“He’s already got your money. How do you know he won’t forget?”

“Because I promised him more money if he remembers.”

“How much more?”

The money he’d offered might make him appear far wealthier than he was at the moment. But he didn’t want to make a bigger issue of it by refusing to answer. “Five thousand.”

“Dollars?”

“I tried pesos, but…no go.”

She wouldn’t be diverted by his flip remark. “Five thousand dollars just for making a call.”

“No. Malcolm has to be there when we arrive. I have to get a glimpse of him.”

She adjusted her seat belt so she could turn toward him. “You don’t mind throwing away that kind of money?”

His bank account couldn’t hold out much longer. He figured he might as well use what he had left to full advantage. “If this works, it’ll be the best money I’ve ever spent, don’t you think?”

“Saving Marcie and Latisha is worth any amount. It just seems like a lot to pay someone who’s already on the clock,” she said. “I bet he would’ve done it for less.”

Maybe that was true, but Sebastian wasn’t taking any chances. “We want to give him enough incentive.”

“At that price he’ll study every face.”

“That’s the point. Now we can go to bed with some confidence that he’ll do his job.”

“True,” she murmured. “And I’m tired again.”

He pulled into her condominium complex and parked. “I’ll walk you to the door.” He didn’t ask. He stated it as if she didn’t have a choice. Because there was no way he’d let her walk up there without knowing she got in safely.

Fortunately, she didn’t argue. She actually surprised him by asking him to check inside, too. He thought it was her background that had her spooked until she explained that she’d been getting some harassing phone calls from Latisha’s father, someone she called both Luther and Lucifer.

Jane had left the kitchen light on, but the rest of the apartment was dark. They flipped switches as they walked from room to room. Sebastian had expected to see a fairly standard condo, furnished in a fairly standard fashion, but there was art everywhere-sculptures, paintings, handmade pottery, blown glass, metal objects. One painting, in particular, caught his eye. It was hanging on the wall in her bedroom and showed the outline of a man and a woman in a naked embrace. There were no details-no eyes or ears or specific body parts-just shape and color, but it brought the image vividly to mind.

“You like art,” he said.

She’d followed him into the room to watch him look in the closet, the bathroom and under the bed. “Yes. But it’s actually a fairly new passion for me. I never really thought about it or noticed it much before, but since Oliver…I don’t know. It helps me cope with the ugliness of the past.”

“This is nice,” he said, gesturing at the painting. “What is it, watercolor?”

“Yes.”

“You have excellent taste.”

“I’m no expert,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I just buy what I like.”

“I don’t recognize any of the artists.”

“Because it’s all new talent. I can’t afford the more established painters and I don’t want replicas.”

“Only the real thing.”

“For me, it has to be original.”

“Then I’m especially impressed you were able to spot such gems.”

“I like helping new artists get started,” she mused. “As far as I’m concerned, they make the world a better place. Art is another way to fight back, to fill the world with beauty and inspiration instead of hatred and anger. Don’t you think?”

“I’ve never thought of it in that way, but I guess you’re right.” He turned to face her. “Where do you find new pieces?”

“I visit galleries wherever I go. I check eBay. Lots of places, really. I love the discovery process. You could say it’s become my hobby-my only hobby now that I’m working so much.”

He indicated a blown-glass piece on her dresser. “That looks expensive.”

“It was about three hundred dollars. Not bad, considering how much it’ll be worth someday.” She smiled. “If the artist makes it big, of course.”

He jerked his head toward the watercolor. “This painting had to cost more.”

“It did. I used my tax refund to buy it. I should’ve been more conservative and put the money into savings, but…I just had to have it.”

He could see why it appealed to her. The painting depicted two halves coming together to make a perfect whole.

“The blues suggest peace and tranquility,” she said.

The painting suggested a lot of things. But, at this moment, it was the sensuality of those figures that struck Sebastian most deeply. He wanted to make love to Jane in her own bed. “Is Kate at your in-laws’?” he asked, instead of commenting on the colors.

“Yes.” She was no longer at the door; she was standing right beside him. Within reach.

He turned to watch her expression while she gazed at the painting and found her watching him instead. Caught up in the artist’s vision and the energy that crackled between them, they stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

Demanding honesty of himself, Sebastian refused to mask what he was feeling. He wanted her again, but this time he planned to make love to her tenderly-to take all night, if necessary. He wanted her to relax and to trust him.

But just as he was leaning forward to kiss her, she stepped back and shoved a self-conscious hand through her short hair. “Thanks for checking the place. I-I know I shouldn’t let Lucifer rattle me, but it’s a bit unnerving.”

It took so much effort to put those barriers up again. He didn’t understand why she bothered. What was she fighting?

Instead of filling the silence, he waited, hoping she’d change her mind. When she gave no indication that she might reconsider, he was disappointed, but he didn’t push. It wouldn’t be what he wanted if he had to pressure her into it. “Will you do me one favor?” he asked.

She seemed hesitant to commit herself. “What’s that?”

“Will you tell me what the tattoo is on your breast so I can sleep tonight?” He grinned by way of enticement.

“My tattoo? It was dark when…in your motel room. How’d you see it?”

“I didn’t see it then. I saw the edge of it above the neck of your sweater when we were in the car yesterday.”

Her chest rose as if she’d just taken a deep breath. “I-it’s nothing. Hard to explain.”

His eyes riveted to hers. “Then why don’t you show me?”

He expected her to refuse, but she didn’t. She gave him the kind of smile that said she’d take that dare and unfastened her blouse, parting it so he could see the portion of the tattoo that extended above her bra.

Suddenly he understood why she hadn’t been able to explain. It wasn’t a rose or a character or a butterfly. It was a beautiful, artistic decoration-so ornate that he almost didn’t see the letter R scrolled among the curving loops and lines.

When he did, he lifted his hand and, encouraged when she didn’t step away, ran a finger over it. “A lover’s name?”

“No.” She wouldn’t meet his eye.

Taking it one step further, he lowered the lace of her bra far enough to see the rest. The R wasn’t the only letter. There was an I and a P. “Rest in peace,” he said. “This is for Oliver?”

Her breathing had gone shallow. He wanted to kiss her-but she chose that moment to move out of reach. “No. Someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t been stupid and lonely and weak.” She’d said it with finality, as if she wouldn’t elaborate, but her words triggered a memory, a snatch of something she’d told him before. He left me for dead, lying beside his murdered brother.

“Another member of the family?” he asked.

She started to button her blouse. Her fingers worked quickly as if she’d exposed too much-of her body and her pain.

He took her hands, which were ice cold. The fact that she was trembling suggested there was more to the story. “What happened, Jane?”