Entranced (20 page)

Before he could decide which to choose, he had a flash of the stables, the smell of hay and sweat and the distressed whicker of the mare.

Mel blinked awake as she felt him pull away. “What? What?”

“Go back to sleep,” he ordered, reaching for a shirt.

“Where are you going?”

“Psyche’s ready to foal. I’m going to the stables.”

“Oh.” Without thinking, she climbed out to search for her clothes. “I’ll go with you. Should we call the vet?”

“Ana will come.”

“Oh.” She fumbled with her buttons in the dark. “Should I call her?”

“Ana will come,” he said again, and left her to finish dressing.

Mel hurried after him, pulling on boots on the run. “Should I, like, boil water or something?”

Halfway down the stairs, he stopped and kissed her. “For coffee. Thanks.”

“They always boil water,” she mumbled, trudging into the kitchen. By the time the coffee was scenting the room, she heard the sound of a car. “Three cups,” Mel decided, figuring it was useless to question how Anastasia had known to come.

She found both cousins in the stables. Ana was kneeling beside the mare, murmuring. Beside her were two leather pouches and a rolled cloth.

“She’s all right, isn’t she?” Mel asked. “I mean, she’s healthy?”

“Yes.” Ana stroked Psyche’s neck. “She’s fine. Just fine.” Her voice was as soothing as a cool breeze in the desert. The mare responded to it with a quiet whinny. “It won’t take long. Relax, Sebastian. It’s not the first foal to be born in the world.”

“It’s her first,” he shot back, feeling foolish. He knew it would be all right. He could have told them what sex the foal would be. But that didn’t make it any easier to wait while his beloved Psyche suffered through the pangs.

Mel offered him a mug. “Have some coffee, Papa. You could always go pace in the next stall with Eros.”

“You might keep him calm, Sebastian,” Ana tossed over her shoulder. “It’ll help.”

“All right.”

“Coffee?” Mel eased into the stall to offer Ana a mug.

“Yes, a little.” She sat back on her heels to sip.

“Sorry,” Mel said when she saw Ana’s eyes go wide. “I tend to make it strong.”

“It’s all right. It’ll last me for the next couple of weeks.” She opened a pouch and shook some dried leaves and petals into her hand.

“What’s that?”

“Just some herbs,” Ana said as she fed them to the mare. “To help her with the contractions.” She chose three crystals from the other pouch and placed them on the mare’s quivering side. She was murmuring now in Gaelic.

The crystals should slide off, Mel thought, staring at them. It was gravity, basic physics. But they remained steady, even as the laboring horse shuddered.

“You have good hands,” Ana said. “Stroke her head.”

Mel complied. “I really don’t know anything about birthing. Well, I had to learn the basics when I was a cop, but I never … Maybe I should …”

“Just stroke her head,” Ana repeated gently. “The rest is the most natural thing in the world.”

*  *  *

Perhaps it was natural, Mel thought later as she, Sebastian, Ana and the mare labored to bring the foal into the world. But it was also miraculous. She was slick with sweat, her own and the horse’s, wired from coffee, and giddy with the idea of helping life into the light.

A dozen times throughout the hours they worked she saw the changes in Ana’s eyes. From cool calm gray to smoky concern. From warm amusement to such deep, depthless compassion that Mel’s own eyes stung in response.

Once she’d been sure she saw pain in them, a wild, terrified pain that faded only after Sebastian spoke sharply to his cousin.

“Only to give her a moment’s relief,” she’d said, and Sebastian had shaken his head.

After that it had happened quickly, and Mel had scrambled to help.

“Oh, wow” was the best she could do as she stared at the mare going about the business of cleaning her new son. “I can’t believe it. There he is. Just like that.”

“It’s always a fresh amazement.” Ana picked up her pouches and her medical instruments. “Psyche’s fine,”
she continued as she rolled the instruments in the apron she’d put on before the birthing. “The colt, too. I’ll come back around this evening for another look, but I’d say mother and son are perfect.”

“Thank you, Ana.” Sebastian pulled her against him for a hug.

“My pleasure. You did very well for your first foaling, Mel.”

“It was incredible.”

“Well, I’m going to get cleaned up and head home. I think I’ll sleep till noon.” Ana kissed Sebastian’s cheek, and then, just as casually, kissed Mel’s. “Congratulations.”

“What a way to spend the night,” Mel murmured, and leaned her head against Sebastian’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you were here.”

“So am I. I never saw anything born before. It makes you realize just how fantastic the whole business is.” She yawned hugely, “And exhausting. I wish I could sleep till noon.”

“Why don’t you?” He tilted his head to kiss her. “Why don’t we?”

“I have a business to run. And, since I’m going to be away from it for a couple of weeks, I have a lot of loose ends to tie up.”

“You have one to tie up here.”

“I do?”

“Absolutely.” He swung her up, stained shirt, grubby hands and all. “A few hours ago I was lying in bed thinking about sneaking into one of your dreams with you, or just waking you up.”

“Sneaking into one of my dreams?” She gave him a hand by pushing open the door. “Can you do that?”

“Oh, Sutherland, have some faith. In any case,” he continued, carrying her straight through the kitchen and into the hall. “Before I did either, we were distracted. So, before you go in to work to tie up loose ends, we’ll tie some of our own right here.”

“Interesting thought. You may not have noticed, however, that we’re both a mess.”

“I’ve noticed.” He marched through the master bedroom into the bath. “We’re going to have a shower.”

“Good idea. I think— Sebastian!”

She shrieked with laughter as he stepped into the shower stall, fully dressed, and turned on the water.

“Idiot. I still have my boots on.”

He grinned. “Not for long.”

Mel wasn’t sure how she felt about being Mrs. Donovan Ryan. It certainly seemed to her that Mary Ellen Ryan—her cover persona—was a singularly boring individual, more interested in fashion and manicures than in anything of real importance.

She had to agree it was a good setup. Damn good, she mused as she stepped out onto the deck of the house and studied the glimmer of Lake Tahoe under the moonlight.

The house itself was nothing to sneeze at. Two sprawling levels of contemporary comfort, it was tastefully furnished, decorated with bold colors to reflect the style of its owners.

Mary Ellen and Donovan Ryan, formerly of Seattle, were a modern couple who knew what they wanted.

What they wanted most, of course, was a child.

She’d been impressed with the house when they’d arrived the day before. Impressed enough to comment on the fact that she hadn’t expected the FBI to be able to provide such cozy digs so quickly. It was then that Sebastian had casually mentioned that it was one of his properties—something he’d had a whim to pick up about six months before.

Coincidence or witchcraft? Mel thought with a grimace. You be the judge.

“Ready for a night on the town, sweetheart?”

Her grimace turned into a scowl as she turned to Sebastian. “You’re not going to start calling me all those dopey names just because we’re supposed to be married.”

“Heaven forbid.” He stepped out on the deck, looking—Mel was forced to admit—about as gorgeous as a man could get in his black dinner suit. “Let’s have a look at you.”

“I put it all on,” she said, struggling not to grumble. “Right down to the underwear you set out.”

“You’re such a good sport.” The sarcasm was light and friendly, and made her lips twitch into a reluctant smile. Taking her hand, he turned her in a circle. Yes, he thought, the red evening pants had been an excellent choice. The fitted silver jacket went quite well with them, as did the ruby drops at her ears. “You look wonderful. Try to act like you believe it.”

“I hate wearing heels. And do you know what they did to my hair?”

His lips curved as he flicked a finger over it. It was sleeked back in a sassy, side-parted bob. “Very chic.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t have some maniacal woman with a French accent glopping up your head with God knows what, spraying stuff on it, snipping and crimping and whatnot until you wanted to scream.”

“Hard day, huh?”

“That’s not the half of it. I had to get my nails done. You have no idea what that’s like. They come at you with these little scissors and probes and files and smelly bottles, and they talk to you about their boyfriends and ask personal questions about your sex life. And you have to act like you’re just enjoying the hell out of it. I almost had to have a facial.” She shuddered with complete sincerity. “I don’t know what they’d have done to me, but I said I had to get home and fix dinner.”

“A narrow escape.”

“If I really had to go to a beauty parlor once a week for the rest of my life, I think I’d slit my throat.”

“Buck up, Sutherland.”

“Right.” She sighed, feeling better. “Well, it wasn’t hard to start spreading it around how I had this wonderful husband and this great new house and how we’d been trying for years to have a baby. They just lap that kind of stuff up. I went on about how we’d had all these tests and had been trying these fertility drugs, and how long the lists were at adoption agencies. They were very sympathetic.”

“Good job.”

“Better, I got the name of two lawyers and a doctor. The doctor’s supposed to be some miracle gynecologist. One of the lawyers was the manicurist’s cousin, and the other was supposed to have helped the sister-in-law of this lady getting a permanent to adopt two Romanian babies last year.”

“I believe I follow that,” Sebastian said after a moment.

“I figured we should check it out. Tomorrow I’m going to the health club. While they’re pummeling me, I can go through the routine.”

“There’s no law that says you can’t enjoy a sauna and massage while you’re at it.”

She hesitated, and was grateful that the roomy pockets of the evening pants made a home for her hands. “It makes me feel … I know you’re putting a lot of your money into this.”

“I have plenty.” He tipped a finger under her chin. “If I didn’t want to use it this way, I wouldn’t. I remember how Rose looked when you brought her to me, Mel. And I remember Mrs. Frost. We’re in this together.”

“I know.” She curled her fingers around his wrist. “I should be thanking you instead of complaining.”

“But you complain so well.” When she grinned, he kissed her. “Come on, Sutherland. Let’s gamble. I’m feeling lucky.”

*  *  *

The Silver Palace was one of Tahoe’s newest and most opulent hotel casinos. White swans glided in the silvery waters of the lobby pool, and man-size urns exploded with exotic flowers. The staff was dressed in spiffy tuxedos with trademark silver ties and cummerbunds.

They passed a number of elegant shops displaying everything from diamonds and furs to T-shirts. Mel figured they’d aligned them close enough to the casino to tempt any winners to put their money back into the hotel.

The casino itself was crowded with sound, the chink-chink of coins pouring out of slots echoing from the high ceilings. There was the hubbub of voices, the clatter of the roulette wheels, the smell of smoke and liquor and perfumes. And, of course, of money.

“Some joint,” Mel commented, taking a gander at the knights and fair ladies painted on the windowless
walls.

“What’s your game?”

She shrugged. “They’re all sucker’s games. Trying to win against the house is like trying to row upstream with one oar. You might make some progress, but the current’s going to carry you down sooner or later.”

He nipped lightly at her ear. “You’re not here to be practical. We’re on our second honeymoon, remember? Sweetie pie?”

“Yuck,” she said distinctly through a bright, loving smile. “Okay, let’s buy some chips.”

She opted to start off with the slots, deciding they were mindless enough to allow her to play while still absorbing her surroundings. They were there to make contact with Jasper Gumm, the man who’d held Parkland’s IOU. Mel was well aware it could take several nights to reach that next step.

She lost steadily, then won back a few dollars, automatically feeding the coins back into the machine. She found there was something oddly appealing about the whoosh and jingle, the occasional squeal from another player, the bells and lights that rang and flashed when someone hit the jackpot.

It was relaxing, she realized, and tossed a smile over her shoulder to Sebastian. “I don’t guess the house has to worry about me breaking the bank.”

“Perhaps if you went at it less … aggressively.” He put a hand over hers as she pulled the lever. Lights whirled. Bells clanged.

“Oh!” Her eyes went huge as coins began to shoot into the basket. “Oh, wow! That’s five hundred!” She did a little dance, then threw her arms around him. “I won five hundred dollars.” She gave him a big, smacking kiss, then froze with her mouth an inch from his. “Oh, God, Donovan, you cheated.”

“What a thing to say. Outwitting a machine isn’t cheating.” He could see her sense of fair play warring with her elation. “Come on, you can lose it back at blackjack.”

“I guess it’s okay. It’s for a higher cause.”

“Absolutely.”

Laughing, she began to scoop the coins into the bucket beside the machine. “I like to win.”

“So do I.”

They scoped out the tables, sipping champagne and playing the part of an affectionate couple on a night out. She tried not to take it too seriously, the attention he paid her, the fact that his hand was always there when she reached for it.

They were lovers, yes, but they weren’t in love. They cared for and respected each other—but that was a long way from happily-ever-after. The ring on her finger was only a prop, the house they shared only a cover.

One day she would have to give the ring back and move out of the house. They might continue to see each other, at least for a time. Until his work and hers took them in different directions.