Entranced

  “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 that 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.”

  “Car pool,” Mrs. O’Dell said quietly.

  “She let me off right behind it. I don’t like riding with Freddy, ’cause he pinches.”

  “Did you play the license-plate game with the brown car?” Mel asked.

  “I like it when they make words. Like cat.”

  “You’re sure it was that brown car? Not some other car you saw on the drive home from school?”

  “No, ’cause it was parked just out front the whole week Freddy’s mom drove me. Sometimes it was on the other side of the street. Then it wasn’t there anymore when Mom had the pool.”

  “Do you remember the numbers, Billy?”

  “I don’t like numbers. Letters are better. K-a-t,” he repeated. Then he looked up at his mother. “If it doesn’t spell cat, what does it spell?”

  With a grin, Mel kissed him right on the chocolate-smeared mouth. “This time it spells thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  * * *

  Mel was practically singing when she walked back into Sutherland Investigations. She had something. Maybe it was only half of a license plate, and maybe the information had come from a six-year-old, but she had something.

  She switched her answering machine to playback, then nipped into the kitchen for a soft drink. Her self-satisfied smile remained as she jotted down the messages.

  Good solid investigative work, she told herself. That was the way you got things done. Persistence didn’t hurt. She didn’t imagine the police had managed to get anywhere near Billy O’Dell, or that they would have considered him a viable witness.

  Solid investigative work, persistence—and hunches. Mel believed in hunches, just as she believed they were part of an investigator’s makeup. But that was a far cry from psychic visions.

  Her smile tilted toward a smirk as she thought of Sebastian. Maybe he had gotten lucky with the sketch and the car. But maybe it was just as she’d thought before. A connection on the force could have given him that data.

  She wouldn’t mind rubbing his nose in this new information.

  Not that he was all bad, she thought, feeling charitable. He’d been okay when they’d shared a burger the evening before. No more come-ons—which she’d been positive she would have nipped in the bud. And he hadn’t gotten spooky on her, either.

  Actually, she remembered, they’d talked. Mostly books and movies, those old conversational standbys. But he had been interesting. When he wasn’t irritating her, his voice was rather pleasant, with that whisper of a brogue.

  A brogue that had deepened when he’d murmured to her, his lips sliding over hers.

  Annoyed, she shook herself. She wasn’t going to think about that. She’d been kissed before, and she wasn’t against the practice. She simply preferred to choose her own time and place.

  And if she hadn’t had a reaction quite like that before, it was because he’d taken her so completely by surprise.

  That wouldn’t happen again, either.

  In fact, the way things were going, she wasn’t going to need Sebastian Donovan and his hocus-pocus any longer. She had a few contacts at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and once she called in with the partial plate
she would …

  Her thoughts trailed off as Sebastian’s voice flowed out of her answering machine.

  “Ah, Sutherland, sorry I missed you. Out sleuthing, I suppose.”

  She made a face at the machine. An immature reaction, she readily admitted. But the laughter in his voice demanded it.

  “I thought you might be interested in some new information. I’ve been working on the car. The left rear tire’s nearly bald—which could give our man a great deal of trouble, since his spare is flat.”

  “Give me a break, Donovan,” she muttered. She rose, deciding to turn off the machine, and the voice.

  “Oh, by the way, the car has California plates. KAT 2544.”

  Mel’s mouth fell open as her finger hesitated on the button.

  “I thought you might be able to work your detective magic with that tidbit. Let me know what you come up with, won’t you, love? I’ll be home this evening. Good hunting, Mary Ellen.”

  “Son of a—” She gritted her teeth and switched the machine off.

  * * *

  She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one damn bit, but she downshifted and started up the narrow, bumpy lane to Sebastian’s house. Not for a minute did she believe he’d dreamed the plate number—or whatever term he would use—but, since he’d given her the tip, she felt obliged to do a follow-up.

  When she reached the top of his lane, she was torn between elation at the progress she’d made and irritation at having to deal with him again. She’d be professional, she promised herself as she pulled between a muscular-looking Harley and a late-model minivan.

  After climbing the steps, she gave a brisk knock on the door. The knocker she used was a brass figure of a snarling wolf. Intrigued, Mel played with it for a moment while she waited. When there was no response, Mel did what came naturally. She peeked in the windows.

  She saw no one, only the lofty living room on one side and a very impressive library on the other. If her conscience had allowed, she would have turned away and gone home. But to do so would be both cowardly and petty. Instead, she went back down the steps and started around the house.

  Mel spotted him standing inside a paddock, his arm intimately around a slim blonde in snug jeans. They were laughing, and the sound they made together was as intimate as their stance.

  The quick bolt of heat baffled her. She didn’t give a hang if he had a lady. She didn’t care if he had a bloody harem. This was business.

  But the fact that he would kiss a woman senseless one day and be snuggled up to another the next told Mel just what kind of a man Sebastian Donovan was.

  A creep.

  Despite it, she would be professional. Digging her hands into her pockets, she strode across the lawn toward the weathered fence.

  “Hey, Donovan.”

  They both turned, man and woman. Mel could see that the female was not only slim and blond, but lovely, too. Absolutely lovely, with calm gray eyes and a soft, full mouth that was already curved in a half smile.

  Mel felt like a big mongrel dog faced with a glossy purebred.

  As she scowled, Mel saw him murmur something to the woman, kiss her smooth temple, then come over to lean against the fence.

  “How you doing, Sutherland?”

  “I got your message.”

  “I assumed you did. Ana, this is Mel Sutherland, a private investigator. Mel, Anastasia Donovan. My cousin.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Ana held out a hand as Mel approached the fence. “Sebastian’s told me about the case you’re working on. I hope you find the child quickly.”

  “Thanks.” Mel accepted the hand. There was something so soothing about the voice, about the touch, that she felt half of her tension dissolve. “I’m making some progress.”

  “The boy’s parents must be frantic.”

  “They’re scared, but they’re holding up.”

  “I’m sure it helps them, having someone who cares so much trying to help.”

  Anastasia stepped back, wishing she could do something to help. But, like Sebastian, she had learned she couldn’t be all things to all people.

  “I’m sure you have business,” she continued.

  “I don’t want to interrupt.” Mel flicked a glance at Sebastian, then looked over his shoulder to where the horses stood. The quick pleasure showed in her face before she looked away again. “I only need a minute.”

  “No, take your time.” Graceful as a doe, Ana vaulted over the fence. “I was just leaving. Will you make the movies tomorrow night, Sebastian?”

  “Whose turn is it?”

  “It’s Morgana’s. She said she felt like murder, so we’re going to see a thriller.”

  “I’ll meet you.” He leaned over the fence to give her another kiss. “Thanks for the tansy.”

  “My pleasure. Welcome home. Nice to meet you, Mel.”

  “Yeah. Nice to meet you.” Mel pushed her hair out of her eyes and watched Anastasia cross the lawn.

  “Yes, she is lovely, isn’t she?” Sebastian said lightly. “And as lovely inside as out.”

  “You seemed pretty close, for cousins.”

  His lips curved. “Yes, we are. Ana, Morgana and I spent a great deal of our childhood together, here and in Ireland. And, of course, when you have something in common, something that separates you from what’s termed the norm, you tend to stick together.”

  Lifting a brow, Mel turned back to him. “You want me to believe she’s psychic, too?”

  “Not precisely. Ana has a different talent.” He reached out to brush at Mel’s bangs himself. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my family.”

  “No.” She shifted slightly, just out of reach, and tried to decide on the least humiliating way to thank him. “I checked out the plate. I already had half of it myself when I got the message.”

  “Oh?”

  “I turned up a witness.” No way was she going to admit how hard she’d worked to come up with those three little letters. “So anyway, I called my contact at the DMV, had it checked out.”

  “And?”

  “And the car’s registered to a James T. Parkland. The address is in Jamesburg.” Propping one booted foot on a low rail, she leaned on the fence while the breeze ruffled her hair. She liked the smell of horses. Just watching them relaxed her. “I took a ride down there. He’d skipped. Landlady was pretty talkative, since he’d ducked two months’ rent.”

  The mare walked over to the fence and bumped Mel’s shoulder. Automatically she lifted a hand to stroke down the smooth white cheek. “I got an earful on Jimmy. He was the kind of guy who just invited trouble. Not a bad-looking boy—and I quote—but always had his pockets turned out. Always seemed to scrape up enough for a six-pack, though. The landlady claims to have taken a … motherly interest in him … but I have a hunch it wasn’t quite so platonic. Otherwise she wouldn’t be so steamed.”

  “Two months’ rent,” Sebastian reminded her, watching the way Mel’s hand rubbed over the horse.

  “Uh-uh. This was personal. She had that bitter tone a woman gets when she’s been dumped.”

  Sebastian tilted his head, trusting Mel’s intuition. “Which made her more talkative—to a sympathetic ear.”

  “You bet. She said he liked to gamble. Mostly on sports, but any game would do. He’d gotten in pretty deep over the last few months, started having visitors.” She flicked Sebastian a glance. “The kind who have broken noses and lumps under their suit coats where their guns ruin the line. He tried to hit her up for some quick cash, but she claimed she was tapped out. Then he said how he had a line on how to get himself out of it, once and for all. Last few days he was there, he was real nervous, jumpy, hyped up. Then he split. The last time she saw him was a week before David’s kidnapping.”

  “An interesting story.”

  “It gives me something to work with. I figured you’d want to know.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  “Well, it hurts, but I turned over what I had to the local cops
. The more people we have looking for old Jimmy, the better.”

  Sebastian ran a hand over Psyche’s flank. “He’s about as far away from Monterey as you can get and still stay in the country.”

  “Yeah, I figure he’s—”

  “I don’t figure.” Sebastian turned those compelling eyes of his on her. “I know. He’s traveling in New England, too nervous to settle yet.”

  “Look, Donovan …”

  “When you searched his room, did you notice that the second drawer down on his dresser had a loose pull?”

  She had, but she said nothing.

  “I’m not playing parlor games with you, Mel,” Sebastian said impatiently. “I want to get that boy back, and quickly. Rose is losing hope. Once she loses it completely, she may very well do something drastic.”

  Instant fear. It gripped Mel by the throat with vicious fingers. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Use what influence you have. See that the Vermont and New Hampshire police look for him. He’s driving a Toyota now. Red. The plates are the same.”

  She wanted to dismiss it, but she couldn’t. “I’m going to go see Rose.”

  Before she could back away from the fence, Sebastian laid a hand over hers. “I called Rose a couple of hours ago. She’ll be all right for a while longer.”

  “I told you I didn’t want you to feed her any of this business.”

  “You work your way, I’ll work mine.” His hand tightened on Mel’s. “She needed something, a little something to hold on to, to get her through another night when she goes in and looks at an empty crib. I gave it to her.”

  She felt something from him, something so akin to her own fear and frustration that she relented. “All right, maybe it was the thing to do. I can’t second-guess you there. But if you’re right about Parkland being in New England …”

  “You won’t get first shot at him.” Sebastian smiled, relaxed now. “And that just burns the hell right out of you.”

  “You hit that one dead on.” She hesitated, then let out a long breath and decided to tell it all. “I got hold of an associate in Georgia.”

  “You have far-reaching connections, Sutherland.”

  “I spent about twenty years knocking around the country. Anyway, there’s a lawyer there, and he put me on to an investigator he trusts. As a professional courtesy, he’s going to do some checking.”

  “Does that mean you’re accepting the fact that David’s in Georgia?”

  “It means I’m not taking any chances. If I was sure, I’d go myself.”

  “When you are, and when you do, I’ll go with you.”

  “Right.” And there would be reports of frost in hell. There was nothing else she could do tonight, Mel thought. But she had a good beginning. Which was more, she was forced to admit, than she’d had before Sebastian had come along. “Is this head business of yours, this ESP, like what they study at Columbia, places like that?”

  He had to smile. It was simply her nature to try to logic out the intangible. “No. Not quite. What you’re referring to is that added sense most people have—to some extent—and usually chose to ignore. Those little flashes of insight, premonition, déjà vu. What I am is both less and more.”

  She wanted something more tangible, more logical, but she doubted she’d get it. “Seems pretty weird to me.”

  “People are often frightened by what they consider weird. There have been times throughout history when people have been frightened enough to hang or burn or drown those who seemed different.” He studied her carefully, his hand still over hers on the rail. “But you aren’t frightened, are you?”

  “Of you?” Her laugh was quick. “No, I’m not scared of you, Donovan.”

  “You may be before it’s done,” he said, half to himself. “But I often feel