no fair.”
 

 

“Frankly right now, chicky, I don’t care what is fair or not.  Bugger Marquis of Queensbury, it’s my rules now.”  Before he could berate her anymore, he could hear Xander calling for him in the garage.  Spike turned back to the girl and pointed his finger one inch from her nose.  “Don’t touch anything.  Don’t say anything.  Don’t …just don’t.”  He shut the door before she lashed out with her leg, but he could hear her yells, “Hey, pathetic much?  Don’t you want to play anymore?”
 

 

Spike rushed over to the entry way to meet Xander, who was sauntering in, cockily strutting with every step.  Spike’s bag man was a human, and his good sense of humor eased his way through the black market demon world.  He held up a bag for Spike to see.  “I know we were going to meet tomorrow, but since I was coming over, I brought it.  Got it right here.  Two hundred thousand, your half of this job.  They will be here to pick up the cars early tomorrow morning.”
 

 

“Xander, we have a big problem.”  Spike didn’t even need to breathe, but he was hyperventilating.  “Mucho grande problem.”
 

 

Straight off, Xander spotted the red BMW and was drawn towards it.  “Oh, sweeeet.  The convertible was such a nice extra touch.”
 

 

“XANDER!”  At the frantic tone in his friend’s voice, Xander finally focused on Spike.  “We have a problem.”
 

 

His brunette friend rolled his eyes.  “You’ve told me that already, ditto man.”
 

 

Xander took a step towards the car again, but Spike blocked him.  “No.”  Spike grabbed hold of Xander’s ears and pulled them open wide.  “The owner of the car came with the car.”
 

 

Xander just stared.  “Whaa…”
 

 

“I stole the bloody car, right?  And then when I got here, I heard banging.  I opened the trunk, and wham, there’s the owner all tied up pretty as you please.”  Spike attempted to calm down.  Yeah, right. 
 

 

“We are so screwed.  The owner’s in the trunk?”
 

 

“Nooo!”  Spike slapped Xander against the side of his head for not paying attention, which was beside the point that Spike hadn’t even told that part of the story yet.  But here goes.  “When I went over to the diner to call you, she got out.”
 

 

“OUT?”  Xander yelped and started to look around the garage.
 

 

“No, I caught and handcuffed her to the pipe in the bathroom.”
 

 

“So let me get this straight for us science fiction fans.  You have the owner of this BMW handcuffed in your bathroom.”
 

 

“Yes.”  Relieved that Xander finally understood, Spike vigorously nodded.
 

 

Xander collapsed on a ragged sofa against a nearby wall.  “We are soooo screwed.”
 

 

Spike joined him. “Don’t I know it.  Bugger it all to hell.” 
 

 

“You’ve got to get rid her.”
 

 

“Gee, Xan, did you think that one up all on your own?” 
 

 

They heard a crash and then glass breaking.  “There went the medicine cabinet.”  Spike rolled his eyes.  “She’s got to go before she breaks the toilet.”
 

 

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“Get in the trunk.”  Spike pushed Buffy toward the back end of the 1967 black corvette with red leather interior, class on wheels. 
 

 

Buffy was now wearing her red leather jacket retrieved from the back seat of her car and had her back pack from Spike’s office.  She also had on bell bottom black pants, and a black shirt that said, “I bite,” which Spike thought could mean many things and all be true.  Her outfit wouldn’t be complete without the handcuffs.  To tell the truth, he would have shackled her feet if he had some. 
 

 

Buffy balked.  “I’m not getting in there.”
 

 

“Yes, you are.”
 

 

“Oh, no, I’m not.”
 

 

“You’ve already been in one, and it was on purpose, I might add, missy.  Do it for old time sake.”  Spike grabbed the back of her head and tried to shove her in.
 

 

Buffy ducked to the side out of his grasp.  “Read my lips – NO!”
 

 

Buffy got in a good shot with her elbow to his ribs, and while he was distracted, she snatched his cigarette and took a couple of drags.  “Here,” she picked up a black, stocking cap off a work table.  “I can wear this pulled down over my face.
 

 

Spike stood for a moment and debated.  Finally, he shoved her and the knit cap into the passenger seat of the corvette.  He didn’t notice her toss his cigarette over her shoulder because he was thinking of all the places he would like to drop her off, all of which she would hate.
 

 

He got in and started the car up.  “Ok, you annoying bint, here are the rules.  The cap stays down over your eyes so you can’t see where this place is located.  Second,” he shoved her head between her legs, “you stay down like this.  Cap on.  Head down.”
 

 

“As if.”  She shot back up straight in her seat.
 

 

“Oh, yes if.”  He shoved her back down.
 

 

He fought with her to keep her down until they were about five miles before he let her up.
 

 

“Geez.  Paranoid much.”  She took off the cap and threw it at him.  “So tell me, did you get off stealing my car?”  She waited for him to answer but waited for nothing.  “Oh, I get it.  You are the strong, silent type.  Oh wait, sorry, that would be the weak, peroxide type.”  Buffy reached out and opened the glove compartment, but he immediately slammed it shut before it was completely open.  “Ooooh, watcha got in there?  How to pick up chick books?”
 

 

Spike glared over at her but kept his silence.
 

 

“What is it?  What do you need this old…?”
 

 

“Classic.”
 

 

“Old car for?  Does it make you feel young, grandpa.  All those cars in that garage, and you pick this to drive?”  There was no way she was going to admit just how hot she thought the car was.  Or how hot he was.  That would be a cut-out-her-tongue offense, but man, he must be a chick magnet.  No book or car needed.
 

 

Spike was trying not to laugh.  ‘Grandpa.’  She had no idea how old he was.  She would have to try a different insult to get him to bite. 
 

 

Damn, the topic of his car hadn’t worked.  Buffy went for simple.  “So what’s your name?”
 

 

With no expression on his face, Spike looked at her and then back at the road.  “John Doe.”
 

 

“Funny.”  Bored, bored, bored.  She was bored, and she wanted to take it out on him.  “This is all your fault anyway.  You screwed up my kidnapping plan.”
 

 

That finally provoked Spike’s attention.  His head snapped around to look at her like she had two heads, which god forbid because then she would have two mouths to talk with.  “You put yourself in that bloody trunk, you daft bint?”
 

 

“Damn straight.  I had just called them with a disguised voice telling them the location of the car when you stole the car, Mr. Grand Theft Auto.” 
 

 

After waiting for a reply for a few minutes, Buffy realized that she wasn’t going to get one.  Rolling her eyes, she tried to think of something else to provoke him.  “What happened to your hair?  Someone dip you in white paint?”
 

 

Wide miss on her part, Spike thought.  He didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of his hair, and believe him, tons had made comments.  But he did give her an A for effort so far during the drive to provoke him.
 

 

“Are you trying to pick up girls with that look…or maybe its guys.  All that black leather, they must take one look at your ass and nearly swoon.”  Buffy could have slapped herself.  She had practically admitted that she had ogled his ass, which she really had, but she didn’t want him to know that. 
 

 

Oh, he hadn’t missed the slip and found it very interesting, but had had enough of her needling for a while.  “One time I stole this car that had a Pomeranian in it.  It yapped less than you.”  That was all he said for the next twenty minutes. 
 

 

For the last fifteen of those twenty minutes, they had been driving in a very densely wooded area, and he turned off on what ended up to be a dead end road.  Perfect.  As soon he was in park, he reached over and undid her cuffs.
 

 

“Oh, God, I am SO glad to get those off.  My wrists are killing me.”
 

 

Spike got out of the car and went around to her door.  When he opened the door, Buffy started catching on.  “Oh no.  You can’t leave me out here.  Did you leave the Pomeranian out here?  How long did it last?”
 

 

Spike pulled her kicking and screaming about twenty feet from the car and left her by a tree.  “Nothing personal, goldilocks.  I just don’t want to be associated with kidnapping, even if it is a fake kidnapping. ”
 

 

Buffy pleaded.  “But you can’t leave me here.  There are bears, wolves, and who knows what.”
 

 

“You can no doubt talk them out of eating you.”  Spike got back into his car and started the engine.  And BAM, Buffy hurled herself onto the hood of the car, gripping where the wind shield wipers were located. 
 

 

Well, that got a reaction from Spike.  Spike shot out of the car and raced around to her side.  “What the bloody fucking hell do you think you are doing?”  Grasping her by the collar of her leather coat, he pulled her off and heard her slide along, a sound like fingernails on a chalk board to his ears.  He kept his grip on her but stared down at the hood.  “Look what you did, you empty headed chit.”  He pushed her down until her nose was four inches from the paint.  “See those?  Those scratches are blasphemy.  This is a 1967 Corvette, not some 1980 Honda Civic.”  He pulled her back up and looked at her.
 

 

“Sorry?”  He had her so high off the ground that the toes of her boots hardly touched the ground.
 

 

Radiating anger, he just looked at her.  But that turned out to be a mistake.  He should have just thrown her to the side and gone on.  But there was just something about her that made him want to help her instead of ditch her, and damn it all to hell, he hated that feeling, especially after her scratching his car.  There was just something about her that spoke in whispers to something deep inside of him.  Spike let go of her and walked back to the driver’s side while Buffy took advantage of the moment and hopped back into the car.  Ok, Spike thought, he needed to go to Plan B, that is think of a Plan B. 
 

 

Plan B ended up driving her back to the main road and kicking her out of the car two miles from a gas station.  Thankfully, she was pissed but realized this was a better situation and didn’t complain much.  All he had to do was throw her back pack that she had forgotten at her as he drove off.
 

 

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Yeah, to tell the honest truth, which he was only going to do to himself in the privacy of his car, he felt bad about dumping that girl on the side of the road.   But it wasn’t as if she was exactly weaponless.  Her mouth could stop any nasty driving by that might mistakenly think she looked yummy.  He was so agitated that he smoked his last couple of fags in the couple of minutes it took to get to the nearby gas station.  Well, put fags on top of his shopping list.  When he did go inside, even with the addition to his list, the list was short.  Two packs of cigarettes, some snacks, and most importantly, a bottle of Jack Daniels.  If he ever needed a good buzz, it was tonight. 
 

 

As the cashier rang him up, Spike glanced at the television over to the side of the counter, the typical country mini-mart center piece for the boring times during the days and nights with no customers.   He watched with a tad of interest as an industrial building burned back in Los Angeles, which was of little interest until he recognized the building as the garage in which he stored his cars.  And then, as if he wasn’t in enough shock, a picture of the girl he had just dropped off on the side of the road was flashed up on the screen.  Spike listened to the newsreader in horror.  “…Her name is Buffy Summers, and she is assumed to have been kidnapped.  The car she had been driving was found in this burning building that appears to be storage for car thieves, leading the police to believe that she was kidnapped by the same car thief that used this garage to store his pilfered cars...” 
 

 

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Chapter 3 – The Key
 

 

Spike didn’t want to look too conspicuous by running, so he tried to break the speed walking record getting to his car and pulling back onto the road.  He found Buffy about a mile from the gas station.  Making a u-turn on the two lane highway, he tried to get her attention.  His problem was that he did get her attention as he turned around, but she was livid.  He could almost see her slam, a refusal to have anything to do with him now.
 

 

“Buffy, Buffy, come here.  I need your help.”  ‘Things just can’t go easy when it came to this hellion,’ Spike thought as he watched her turn around and walk the other way.  As a result he had to back up down the shoulder of the road.  “Buffy, you don’t understand…”
 

 

“And I don’t want to, John Doe.”  She briefly glared at him.
 

 

Again she turned her direction, and Spike had to play catch up.  Frustrated, he put the car in park and hopped out, running after her.  “Buffy…” She just wouldn’t stop.  He grabbed her elbow which she jerked out of his grasped  but she did stop.  “Look, remember the warehouse where all my cars were located?”
 

 

Buffy stood with her back to the road and her hands on her hips.  “Yeh, but just not how to get there.  Happy?”
 

 

“Well, that’s the rub.”  Spike faced her, trying to get her to understand.   “It doesn’t matter where the bloody warehouse was located because it burned down.  It was all over the television at the gas station.”
 

 

“So?”
 

 

“Your damn car was in there, and now they are going to assume that I was the wanker that kidnapped you.”
 

 

The ramifications of this new turn of events started sinking in for Buffy.  “Double damn, Giles is going to kill me for getting his car destroyed.”
 

 

“Hey, hello, you dippy bint. Your harebrained scheme to act like you were kidnapped has now set people after me.  But an even worse problem is that the buyer that gave me the two hundred thousand dollars for the cars that I have in my trunk is going to be very angry to say the least, pet.”  
 

 

As they are arguing on the side of the road, a semi truck came around the curve in the highway, and its headlights fell directly on Buffy.  It never registered on Buffy, but it did with Spike.  He reached out sharply, grabbed both of her arms jerked her into the ditch beside the road.  She landed hard and even harder when Spike landed on top of her.  Both were a bit disoriented for a moment, not worried about what they were just arguing about or how they were situated.  Out of male instinct, Spike was thinking how soft she was, and female instinct, she was thinking about the hard muscles she felt.  Spike was also thinking about similar lines of “hard” when he could feel himself beginning to harden. Needless to say, Spike was back up on his feet and off of the crazy bint in record time.
 

 

To cover up her confusing reaction to him, Buffy resorted to a “pissed off” offensive attitude.  “What the hell do you think you are doing?”
 

 

“Saving your arse.”  Spike fired back.   “I should be hearing a thank you from you.  Now get in the sodding car already.”
 

 

Buffy wiped the dirt off her clothes.  “So why should I go with you?” 
 

 

“To help me with the police.”
 

 

“Naaahhh.”
 

 

“So I won’t be a fugitive.”
 

 

Oh, this was fun watching him beg.  “No, I don’t think so.”
 

 

Spike was still some what distracted from his pleasant contact with her body, so he was having a hard time bargaining with the shrew.  The next thing he said popped into his mind and what a stupid mind it was.  “I’ve got ding dongs?”  He waved his arm at the car.  He watched, fascinated as she pushed her lower lip out while considering his offer, a lip begging to be nibbled. 
 

 

“Ok.”  ‘Well, at least I don’t have to walk,’ Buffy told herself.
 

 

Spike just blinked at her four or five times before following her.  Now granted Spike considered ding dongs a gift from the gods, but he couldn’t believe they convinced the tart, who he was having extremely unwelcome lewd thoughts about.
 

 

Once on the road, Buffy looked over at the platinum blonde.  “Pervert.”
 

 

Maybe he should smash that ding dong she was eating in her face.  “Pervert?  I pull you out of the way of the truck, and I’m the pervert?”
 

 

“Let me think about it. You on me.”  Buffy took an infinitesimal pause.  “Yep, pervert.”
 

 

Spike oh so wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel.  By the time they were pulling into the gas station, Spike was seriously considering flashing her some fangs.
 

                                                              
 

 

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Opening the diner’s door, Angel, a two hundred plus year old vampire with a soul, stepped through a fifty-year time warp.  The coffee shop was all beige, beige walls, beige floors, beige countertops.  If it wasn’t beige, it was brown.  The highlights were the chrome stools around a U shaped counter and a few booths in the back.  In the very back, through a slit of a window, Angel could see a short order cook busily flipping hamburger patties.  Definitely low rent, but cleaner than some high dollar restaurants he had patronized. 
 

 

Twenty-four hours ago, he had been in Turkey.  Now he was in a little used part of the waterfront district of Los Angeles in a coffee shop all because Giles had called him to find a missing slayer-in-training.  Nothing demon or vampire related.  No, she had been kidnapped, and the ransom was five hundred thousand.  And the slayer-in-training in question?  Why wasn’t he surprised?  Just say that it was a good thing that for some strange reason, he had a soft spot for Buffy.  Nothing sexual, but a fatherly or older brotherly type feeling, and this baby sis could be a pain in his ass.
 

 

The trail so far had been strange to say the very least.  To begin with, Giles’ car and Buffy had gone missing.  At first, everyone assumed that Buffy had just been going for a joy ride, but then the first call came in letting them know it was a kidnapping, which still left Giles and Angel with some suspicions.  The caller asked for $500,000 and said he would call back with instructions.  Last night, they were told to put the money on a specific bridge, which had been done.  And what they didn’t know was that they were right about the kidnapping being a sham by Buffy.  The last phone call told them that they could find Buffy in the trunk of Giles’ car in the parking garage at the Old Californian office building.  Surprisingly, neither Buffy nor the car were where they were suppose to be.  Strange.  Then Buffy’s phone call later made them believers that she had really been kidnapped by some car thief.  Now Angel was hunting them down. 
 

 

As he walked through the door a curvaceous red-headed woman, whose name tag read “Glenda,” called out a warm welcome.
 

 

Nodding in acknowledgement, Angel sat down at the counter close to her.  “Can I get a cup of coffee, please?” 
 

 

“Sure thing, cutie.”  With the ease of a long repeated action, she put a cup in front of him and started pouring.  “You don’t look familiar, and I think I would have remembered you.  Do you live or work around here?”
 

 

Listening to the pitches and tones of her voice, Angel wondered how this southern belle had made it out of the South all the way up to this part of Los Angeles.  “No, but I am looking for someone that told me he worked in this area, but I can’t seem to find him.  I was hoping you knew him.”
 

 

With another flashy smile, she set the coffee back on the warmer.  “Well, since most everyone in this area passes through here at one time or the other, and since I am so friendly by nature, I know most everyone in this area.”
 

 

‘Pay dirt,’ Angel thought.  “I was watching the news, and I’m afraid that his building was the building that burned.”
 

 

“Oh, I do know him.  Is Spike who you’re looking for?  I’m not one hundred percent sure which warehouse was his, but I haven’t seen Spike since before the fire so that could very well have been his place.”
 

 

“Spike…Right, that’s him.”  Watching her as he nodded, he knew for sure he had hit pay dirt.  “Where else do you think I could find him?”
 

 

“I don’t know…wait…He sent me a postcard once from where he said he goes to get away.  A little out -of -town hide away, he said.”  She went back and pulled the item from its place behind the cash register and handed it to him.
 

 

Angel took another sip of coffee, which was strong but surprisingly good. As he turned over the postcard, bingo, the return address was written in the top left corner.  He made idle chit chat with Glenda for a few more moments while he memorized the address of his next destination.
 

 

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Buffy got out of the car and approached the pay phone while working on one of the bargained for ding dongs.  “I don’t have any change.”  She poked another piece of the tasty, chocolate snack into her mouth.
 

 

Spike was mumbling under his breath before asking.  “Worthless…What’s your number?”  He quickly dialed the number he was given.  “Yeah, hi, I need to make a collect call from Buffy Summers to a Rupert Giles.”  He handed her the phone, and whispered close to her ear, “Remember.  Tell them I did NOT kidnap you.”  Under his breath, he added, “and who would want to?”
 

 

Buffy almost choked on her next bite.  Despite what he said, his whisper so close in her ear that was…she, well…his breath on her neck caused a tingle down her spine.  But then hearing Giles’ voice in her other ear was like a cold bucket of water poured over her head.  Back to business.  “Giles?  This guy who kidnapped me is a vampire…no, he hasn’t bitten me.  Yet.  But he’s molesting me.  He made me put my hand on his…on his penis.”  She was definitely not sure why she had said that.  All she knew was that she just wasn’t done playing with the blonde Brit.  There was so much more teasing she could do as opposed to going back to the academy and training.  Back to being ignored.
 

 

Spike reached around her and slammed the lever down to disconnect the call.  “You.  Crazy.  Bitch.”  He walked off a few feet and then came back.  “How exactly did you know I was a vampire?”
 

 

Along with a small shrug of her left shoulder, she rolled her eyes.  “Because you were laying on me in that ditch back there, too-low-temperature boy, and because I’m a SIT.”  What she didn’t want to admit was that she should have sensed that he was a vampire but her slayer powers were still so under developed that she had needed to touch him to tell.  And after figuring out what he was, she just didn’t feel that he was a threat.  Call it woman’s intuition instead of slayer’s.
 

 

At first, all he could do was sputter around two words.  “A SIT?”
 

 

“Slayer-in-Training.”
 

 

“Bloody fucking wonderful.  A slayer-in-training?  A hey-I’d-like-to-stake-you slayer?  Could this get any more buggered up?”  While pacing around the car, Spike ran his hands through his hair.  “Ok, yeah.  I’m a vampire, but I didn’t kidnap you, and I certainly didn’t molest or bite you.  Bloody hell, I haven’t even made so much as a pass at you.”  He walked off again and then back to the front of his car.  “I didn’t kidnap or molest you.  I want to hear you say it.”
 

 

Buffy just shifted her balance from one foot to the other and gave him a small smile.  And…she said nothing.
 

 

Which wasn’t good enough for Spike.  He went nose to nose with her.  “Say it…SAY IT.  SAY IT.  SAY IT.”
 

 

“Alright already, you big blonde baby.  You didn’t kidnap me, molest me or try to bite you.”
 

 

“Huh…What a right, fucking cock up.  Now, stay away from my car, she-devil straight from bleeding hell.”  Flipping her off with a two fingered salute, Spike headed for the driver’s door, keeping up a continuous tirade.  “Bugger it all to hell, they know that I’m a vamp and will be sharpening stakes with my name on them.  Birch, oak, pine.  Drift wood.  Whatever is handy.” 
 

 

‘Wait.  He’s leaving.  Okay, Buffy, think fast.’  As quickly as she could, Buffy darted into the passenger side of the car, handcuffed herself to a handle on the door and popped the key in her mouth.
 

 

He froze.  One big, bad vampire.  One petite girl, albeit a slayer in training, but from what he could tell, she didn’t have any special powers.  Maybe just a tad stronger than the average human.  So again, one vamp and one girl, and he froze when she wiggled the hand cuffed to the door and stuck out her tongue upon which rested the key.  “Aaeerrgh.” 
 

 

She looked down at the hand he had extended and shook her head.
 

 

Spike raised his hand to beneath her mouth.  “Spit it out.  Now.”
 

 

When she just raised her eyebrows, expressing her defiance, Spike circled and then shook his hands on each side of her neck as if he was enjoying the pleasure of wringing her neck.  However, it was when she smiled at him triumphantly, he snapped.  “You, little girl, are going to give that sodding key to me.”  With his fingers, he started digging in her mouth, searching for the key.  “Where is it?”  He even went as far as prying her jaws apart and tried to see in.
 

 

She pulled back coughing and gagging.  “You made me swallow it.”
 

 

“No way.  My luck can’t be that bloody bad.” He grabbed her head again, preparing for another look when he saw one of the employees come out and head towards the trash dumpster parked behind his corvette, which would have him passing right in front of the windshield.  Nice little peep show.  Thinking fast, or if truth be told, not really thinking well at all, he pressed his lips to hers.  Fortunately, he was holding her head so instead of looking like she was struggling, which she was, she looked like she was enjoying a kiss with her presumed boyfriend, which she wasn’t. 
 

 

That just wasn’t what she expected from John Doe.  Pissed – yes.  Yelling – yes.  Kissing – no.  When he had been forcibly searching her mouth, she had been batting at his hands with her free hand until her brain registered that his cool lips were without warning on her warm ones.  That temperature difference was hard to miss.  Ew…ugh…uh…hm?...mmm.
 

 

Spike released her when the boy, who had enjoyed spying on them, finally traipsed back inside the store.  However, the little voyeur was back out again with more trash bags in a matter of seconds.  Luckily Spike hadn’t released her head so it was easy pulling her back into another kiss.
 

 

The second time, Spike didn’t initially notice that he was using his tongue, and judging from her first surprised but then agreeable moans, she wasn’t objecting.  Yet when their tongues entwined, she had his full attention.  Of course, he justified the intimate intrusion into her mouth as still trying to find the key, and that it was just an unexpected byproduct that the kiss was…not unpleasant.  Uh…no, no way.  No more than that.  Just pleasant.  But the clerk was now gone, and he pulled back sharply.  Still not admitting defeat, Spike put his index finder in her mouth and felt around, trying to convince both of them that this had all been about the key.  No key.  As it happened, Spike didn’t pull his finger out fast enough, and Buffy’s mouth closed around him. 
 

 

With malevolent intent, Buffy shut her mouth fully intending to bite his obtrusive finger, but her teeth just ended up resting on his skin.  The moisture from her lips wet his finger as he slowly withdrew it. 
 

 

She hadn’t done it on purpose.  Just happened.  Completely innocent.  Yeh, completely.  Of that, both were sure and both wanted to be unmoved by the accident.  Hah…neither were.  Buffy wondered if he could see how flaming red she was blushing from a mixture of embarrassment and instant desire. 
 

 

While Buffy worried about her complexion, Spike was worrying about the part of him that would be a much more tell tale sign.  With every millimeter he had withdrawn his finger, his shaft had grown.  Now he just plain hurt with a craving for the brat. He looked into her eyes, trying to see if she understood what just happened better than he did, but instead, he saw his own mirrored confusion.  Without a word, Spike pulled away from her, started the engine, and after a brief pause, pulled out onto the narrow highway. 
 

 

Buffy was glad he hadn’t spoken because she wasn’t sure what she could say.  Driving in a bit of silence was definitely of the good, giving her time to try to think about what exactly had happened in the last few minutes.  She had eaten his ding-dongs.  That had been tasty.  She called Giles for him, and then lied, causing John Doe to go ballistic.  That had been wicked fun. She had cuffed herself to John Doe’s precious car and stuck the key in her mouth.  That had been massively cool.  What she hadn’t counted on was the guy getting so physical with her.  Sure, he had touched her before, shoving her in the car, pulling her out of the car, but those didn’t count; they really weren’t touching her.  
 

 

But concerning the key in her mouth, he went over the edge.  Only her dentist should stick his hands in her mouth like that, and she didn’t even like the dentist doing it.  But his fingers in her mouth were in a league of their own.  Why was something that should be so high on the eeeww scale, so erotic when it was his finger?  Then he was kissing her on the lips, holding her head tight so she couldn’t pull away.  From the corner of her eye, she had seen the gas station clerk watching them and then understood why John Doe had her in a lip lock.  Instead of tasting, she felt his every move on her sensitive tongue. 
 

 

Ok, she could deal, but then came kiss number two.  Since when did searching for a key consist of a French kiss?  And sucking his finger?  The goose bumps on her arms were telling her thoughts to not even go there.  But who was she kidding?  She might not know the guys name, but he was a first class, blue ribbon kisser, she admitted to herself as she picked up the key she had surreptitiously spit out onto the floor board at the beginning of the struggle.  Checking that he had his eyes peeled to the road, she tucked it into her boot for safekeeping.
 

 

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