"Relax, Mel. Look. Sun's coming up."

They watched the dawn bloom together, his arm around her and her head resting lightly against his shoulder. Over the desert, the colors rose up from the horizon, bleeding into the sky and tinting the low-hanging clouds. Dull sand blushed pink, then deepened to rose before it slowly became gilded. In another hour, the baking sun would leech the color out of the landscape. But for now, for just this single hushed moment, it was as lovely as any painting.

She felt something here, watching this ageless transition with his arm around her. A communion. The first gentle fingers of a bond that needed no words for understanding.

This time, when he kissed her, his mouth soft and seeking, she didn't resist and she didn't question. The moment itself justified it. She was too tired to fight whatever was growing inside her. She was too dazed by the magic of dawn over the desert to refuse what he asked of her.

He wanted to ask for more—knew that at this moment, in this place, he could ask. But he could sense her fatigue, her confusion, and her nagging fears for a friend's child. So he kept kiss easy, a comfort to both of them. When he released her, understood that what they had begun would not be broken.

Without a word, they mounted the bike again and headed east toward the sun.

In southern Utah, not far from the Arizona border—and near enough to Vegas for an easy trip to lose a paycheck—was a hot little huddle of storefronts. The town, such as it was, had a gas station, a tiny cafe that offered corn tortillas, and a twenty-five unit motel with a plaster brontosaurus in the center of the gravel lot.

"Oh," Mel whispered as she stared at the sadly chipped dinosaur. "Oh, sweet Lord." As she eased off the bike, her legs were trembling from more than travel fatigue.

"Let's go see if anyone's awake." Sebastian took her arm to pull her toward the check-in desk.

"You did see it, didn't you?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" When she swayed, he wrapped a supporting arm around her waist. Odd that she would suddenly seem so fragile. "We'll get you a bed while we're at it."

"I'm all right." She'd go into shock later, Mel promised herself. Right now she needed to keep moving. Together they walked through the door and into the fan-cooled lobby.

Sebastian rang the bell on the desk. Moments later, they heard the shuffle of slippered feet behind a faded flowered curtain.

A man in a white athletic shirt and baggy jeans wandered out, his eyes puffy with sleep, his face unshaven.

"Help you?"

"Yes." Sebastian reached for his wallet. "We need a room. Unit 15." He laid down crisp green cash.

"Happens it's empty." The clerk reached for a key from the pegboard behind him. "Twenty-eight a night. Cafe down the road there serves breakfast twenty-four hours. You want to sign here?"

After he had, Sebastian laid another twenty on the counter, with David's picture on top of it. "Have you see this boy? It would have been three months ago."

The clerk looked longingly at the twenty. David's picture might have been a sheet of glass. "Can't remember everybody comes through."

"He was with a woman. Attractive, early thirties. A redhead, driving a midsize Chevy."

"Maybe they was through. I mind my business and nobody else's."

Mel nudged Sebastian aside. "You look like a pretty sharp guy to me. I'd think if a good-looking lady like that came through here, with a cute little baby, you'd notice. Maybe you'd tell her where she could buy spare diapers, or get fresh milk."

He shrugged his shoulders and scratched. "I don't look into anybody else's trouble."

"You'll look to your own, though." Mel's voice had toughened, enough for the clerk to look up warily. "Now, when Agent Donovan—I mean Mr. Donovan." The clerk's eyes widened. "When he asked you if you'd seen that little boy, I think you were going to think it over. Weren't you?"

The clerk licked his lips. "You cops? FBI or something?"

Mel only smiled. "We'll say 'or something' and keep everything mellow."

"I run a quiet place here."

"I can see that. That's why I know if that woman stopped off here with the kid, you'd remember. I don't guess you get all that much traffic."

"Look, she only spent one night. She paid cash in advance, kept the kid pretty quiet through the night and went on her way first thing in the morning."

Mel fought back the ragged edge of hope and kept her voice cool. "Give me a name, pal."

"Hell's bells, how'm I supposed to remember names?"

"You keep records." Mel put a fingertip on the twenty and inched it across the counter. "Records of registered guests, and any phone calls they might make from their rooms. Why don't you dig it up for us? My partner might even give you a bonus."

Muttering oaths, the clerk pulled a cardboard box from behind the desk. "Got phone records here. You can look through the register yourself."

Mel reached for the registration book, then put her hands behind her back and let Sebastian do it. She was ready to admit he'd find what they were looking for quicker than she would.

Sebastian homed in on the name. "Susan White? I don't suppose she showed you any ID?"

"Paid cash," the clerk mumbled. "Jeezie peezie, you expect me to frisk her or something? One long-distance call," he announced. "Went through the operator."

Mel dug in her purse for her notepad. "Date and time." She scribbled them down. "Now listen, friend, and this is the bonus question—no jive. Would you state under oath that this child… and look carefully—" she held up David's picture "—this child was brought into this motel last May?"

The clerk shifted uncomfortably. "If I had to, I would. I don't want to go to court or nothing, but she brought him. I remember he had that dimple there and that funny reddish hair."

"Good job." She wasn't going to cry—oh, no, she wasn't. But she walked outside while Sebastian replaced the photo and passed the clerk another twenty.

"Okay?" he asked when he joined her.

"Sure. Fine."

"I need to see the room, Mel."

"You can wait out here if you want."