“Yes, they might.” Sebastian sampled the meal and found it excellent. “But am I still interested?”

She clamped a hand over his wrist before he could slice off another bite of tender chicken. “Don’t you like to finish what you start?”

He lifted his eyes to hers and looked deep, so deep that her fingers trembled once before they slid away. “Yes, I do.”

Uneasy, she broke a piece of bread. “Well, then?”

“I’ll help you. I’ll use whatever connections I may have.”

“I appreciate it.” Though she was careful not to touch him again, her lips curved, her eyes warmed. “Really. I’ll owe you for this.”

“No, I don’t think so. Nor will you when you hear my conditions. We’ll work together.”

She dropped the bread. “Look, Donovan, I appreciate the offer, but I work alone. Anyway, your style—the visions and stuff—it makes me nervous.”

“Fair enough. Your style—guns and stuff—makes me nervous. So, we compromise. Work together, deal with each other’s … eccentricities. After all, it’s the goal that’s important, isn’t it?”

She mulled it over, poking at the food on her plate. “Maybe I did have an idea that would work better as a couple—a childless couple.” Still wary, she glanced up at him. “But if we did agree to compromise, for this one time, we’d have to have rules.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Don’t smirk when you say that.” With her mind clicking away, she dug into the meal. “This is good.” She scooped up another bite. “Really good. It didn’t look like all that much trouble.”

“You flatter me.”

“No, I mean …” She laughed and shrugged and ate some more. “I guess I thought fancy food meant fancy work. My mother worked as a waitress a lot, and she’d bring home all this food from the kitchen. But it was mostly in diners and fast-food joints. Nothing like this.”

“Your mother’s well?”

“Oh, sure. I got a postcard last week from Nebraska. She travels around a lot. Itchy feet.”

“Your father?”

The faintest of hesitations, the briefest shadow of sadness. “I don’t remember him.”

“How does your mother feel about your profession?”

“She thinks it’s exciting—but then, she watches a lot of TV. What about yours?” Mel lifted her glass and gestured. “How do your parents feel about you being the wizard of Monterey?”

“I don’t think I’d term it quite that way,” Sebastian said after a moment. “But, if they think of it, I imagine they’re pleased that I’m carrying on the family tradition.”

Mel huffed into her wine. “What are you, like a coven?”

“No,” he said gently, unoffended. “We’re like a family.”