Mel kept her silence for a moment, because it shamed her to realize that shewas insulted. She was trained, she was a professional, and here they were cruising down the coast to see some witch doctor.

But she wasn't the one who had lost a child. She wasn't the one who had to face that empty crib day after day.

"We're going to find David, Rose." Mel took her hand off the rattling gearshift long enough to squeeze Rose's chilled fingers. "I swear it."

Instead of answering, Rose merely nodded and turned her head to stare out over the dizzying cliffs. If they didn't find her baby, and find him soon, it would be all too easy just to step out over one of those cliffs and let go of the world.

He knew they were coming. It had nothing to do with power. He'd taken the phone call from the shaky-voiced, pleading woman himself. And he was still cursing himself for it. Wasn't that why he had an unlisted number? Wasn't that why he had one of those handy machines to answer his calls whenever anyone dug deep enough to unearth that unlisted number?

But he'd answered that call. Because he'd felt he had to. Known he had to. So he knew they were coming, and he'd braced himself to refuse whatever they would ask of him.

Damn it, he was tired. He'd barely gotten back to his home, to his life, after three grueling weeks in Chicago helping the police track down what the press had so cleverly dubbed the South Side Slicer.

And he'd seen things, things he hoped he'd never see again.

Sebastian moved to the window, the wide window that looked out over a rolling expanse of lawn, a colorful rockery, and then a dizzying spill of cliffs dropping down to the deep sea.

He liked the drama of the view, that dangerous drop, the churning water, even the ribbon of road that sliced through the stone to prove man's wiliness, his determination to move on.

Most of all, he liked the distance, the distance that provided him relief from those who would intrude, not only on his space, but also on his thoughts.

But someone had bridged that distance, had already intruded, and he was still wondering what it meant.

He'd had a dream the night before, a dream that he'd been standing here, just here. But there had been a woman on the other side of the glass—a woman he wanted very badly.

But he'd been so tired, so used up, that he hadn't gathered up the force to focus his concentration. And she'd faded away.

Which, at the moment, was just fine with him.

All he really wanted was sleep, a few lazy days to tend his horses, toy with his business, interfere in the lives of his cousins.

He missed his family. It had been too long this time since he'd been to Ireland to see his parents, his aunts and uncles. His cousins were closer, only a few miles down that winding cliff road, but it felt like years rather than weeks, since he'd seen them.

Morgana was getting so round with the child she carried. No, children. He grinned to himself, wondering if she knew there were twins.

Anastasia would know. His gentler cousin knew all there was to know about healing and folk medicines. But Ana would say nothing unless Morgana asked her directly.

He wanted to see them. Now. He even had a hankering to spend some time with his brother-in-law, though he knew Nash was hip-deep in his new screenplay. Sebastian wanted to hop on his bike, rev it up and whoosh up to Monterey and surround himself with family and the familiar. He wanted, at all costs, to avoid the two women who were even now heading up the hill toward him. Coming to him with needs and pleas and hopelessness.

But he wouldn't.

He wasn't an unselfish man, and he never claimed he was. He did, however, understand the responsibilities that went hand in hand with his gift.

You couldn't say yes to everyone. If you did, you'd go quietly mad. There were times when you said yes, then found your way blocked. That was destiny. There were times when you wanted to say no, wanted desperately to say no, for reasons you might not understand. And there were times when what you wanted meant nothing compared to what you were meant to do.

That, too, was destiny.

He was afraid, uncomfortably afraid, that this was one of those times when his desires meant nothing.

He heard the car straining its way up his hill before he saw it. And nearly smiled. Sebastian had built high and built solitary, and the narrow, rutted lane leading up to his home was not welcoming. Even a seer was entitled to some privacy. He spotted the car, a smudge of dull gray, and sighed.

They were here. The quicker he turned them back, the better.

He started out of the bedroom and down the steps, a tall man, nearly six-five in his booted feet, lean of hip and wide of shoulder. His black hair swept dramatically back from his forehead and fell over the collar of his denim shirt, curling a bit there. His face was set in what he hoped were polite but inaccessible lines. The strong, prominent bones gifted to him by his Celtic ancestors jutted against skin made dusky by his love of the sun.

As he walked down, he trailed a hand along the silky wood of the banister. He had a love for texture, as well, the smooth and the rough. The amethyst he wore on one hand winked richly.

By the time the car had chugged its way to the top of the drive and Mel had gotten over her first astonishment at the sight of the eccentric and somehow fluid structure of wood and glass he called home, Sebastian was standing on the porch.

It was as if a child had tossed down a handful of blocks and they had landed, by chance, in a fascinating pattern of ledges that had then fused together. That was what she thought as she stepped out of the car and was assaulted by the scents of flowers, horses and the trailing wind from the sea.

Sebastian's gaze flicked over Mel, and lingered a moment as his eyes narrowed. With the faintest of frowns, he looked away and focused on Rose.

"Mrs. Merrick?"

"Yes. Mr. Donovan." Rose felt a bubble rise to her throat that threatened to boil into a sob. "It's so kind of you to see me."

"I don't know if it's kind or not." He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans as he studied them. Rose Merrick wore a plain, painfully neat blue dress that hung a bit on her hips. As if she'd recently lost weight. She'd taken some care with her makeup, but, judging by the way her eyes were shining, it wouldn't last long.

He struggled against sympathy.

The other woman hadn't bothered overmuch with appearances, which made her all the more intriguing. Like Sebastian, she was wearing jeans and boots, both well used. The T-shirt she'd tucked into the waistband of her jeans had probably been a bright red at one time, but was now faded with many washings.