Before she could comment, he pulled her into his lap so that she was facing him, her knees straddling his lap.

Their first kiss was Hunan-spiced, and from there things heated up fast. He devoured her, exploring with ravenous hands as they kissed. When they came up for air, Jeff pulled off his sweater and polo shirt in one quick, impatient motion, then reached for the top b.u.t.ton on Gwen's shirt. His fingers fumbled in their hurry. Grimacing in annoyance, he took hold of her shirt with both hands. b.u.t.tons flew as he ripped itopen.

"Why the rush?" Gwen's protest was slightly breathless, and more amused than annoyed. "What's another minute or two?"

"An eternity," he murmured, his breath whispering against her neck as he worked his way down.

She reached around to unclasp her bra, lest it meet a similar fate. Jeff tossed it aside, then cupped her bottom with both hands to raise her to nuzzling position. He teased her with his lips and tongue while his hands slid around to tug at the leather thongs fastening her lace-up jeans.

Several minutes pa.s.sed in this fashion. He wasn't making much headway with her pants, but Gwen didn't mind. It slowed things down a bit, and besides, her b.o.o.bs were definitely enjoying the attention.

Finally he gave up. A groan of frustration escaped him as he dropped his head to rest on her shoulder.

"Ever think about wearing a skirt?"

She grinned. "I've been known to. Hang on."

Scooting off the sofa, she tugged the laces loose and shimmied out of her jeans. He was diving at her when her cell phone rang.

Gwen stepped nimbly beyond reach of his grasping hands and walked naked toward her kitchen.

"You're not going to answer that?" he asked, incredulous.

"I have to. I have several cases going. This could be important."

Damian's number flashed on the readout. She clicked on the phone. "What's up?"

"I just came from the Extreme. You know, the place where Jackie Teal was dancing? She was a no-show."

Guilt and concern hummed through his voice, but Gwen had no time for that right now. "Are you insane?

You went to the club to see her after what happened last night?"

"Wanted to make sure she was okay, is all. When a cop turns up on the other end of a drug deal, people get unhappy, you know?"

"Only too well."

Jeff came up behind her and nuzzled at her neck. He'd shed the rest of his clothes, and it was obvious that the interruption hadn't seriously dampened his mood-Gwen felt the hard evidence of that pressed against her.

First Jason, now Jeff. What was going on with the men in her life?

Not that she was complaining. She reached over her shoulder with one hand and slid her fingers into his crisp, short brown hair.

"The guy from the park-he runs the club now," she reminded Damian. "You're lucky you were able to walk out of there."

"Let's hope Jackie was that lucky," he said grimly.Jeff slipped both arms around her waist. His hands skimmed up to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and he began to tease her with urgent, insistent fingers. Gwen's knees suddenly felt less stable, and she leaned back against his chest.

"I'll help you look into it," she told Damian.

"Tonight? Can you come down to the club?"

"No, she can't," Jeff said coldly.

Gwen stiffened in surprise. She turned in his arms and stepped away. Her hormones were still singing, but for a moment incredulity was stronger than l.u.s.t.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you? Listening in to my phone calls? Telling my friends what I can and can't do?"

"s.h.i.t, you got company. Sorry about that. I'll call you tomorrow," Damian said hastily, and the line went abruptly silent.

An expression of contrition crossed Jeff's face. "I don't know what came over me. It's just the sight of you standing there naked, talking to another man, made me feel like a green-eyed monster."

Gwen switched off the phone and placed it on the counter. "No strings, no commitments, no possessive bulls.h.i.t," she reminded him. "That's the deal, and you've always been okay with it."

"I still am. A momentary aberration, that's all."

He pulled her to him and lifted her in one quick movement, his hands on the back of her thighs. Gwen wrapped her arms around his neck and held his smoldering gaze as he lowered her, pushing into her in one slow, extravagant stroke.

l.u.s.t shimmered through her, chasing away her pique. Granted, jealousy could be a problem. There was no way in h.e.l.l she'd put up with the c.r.a.p Marcy took from Trudy, and she'd definitely have to do something about it.

But not right now.

She wrapped her legs around Jeff's hips as he carried her toward the bedroom, reveling in the sensations that coursed through her with each slow, languorous step.

By the time they got to the bed, the banked fire in Jeff's eyes had flamed into something approaching madness. They fell together onto the bed, rolling twice before they fell off the other side in a tangle of limbs and sheets.

Gwen had time for a small, breathless laugh before Jeff claimed her lips. Their fingers met and entwined, and he raised her hands over her head, pinioning her to the floor as they took each other in a ravenous frenzy.

Much later, Gwen crawled back onto the bed and flopped onto her back. Her limbs felt like pasta that had been boiled way the h.e.l.l past al dente, and her ears were actually ringing.

"Where is Jeff," she demanded, "and what have you done with him?"

The only response was a faint groan from the tangle of bedclothes on the floor.Gwen glanced at her watch and barely kept from echoing the sentiment. Dawn was less than an hour away-not much sense going to sleep now. She had an early appointment and a long drive to get there.

She dragged herself out of bed and stumbled for the bathroom. Ian Forest had told her that rain was restorative for her, which sounded as crazy as everything else she'd heard from him over the past several days.

This tidbit of information, however, wasn't hard for her to accept. Not that she was the type to dance in puddles and swing herself blithely around lampposts, but for as long as she could remember, she'd always liked rain, and she found that a shower was nearly as refreshing as sleep. It was the first positive aspect to this whole changeling business. As the steaming spray beat down on her, Gwen was almost willing to believe that there might be others.

All her life she'd had questions, but she'd grown up in a world where answers were in short supply.

Raised by the state, alongside other kids who'd been abandoned, discarded, or just generally f.u.c.ked with, she eventually stopped asking and put her energy into surviving.

Then she'd met a chain-smoking, foul-tempered nun, who was and remained the most inherently decent person Gwen had ever known. Sister Tamar had an Old Testament viewpoint when it came to evil, and her approach to helping the victims of evil had given shape and purpose to Gwen's personal brand of rage. Becoming a cop allowed her to give back or get even-her priorities varied according to circ.u.mstances. Finding lost kids had kept her from spinning offtrack after her career was pulled out from under her. And now she had a new shtick: seek out other changelings, help them find their place in the world. It was work worth doing, and she was uniquely suited for it.

Optimism was a new flavor. Gwen liked it more than she expected to. It was a nice balance to the voice in the back of her mind, the warning that no amount of good s.e.x and falling water could silence: Once she found these changelings, what awaited them? Induction into the hidden society of the Elder Folk, certainly, but what, ultimately, would be the price of admission?

CHAPTER TEN.

Gwen found her way into downtown Plymouth without much problem. She drove along the harbor and pulled into the public parking lot around nine o'clock. She got out of the car and stretched, catlike, working away the stiffness that came of a two-hour drive.

Oddly enough, she'd never been to Plymouth before, even though she'd spent her entire life in southern New England. It was a nice place if you liked this sort of thing-a pretty seaside town with lots of old buildings and a couple of nifty historical landmarks.

Gwen watched as a school bus disgorged its cargo. A trio of frazzled-looking teachers tried without much success to interest their kids in the rock entombed in a miniature Grecian shrine. As far as Gwen could tell, Plymouth Rock looked pretty much like any other big hunk of stone. And the reproduction of the Mayflower docked nearby was tiny. No wonder so many of the pilgrims had died the first winter. It was a marvel any of them survived the sea crossing. h.e.l.l, if Gwen had been forced to live in such close quarters, she would have been responsible for most of the shipboard deaths.

Having gotten in touch with her national roots, Gwen left her car and walked up a side street, following the directions on the Yahoo! map Jason had printed out for her.Jason Cross was really getting to know his way around cybers.p.a.ce. He'd spent the previous afternoon helping her search for Helene Tremaine. Between the two of them, they'd pieced together a partial picture. Helene was born in 1944, which meant she would be in her late sixties. a.s.suming Helene and Erin were one and the same, that wasn't out of the realm of possibility, as long as Erin aged as slowly as, say, Ian Forest.

Of course, that was a rather large a.s.sumption. Helene's stylist had recognized Erin's picture, but she'd insisted that "Helene" looked considerably older than Gwen. The photo was recent, and it showed a girl who could have been in Gwen's high-school graduating cla.s.s. The numbers didn't add up, so Gwen decided to come to Helene's hometown for a closer look.

The only member of the Tremaine family Jason could track down was an older brother, still living in the house he and Helene had grown up in. It had taken some talking to get the man to agree to a meeting.

Clyde Tremaine sat on the step of a small porch, a rickety affair fronting a tall, narrow house painted barn red. He was tall and rangy, with a craggy, pitted face. Rheumy eyes regarded Gwen with a sour expression.

"You're the girl who's asking about Helene?"

"That's right."

"Don't see why. She died in a car crash way back in '61."

That date seized Gwen's attention. After 1962, lists of Social Security numbers for the deceased became a lot easier to come by. Interesting coincidence?

She showed him the picture Kyle had given her. "Is this Helene?"

The old man patted his shirt pocket for gla.s.ses, slipped them on, and leaned in close.

"That's her," he said, his voice flat. "Pretty much as I remember her, too. She was seventeen when she died."

"What was your sister like?"

The lines on his face deepened in disapproval. "Let's just say she died the way she lived. She'd run off that night to meet some boy my parents said she couldn't see. The boy, or what was left of him, was with her when the car crashed-my car, by the way. She took my car, and when they found her, she was wearing my mother's necklace. That was Helene. She helped herself to any little thing she wanted."

"She wasn't adopted, by any chance?"

The man looked surprised, then thoughtful. "No, but come to think of it, I once heard my folks talk about some sort of confusion at the hospital, a possible switch. Me, I'd always thought it was wishful thinking on their part."

Gwen wasn't so sure about that. "I know this is a hard question to answer, especially so long after the accident, but do you think there's even a remote possibility that the girl who died was not your sister?"

He thought about that for quite a while. "You know," he confided, "down deep, I never really felt that Helene was my sister."

Gwen returned to her car and switched on her phone to check messages. The first one was from Quaid.She hit Return and waited through several rings.

"Did you find out anything about Kate?" he asked without preamble.

"Yeah. Apparently she went to college on full scholarship, courtesy of the law firm Edmonson controlled.

Anything happening on your end?"

"I called her at work. She hasn't been in since Monday."

An icy shiver danced down Gwen's spine. Jackie Teal didn't show up for work after she set up the drug meet for Damian, and now Kate? Someone was very serious about keeping people from looking too closely into Edmonson's business.

"Has someone gone over to her house to check on her?"

"I called, but she's not answering the phone. She was off Tuesday and Wednesday, so she only missed one day of work. Enough to annoy people, but not enough to worry them."

"Maybe you could drive by and knock on the door?"

"I stopped by last night. No answer."

"Was her car parked on the street?"

"Not that I could see, but I don't know what she's driving. She was shopping for a car when we split up.

Did she tell you what she bought?"

"It never came up." Gwen sighed in frustration. "Without a missing-person report, you can't check her place out, at least not officially. How are you with locks?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"You do that. Maybe I'll swing by for a little girl talk later today."

"Let me know how it goes."

As usual, he hung up without saying good-bye. Gwen listened to the rest of her messages and headed toward the nearest restaurant to refuel.

After a quick breakfast and several cups of coffee, Gwen headed for the town library and asked to see the microfilm archives of the local papers. If there was some sort of scandal about a possible baby-switching, it might have been covered.

The hours rolled by more slowly than the miniature pages. Gwen finally found the article around two o'clock that afternoon.

There were a few follow-up articles, too. She was not entirely surprised to learn that the other baby's parents had dropped off the face of the earth shortly after the birth, and the daughter had ended up in a foster home. The little girl was one of the system's rare success stories-she'd been adopted.

After making a few phone calls and calling in a few favors, Gwen tracked down the adoptive parents.

John and Emily Meekins had spent most of their married life in Dartmouth, Ma.s.sachusetts. John Meekins, a retired professor, still lived in Dartmouth. It was more or less on the way back to Providence, so Gwen decided to give it a shot.Dr. Meekins was even less interested in Gwen's search than Clyde Tremaine had been. She had to play the missing-child card to convince him to give her five minutes.

They met on the college campus, by the history department where, Gwen a.s.sumed, he used to teach.

Certainly John Meekins looked like a retired history professor, right down to the tweed jacket with elbow patches. He was ancient, his body worn down to a shadow and his voice to a whispery quaver, but once he started talking it became plain that his mind was still very sharp.

"Vivian changed rather suddenly when she was seventeen," he told Gwen. "Before then she was a sweet girl, a good student. Seemingly overnight she was crazy about boys, and she started drinking and staying out all hours of the night. She left home the day she turned eighteen and that was the last we saw of her."

"Do you know where she went?"

"She moved to Providence. My wife tried to keep in touch, but Vivian couldn't be bothered-not even when her mother was dying. I haven't heard from her since." He glanced up at Gwen, a mixture of anger and resignation in his faded eyes. "I suppose you have news."