She said nothing, just continued to lean in the doorway, the bottle to her lips and her eyes shooting tiny green darts. Sebastian closed the door marked Sutherland Investigations behind him and took a lazy look around.

As offices went, he’d seen worse. And he’d certainly seen better. Her desk was army-surplus gray steel, functional and tough, but far from aesthetically pleasing. Two metal file cabinets were shoved against a wall that would have benefited from a coat of paint. There were two chairs, one in a lurid purple, the other a faded print, on either side of a skinny table that held ancient magazines and was scarred with sundry cigarette burns.

On the wall behind them, as out of place as an elegant woman in a waterfront dive, was a lovely watercolor of Monterey Bay. The room smelled inexplicably like a spring meadow.

He caught a glimpse of the room behind her and saw that it was a tiny and unbelievably disordered kitchen.

He couldn’t resist.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, he smiled at her. “Some digs.”

She took another drink, then dangled the bottle between two fingers. “Have you got business with me, Donovan?”

“Have you got another bottle of that?”

After a moment, she shrugged, then stepped over the phone books again to snatch one out of the refrigerator. “I don’t think you came down off your mountain for a drink.”

“But I rarely turn one down.” He twisted off the top after she handed him the bottle. He skimmed his gaze over her, taking in the snug jeans and the scarred boots, then moving back up, to the tipped-up chin, with its fascinating little center dip, all the way to the distrustful dark green eyes. “You certainly look fetching this morning, Mary Ellen.”

“Don’t call me that.” Though she’d meant merely to sound firm, the words gritted out between her teeth.

“Such a lovely, old-fashioned name.” He tilted his head, baiting her. “Then again, I suppose Mel suits you better.”

“What do you want, Donovan?”

The teasing light faded. “To find David Merrick.”

She was almost fooled. Almost. The simple statement sounded so sincere, so keenly honest, that she nearly reached out. Snapping herself back, she sat on the corner of her desk and studied him.

“It’s just you and me now, pal. So let’s cut to the chase. You don’t have any stake in this. I humored Rose because I couldn’t find a way to talk her out of going to you, and because it gave her some temporary comfort. But I know your kind. Maybe you’re too slick for the obvious con. You know the sort—send me twenty bucks and I’ll change your life. Let me help you obtain money, power, and great sex for only a small monetary contribution.”