Then she could ditch the bike, hop a bus and be back in her office bright and early the next morning.

Mel stretched her legs by pacing the parking lot. Occasionally a semi rattled by, using the back roads to avoid weighing stations. Apart from that, it was dark and quiet. Once she heard something mat sounded suspiciously like a coyote, but she dismissed it. Even out here in the boonies, she assured herself, people had dogs.

Oh, he'd been clever, she thought now, kicking an empty soda can out of her way. He hadn't stopped the bike until they'd been past Fresno. Not exactly walking distance back to Monterey.

And when she'd hopped off, punched him and let loose with a string of curses that should have turned his ears blue, he'd simply waited her out. Waited her out, and then gone on to explain that he'd wanted to follow James T. Parkland's trail.

He'd needed to see the motel where David had stayed with the first woman he'd been passed to.

As if there were a motel. Mel kicked the hapless can again. Did he really expect her to believe they would drive up to some dumb motel with a dinosaur out front?

Right.

So, here she was, tired, hungry and numb from the waist down, stuck on some back road with a crazy psychic. She was two hundred and fifty miles from home, and she had eleven dollars and eighty-six cents on her person.

"Sutherland."

Mel whirled and caught the candy bar he tossed her. She would have cursed him then, but she had to snag the soft drink can that came looping after it.

"Look, Donovan…" Since he was busy with the gas pump, she stalked over, ripping the wrapper off the candy bar as she went. "I've got a business to run. I have clients. I can't be running around half the night with you chasing wild geese."

"You ever done any camping?"

"What? No."

"I've done some up in the Sierra Nevadas. Not far from here. Very peaceful."

"If you don't turn this bike around and take me back, you're going to have an eternity of peace. Starting now."

When he looked at her, really looked, she saw that he didn't appear tired at all. Oh, no. Rather than suffering from four hours of traveling, he looked as if he'd just spent a week at some exclusive spa.

Under the relaxation, the calm, was a drumming excitement that took hold of her pulse and set it hopping. Resenting every minute of it, Mel took a healthy bite of chocolate.

"You're crazy. Certifiable. We can't go to Utah. Do you know how far it is to Utah?"

He realized the temperature had dropped considerably. Sebastian peeled off his jacket and handed it to her. "To the place we want, from Monterey? About five hundred miles." He clicked off the pump, replaced the nozzle. "Cheer up, Sutherland, we're more than halfway there."

She gave up. "There must be a bus depot around here," she muttered, tugging on his jacket as she headed toward the harshly lit store.

"This is where he stopped off with David." Sebastian spoke quietly, and she stopped in her tracks. "Where they made the first switch. He didn't make the kind of time we did, what with traffic, nerves, and watching the rearview mirror for cops. The meet was set for eight."

"This is bull," Mel said, but her throat was tight.

"The night man recognized him from the sketch. He noticed him because Jimmy parked all the way across the lot, even though there were spaces just out front. And he was nervous, so the night man kept an eye on him, thinking he might try to shoplift. But Jimmy paid."

Mel watched Sebastian carefully as he spoke. When he was finished, she held out a hand. "Give me the sketch."

With his eyes on hers, Sebastian reached in the top pocket of the jacket. Through the lining, his hand brushed lightly over her breast, lingering for a heartbeat before he lifted the folded sketch out.

She knew she was breathing too fast. She knew she was feeling more than that brief, meaningless contact warranted. To compensate, she snatched the paper out of his hand and strode toward the store.

As she went inside to verify what he had just told her, Sebastian secured his gas cap and rolled the bike away from the pumps.

It took her less than five minutes. She was pale when she returned, her eyes burning dark in her face. But her hand was steady when she tucked the sketch away again. She didn't want to think, not yet. Sometimes it was better to act.

"All right," she told him. "Let's go."

She didn't doze. That could be suicide on a bike. But she did find her mind wandering, with old images passing over new. It was all so familiar, this middle-of-the-night traveling. Never being quite sure where you were going or what you would do when you got there.

Her mother had always been so happy driving down nameless roads with the radio blaring. Mel could remember the comfort of stretching out on the front seat, her head in her mother's lap, and the simplicity of trusting that somehow they would find a home again.

Heavy with fatigue, her head dropped to Sebastian's back. She jerked up, forcing her eyes wide.

"Want to stop for a while?" he called to her. "Take a break?"

"No. Keep going."

Toward dawn he did stop, refueling himself with coffee. Mel opted for a caffeine-laden soft drink and wolfed down a sugar-spiked pastry.

"I feel I owe you a decent meal,'' Sebastian commented while they took a five-minute breather somewhere near Devil's Playground.

"This is my idea of a decent meal.'' Content, she licked sugar and frosting off her fingers. "You can keep the pheasant under glass."

Her eyes were shadowed. He was sorry for that, but he'd acted on instinct—an instinct he'd known was right. When he slipped an arm around her, she stiffened, but only for a moment. Perhaps she recognized that the gesture was one of friendly support and nothing more.

"We'll be there soon," he told her. "Another hour."

She nodded. She had no choice but to trust him now. To trust him, and the feeling inside her. What Mel would have called a gut hunch. "I just want to know it's worth it. That it's going to make a difference."

"We'll have that answer, too."

"I hope so. I hope the answer's yes." She turned her face into him, her lips brushing over his throat. There was a flare of warmth, of flavor, before her gritty eyes widened. "I'm sorry. I'm punchy." She would have moved away, far away, but his arm merely tightened around her.