"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 fisted. It was tempting to give her one good pop on that damnably 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 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 puddingface. 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 everything 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.
"Both days?"
"The day I did the windows, and the day I washed the curtains. I really didn't think anything of it. I don't poke around into other people's business."
"No, I'm sure you don't." But I do, Mel thought, her heart hammering. I do. And I just need a little more. "Do you remember which days you noticed him?"
"Did the windows the first of the month, like always. A couple days later, I noticed the curtains were looking a little dingy, so I took them down and washed them. Saw him across the street then, walking down the sidewalk."
"David Merrick was taken on the fourth of May."
Mrs. O'Dell frowned again, then glanced at her children. When she was satisfied they were squabbling and not paying any attention, she nodded. "I know. And, like I told you before, it just breaks my heart. A little baby like that, stolen practically out of his mother's arms. I haven't let Billy go out alone all summer."
Mel laid a hand on her arm to make a connection, woman to woman. "You don't have to know Rose Merrick to understand what she's going through. You're a mother."
It got through to her. Mel could see it in the way moisture sprang to Mrs. O'Dell's eyes. "I wish I could help. I just didn't see anything more than that. All I remember is thinking that this neighborhood should be safe. That you shouldn't have to be afraid to let your children walk across the street to play with a friend. You shouldn't have to worry every day that someone's going to come back and pick out your child and drive away with him."
"No, you shouldn't. Rose and Stan Merrick shouldn't be wondering if they'll ever see their son again. Someone drove away with David, Mrs. O'Dell. Someone who was parked right under your window. Maybe you weren't paying attention at the time, but if you'd clear your mind for a minute and think back- You might have noticed his car, some little thing about his car."
"That beat-up old thing? I didn't pay any mind to it."
"It was black? Red?"
Mrs. O'Dell shrugged. "Dirty is what it was. Might have been brown. Might have been green, under all that grime."
Mel took a leap of faith. "Out-of-state plates, I imagine."
After a moment's consideration, Mrs. O'Dell shook her head. "Nope. I guess I might have wondered why he was just sitting down there. Sometimes your mind wanders when you're working, and I was thinking he might have been visiting someone, waiting for them to get home. Then I was figuring he hadn't come all th
at far 'cause he had state plates."
Mel banked down her excitement and mentally crossed her fingers. "I always used to play this game when I was a kid. My mom and I traveled a lot, and she tried to give me things to do. I guess you know how car trips are with kids."
Mrs. O'Dell rolled her eyes. For the first time, there was a trace of humor in them. "Oh, do I."
"I always tried to make words out of the letters on plates. Or come up with funny names for what the initials stood for."
"We do the same thing with Billy. He's old enough. But the baby-"
"Maybe you noticed the license number, casually, while you were working. Without even thinking about it, if you know what I mean."
And Mel could see that she did try for a minute. Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. Then she made an impatient movement with her dust rag and closed down. "I've got a lot of more important things on my mind. I saw it was a California plate, like I said, but I didn't stand there and play games with it."
"No, of course not, but sometimes you pick up things without even knowing it. Then, when you think back-"
"Miss-"
"Sutherland," Mel told her.
"I'd like to help you. Really. My heart goes out to that poor woman and her husband. But I make a habit of minding my own business and keeping to my own. Now there's nothing else I can tell you, and I'm falling behind schedule."
Recognizing the wall she'd just hit, Mel took out a business card. "If you remember anything about the plate, anything at all, would you call me?"
Billy piped up. "Said cat."
"Billy, don't interrupt when people are talking."
He shrugged and drove his fire truck up his sister's leg to make her giggle.
"What said cat?" Mel asked.
"The car did." Billy made engine noises. "K-a-t, that spells cat," he chanted, and had his mother sighing.
"You don't spell cat with a k. It's c-a-t. I can't believe you'll be going into the second grade and-"
Mel put a hand on Mrs. O'Dell's arm. "Please," she murmured, then squatted down in front of Billy. "Did you see the car down there Billy, the dirty brown car?"
"Sure. When I came home from school it was there. Freddy's mom had the pool."
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