Entranced (17 page)

“You didn’t.” Her hesitation had him lifting a brow, then stepping forward to take her hand. “I needed to clear my mind. I couldn’t do it beside you.” He brought her palm to his lips, pressing them at the center. “Too many thoughts clouding the issue.”

“I guess I should’ve gone home.”

“No.” He leaned down to kiss her, lightly, sweetly. “No, indeed.”

“Well, the thing is …” She backed away a little, wishing she had something to do with her hands. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

She looked so young, he thought, and so frail, standing there in his shirt, with her hair mussed from love and sleep, and her eyes too wide.

“Should I say that, since you decided to make an exception with me, you do this sort of thing very well?”

“You don’t have to.” Then her lips turned up. She had done well. They had done incredibly well. “But I don’t guess it hurts. Do you usually sit naked on the floor in candlelight?”

“When the spirit moves me.”

More comfortable now, she began moving around the room, picking up objects. Lips pursed, she examined a centuries-old scrying mirror. “Is this supposed to be magic stuff?”

In that moment, watching her peer suspiciously at the priceless antiques, he adored her. “That was said to belong to Ninian.”

“Who?”

“Ah, Sutherland, your education is sadly lacking. Ninian was a sorceress, reputed to have imprisoned Merlin in his cave of crystal.”

“Yeah?” She took a closer look, found it a pretty piece, then set it down to study a globe of smoky quartz. “So what do you use this stuff for?”

“Enjoyment.” He had no need for scrying mirrors or crystal balls in order to see. He kept them around him out of an appreciation of tradition and a sense of aesthetics. It amused him to see her frown and squint at the tools of power.

There was something he wanted to give her, a small gift. He hadn’t forgotten the fleeting sadness he’d seen in her eyes when she’d told him she didn’t remember her father.

“Would you like to see?”

“See what?”

“To see,” he said gently, and walked to her. “Come.” He took the globe in one hand, her fingers in the other, and drew her back to the center of the room.

“I don’t really think—”

“Kneel.” He nudged her down with him. “Past or future, Mel? Which would you like?”

With a nervous laugh, she settled back on her heels. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a turban?”

“Use your imagination.” He touched a hand to her cheek. “The past, I think. You prefer taking care of your own future.”

“You got that right, but—”

“Put your hands on the globe, Mel. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid.” She squirmed a little, let out a long breath. “It’s just a piece of glass. It’s weird, that’s all,” she muttered as she took the crystal. Sebastian put his hands under hers and smiled.

“My aunt Bryna, Morgana’s mother, gave me this ball as a christening gift. It was, for me, somewhat like training wheels on a bicycle.”

It was cool in her hands, smooth and as cool as lake water. “I had this ball when I was a kid. A black plastic one. You were supposed to ask it questions, then you could shake it and this writing would float up toward this opening. It usually said something like, answer unclear, try again.”

Again he smiled, finding her nerves endearing. The power was flowing into him, sweet as wine, easy as a spring breeze. This was a simple thing he would show her. “Look inside,” he said, and his voice echoed oddly in the small room. “And see.”

She was compelled to do so. At first she saw only a pretty ball with internal fractures glinting rainbows back at her. Then there were shadows, shadows within shadows, forms shifting, colors bleeding.

“Oh,” she murmured, for the glass was no longer cool, but as warm as a sunbeam.

“Look,” he said again, and it seemed his voice was inside her head. “With your heart.”

She saw her mother first, but young, so young, and brightly pretty, despite the heavy use of eyeliner and a
lipstick several shades too pale. It was the laughter in her face that brought the prettiness through the cosmetics. Her hair was blond, shoulder-length, and straight as a pin. She was laughing at a young man in a white uniform, a sailor’s cap perched jauntily on his head.

The man was holding a child of about two who was dressed in a frilly pink dress with black strapped shoes and lacy white socks.

Not just any child, Mel thought as her heart thudded in her throat. Me. The child is me.

In the background was a ship, a big gray naval vessel. There was a band playing something rousingly military, and there were people milling about, talking all at once. She couldn’t hear the words, only the sounds.

She saw the man toss her in the air, toss her high. In the candlelit room her stomach leapt and dropped giddily. And here was love and trust and innocence. His eyes beaming up at her with pride and humor and excitement. Strong hands around her. A whiff of aftershave. A giggly laugh tickling her throat as she was caught close.

She watched the images shift. Saw her parents kiss. Oh, the sweetness of it. Then the boy who had been her father gave them a jaunty salute, tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked toward the ship.

The ball in her hand was only pretty glass with inner fractures glinting rainbows back at her.

“My father.” Mel might have dropped the globe if Sebastian’s hands hadn’t held firm. “It was my father. He … he was in the navy. He wanted to see the world. He left that day from Norfolk. I was only two, I don’t remember. My mother said we went down to see him off, and that he’d been excited.”

Her voice broke, and she gave herself a minute. “A few months later there was a storm in the Mediterranean, and he was lost at sea. He was only twenty-two. Just a boy, really. She has pictures, but you can’t tell from pictures.” Mel stared into the globe again, then slowly looked up at Sebastian. “I have his eyes. I never realized I have his eyes.”

She closed them a moment, waiting until her system leveled a bit. “I did see it, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” He lifted a hand to her hair. “I didn’t show you to make you sad, Mary Ellen.”

“It didn’t. It made me sorry.” On a sigh, she opened her eyes again. “Sorry I can’t remember him. Sorry that
my mother remembers too much and that I never understood that before. And it made me happy to have seen him, and them together—all of us together—even once.” She slipped her hands away, leaving the ball in his. “Thank you.”

“It was a small thing, after what you brought me tonight.”

“What I brought?” she asked as he rose to replace the ball.

“Yourself.”

“Oh, well …” Clearing her throat, she got to her feet. “I don’t know if I’d put it like that.”

“How would you put it?”

She looked back at him and felt that new helpless fluttering in her stomach. “I don’t know, exactly. We’re both adults.”

“Yes.” He started toward her, and she surprised herself by edging back.

“Unattached.” So it seems.

“Responsible.”

“Admirably.” He danced his fingers over her hair. “I’ve wanted to see you in candlelight, Mary Ellen.”

“Don’t start that.” She brushed his hand away.

“What?”

“Don’t call me Mary Ellen, and don’t start that violin-and-candlelight business.”

His eyes stayed on hers as he trailed a finger down her throat. “You object to romance?”

“Not object, exactly.” Her emotions were too close to the surface, much too close, after what she had seen in the globe. She needed to make certain they had their ground rules. “I just don’t need it. I don’t know what to do with it. And I think we’ll deal better if we know where we stand.”

“Where do we stand?” he asked, slipping his hands around her waist.

“Like I said, we’re responsible, unattached adults. And we’re attracted to each other.”

He touched his lips to her temple. “So far I find nothing to argue about.”

“And as long as we handle this relationship sensibly—”

“Oh, we may run into trouble there.”

“I don’t see why.”

He skimmed his hands up her rib cage until his thumbs circled her nipples. “I don’t feel particularly sensible.”

Her knees buckled. Her head fell back. “It’s just a matter of … establishing priorities.”

“I have my priorities.” He teased her lips apart with his tongue. “Top of the list is making love with you until we’re both a puddle of useless flesh.”

“Good.” She went willingly when he pulled her to the floor. “Good start.”

*  *  *

She really worked better with lists. By the following evening, Mel was huddled at her desk, doing her best to put one together. It was the first free hour she’d had since speeding away from Sebastian’s house at 10:00 a.m., already frazzled and behind schedule.

She was never behind schedule. Of course, she’d never had an affair with a witch before. It was obviously a month for firsts.

If she hadn’t had an appointment, paperwork and a court appearance waiting, she might not have left his house at all. He’d certainly done everything in his power to discourage her, she remembered, tapping her pencil against her smiling lips.

The man definitely had a lot of power.

But work was work, she reminded herself. She had a business to run.

The best news of the day was that the New Hampshire State Police had picked up James T. Parkland. And there was a certain sergeant, grateful for her tip and annoyed with the federal takeover, who was being very cooperative.

He’d faxed Mel a copy of Parkland’s statement on the sly.

It was a start.

She had the name of the high roller who’d held Parkland’s IOU, and she intended to put it to good use. With any luck, she’d be spending a few days in Lake Tahoe.

She needed to bring Devereaux around. He’d want to use his own agents on any kind of a sting, and she had to come up with several solid reasons why she and Sebastian would make better bait.

Her assistance and cooperation in the Merrick case would work in her favor, but Mel didn’t think it would swing the deal. Her record was good, she didn’t do flashy work—and she sensed that Devereaux would disapprove of a hotdogging PI. Her partnership with Sebastian was in her favor, as well. And the fact that she was perfectly willing to let the feds take the lion’s share of credit for the collar would add a little weight to her side of the scales.

“Open for business?” Sebastian asked as he pushed open the door.

She struggled to ignore the quick, giddy fluttering in her stomach, and she smiled. “Actually, I’m closing for the day in five minutes.”

“Then my timing’s good. What’s this?” Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet to examine the trim peach-colored suit she wore.

“Court appearance late this afternoon.” She moved her shoulders restlessly as he toyed with the pearls at her throat. “Divorce case. Kind of nasty. So you want to go in looking as much like a lady as possible.”

“You succeeded.”

“Easy for you to say. It takes twice as much time and trouble to dress like a lady as it does to dress like a normal person.” She rested a hip on the desk and handed him a sheet of paper. “I got a copy of Parkland’s statement.”

“Quick work.”

“As you can see, he’s a pretty pathetic type. He was desperate. He didn’t mean to hurt anybody. He was over his head. Gambling problem. Afraid for his life.” She gave a quick, unladylike opinion of his excuses. “I’m surprised he didn’t toss out how his father had traumatized him by not giving him a little red wagon for
Christmas.”

“He’ll pay,” Sebastian said. “Pathetic or not.”

“Right, because he was also stupid. Taking David across the state line really upped the ante.” She kicked off her shoes and rubbed her calf with her foot. “Now he claims he got the offer of the job over the phone.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Sure. Want a drink?”

“Mmm.” Sebastian read over the statement again while she moved into the kitchen.

“Five thousand dollars for snatching a kid. Pretty paltry, compared with the sentence he’s facing. So.” She turned, found Sebastian in the doorway and offered him a soft drink. “He owes thirty-five hundred to this casino up in Tahoe, and he knows if he doesn’t make a payment soon, he’s going to have his face rearranged in a way that might not be pleasing. So he scouts out a kid.”

He was following her, but Sebastian was also interested in her personal habitat. “Why David?” he asked as he walked past her into the adjoining room.

“I looked into that. Stan worked on his car about five months ago. Stan’ll show off pictures of David to anyone who doesn’t run for cover. So when Parkland figured snatching a kid was better than plastic surgery the hard way, he figured a mechanic’s kid might be the ticket. David’s cute. Even a sleaze like Parkland would have realized a pretty baby makes an impression on a buyer.”

“Um-hmm.” Sebastian rubbed a hand over his chin as he studied her bedroom. He assumed it was a bedroom, as there was a narrow, unmade bed in the center of it. It also appeared to be a living room, as it also had an overstuffed chair piled with books and magazines, a portable TV on a wobbly plant stand, and a lamp in the shape of a trout. “Is this where you live?”

“Yeah.” She kicked a pair of boots out of the way. “Maid’s year off. And so,” she continued, dropping down on a chest decorated with stickers of most, if not all, of the fifty states, “he took the job, got all his instructions from Mr. X over the phone. Met the redhead at the prearranged drop and exchanged David for an envelope of cash.”

“What’s this?”

Mel glanced over. “It’s a Bullwinkle bank. Didn’t you ever watch Bullwinkle?”

“I believe I did,” Sebastian mused, shaking the moose before setting it aside again. “Hokey smokes.”

“That’s the one. Anyway—”

“And this?” He gestured to a poster tacked to the wall.

“Underdog. Wally Cox used to do the voice. Are you paying attention to me?”

He turned and smiled. “I’m riveted. Do you know it takes a bold soul to mix purple and orange in one room?”

“I like bright colors.”

“And red-striped sheets.”

“They were on sale,” she said impatiently. “You turn the light off when you sleep, anyway. Look, Donovan, how long are we going to discuss my decor?”