Captivated by Nora Roberts

could take care of herself. That didn’t stop him from being annoyed that some pseudo–New Ager had put the moves on her. “What’d you do?”
    “Punched him in the stomach.” She lifted her shoulders as Sebastian laughed.
    “Style, Morgana. You have such style. You didn’t turn him into a bullfrog?”
    All dignity, she straightened. “You know I don’t work that way.”
    “What about Jimmy Pakipsky?”
    “That was different—I was only thirteen.” She couldn’t fight back the grin. “Besides, I turned him right back to a nasty little boy again.”
    “Only because Ana pleaded his case.” Sebastian gestured with his fork. “And you left the warts on.”
    “It was the least I could do.” She reached out to grab his hand. “Damn it, Sebastian, I have missed you.”
    His fingers curled tight around hers. “And I’ve missed you. And Anastasia.”
    She felt something—their bond was too old and too deep for her to miss it. “What is it, love?”
    “Nothing we can change.” He kissed her fingers lightly, then let them go. He hadn’t intended to think about it, or to let his guard down enough to have his cousin tune in. “Got anything with whipped cream around here?”
    But she shook her head. She had picked up grief. Though he was skilled enough to block it from her now, she refused to let it pass. “The case you were working on—the little boy who’d been kidnapped.”
    The pain was sudden and sharp. He forced it away again. “They didn’t get to him in time. The San Francisco police did everything they could, but the kidnappers had panicked. He was only eight years old.”
    “I’m sorry.” There was a wave of sorrow. His, and her own. She rose to go over and curl into his lap. “Oh,Sebastian, I’m so sorry.”
    “You can’t let it get to you.” Seeking comfort, he rubbed his cheek against her hair. He could feel the sharper edges of his regret dulling because she shared it with him. “It’ll eat you up if you do, but, damn it, I got so close to that kid. When something like this happens, you wonder why, why you’ve been given this gift if you can’t make a difference.”
    “You have made a difference.” She cupped his face in her hands. Her eyes were wet, and strong. “I can’t count the times you’ve made a difference. It wasn’t meant to be this time.”
    “It hurts.”
    “I know.” Gently she stroked his hair. “I’m glad you came to me.”
    He hugged her tight, then drew her back. “Look, I came here to mooch a meal and have a few laughs, not to dump. I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be an ass.”
    Her voice was so brusque that he had to chuckle. “All right. If you want to make me feel better, how about that whipped cream?”
    She gave him a smacking kiss between the eyes. “How about a hot fudge sundae?”
    “My hero.”
    She rose and, knowing Sebastian’s appetites, got out an enormous bowl. She also knew she would help him more by saying nothing else about the case. He would struggle past it and go on. Because there was no other way. Flicking her mind toward the living room, she switched channels on the stereo, moving from classical to rock.
    “Better,” Sebastian said, and propped his feet on an empty chair. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re helping this Kirkland with research?”
    “It interests me.” She heated a jar of fudge sauce in the conventional way. She used the microwave.
    “Do you mean he interests you?”
    “Somewhat.” She scooped out a small mountain of French vanilla. “Of course, he doesn’t believe inanything supernatural, he just exploits it for movies. I don’t have a problem with that, really.” Thoughtful, she licked ice cream from her thumb. “With the movies, I mean. They’re very entertaining. His attitude, now . . . Well, I might have to adjust it before we’re through.”
    “Dangerous ground, Cousin.”
    “Hell, Sebastian, life’s dangerous ground.” She poured a river of sauce over the mountain of ice cream.