"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 there was 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?''

"Only a moment or two." He picked up a bowl shaped like the Cheshire cat. She'd tossed odds and ends into it. A straight pin, a safety pin, a couple of loose buttons, a .22 bullet, a coupon for the soft drinks she seemed to live on, and what looked to Sebastian to be a lock pick.

"You're not the tidy sort, are you?"

"I use up my organizational talents in business."

"Um-hmm." He set the bowl down and picked up a book. "The Psychic Handbook?"

"Research," she said, and scowled. "I got it out of the library a couple of weeks ago."

"What did you think?"

"I think it has very little to do with you."

"I'm sure you're right." He set it aside again. "This room has very much to do with you. Just as that streamlined office out there does. Your mind is very disciplined, like your file cabinet."

She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not, but she recognized the look in his eye. "Look, Donovan…"

"But your emotions," he continued, moving toward her, "are very chaotic, very colorful."

She batted his hand away when he toyed with her pearls. "I'm trying to have a professional conversation."

"You closed up shop for the day. Remember?"

"I don't have regular hours."

"Neither do I." He flipped open a button of her suit jacket. "I've been thinking about making love with you ever since I finished making love with you this morning."

Her skin was going hot, and she knew her attempts to stop him from undoing her jacket were halfhearted at best. "You must not have enough on your mind."

"Oh, you're quite enough. I have started on some arrangements that should please you. Professionally."

She turned her head just in time to avoid his mouth. "What arrangements?"

"A long conversation with Agent Devereaux and his superior."

Her eyes flew open again as she struggled away from his hands. "When? What did they say?"

"You could say the stew's simmering. It'll take a couple of days. You'll have to be patient."

"I want to talk to him myself. I think he should—"

"You'll have your shot at him tomorrow. The next day, at the latest." He drew her hands behind her back, handcuffing her wrists with his fingers. "What's going to happen will happen soon enough. I know the when, I know the where."

"Then—"

"Tonight, it's just you and me."

"Tell me—"

"I'm going to show you," he murmured. "Show you just how easy it is to think of nothing else, to feel nothing else. To want nothing else." With his eyes on hers, he teased her mouth. "I wasn't gentle with you before."

"It doesn't matter."