"Rose-"
"There's no use trying to talk me out of this." Though Rose's voice was low, there was steel in it that had only surfaced over the last two months. "Stan's already tried."
"That's because we both care about you. Neither one of us want to see you hurt by another dead end."
She was only twenty-three, but Rose felt as old as the sea that spread out beneath them. As old as the sea, and as hard as the rocks jutting out from cliffs beside them. "Hurt? Nothing can come close to hurting me now. I know you care, Mel, and I know it's asking a lot for you to go with me today-"
"It's not-"
"It is." Rose's eyes, always so bright and cheery before, were shadowed with a grief and a fear that never ended. "I know you think it's nonsense, and maybe it's even insulting, since you're doing all you can do to find David. But I have to try. I have to try just anything."
Mel kept her silence for a moment, because it shamed her to realize that she was insulted. She was trained, she was a professional, and here they were cruising down the coast to see some witch doctor.
But she wasn't the one who had lost a child. She wasn't the one who had to face that empty crib day after day.
"We're going to find David, Rose." Mel took her hand off the rattling gearshift long enough to squeeze Rose's chilled fingers. "I swear it."
Instead of answering, Rose merely nodded and turned her head to stare out over the dizzying cliffs. If they didn't find her baby, and find him soon, it would be all too easy just to step out over one of those cliffs and let go of the world.
He knew they were coming. It had nothing to do with power. He'd taken the phone call from the shaky-voiced, pleading woman himself. And he was still cursing himself for it. Wasn't that why he had an unlisted number? Wasn't that why he had one of those handy machines to answer his calls whenever anyone dug deep enough to unearth that unlisted number?
But he'd answered that call. Because he'd felt he had to. Known he had to. So he knew they were coming, and he'd braced himself to refuse whatever they would ask of him.
Damn it, he was tired. He'd barely gotten back to his home, to his life, after three grueling weeks in Chicago helping the police track down what the press had so cleverly dubbed the South Side Slicer.
And he'd seen things, things he hoped he'd never see again.
Sebastian moved to the window, the wide window that looked out over a rolling expanse of lawn, a colorful rockery, and then a dizzying spill of cliffs dropping down to the deep sea.
He liked the drama of the view, that dangerous drop, the churning water, even the ribbon of road that sliced through the stone to prove man's wiliness, his determination to move on.
Most of all, he liked the distance, the distance that provided him relief from those who would intrude, not only on his space, but also on his thoughts.
But someone had bridged that distance, had already intruded, and he was still wondering what it meant.
He'd had a dream the night before, a dream that he'd been standing here, just here. But there had been a woman on the other side of the glass-a woman he wanted very badly.
But he'd been so tired, so used up, that he hadn't gathered up the force to focus his concentration. And she'd faded away.
Which, at the moment, was just fine with him.
All he really wanted was sleep, a few lazy days to tend his horses, toy with his business, interfere in the lives of his cousins.
He missed his family. It had been too long this time since he'd been to Ireland to see his parents, his aunts and uncles. His cousins were closer, only a few miles down that winding cliff road, but it felt like years rather than weeks, since he'd seen them.
Morgana was getting so round with the child she carried. No, children. He grinned to himself, wondering if she knew there were twins.
Anastasia would know. His gentler cousin knew all there was to know about healing and folk medicines. But Ana would say nothing unless Morgana asked her directly.
He wanted to see them. Now. He even had a hankering to spend some time with his brother-in-law, though he knew Nash was hip-deep in his new screenplay. Sebastian wanted to hop on his bike, rev it up and whoosh up to Monterey and surround himself with family and the familiar. He wanted, at all costs, to avoid the two women who were even now heading up the hill toward him. Coming to him with needs and pleas and hopelessness.
But he wouldn't.
He wasn't an unselfish man, and he never claimed he was. He did, however, understand the responsibilities that went hand in hand with his gift.
You couldn't say yes to everyone. If you did, you'd go quietly mad. There were times when you said yes, then found your way blocked. That was destiny. There were times when you wanted to say no, wanted desperately to say no, for reasons you might not understand. And there were times when what you wanted meant nothing compared to what you were meant to do.
That, too, was destiny.
He was afraid, uncomfortably afraid, that this was one of those times when his desires meant nothing.
He heard the car straining its way up his hill before he saw it. And nearly smiled. Sebastian had built high and built solitary, and the narrow, rutted lane leading up to his home was not welcoming. Even a seer was entitled to some privacy. He spotted the car, a smudge of dull gray, and sighed.
They were here. The quicker he turned them back, the better.
He started out of the bedroom and down the steps, a tall man, nearly six-five in his booted feet, lean of hip and wide of shoulder. His black hair swept dramatically back from his forehead and fell over the collar of his denim shirt, curling a bit there. His face was set in what he hoped were polite but inaccessible lines. The strong, prominent bones gifted to him by his Celtic ancestors jutted against skin made dusky by his love of the sun.
As he walked down, he trailed a hand along the silky wood of the banister. He had a love for texture, as well, the smooth and the rough. The amethyst he wore on one hand winked richly.
By the time the car had chugged its way to the top of the drive and Mel had gotten over her first astonishment at the sight of the eccentric and somehow fluid structure of wood and glass he called home, Sebastian was standing on the porch.
It was as if a child had tossed down a handful of blocks and they had landed, by chance, in a fascinating pattern of ledges that had then fused together. That was what she thought as she stepped out of the car and was assaulted by the scents of flowers, horses and the trailing wind from the sea.
Sebastian's gaze flicked over Mel, and lingered a moment as his eyes narrowed. With the faintest of frowns, he looked away and focused on Rose.
"Mrs. Merrick?"
"Yes. Mr. Donovan." Rose felt a bubble rise to her throat that threatened to boil into a sob. "It's so kind of you to see me."
"I don't know if it's kind or not." He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans as he studied them. Rose Merrick wore a plain, painfully neat blue dress that hung a bit on her hips. As if she'd recently lost weight. She'd taken some care with her makeup, but, judging by the way her eyes were shining, it wouldn't last long.
He struggled against sympathy.
The other woman hadn't bothered overmuch with appearances, which made her all the more intriguing. Like Sebastian, she was wearing jeans and boots, both well used. The T-shirt she'd tucked into the waistband of her jeans had probably been a bright red at one time, but was now faded with many washings.
She wore no jewelry, no cosmetics. What she did wear-and Sebastian saw it as clearly as he did the color of her hair and eyes-was attitude. Bad attitude.
You're a tough one, aren't you- He scanned for her name and was thudded by a whirl of feeling-a kind of mental static-that told him this one was in as much emotional turmoil as Rose Merrick.
Terrific.
Rose was already moving forward. Sebastian was trying to stand aside, to remain dispassionate, but he knew he was losing. She was fighting those tears, the ones he could feel burning out of her heart.
/>
There was nothing on earth that weakened a man like a courageous woman.
"Mr. Donovan. I won't take up much of your time. I just need-"
Even as her words trailed off, Mel was by her side. The look she shot at Sebastian was anything but friendly. "Are you going to let us come in and sit down, or are we just going to-"
Now she was the one whose words trailed off. It wasn't threatening tears that robbed her of her voice. It was utter shock.
His eyes. It was all she could think for an instant, and indeed she thought it so clearly, so violently, that Sebastian heard the words echo in his own mind.
Ridiculous, she told herself, regaining control. It was a dream. That was all. Some silly dream she was mixing up with reality. It was just that he had the most beautiful eyes. The most uncomfortably beautiful eyes.
He studied her for a moment more, and, though curious, he didn't look beyond her face. She was, even in the harsh sunlight, quite attractive. Perhaps it was the defiance he saw so clearly in her steady green eyes, or the lift of her chin, with its faint and oddly sexy cleft. Attractive, yes, he decided, even if she did wear her hair inches shorter than his own. Even if it did look as though she hacked at it herself with a pair of kitchen shears.
He turned away from her and offered Rose a smile.
"Please, come in," he said, and gave her his hand. He left Mel to follow.
She did, and he might have been amused to see the way she swaggered up those steps and into the high-ceilinged great room, with its skylights and open balcony. She frowned a bit, wishing she didn't find it so appealing, those warm, honey-toned walls that made the light so soft and sexy. There was a low, wide couch, long as a river, done in a lustrous royal blue. He led Rose to it, over a lake-sized rug of bleeding pastels, while Mel checked out his living quarters.
It was neat as a pin without appearing viciously organized. Modern sculptures of marble, wood and bronze were interspersed with what were surely valuable antiques. Everything was large scale, with the result that, despite its size, the room was cozy.
Here and there, set with apparent casualness on those polished antiques, were clusters of crystals-some large enough to strain a man's back lifting them, others tiny enough to fit in a child's palm. Mel found herself charmed by them, the way they winked and gleamed, shaped like ancient cities, slender wands, smooth globes or rough mountains.
She found Sebastian watching her with a kind of patient amusement, and she shrugged. "Some digs."
His lips curved, joining the humor in his eyes. "Thanks. Have a seat."
The couch might be as long as a river, but she chose a chair across the island of an ornately carved coffee table.
His eyes stayed on Mel another moment, and then he turned to Rose. "Can I get you some coffee, Mrs. Merrick? Something cold?"
"No. No, please don't bother." The kindness was worse, somehow, undermining her desperate control. "I know this is an imposition, Mr. Donovan. I've read about you. And my neighbor, Mrs. Ott, she said how you were so helpful to the police last year when that boy went missing. The runaway."
"Joe Cougar." Sebastian sat beside her. "Yes, he thought he'd give San Francisco a try, and drive his parents crazy. I suppose youth enjoys risks."
"But he was fifteen." Rose's voice broke and pressing her lips together, she shored it up again. "I-I don't mean his parents wouldn't have been frightened, but he was fifteen. My David's only a baby. He was in his playpen." She sent Sebastian a look of desperate pleading. "I only left him for a minute when the phone rang. And he was right by the door, sleeping. It wasn't as if he was out on the street, or left in a car. He was right by the open door, and I was only gone a minute."
"Rose." Though her personal preference was to keep her distance from Sebastian, Mel got up to sit beside her friend. "It's not your fault. Everyone understands that."
"I left him," Rose said flatly. "I left my baby, and now he's gone."
"Mrs. Merrick. Rose. Were you a bad mother?" Sebastian asked the question casually, and saw the horror bloom in Rose's eyes. And the fury light in Mel's.
"No. No. I love David. I only wanted to do my best for him. I only-"
"Then don't do this." He took her hand, and his touch was so gentle, so comforting, that the threatening tears retreated a little. "You're not to blame for this. Trying to make it so you are won't help find David."
Mel's fury fizzled out like a wet firecracker. He'd said exactly the right thing, in exactly the right way.
"Will you help me?'' Rose murmured. "The police are trying. And Mel- Mel's doing everything she can, but David's still gone."
Mel, he mused. An interesting name for a long, slim blond with a chip on her shoulder.
"We're going to get David back." Agitated, Mel sprang up again. "We have leads. They may be slim, but-"
"We?" Sebastian interrupted. He got a quick image-here, then gone-of her with a gun gripped in both hands, her eyes as cold as frozen emeralds. "Are you with the police Miss-?"
"Sutherland. Private." She snapped the words at him. "Aren't you supposed to know things like that?"
"Mel-" Rose said with quiet warning.
"That's all right." He patted Rose's hand. "I can look, or I can ask. With relative strangers, it's more polite to ask than to intrude, don't you think?"
"Right." With what was certainly a snort, Mel dropped into a chair again.
"Your friend's a cynic," Sebastian commented. "Cynicism can be very valuable, as well as very rude." He started to steel himself to tell Rose he couldn't help. He simply couldn't open himself to the trauma and risk of looking for another lost little boy.
Mel changed everything. Just, he supposed, as she was meant to.
"I don't consider it cynicism to recognize a charlatan masquerading as a Samaritan." Her eyes were hot when she leaned forward. "This psychic business is as phony as a ten-dollar magician in a shiny suit pulling rabbits out of his hat."
His brow quirked. It was the only sign of interest or irritation. "Is that so?"
"A seam's a scam, Mr. Donovan. A young child's future is at stake, and I won't have you playing your mumbo-jumbo games to get your name in the papers. I'm sorry, Rose." She stood, almost vibrating with anger. "I care about you, and I care about David. I just can't stand by and watch this guy hose you."
"He's my baby." The tears Rose had been battling spilled over. "I have to know where he is. I have to know if he's all right. If he's scared or happy. He doesn't even have his teddy bear." Rose buried her face in her hands. "He doesn't even have his teddy bear."
Mel cursed herself, cursed her temper, cursed Sebastian Donovan, cursed the world in general. But when she knelt beside Rose, both her hands and voice were gentle.
"I'm sorry. Honey, I'm sorry. I know how scared you are. I'm scared, too. If you want Mr. Donovan to-" she almost choked on the word "to help, then he'll help." She raised her furious, defiant face to Sebastian's. "Won't you?"
"Yes." He nodded slowly, feeling fate take his hands. "I will."
He managed to persuade Rose to drink some water and dry her eyes. While Mel stared grimly out the window, Rose took a small yellow teddy bear out of her bag.
"This is David's. His favorite. And this-" She fumbled with a wallet sized snapshot. "This is his picture. I thought-Mrs. Ott said you might need something."
"It helps." He took the toy and felt a vicious pull in his gut that he recognized as Rose's grief. He would have to go through, and beyond, that. But he didn't look at the photograph. Not yet. "Leave it with me. I'll be in touch." He helped her to her feet. "You have my word. I'll do what I can."
"I don't know how to thank you. For trying. Just knowing you are- Well, it gives me something else to hope for. We, Stan and me, we've got some money saved."
"We'll talk about it later."
"Rose, wait in the car for me," Mel said it quietly, but Sebastian could see that she was feeling anything but quiet. "I'll pass on what information I have to Mr. Donovan. It may help him."
"All right." A smile ghosted around Rose's mouth. "Thank you."
Mel waited until Rose was out of earshot, then turned and fired. "How much do you think you can squeeze out of her for this kind of a con? She's a waitress. Her husband's a mechanic."
He leaned lazily against the doorjamb. "Ms. Sutherland, does it appear I need money?"
She made another derisive sound. "No, you've got just buckets, don't you? It's all just a game for you."
He curled his fingers around her arm with a steely strength that caught her off guard. "It's not a game." His voice was so low, so filled with suppressed violence, that she blinked. "What I have, what I am, is no game. And stealing children from their playpens is no game, either."
"I won't see her hurt again."
"We can agree on that. If you're so against this, why did you bring her?"
"Because she's my friend. Because she asked me to."
He accepted that with a slight nod. Loyalty was something else he could feel pumping out of her. "And my private number? You dug that up, as well?''
Her lip curled in something close to a sneer. "That's my job."
"And are you good at it?"
"Damn right."
"Fine. I'm also good at mine, and we're going to be working together."
"What makes you think-?"
"Because you care. And if there's a chance-oh, even the slimmest chance-that I'm what I claim to be, you won't want to risk ignoring it."
She could feel the heat from his fingers. It seemed to sizzle right through the skin to her bones. It occurred to her that she was afraid. Not physically. It was deeper than that. She was afraid because she'd never felt this kind of power before.
"I work alone."
"So do I," he said calmly. "As a rule. We're going to break the rules." He reached in, quick as a snake. He wanted one thing, one small thing, to rub her nose in. Finding it, he smiled. "I'll be in touch very soon. Mary Ellen."
He had the pleasure of seeing her mouth fall open, of seeing her eyes narrow as she thought back, struggling to remember if Rose had used her full name. But she couldn't remember, couldn't be sure. Shaken, she jerked away.
Books by Nora Roberts Page 253
