Annoyed, she shook herself. She wasn’t going to think about that. She’d been kissed before, and she wasn’t against the practice. She simply preferred to choose her own time and place.

And if she hadn’t had a reaction quite like that before, it was because he’d taken her so completely by surprise.

That wouldn’t happen again, either.

In fact, the way things were going, she wasn’t going to need Sebastian Donovan and his hocus-pocus any longer. She had a few contacts at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and once she called in with the partial plate she would …

Her thoughts trailed off as Sebastian’s voice flowed out of her answering machine.

“Ah, Sutherland, sorry I missed you. Out sleuthing, I suppose.”

She made a face at the machine. An immature reaction, she readily admitted. But the laughter in his voice demanded it.

“I thought you might be interested in some new information. I’ve been working on the car. The left rear tire’s nearly bald—which could give our man a great deal of trouble, since his spare is flat.”

“Give me a break, Donovan,” she muttered. She rose, deciding to turn off the machine, and the voice.

“Oh, by the way, the car has California plates. KAT 2544.”

Mel’s mouth fell open as her finger hesitated on the button.

“I thought you might be able to work your detective magic with that tidbit. Let me know what you come up with, won’t you, love? I’ll be home this evening. Good hunting, Mary Ellen.”

“Son of a—” She gritted her teeth and switched the machine off.

*  *  *

She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one damn bit, but she downshifted and started up the narrow, bumpy lane to Sebastian’s house. Not for a minute did she believe he’d dreamed the plate number—or whatever term he would use—but, since he’d given her the tip, she felt obliged to do a follow-up.

When she reached the top of his lane, she was torn between elation at the progress she’d made and irritation at having to deal with him again. She’d be professional, she promised herself as she pulled between a muscular-looking Harley and a late-model minivan.

After climbing the steps, she gave a brisk knock on the door. The knocker she used was a brass figure of a snarling wolf. Intrigued, Mel played with it for a moment while she waited. When there was no response, Mel did what came naturally. She peeked in the windows.

She saw no one, only the lofty living room on one side and a very impressive library on the other. If her conscience had allowed, she would have turned away and gone home. But to do so would be both cowardly and petty. Instead, she went back down the steps and started around the house.