She wore no jewelry, no cosmetics. What she did wear—and Sebastian saw it as clearly as he did the color of her hair and eyes—was attitude. Bad attitude.

You're a tough one, aren't you… He scanned for her name and was thudded by a whirl of feeling—a kind of mental static—that told him this one was in as much emotional turmoil as Rose Merrick.

Terrific.

Rose was already moving forward. Sebastian was trying to stand aside, to remain dispassionate, but he knew he was losing. She was fighting those tears, the ones he could feel burning out of her heart.

There was nothing on earth that weakened a man like a courageous woman.

"Mr. Donovan. I won't take up much of your time. I just need…"

Even as her words trailed off, Mel was by her side. The look she shot at Sebastian was anything but friendly. "Are you going to let us come in and sit down, or are we just going to…"

Now she was the one whose words trailed off. It wasn't threatening tears that robbed her of her voice. It was utter shock.

His eyes. It was all she could think for an instant, and indeed she thought it so clearly, so violently, that Sebastian heard the words echo in his own mind.

Ridiculous, she told herself, regaining control. It was a dream. That was all. Some silly dream she was mixing up with reality. It was just that he had the most beautiful eyes. The most uncomfortably beautiful eyes.

He studied her for a moment more, and, though curious, he didn't look beyond her face. She was, even in the harsh sunlight, quite attractive. Perhaps it was the defiance he saw so clearly in her steady green eyes, or the lift of her chin, with its faint and oddly sexy cleft. Attractive, yes, he decided, even if she did wear her hair inches shorter than his own. Even if it did look as though she hacked at it herself with a pair of kitchen shears.

He turned away from her and offered Rose a smile.

"Please, come in," he said, and gave her his hand. He left Mel to follow.

She did, and he might have been amused to see the way she swaggered up those steps and into the high-ceilinged great room, with its skylights and open balcony. She frowned a bit, wishing she didn't find it so appealing, those warm, honey-toned walls that made the light so soft and sexy. There was a low, wide couch, long as a river, done in a lustrous royal blue. He led Rose to it, over a lake-sized rug of bleeding pastels, while Mel checked out his living quarters.

It was neat as a pin without appearing viciously organized. Modern sculptures of marble, wood and bronze were interspersed with what were surely valuable antiques. Everything was large scale, with the result that, despite its size, the room was cozy.

Here and there, set with apparent casualness on those polished antiques, were clusters of crystals—some large enough to strain a man's back lifting them, others tiny enough to fit in a child's palm. Mel found herself charmed by them, the way they winked and gleamed, shaped like ancient cities, slender wands, smooth globes or rough mountains.

She found Sebastian watching her with a kind of patient amusement, and she shrugged. "Some digs."

His lips curved, joining the humor in his eyes. "Thanks. Have a seat."

The couch might be as long as a river, but she chose a chair across the island of an ornately carved coffee table.

His eyes stayed on Mel another moment, and then he turned to Rose. "Can I get you some coffee, Mrs. Merrick? Something cold?"

"No. No, please don't bother." The kindness was worse, somehow, undermining her desperate control. "I know this is an imposition, Mr. Donovan. I've read about you. And my neighbor, Mrs. Ott, she said how you were so helpful to the police last year when that boy went missing. The runaway."

"Joe Cougar." Sebastian sat beside her. "Yes, he thought he'd give San Francisco a try, and drive his parents crazy. I suppose youth enjoys risks."

"But he was fifteen." Rose's voice broke and pressing her lips together, she shored it up again. "I—I don't mean his parents wouldn't have been frightened, but he was fifteen. My David's only a baby. He was in his playpen." She sent Sebastian a look of desperate pleading. "I only left him for a minute when the phone rang. And he was right by the door, sleeping. It wasn't as if he was out on the street, or left in a car. He was right by the open door, and I was only gone a minute."

"Rose." Though her personal preference was to keep her distance from Sebastian, Mel got up to sit beside her friend. "It's not your fault. Everyone understands that."

"I left him," Rose said flatly. "I left my baby, and now he's gone."

"Mrs. Merrick. Rose. Were you a bad mother?" Sebastian asked the question casually, and saw the horror bloom in Rose's eyes. And the fury light in Mel's.

"No. No. I love David. I only wanted to do my best for him. I only—"

"Then don't do this." He took her hand, and his touch was so gentle, so comforting, that the threatening tears retreated a little. "You're not to blame for this. Trying to make it so you are won't help find David."

Mel's fury fizzled out like a wet firecracker. He'd said exactly the right thing, in exactly the right way.

"Will you help me?'' Rose murmured. "The police are trying. And Mel… Mel's doing everything she can, but David's still gone."

Mel, he mused. An interesting name for a long, slim blond with a chip on her shoulder.

"We're going to get David back." Agitated, Mel sprang up again. "We have leads. They may be slim, but—"

"We?" Sebastian interrupted. He got a quick image—here, then gone—of her with a gun gripped in both hands, her eyes as cold as frozen emeralds. "Are you with the police Miss—?"

"Sutherland. Private." She snapped the words at him. "Aren't you supposed to know things like that?"

"Mel…" Rose said with quiet warning.

"That's all right." He patted Rose's hand. "I can look, or I can ask. With relative strangers, it's more polite to ask than to intrude, don't you think?"

"Right." With what was certainly a snort, Mel dropped into a chair again.

"Your friend's a cynic," Sebastian commented. "Cynicism can be very valuable, as well as very rude." He started to steel himself to tell Rose he couldn't help. He simply couldn't open himself to the trauma and risk of looking for another lost little boy.