"He knew me," Mel whispered. "He remembered me."
"Yes, he did. It's difficult to forget love." He caught her as she took a stumbling step forward. "Not now, Mel. We'll go call Devereaux."
"He knew me." She found her voice muffled against a cool linen shirt. "I'm all right," she insisted, but she didn't try to break away.
"I know you are." He pressed his lips to her temple, stroked a hand over her hair and waited for her tremors to pass.
It was one of the most difficult things she'd ever done, standing on the sidewalk in front of the house with the blue shutters and the big tree in the yard. Devereaux and a female agent were inside. She'd watched them go in, through the door opened by the young brunette. She'd still been in her robe, Mel remembered, and there had been a flicker of fear, or perhaps knowledge, in her eyes as she bent to retrieve the morning paper.
She could hear weeping now, deep, grieving tears. Her heart wanted to hold rock hard against it, but it couldn't.
When would they come out? Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she paced the sidewalk. It had already been too long. Devereaux had still insisted that they wait until morning, and she'd had hardly a wink of sleep at the hotel. It was well over an hour since they'd gone inside.
"Why don't you sit in the car?" Sebastian suggested.
"I couldn't sit."
"They won't let us take him yet. Devereaux explained the procedure. It'll take hours to do the blood test and the print checks."
"They'll let me stay with him. They'll damn well let me stay with him. He's not going to be with strangers." She pressed her lips together. "Tell me about them," she blurted out. "Please."
He'd expected her to ask, and he turned away from the house to look into Mel's eyes as he told her. "She was a teacher. She resigned when David came to them. It was important to her to spend as much time with him as possible. Her husband is an engineer. They've been married eight years, and have been trying to have a child almost since the start. They're good people, very loving to each other, and with room in their hearts for a family. They were easy prey, Mel."
He could see in her face the war between compassion and fury, between right and wrong. "I'm sorry for them," she whispered. "I'm sorry to know that anyone would exploit that kind of love, that kind of need. I hate what's been done to everyone involved."
"Life isn't always fair."
"Life isn't usually fair," she corrected.
She paced some more, casting dark, desperate looks at the bay window. When the door opened, she shifted to her toes, ready to dash. Devereaux strode toward her.
"The boy knows you?"
"Yes. I told you he recognized me when he saw me yesterday."
He nodded. "He's upset, wailing pretty good, making himself half-sick, what with Mr. and Mrs. Frost carrying on. We've got the woman calming down. Like I told you, we'll have to take the boy in until we can check the matches and clear up the paperwork. Might be easier for him if you went in for him, drove along with Agent Barker."
"Sure." Her heart began to pound in her throat. "Donovan?"
"I'll follow you."
She went inside, fighting to shield her heart and mind from the hopeless weeping beyond a bedroom door. She walked down a hallway, stepping over a plastic rocking horse and into the nursery.
Where the walls were pale blue and painted with sailboats. Where the crib by the window held a circus mobile.
Just as he'd said, she thought as her mouth went dry. Exactly as he'd said.
Then she tossed all that aside and reached down for the crying David.
"Oh, baby." She pressed her face to his, drying his cheeks with her own. "David, sweet little David." She soothed him, brushing his damp hair back from his face, grateful the agent's back was to her so that he couldn't see her own eyes fill.
"Hey, big guy." She kissed his trembling lips. He hiccuped, rubbed his eyes with his fists, then let out a tired sigh as his head dropped to her shoulder. "That's my boy. Let's go home, huh? Let's go home and see Mom and Dad."
CHAPTER 7
"I'll never be able to thank you. Never." Rose stood looking out her kitchen window. In the courtyard beyond, her husband and son sat in a patch of sunlight, rolling a bright orange ball around. "Just looking at them makes me-"
"I know." Mel slipped an arm around her shoulders. As they watched in silence, listening to David laugh, Rose brought her hand up to Mel's and squeezed tight. "They look real good out there, don't they?"
"Perfect." Rose dabbed her eyes with a tissue and sighed. "Just perfect. When I think how afraid I was that I'd never see David again-"
"Then don't think. David's back where he belongs."
"Thanks to you and Mr. Donovan." Rose moved away from the window, but her gaze kept going back to it again and again. Mel wondered how long it would be before Rose would feel comfortable with David out of her sight. "Can you tell me anything about the people who had him, Mel? The FBI were very sympathetic and kind, but-"
"Tight-lipped," Mel finished. "They were good people, Rose. Good people who wanted a family. They made a mistake, trusted someone they shouldn't have trusted. But they took good care of David."
"He's grown so. And he's been trying to take a few steps." There was a bitterness, a sharp tang of bitterness in the back of her throat, at having missed those three precious months of her son's life. But with it was a sorrow for another mother in another city with an empty crib to face. "I know they loved him. And I know how hurt and afraid she must be now. But it's worse for her than it was for me. She knows she'll never have him back." She laid her fisted hands on the counter. "Who did this to us, Mel? Who did this to all of us?"
"I don't know. But I'm working on it."
"Will you work with Mr. Donovan? I know how concerned he is."
"Sebastian?"
"We talked about it a little when he stopped by."
"Oh?" Mel thought she did nonchalance very well. "He came by?"
Rose's face softened. She looked almost as she had in those carefree days before David's abduction. "He brought David his teddy bear, and this cute little blue sailboat."
A sailboat, Mel mused. Yes, he would have thought of that. "That was nice of him."
"He just seemed to understand both sides of it, you know? What Stan and I went through, what those people in Atlanta are going through right now. All because there's someone out there who doesn't care about people at all. Not about babies or mothers or families. He only wants to make money on them." Her lips trembled then finned. "I guess that's why Mr. Donovan wouldn't let me and Stan pay him anything."
"He didn't take a fee?" Mel asked, struggling to sound disinterested.
"No, he wouldn't take a dime." Recalling other duties, Rose opened the oven to check on her meat loaf. "He said Stan and I should send what we thought we could afford to one of the homeless shelters."
"I see."
"And he said he was going to think about following up on the case."
"The case?"
"He said- something like it wasn't right for babies to be stolen out of cribs and sold off like puppies. That there were some lines you couldn't cross."
"Yes, there are." Mel snatched up her bag. "I have to go, Rose."
Surprised, Rose shut the oven door. "Can't you stay for dinner?"
"I really can't." She hesitated, then did something she rarely did, something she wished she could do with more ease. She kissed Rose's cheek. "There's something I have to take care of."
She supposed she should have done it before. But they'd been back in Monterey for only a couple of days. Mel skimmed through a low-lying cloud on her way up the mountain. It wasn't as if he'd gone out of his way to come and see her, she thought. He'd gone by Rose's apartment, but he hadn't driven a few more blocks to hers.
Obviously he hadn't meant any of that nonsense he'd been spouting about finding her attractive, about wanting her. All that stuff about her eyes and her hair and her skin. Mel drummed her fingers on the gearshift. If he'd meant any
of it, he'd have made a move by now. She wished he had. How could she decide if she would block it or not if he didn't bother to make a move?
So she'd beard the wolf in his den. There were obligations to fulfill, statements to be made, and questions to be answered.
Certain she was ready for all of that, Mel turned into Sebastian's bumpy lane. Halfway up she hit the brakes as a horse and rider leapt in front of her. The black stallion and the dark man on his back bounded across the gravel track in a flash of muscle and speed. At the sight of the gleaming horse and the golden-skinned man with his ebony hair flying in the wind, she was tossed back centuries to when there were dragons to be slain and magic sung in the air.
Mel sat openmouthed as they thundered up the rocky slope, through a pocket of mist and back into the stream of sun. No centaur had ever looked more magnificent.
As the echoes of hoofbeats died away, she nudged her car up the lane. This was reality, she reminded herself. The engine groaned and complained at the incline, coughed, sputtered, then finally crept its way up to the house.
As she expected, Sebastian was in the paddock, rubbing Eros down. Dismounted, he looked no less magnificent, no less mystical. Energy and life vibrated from him. The excitement of the ride was still on his face, in his eyes. The strength of it was in the rippling muscles of his back and forearms as he cooled down his mount.
Mel thought that if she touched him now her fingers would burn.
"Nice day for a ride, I guess."
Sebastian looked over Eros's withers and smiled. "Most are. I'm sorry I didn't greet you, but I hate to stop Eros when he has his head."
"It's all right," She was glad he hadn't. Mel was dead certain she wouldn't have managed more than a stutter if he'd spoken to her astride that horse. "I just stopped by to see if you had a few minutes to clear things up."
"I think I could find some time for you." He patted the stallion's left flank, and then, resting the horse's knee on his thigh, began to clean the hoof. "You've seen Rose?"
"Yes, I've just come from there. She said you'd been by. You brought David a sailboat."
Sebastian glanced up, then moved to the next hoof. "I thought it might help ease some of his confusion to have something familiar from those weeks he was away."
"It was very- kind."
He straightened, then moved on to the front leg. "I have my moments."
On more solid ground now, Mel braced a boot on the lowest rung of the fence. "Rose said you wouldn't take a fee."
"I believe I pointed out before that I don't need the money."
"I'm aware of that." Mel leaned on the fence, running her fingers down Eros's neck. Nothing magical there, she assured herself. Just a magnificent beast in his prime. Much like his master. "I did some checking. You have your fingers in a lot of pies, Donovan."
"That's one way of putting it."
"I guess it's easier to make money when you've got a bundle behind you to start with."
He examined the last hoof. "I suppose. And it would follow it would be easier to lose money under the same conditions."
"You got me there." She tilted her head as he straightened again. "That business in Chicago. It was rough."
She saw the change in his face and was sorry for it. This wasn't something he took lightly or brushed off in a matter of days. "It was difficult, yes. Failure is."
"But you helped them find him. Stop him."
"Five lives lost isn't what I term a success." He gave Eros a slap on the rump to send him trotting off. "Why don't you come inside while I clean up?''
"Sebastian."
He knew it was the first time she'd used his given name. It surprised him enough to have him pausing, one hand on the fence, his body poised to vault.
"Five lives lost," she said quietly. Her eyes were dark with understanding. "Do you know how many saved?"
"No." He came over the fence, landing lightly in front of her. "No, I don't. But it helps that you'd ask." He took her arm, his fingers sliding from shoulder to elbow to wrist. "Come inside."
She liked it out here, where there was plenty of room to maneuver. Should maneuvering be necessary. But it seemed foolish and undeniably weak not to go in the house with him.
"There is something I want to talk with you about."
"I assumed there was. Have you had dinner?"
"No."
"Good. We'll talk while we eat."
They went in through the side of the house, climbing onto a redwood deck flanked with pots spilling over with impatiens and going through a wide glass door directly into the kitchen. It was all royal blue and white, and as sleek and glossy as a page out of a high-fashion magazine. Sebastian went directly to a small glass-fronted refrigerator and chose a chilled bottle of wine from a rack inside.
"Have a seat." He gestured to a stool at the tiled work island. After uncorking the wine, he poured her a glass. "I need to clean up," he said, setting the wine on the counter in front of her. "Be at home."
"Sure."
The moment he was out of the room, she was off the stool. Mel didn't consider it rude. It was innate curiosity. There was no better way to find out what made people tick than by poking around their personal space. And she desperately wanted to know what made Sebastian Donovan tick.
The kitchen was meticulously neat, spotless counters and appliances, the dishes in their glass-fronted cupboards arranged according to size. The room didn't smell of detergent or disinfectant, but of- air, she decided, fresh, faintly herb-scented.
There were several clusters of herbs hanging upside down in front of the window over the sink. Mel sniffed at them, finding their aroma pleasant and vaguely mysterious.
She opened a drawer at random and found baking utensils. She tried another and found more kitchen gadgets neatly stacked.
Where was the clutter? she wondered as she frowned around the room. And the secrets one always found jumbled with it?
Not so much discouraged as intrigued, she slipped back onto the stool and picked up her wine a moment before he came into the room again.
He wore black now-snug coal-colored jeans and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows. His feet were bare. When he picked up the wine to pour his own glass, Mel realized he looked like what he claimed to be.
A wizard.
Smiling, he tapped his glass to hers, leaning close to stare into her eyes. "Will you trust me?"
"Huh?"
His smile widened. "To choose the menu."
She blinked, took a hasty sip of wine. "Sure. I'll eat most anything."
As he began gathering ingredients and pots and pans, she let out a slow, relieved breath. "You're going to cook?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I figured you'd just call out for something." Her brows drew together as he poured oil in a skillet. "It's an awful lot of trouble."
"I enjoy it." Sebastian snipped some herbs into a bowl. "It relaxes me."
Mel scratched her knee and gave the mixture he was making a doubtful look. "You want me to help you?"
"You don't cook."
She lifted a brow. "How do you know?"
"I got a glimpse of your kitchen. Garlic?"
"Sure."
Sebastian crushed the clove with the flat of his knife. "What did you want to talk to me about, Mel?"
"A couple of things." She shifted in her chair, then rested her chin on her hand. Odd, she hadn't realized she would enjoy watching him cook. "Things turned out the way they were supposed to for Rose and Stan and David. What's that you're putting in there?"
"Rosemary."
"It smells good." So did he, she thought. Gone was the sexy leather-and-sweat scent he'd carried with him after the ride. It had been replaced by that equally sexy forest fragrance that was both wild and utterly male. She sipped her wine again, relaxing enough to toe off her boots. "For Mr. and Mrs. Frost back in Georgia, things are pretty awful right now."
Sebastian scooped tomato and garlic and herbs into a skillet. "When someone wins, someone usually lo
ses."
"I know how it works. We did what we had to do, but we didn't finish."
He coated boneless chicken breasts before laying them in a pan. He liked the way she sat there, swinging one leg lazily and watching his culinary preparations with a careful eye. "Go on."
"We didn't get the one who matters, Donovan. The one who arranged the whole thing. We got David back, and that was the most important thing, but we didn't finish. He's not the only baby who's been stolen."
"How do you know?"
"It's logical. An operation that slick, that pat. It wasn't just a one-shot deal."
"No." He topped off their glasses, then poured some of the wine onto the chicken. "It's not."
"So, here's the way I see it." She pushed off the stool. Mel felt she thought better on her feet. "The Frosts had a contact. Now, they might have been able to turn the feds onto him, or he could be long gone. I'd go with long gone." She stopped pacing to tilt her head.
Sebastian nodded. "Continue."
"Okay. It's a national thing. A real company. Got to have a lawyer, someone to handle the adoption papers. Maybe a doctor, too. Or at least someone with connections in the fertility business. The Frosts had all kinds of fertility tests. I checked."
Sebastian stirred and sniffed and checked, but he was listening. "I imagine the FBI checked, as well."
"Sure they did. Our pal Devereaux's right on top of things. But I like to finish what I start. You've got all these couples trying to start a family. They'll try anything. Regulate their sex lives, their diets, dance naked under the full moon. And pay. Pay all kinds of money for tests, for operations, for drugs. And if none of it works, they'll pay for a baby."
She came back to the island to sniff at one of the pots herself. "Good," she murmured. "I know it's usually on the up-and-up. A reputable adoption agency, a reputable lawyer. And, in most cases, it's the right thing. The baby gets a loving home, the biological mother gets a second chance, and the adoptive parents get their miracle. But then you have the slime factor. The sleaze-ball who always finds a way to make a buck off someone else's tragedy."
"Why don't you put a couple of plates on the table by the window? I'm listening."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 262
