by Nora Roberts
Chapter 6
She slept like a stone. Sebastian sipped a little more wine, kicked back in his chair and watched Mel. She was stretched out on the sofa across from him in the main cabin of his private plane. She hadn’t argued when he’d suggested having his pilot fly to Utah to pick them up for the trip east. She’d simply nodded distractedly and continued to scribble notes in her ever-present pad.
The moment they’d hit cruising height, she’d ranged her long body out on the couch, closed her eyes, and gone under, as quickly and easily as an exhausted infant. He understood that energy, like any power, had to be recharged, and he’d left her alone.
Sebastian had indulged in a long shower and changed into some of the spare clothes he kept aboard the Lear. While he enjoyed a light lunch, he made a few phone calls. And waited.
It was an odd journey, to say the least. Himself and the sleeping woman, hurtling away from the sun after a night of racing toward it. When it was over, there would be broken hearts and mended ones. Fate always charged a fee.
And he would have crossed a continent with a woman he found annoying, desirable, and incomprehensible.
She stirred, murmured something, then opened her eyes. He watched the cloudy green sharpen and focus as she pushed past the disorientation. She stretched once—it was a brisk, businesslike movement, and it was incredibly sexy—then rolled herself to a sitting position.
“How much longer?” Her voice was still husky with sleep, but he could see the energy pouring back.
“Less than an hour.”
“Good.” After running a hand through her hair, she lifted her head, scenting the air. “Do I smell food?”
He had to smile. “In the galley. There’s a shower to starboard if you want to wash up.”
“Thanks.”
She chose the shower first. It wasn’t easy, but she didn’t want to act unduly impressed that the man could snap his fingers and call up his own plane—a plane fitted out with deep pile carpeting, its own cozy bedroom, and a galley that made her kitchen at home look like someone’s closet. Obviously the psychic business paid well.
She should have checked his background, Mel thought now as she wrapped herself in a robe and tiptoed into the bedroom. But she’d been so sure that she would be able to talk Rose out of using him that she hadn’t bothered. Now here she was, some thirty thousand feet up, with a man she knew much too little about.
She’d remedy that the moment they touched down in Monterey again. Though, of course, if things went as she hoped, there would be no need to. Once David was back where he belonged, her association with Sebastian Donovan would be over.
Still, she might run a background check on him, just out of curiosity.
Lips pursed, Mel poked into his closet. He liked silk and cashmere and linen, she discovered. Spotting a denim shirt, she yanked it out. At least he had something practical, and she sure could use some fresh clothes.
She tugged it on, then whipped around to the doorway. For a moment, she had thought he was there, had been sure of it. Then she realized it was his scent, clinging still to the shirt that was now brushing softly against her skin.
What was that fragrance, exactly? Experimentally she lifted her arm to sniff the sleeve. Nothing she could quite pinpoint. Something wild, erotic. Something you’d expect to catch just a whiff of in the forest in the dark of the moon.
Annoyed with herself, she pulled on her jeans. If this kept up, she’d actually start believing in witches.
After rolling the sleeves of the borrowed shirt up to her elbows, she went to investigate the galley. She helped herself to a banana, ignored a jar of caviar, and tossed some ham and cheese on a piece of bread.
“Got any mustard?” she called out, then swallowed a gasp when she felt his body bump against hers. He’d made no more sound than a ghost.
He reached over her head for a jar and handed it to her. “Want some wine?”
“I guess.” She slathered mustard on the bread, wishing there was a little more room to maneuver away from him in the small space. “I borrowed a shirt. Okay?”
“Sure.” He poured her wine and topped off his own glass. “You rested well.”
“Yeah, well, it helps the time pass.” The plane danced in some turbulence. His hand came down to steady her and stayed on her arm. “The pilot said there’d be a few bumps.” Testing both of them, he rubbed his thumb over the inside of her elbow. The pulse there was fast and steady. “We’ll be starting our descent soon.”
She lifted her face to his. Studying him, she felt what she had felt in the desert. The beginning of something. Mel wondered if she’d be less restless if she were able to see the end as well.
“Then we’d better sit down. And strap in.”
“I’ll take your wine.”
With a long breath of relief, she picked up her plate and followed him. As she dug happily into the sandwich, she noticed him smiling at her. “Problem?”
“I was just thinking that I really do owe you an actual meal.”
“You don’t owe me.” She took a sip of wine, and then, because it was so different, so delightfully different, from what she was used to, she sipped again. “I like paying my own way.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Mel tilted her head. “Some guys are intimidated by that.”
“Really?” A smile played around his lips. “I’m not. Still, after we’re finished, maybe you’d agree to dinner. A celebration of a job well done.”
“Maybe,” she said over a mouthful of sandwich. “We can flip to see who buys.”
“Lord, you are charming.” He chuckled and stretched out his legs, pleased she’d chosen the seat facing him rather than the one beside him. Now he could look his fill when she was awake. “Why private investigations?”
“Hmmm?”
His lips curved again. “It’s time I asked, don’t you think? What made you choose your profession?”
“I like to figure things out.” She moved her shoulders and started to rise to take her empty plate away. But he stood up and took it into the galley himself.
“It’s that simple?”
“I believe in the rules.” The seats were roomy, so she tucked her legs up and crossed them. She was comfortable, she realized. Refreshed from the nap, and from a surge of hope that had yet to fade. Easy in his company. Well, she supposed, anything was possible.
“And I think when you break the rules somebody should make you pay for it.” She felt the subtle shift and change in the cabin as the plane began its descent into Atlanta. “I also like to figure things out—by myself. That’s why I only made a pretty good cop but I make a really good PI.”
“So, you’re not a team player.”
“Nope.” She cocked her head. “Are you?”
“No.” He smiled into his wine. “I suppose not.” Then, abruptly, his eyes were intense again, focused on her. Into her, she thought. “But rules often change, Mel. The lines between right and wrong sometimes blur. When that happens, how do you choose?”
“By knowing what things shouldn’t change, what lines can’t be blurred—or crossed. You just feel it.”
“Yeah.” With that sudden flash of power banked again, he nodded. “You just feel it.”
“It has nothing to do with being psychic.” She thought she understood just where he was leading her. She wasn’t ready to give him quite that much rope. “I don’t go in for visions or second sight or whatever you call it.”
He lifted his glass in toast. “But you’re here, aren’t you?”
Her eyes remained level. If he expected her to squirm, he’d be disappointed. “Yeah, I’m here, Donovan. I’m here because I won’t risk not following up any lead—no matter how slim, or how weird.”
He continued smiling. “And?”
“And because maybe I’m willing to consider that you might have seen or felt something. Or maybe you just had a good gut hunch. I believe in hunches.”
“So do I, Mel.” The plane bumped down on t
he runway. “So do I.”
* * *
It was always difficult to turn over the reins to another. Mel didn’t mind cooperating with local authorities or the FBI, but she preferred doing it on her own terms. For David’s sake, she had to bite her tongue a dozen times during the interview with Federal Agent Thomas A. Devereaux.
“I have reports on you, Mr. Donovan. Several, in fact, from associates of mine who consider you not only trustworthy but something of a wonder.”
Mel thought Sebastian sat in the small, beige-toned office like a king at his court. He responded to Devereaux’s statement with a slight nod.
“I’ve been involved in a few federal investigations.”
“Most recently in Chicago,” Devereaux said, flipping through a file. “A bad mess up there. A pity we couldn’t stop it sooner.”
“Yes.” It was all Sebastian would say. Not all of those images had faded.
“And you, Ms. Sutherland.” Devereaux rubbed his round, bald head, then poked a finger at the nosepiece of his glasses. “The local authorities in California seem to find you competent enough.”
“I can sleep easy now.” She ignored Sebastian’s warning glance and leaned forward. “Can we bypass the introductions, Agent Devereaux? I have friends back in California who are desperate. David Merrick’s only a few miles away—”
“That’s yet to be determined.” Devereaux set one file aside and picked up another. “We had all pertinent information faxed in after your call. A federal investigator has already interviewed your witness at the … Dunes Motel in Utah.” He pushed his glasses up again. “He positively identified David Merrick’s picture. We’re working on IDing the woman.”
“Then why are we sitting here?”
Devereaux peered over the rims of his glasses, which had already slid down his nose again. “Do you expect us to knock on every door in Forest Park and ask if they’ve recently stolen a baby?” Anticipating her, he held up a pudgy finger. “We have data coming in right now on male children between the ages of six and nine months. Adoption records, birth certificates. We’re looking into who has moved into the area, with a child, within the last three months. I have no doubt that by morning we’ll have narrowed it down to a manageable few.”
“Morning? Listen, Devereaux, we’ve just spent the best part of twenty-four hours getting here. Now you’re going to tell us to wait until morning?”
Devereaux leveled a look at Mel. “Yes. If you give us the name of your hotel, we’ll contact you with any further developments.”
Mel popped out of her chair. “I know David. I can identify him. If I did a sweep of the area, set up some surveillance—”
Devereaux cut her off. “This is a federal case. We may very well want you to identify the boy. However, we have copies of his prints to substantiate.” While Mel bit her tongue, Devereaux shifted his gaze from her to Sebastian. “I’m moving on this under the advice of Special Agent Tucker in Chicago—who I’ve known for more than twenty years. Because he puts some stock in this psychic business, and because I have a grandson about David’s age, I’m not going to advise the two of you to go back to California and leave this alone.”
“We appreciate your help, Agent Devereaux.” Sebastian rose and took Mel by the elbow, squeezing hard before she could hurl whatever insult was in her mind. “I’ve made reservations at the Doubletree. We’ll wait for your call.”
Satisfied, Devereaux stood and offered a hand.
“I should have spit in it,” Mel grumbled a few moments later when they walked out into the torrid Atlanta evening. “The Feebies always treat PIs like mongrel dogs.”
“He’ll do his job.”
“Right.” She was distracted enough to let him open the door of the car they’d rented at the airport. “Because some pal of his took a shine to you in Chicago. What did you do up there, anyway?”
“Not enough.” Sebastian shut her door and rounded the hood. “I don’t suppose you feel like a quiet drink in the hotel bar and a leisurely dinner.”
“Not on your life.” She snapped her seat belt into place. “I need a pair of binoculars. Must be a sporting goods store around here someplace.”
“I imagine I could find one.”
“A long-range camera,” she said to herself, pushing up the sleeves of her borrowed shirt. “A federal case,” she muttered. “Well, there’s no law that says I can’t take a nice drive through the burbs, is there?”
“I don’t believe there is,” Sebastian said as he pulled into traffic. “Perhaps a walk, as well. Nothing quite like a walk in a nice neighborhood on a summer evening.”
She turned her head to beam a smile at him. “You’re all right, Donovan.”
“That kind of flattery will last me a lifetime.”
* * *
“Can you—?” Mel bit her lip and swallowed the question as they drove slowly down the tree-lined streets of Forest Park.
“Can I tell which house?” Sebastian finished for her. “Oh, eventually.”
“How—?” She cut that thought off, as well, and lifted the binoculars.
“How does it work?” He smiled and turned left, in what appeared to Mel to be an unstudied decision. “That’s a bit complicated to explain. Perhaps sometime, if you’re still interested, I’ll try.”
When he pulled over to the curb and stopped, she frowned. “What are you doing?”
“They often walk him here after dinner.”
“What?”
“They like to take him out in the stroller after dinner, before his bath.”
Before she realized what she meant to do, Mel reached out, put a hand on his cheek to turn his face to hers. She blinked once, stunned by the flash of power in his eyes. How dark they were, she thought. Nearly black. When she managed to speak, her voice was barely a whisper.
“Where is he?”
“In the house across the street. The one with the blue shutters and the big tree in the front yard.” He grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the doorhandle. “No.”
“If he’s in there, I’m going in and getting him. Damn it, let go of me.”
“Think.” Because he understood that she would feel long before she would think, he pressed her back against the seat with both hands on her shoulders. No easy task, he thought grimly. She might be as slim as a wand, but she was strong. “Hellfire, Mel, listen to me. He’s safe. David’s safe. You’ll only complicate and confuse things by bursting in there and trying to take him from them.”
Her eyes blazed as she strained against him. He thought she looked like a goddess, ready to fling lightning from her fingertips. “They stole him.”
“No. No, they didn’t. They don’t know he was stolen. They think he was given away, or they’ve convinced themselves he was because they were desperate for a child. Haven’t you ever been desperate enough to take a shortcut, to overlook that blurred line and grab what you wanted?”
Furious, she could only shake her head. “He’s not their child.”
“No.” His voice gentled, as did his hold. “But for three months he has been. He’s Eric to them, and they love him very much. Enough to pretend he was meant to be theirs.”
She struggled to control her breathing. “How can you ask me to leave him with them?”
“Only for a little while longer.” He stroked a hand over her cheek. “I swear Rose will have him back before tomorrow night.”
She swallowed, nodded. “Let go of me.” When he did, she picked up the binoculars with unsteady hands. “You were right to stop me. It’s important to be sure.”
She focused on the wide bay window, seeing pastel walls through gauzy curtains. She saw a baby swing, and a maroon couch with a clutter of toys scattered over it. With her lips pressed together, Mel watched a woman walk into view. A trim brunette in walking shorts and a cotton blouse. The woman’s hair swung prettily as she turned her head to laugh at someone out of sight.
Then she held out her arms.
“Oh, God. David.”
>
Mel’s knuckles whitened on the field glasses as she saw a man pass David to the woman’s waiting arms. Behind the filmy curtains, she saw David’s smile.
“Let’s take a walk,” Sebastian said quietly, but she shook her head.
“I need some pictures.” Hands steady again, Mel set the glasses aside and took up the camera, with its telescopic lens. “If we can’t convince Devereaux to move, maybe these will.”
Patiently she took half a roll, waiting when they moved out of view, snapping when they walked in front of the window again. Her chest hurt. There was such terrible pressure there that she rubbed the heel of her hand against it.
“Let’s walk.” She set the camera down on the floor of the car. “They may bring him out soon.”
“If you try to snatch him—”
“I’m not stupid,” she told him sharply. “I wasn’t thinking before. I know how it needs to be done.”
They got out on opposite sides, then rejoined on the sidewalk.
“It might look less conspicuous if you held my hand.” Sebastian held his out to hers. She studied it dubiously, then shrugged.
“Wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”
“You have such a romantic heart, Sutherland.” He swung their joined hands up to his lips and kissed her fingers. The rude name she called him only made him smile. “I’ve always enjoyed neighborhoods like this without ever wanting to live in one. Tidy lawns. A neighbor pruning roses over the fence.” He inclined his head toward a young boy speeding down the street on a bike. “Kids out playing. Barbecue smoke, and children’s laughter in the air.”
She’d always longed for a niche in such a place. Not wanting to admit it to him, or to herself, she shrugged. “Crabgrass. Nosy neighbors spying through the front blinds. Bad-tempered dogs.”
As if she’d called it up, one came barreling across a lawn, barking deep in its throat. Sebastian merely turned his head and stared. The dog stumbled to a halt, whimpered a little, then skulked away with his tail between his legs.
Impressed, Mel pursed her lips. “Nice trick.”
“It’s a gift.” Sebastian released her hand and put an arm around her shoulders. “Relax,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry about him.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re tight as a drum. Here.” He shifted his hand, moving it to the base of her neck. When Mel felt his fingertips prod gently, she tried to shake him off.
“Look, Donovan—”
“Shhh. It’s another gift.” He did something, even with her wiggling away. She felt the tensed muscles of her shoulders go fluid.
“Oh,” she managed.
“Better?” He tucked her under his arm again. “If I had more time—God knows, if I had you naked—I’d work all the kinks out.” He grinned down into her astonished face. “It seems only fair to let you in on some of my thoughts from time to time. And I have been thinking about getting you naked quite a bit.”
Flustered, mortally afraid she might blush, she looked straight ahead. “Well, think about something else.”
“It’s hard. Particularly when you look so fetching in my shirt.”
“I don’t like flirtations,” she said under her breath.
“My dear Mary Ellen, there’s a world of difference between a flirtation and a direct statement of desire. Now, if I were to tell you what lovely eyes you have, how they remind me of the hills in my homeland—that would be flirting. Or if I mentioned that your hair is like the gold in a Botticelli painting, or that your skin is as soft as the clouds that drift over my mountain some evenings—that could be construed as flirting.”
There was an odd, distinctly uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach. She wanted it to stop.
“If you said any of those things I’d think you’d lost your mind.”
“Which is exactly why I opted for the direct approach. I want you in bed. My bed.” Under one of the spreading oaks, he stopped, turning her into his arms before she could so much as sputter. “I want to undress you. Touch you. I want to watch you come alive when I’m inside you.” He leaned down to catch her lower lip between his teeth. “And then I want to do it all over again.” He felt her shudder and turned the nip into a long, searching kiss. “Direct enough?”
Her hands were against his chest, fingers spread. She had no idea how they’d gotten there. Her mouth felt swollen and stung and hungry. “I think …” But, of course, she couldn’t think at all, and that was the problem. Her blood was pounding so hard that she wondered people didn’t come out of their houses to see what the racket was about. “You’re crazy.”
“For wanting you, or for saying it?”
“For … for thinking I’d be interested in a quick tumble with you. I hardly know you.”