“Where in the name of Finn do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

Mel cocked one penciled eyebrow. “In the name of who?”

He made a dismissive gesture and tried to keep his eyes off her legs. Whatever fragrance she’d dumped all over herself made his tongue want to hang out. “You look like a—”

“Yeah.” Pleased, she grinned and turned in a saucy circle. “It’s my floozy look. Works like a charm. Most guys don’t care if you’re pretty or not if you show enough skin and cover the rest with something tight.”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to try to decipher that. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Tools of the trade, Donovan.” She shifted the oversize purse on her shoulder. Inside it, she carried another tool of the trade. “If you’re going with me, let’s hit it. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

It wasn’t excitement he felt from her now. That she had banked. As she climbed into her car—and Lord, her skirt slithered up another inch—he caught bolts of anticipation, quicksilver streaks of fun. The kind Sebastian imagined another kind of woman might feel embarking on a shopping spree.

But Mel wasn’t like any kind of woman he’d ever before encountered.

“Okay,” she said as he settled into the passenger seat. “Here’s the deal.”

She shot away from the curb, and her driving was as quick and competent as her explanation.

There had been a rash of local robberies over the past six weeks. All electronics—televisions, VCRs, stereo equipment. A good many of the victims had been insured by Underwriter’s. The police had a few leads, but nothing solid. And since no single home had been hit for more than a few hundred at a shot, it wasn’t exactly number one on their hit list.

“Underwriter’s is your average happy insurance company,” she commented as she winked through an amber light. “Which means they really hate to pay claims. So I’ve been working on it for the last few weeks.”

“Your car needs a tune-up,” Sebastian told her when the engine made a gagging sound.

“Yeah. Anyway, I did some poking around, and what do you know? Turns out there’s a couple of guys selling TVs and such out of the back of a van. Oh, not around here. They bop over to Salinas or down to Soledad.”

“How did you find out?”

She shot him a mild smile. “Legwork, Donovan. Miles and miles of legwork.”

Despite his better judgment, his gaze dropped down to those long, tanned thighs. “I’ll bet.”

“So I’ve got this snitch. He’s had a few unfortunate run-ins with the cops, and he’s a little leery. But he kind of took to me. Because I’m private, I guess.”

Sebastian coughed, cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure that’s it.”