Entranced

by Nora Roberts

  Bobby, who was outweighed by a hundred pounds, nodded. “Sure, Eddie. But bringing a broad in here—”

  “She’s okay. Great legs, but not much brains. I’m going to give her a set—and then I’m going to get lucky.” He moved past Eddie to join Mel. “See one you like, baby?”

  “Oh, they’re great. Really great. Do you mean I can really have one? Just pick one out and have it?”

  “Why, sure.” He gave her a quick, intimate squeeze. “We got this breakage insurance. So I’ll just have old Bobby there put down like one got busted. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Really?” She tossed her head, moving just far enough out of reach that she could easily slip a hand into her bag. “That’s great, Eddie. But it looks to me like you’re the one who’s busted.”

  She pulled out a nickel-plated 38.

  “A cop!” Bobby nearly screeched the words, while Eddie’s face settled into a thoughtful frown. “Jeez, Eddie, she’s a cop!”

  “There you go. Don’t,” she warned as Bobby edged to the door. “Just have a seat, Bobby. On the floor there. And sit on your hands, will you?”

  “You bitch,” Eddie said, in a considering voice that put Mel on guard. “I should’ve smelled cop.”

  “I’m private,” she told him. “That might be the reason.” She gestured with the gun. “Let’s take it outside, Eddie.”

  “No woman’s going to double-cross me—gun or no gun.”

  He lunged.

  She didn’t want to shoot him. She really didn’t. He wasn’t anything more than a fat, second-rate thief, and he didn’t deserve a bullet. Instead, she twisted, veering left and counting on her speed and agility and his beer-induced sluggishness.

  He missed and rammed headlong into a twenty-five-inch screen. Mel wasn’t sure who was the victor, but the screen cracked like an egg, and Eddie went down hard.

  There was a sound behind her. When she whirled she had time to see Sebastian wrap an arm around Bobby’s throat. One quick squeeze had him dropping the hammer he’d been lifting over Mel’s head.

  “It probably wouldn’t have made a dent,” Sebastian said between his teeth as Bobby crumpled bonelessly to the concrete floor. “You didn’t tell me you had a gun.”

  “I didn’t think I had to. You’re supposed to be psychic.”

  Sebastian picked up the hammer, tapping it gently against his palm. “Keep it up, Sutherland.”

  She merely shrugged and took another look at the loot. “Nice haul. Why don’t you go call the cops? I’ll keep an eye on these two.”

  “Fine.” He was sure it was too much to expect her to thank him for saving her from a concussion, or worse. The best he could do was slam the door behind him.

  * * *

  It was nearly an hour later when Sebastian stood by and watched Mel sitting on the hood of her car. She was going over the fine details with what appeared to be a very disgruntled detective.

  Haverman, Sebastian remembered. He’d run into him once or twice.

  Then he dismissed the cop and concentrated on Mel.

  She’d pulled off the earrings and was still rubbing her lobes from time to time. Most of the goo on her face had been wiped off with tissue. Her unpainted mouth and naturally flushed cheeks made a devastating contrast with the big, heavy-lidded eyes.

  Pretty? Had he granted her pretty? Sebastian wondered. Hell, she was gorgeous. In the right light, at the right angle, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Then she might turn and be merely mildly attractive again.

  That held an odd and disturbing sort of magic.

  But he didn’t care how she looked, he reminded himself. He didn’t care, because he was plenty peeved. She’d dragged him into this. It didn’t matter that he’d volunteered to come along. Once he had, she’d set the rules, and he’d had plenty of time to decide he didn’t like them.

  She’d gone alone into that storage building with a man built like two fullbacks. And she’d had a gun. No little peashooter, either, but a regular cannon.

  What the hell would she have done if she’d had to use it? Or—Lord—if that mountain of betrayed lust had gotten it away from her?

  “Look,” Mel was saying to Haverman. “You’ve got your sources, I’ve got mine. I got a tip. I followed it up.” She was moving her shoulders carelessly, but, oh, she was enjoying this. “You’ve got no beef with me, Lieutenant.”

  “I want to know who put you on to this, Sutherland.” It was a matter of principle for him. He was a cop, after all, a real cop. Not only was she a PI, she was a female PI. It just plain grated on him.

  “And I don’t have to tell you.” Then her lips quirked, because the idea was so beautiful, so inspired. “But, since we’re pals, I’ll clue you in.” She jerked her thumb toward Sebastian. “He did.”

  “Sutherland …” Sebastian began.

  “Come on, Donovan, what does it hurt?” This time she smiled and brought him in on the joke. “This is Lieutenant Haverman.”

  “We’ve met.”

  “Sure.” Now Haverman was not only piqued but deflated. Women PIs and psychics. What was law enforcement coming to? “I didn’t think missing TVs was your gig.”

  “A vision’s a vision,” Sebastian said complacently, and had Mel hooting.

  “So how come you passed it to her?” It didn’t sit right with him. “You always come to the cops.”

  “Yeah.” Sebastian shot a glittering look at Mel over his shoulder. “But she’s got better legs.”

  Mel laughed so hard she nearly fell off the car. Haverman grumbled a little more and then stalked off. After all, he thought, he had two suspects in hand—and if he tried to shake Donovan, he’d have the chief on his case.

  “Good going, slick.” Still chuckling, Mel gave Sebastian a friendly bop on the shoulder. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  He merely lifted a brow. “There are a great many things you might be surprised I have in me.”

  “Yeah, right.” She twisted her head to watch Haverman climb in his car. “The lieutenant’s not such a bad guy. He just figures PIs belong in the pages of a book, and women belong one step away from the oven.” Because the sun was warm and the deed had been done well, she was content to sit on the car for few minutes and enjoy the small triumph. “You did good … Harry.”

  “Thanks, Crystal,” he said, and tried not to let his lips twitch into a smile. “Now, I’d appreciate it if next time you filled me in on the entire plan before we start.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s a next time coming soon. But this was fun.”

  “Fun.” He said the word slowly, understanding that that was precisely what she meant. “You really enjoyed it. Dressing up like a tart, making a scene, having that muscle-bound throwback drool on you.”

  She offered a bland smile. “I’m entitled to some on-the-job benefits, aren’t I?”

  “And it was fun, I suppose, to nearly have your head cracked open?”

  “Nearly’s the key.” Feeling more kindly toward him, she patted his arm. “Come on, Donovan, loosen up. I said you did good.”

  “That, I take it, is your way of thanking me for saving your thick skull.”

  “Hey, I could’ve handled Bobby fine, but I appreciate the backup. Okay?”

  “No.” He slapped his hands down on the hood on either side of her hips. “It is not okay. If this is a taste of how you do business, you and I are going to set some rules.”

  “I’ve got rules. My rules.” His eyes were the color of smoke now, she thought. Not the kind that had hung listlessly at the ceiling of the bar, but the sort that plumes up into the night from a crackling good bonfire. “Now back off, Donovan.”

  Make me. He hated—no, detested—the fact that the childish, taunting phrase was the first thing to pop into his head. He wasn’t a child. And neither was she—sitting there, daring him with that insolent lift to her chin and that half smirk on her beautiful mouth.

  His right hand listed. It was tempting to give her one good pop on that damn
ably arrogant chin. But her mouth seemed a better notion. And he had a much more satisfying idea about what could be done with it.

  He snatched her off the hood of the car so quickly that she didn’t think to use any of the defensive countermoves that were second nature to her. She was still blinking when his arms came around her, when one hand cupped firmly on the back of her head, fingers spread.

  “What the hell do you think—?”

  That was it. The words clicked off as completely as her brain the moment his mouth clamped over hers. She didn’t break away or shift her body to one side to toss him over her shoulder. She didn’t bring her knee up in a way that would have had him dropping to his and gasping. She simply stood there and let his lips grind her mind to mush.

  He was sorry she’d pushed him beyond his own rules. Grabbing unwilling women was not on Sebastian’s list of things to do. And he was sorry—desperately sorry, because she didn’t taste the way he’d been certain she would. A woman with a personality like Mel’s should have had a vinegary flavor. She should have tasted prickly and tart.

  Oh, but she was sweet.

  It wasn’t sugar he thought of, or the kind of gooey candy that came wrapped in gold foil. It was honey, rich, thick, wild honey that you were compelled to lick off your finger. The kind that, even as a child, he’d never been able to resist.

  When her lips opened for his, he dived in. Wanting more.

  His hands weren’t soft. That was the first wayward thought that stumbled into her brain. They were hard and strong and just a little rough. She could feel those fingers pressed against the back of her neck. The skin there seemed to be on fire.

  He pulled her closer, so that their bodies made one long shadow on the littered gravel. As sensations swarmed through her system, she threw her arms around him and gave him back desire for desire.

  It was different now. She thought she heard him curse before he changed the angle of the kiss, his teeth scraping over her lips and nearly making her cry out from the bolt of pleasure. Her heart was beating in her head, echoing in her ears like a train picking up speed in a tunnel.

  It would break through any moment, break out of the dark and into the light, and then she would—

  “Hey!”

  The shout didn’t even register. The movement of Sebastian’s lips on hers did, a movement that was at first her name, and then another oath.

  “Hey!”

  Sebastian heard the shout, and the crunch of footsteps on gravel. He could cheerfully have committed murder. He kept one arm around Mel’s waist and his hand firm on her neck as he turned his head and stared into a grizzled face under a Dodgers baseball cap.

  “Go away.” The order was close to a snarl. “Go very far away.”

  “Listen, bud, I just wanna know how come the bar’s closed.”

  “They ran out of vodka.” He could already feel Mel retreating from him, and would have sworn again if it would have done any good.

  “Well, hell, all I want’s a lousy beer.” Having successfully destroyed the mood, the Dodgers fan clumped back to his pickup and drove off.

  Mel had crossed her arms over her breasts and was cupping her elbows as if she were warding off a brisk wind.

  “Mary Ellen …” Sebastian began.

  “Don’t call me that.” Staggered, she jerked back and came up hard against her car.

  Her lips were vibrating. She wanted to press her hand against them to make it stop, but she didn’t dare. Her pulse was beating in her throat in a quick, jumpy rhythm. She wanted that to stop, too, to slow and even out until it was normal and as it should be.

  God. Good God. She’d been all over him, practically climbing on him. Letting him touch her.

  He wasn’t touching her now, but he looked like he might. Pride prevented her from shifting away, but she braced, ready to block another assault on her senses.

  “Why did you do that?”

  He resisted the urge to dip in and see what she was really feeling, to compare it to what was going on inside him. But he’d already taken unfair advantage. “I haven’t the vaguest idea.”

  “Well, don’t get any more ideas.” She was surprised that his answer hurt. What had she expected? she asked herself. Did she think he might have said he’d been unable to resist her? That he’d been overwhelmed with passion? She lifted her chin.

  “I can handle being pawed on the job, but not on my own time. Clear?”

  His eyes flashed—once. Then, with more restraint than she could have imagined, he lifted his hands, palms out. “Clear,” he repeated. “Hands off.”

  “All right, then.” She wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it, she decided as she dug in her bag for her keys. It was over. And it hadn’t meant a thing to either of them. “I’ve got to get back, make some calls.” When he took a step forward, her head snapped up, as if she were a deer scenting a wolf.

  “I’m just opening your door,” Sebastian said, though he discovered he wasn’t the least bit displeased by her reaction.

  “Thanks.” She climbed in and slammed it herself. She had to clear her throat to be certain her voice would be careless. “Climb aboard, Donovan. I’ve got places to go.”

  “Question,” he said after he slipped in beside her. “Do you eat?”

  “Mostly when I’m hungry. Why?”

  There was a wariness in her eyes that he was enjoying a great deal. “Seeing as all I’ve had since this morning was bar nuts, I was thinking late lunch, early dinner. Why don’t you stop off somewhere? I’ll buy you a burger.”

  She frowned over that for a moment, poking the suggestion for pitfalls. “I could use a burger,” she decided. “But we’ll go dutch.”

  He smiled and settled back in his seat. “Whatever you say, Sutherland.”

  Chapter 4

  Mel spent most of the morning doing door-to-doors in Rose’s neighborhood with Sebastian’s sketch in her hand. By that afternoon, the score was three positive IDs, four offers of coffee, and one lewd proposition.

  One of the positive IDs also corroborated Sebastian’s description of the car, right down to the dented door. And that gave Mel a very uncomfortable feeling.

  It didn’t stop her from backtracking. There was a name on her list that continued to nag at her. Mel had a hunch Mrs. O’Dell in apartment 317 knew more than she was saying.

  For the second time that day Mel knocked on the dull brown door, wiped her feet on the grass-green welcome mat with the white daisy in the corner. From inside she could hear the whining of children and the bright applause of a television game show.

  As it had before, the door opened a few inches, and Mel looked down into the chocolate-smeared face of a young boy. “Hi. Is your mom home?”

  “She don’t let me say to strangers.”

  “Right. Maybe you could go get her.”

  Bumping a sneakered foot against the doorjamb, the boy seemed to consider. “If I had a gun, I could shoot you.”

  “Then it looks like this is my lucky day.” She crouched down until they were eye-to-eye. “Chocolate pudding, right?” she said, studying the smears around his mouth. “Did you get that from licking the spoon after your mom made it?”

  “Yeah.” He shifted his feet and began to eye her with more interest. “How’d you know that?”

  “Elementary, my dear pudding-face. The smears are pretty fresh, and it’s too close to lunch for your mom to let you have a whole bowl.”

  The boy tilted his head. “Maybe I snuck it.”

  “Maybe,” Mel agreed. “But then you’d be pretty dumb not to wash off the evidence.”

  He started to grin when his mother swooped down from behind. “Billy! Didn’t I tell you not to answer the door?” She hauled him back one-handed. The other arm was full of a wiggling girl with teary eyes. Mrs. O’Dell sent Mel one impatient look. “What are you doing back around here? I told you everything I could already.”

  “You were a big help, Mrs. O’Dell. It’s my fault, really. I’m just trying to put eve
rything in order,” Mel continued, slipping into the cluttered living room as she spoke. “I hate to bother you again, especially since you were so helpful before.”

  Mel almost choked on that. Mrs. O’Dell had been suspicious, unfriendly, and curt. Just, Mel thought as she warmed up her apologetic smile, as the lady was going to be now.

  “I looked at your picture.” Mrs. O’Dell jiggled her daughter on her hip. “I told you everything I know. Just like I told the police.”

  “I know. And I’m sure it’s inconvenient to have your busy day constantly interrupted.” Mel stepped over a platoon of G.I. Joes that had been overrun by a miniature fire truck. “But you see, your living room windows look right down on where the perpetrator was allegedly parked.”

  Mrs. O’Dell set her daughter down, and the little girl toddled toward the TV and sat down hard on her diapered bottom. “So?”

  “Well, I couldn’t help but notice how clean your windows are. The cleanest ones in the entire building. You know, if you look up here from down on the street, they shine like diamonds.”

  The flattery smoothed away Mrs. O’Dell’s frown. “I take pride in my home. I don’t mind clutter—with two kids you’re going to have plenty of that. But I don’t tolerate dirt.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It seems to me that to have windows looking like that you’d have to keep after them.”

  “You’re telling me. Living this close to the water, you get that salt scum.” With a mother’s radar, she shot a look over her shoulder. “Billy, don’t let the baby put those dirty soldiers in her mouth. Give her your truck.”

  “But, Mom …”

  “Just for a little while.” Satisfied that she would be obeyed, Mrs. O’Dell glanced back. “Where was I?”

  “Salt scum,” Mel prompted.

  “Sure. And the dust and dirt that comes from having cars going up and down the road. Fingerprints.” She nearly smiled. “Seems I’m always chasing somebody’s fingerprints.”

  Yeah, Mel thought. Me, too.

  “I know it must take a lot of work to keep your place up like this, raising two kids.”

  “Not everyone thinks so. Some people figure if you don’t carry a briefcase and commute to some office every day you’re not working.”

  “I’ve always thought holding together a home and family is the most important career there is.”

  Mrs. O’Dell took the dust rag that was hanging out of the back pocket of her shorts and rubbed at the surface of a table. “Well.”

  “And the windows,” Mel said, gently leading her back. “I was wondering how often you have to wash them.”

  “Every month, like clockwork.”

  “You’d have a real good view of the neighborhood.”

  “I don’t have time to spy on my neighbors.”

  “No, ma’am. But you might notice things, casually.”

  “Well, I’m not blind. I saw that man hanging around. I told you that.”

  “Yes, you did. I was thinking, if you happened to be washing the windows, you might have noticed him down there. I imagine it would take you about an hour to do the job …”

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, if he was down there that long, sitting in his car, it would have struck you as unusual, wouldn’t it?”

  “He got out and walked around.”

  “Oh?” Mel wondered if she dared take out her notepad. Better to talk now and write it all down later, she decided.

  “Both days,” Mrs. O’Dell added.