She took a long, calming breath. "I'll need all the information you can give me," she said briskly. "Start with that new business you mentioned, and a list of Erin's friends. I'll also need her ID: driver's license, Social Security number, and so on."

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "You're a PI. Can't you get that information yourself?"

"Yeah, but why waste my time and your money, when you could just tell me?"

He hesitated. "To be honest, I don't have much information to give you."

"Sure you do. There are tax returns, a marriage license."

"Erin doesn't have an income, and we don't file a joint return. In fact, while I refer to Erin as my wife, we never actually married in a conventional sense."

"Oh, so that's why we never got a wedding invitation!" Gwen said. "Too bad-I'll bet Marcy and Trudy would have loved dancing with the bride."

She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the discomfiture in Kyle's eyes. A lot of guys might fantasize about watching their wives do another woman, but an ex-wife who'd sworn off men entirely? Not high on the list of macho turn-ons.

"What about Erin's bank accounts and credit cards?" she asked, getting back to business.

"I handle the family finances. Erin gets an allowance for personal expenses, and her credit cards are attached to my accounts."

Still the control freak, Gwen noted. "Okay. But you must have done some sort of cohabitation agreement-common-law prenuptial, or whatever the h.e.l.l people do these days when they're shacking up long-term. If nothing else, you would have made d.a.m.n sure she couldn't just take the kid and leave-"

Suddenly Gwen realized why he was here. In custody cases, the courts usually favored the mother. If the parents weren't married, the bias toward the female parent was that much stronger. If Kyle didn't have legal custody over the child, there was no reason why Erin Westland couldn't take her son and go whenever she pleased-provided she could find a way out of the cushy cage Kyle had built around them.

The expression on Kyle's face confirmed her suspicions. Gwen lifted one eyebrow.

"I love Erin, and I love my son," he said. "I'll do whatever it takes to get them back."

"Yeah, you made that point by coming here. I'll find Erin. Whether or not she comes back is up to her."

"Fair enough."For nearly half an hour, Gwen asked questions and jotted down information. The more interesting questions, however, were the ones she didn't ask aloud.

Was Erin Westland simply moving on? Or had she, too, recently found out a little more about herself than she could handle?

There was also the possibility that Erin was on the run. She'd been looking for her family. a.s.suming she found them, how did they respond to Erin's son, who was apparently a half-breed? Did they try to eliminate such children to keep the bloodlines "pure"?

Gwen wouldn't put it past them. Judging from what she'd seen so far, the "Elder Races" were a ruthless bunch. Ian Forest had hired her to investigate her own parents' deaths, in hope that she'd get their killer-her uncle, who at the time was looking for Gwen with murderous intent-to admit what he'd done. Apparently Edmonson had been eliminating family members so he could deploy some sort of magical trinket. It turned out he couldn't, but Gwen could, and therein lay Ian's logic. He figured Edmonson needed her, and needed to explain to her why she was needed. Ian had followed her around throughout and made d.a.m.n sure Edmonson's words were witnessed.

Gwen didn't understand all the ramifications of this, but using the newbie changeling as a big, dumb tool?

Yeah, she got that part. And the family treasure? Ian wanted to put the trinket "somewhere safe, until she was able to use it." Gwen figured she'd embrace that possibility the same day she took up celibacy.

There was one more possibility, and Gwen gave voice to it as soon as Kyle's store of information ran dry.

"Looking over the details on Erin, it occurs to me that someone made it pretty easy for her to disappear."

A red flush crept up Kyle's face.

"If I was going to hurt my family, why would I hire you to find them?"

"You'd be surprised what people hire me to do. But rest a.s.sured, that's one of the questions I'll be looking into," she told him. "If you can live with that, my retainer is fifteen thousand."

"Agreed."

Gwen took a copy of her standard agreement and several release-of-information forms from the file cabinet, filled in blanks, and handed them to Kyle to sign. He pulled his chair closer to her writing table and set to work without comment.

It was a good thing he didn't haggle about the price, Gwen noted. If Kyle was planning to set her up somehow, she'd need the bail money.

A month ago, that thought wouldn't have occurred to her. Kyle Radcliff wasn't stupid, but Gwen was pretty confident he couldn't pull off a complicated sting. But now, her pride still smarting from her unwitting part in Ian Forest's little game, she wasn't about to overlook any possibility.

Being paranoid sucked, but Gwen figured it was a lot better than being dead.

CHAPTER FIVE

Shawna O'Riley looked a lot like her brother, right down to the dark auburn hair. Gwen had no problem picking her out of the morning-glum crowd at Brewed Awakenings. It helped that Shawna dressed like a bank exec. She looked very polished and professional in a tailored navy coatdress trimmed with white, matching navy pumps, and artful makeup-which meant that she'd spent a lot of time to make it look like she wasn't wearing any makeup at all.

Gwen had taken the professional route herself this morning: a purple shirt with at least half the b.u.t.tons done up, black pants, and boots with a stacked sole and chunky heel instead of her preferred stilettos.

Her makeup wasn't nearly as subtle as Shawna's. Lots of black mascara and dusky eye shadow rimmed her eyes, a honey-beige foundation darkened her too-pale skin, and her full lips were the color of juicy plums. For her, it was a conservative look.

She pushed her way to Shawna's table and got the introduction thing out of the way. Her prospective client gave her the usual dubious once-over, but she was nicer about it than most. Most likely Damian had told her enough to take the edge off her surprise.

As Gwen sat down, she noted there were two cups of coffee on the table. Oh yeah-definitely nicer than most clients.

"Extra cream, extra sugar," Shawna said with a faint smile.

"Perfect," Gwen a.s.sured her. "Your brother doesn't miss many details, does he? Makes him a good cop."

"He speaks highly of you, too. It seemed important to him that you and I meet. To be frank, that's the only reason I'm here."

"Damian said you'd probably have reservations."

"Of course I do. If you love someone, you're supposed to trust him, not have him investigated."

"That's a good theory, but divorce statistics don't back it up. Taking a good, hard look at a prospective spouse is smart. You wouldn't give a loan to someone without checking his credit, right?"

"Of course not, but it's not the same thing."

"No, it isn't. Money is a lot less important."

Shawna smiled. "That's a good argument, but not the one I might have expected you to use on a banker."

"I didn't come here to make any argument, good or bad. If you don't want to do this, say the word and I'm gone."

The woman took a moment to think it over. She nodded toward Gwen's oversize cup. "Go ahead and drink that. It'll be cold before too much longer."

It wasn't the first time a client couldn't bring herself to say outright the words that would sic Gwen on a loved one. She took a sip of her coffee and nearly moaned when it hit her taste buds. If Ian Forest had made coffee off-limits instead of French fries, she would have had to kill him right then and there, and to h.e.l.l with the witnesses.

She set the cup down with reluctance. "Tell me about your fiance."

"He's not my fiance, at least not yet," Shawna corrected, "but things are heading that way. Roy is a greatguy. I couldn't begin to tell you why Damian has a problem with him."

"So you think Damian is overreacting?"

Shawna hesitated. "I want to say yes, but my brother's instincts are usually much better than mine. By the way, what did Damian tell you about Roy?"

"Nothing much. Tell me what you see."

The woman went into her spiel: Roy was smart, athletic, good-looking, responsible, a good conversationalist, and a decent dancer. He had a good education and a good job. They apparently had similar tastes, values, and political opinions.

Ooh, similar political opinions! How hot was that? To Gwen's way of thinking, this relationship was sounding about as interesting as fettuccine without Alfredo.

"But?" she asked when at last the litany ran down.

Shawna bit her lip, a gesture that mingled reflection and consternation. "If I had any worries at all, they wouldn't have to do with Roy."

Gwen steeled herself for a recitation of the usual feminine insecurities. It seemed that every woman she met, no matter how smart and successful and attractive, harbored a few self-doubts when it came to men.

"So what's the problem?"

"It might not actually be a problem. It's just that my family can be a little... eccentric. Roy's pretty conventional."

"Has he met any of your family?"

"Yes, but only my parents, Damian, and our three younger brothers. We had dinner together last weekend at a nice Italian place on Federal Hill. The boys were on their best behavior, and the evening went very well. But it's hard to get a feeling for how he'll react to my family in a gathering of only seven people."

Only seven people? That was an interesting perspective.

"So it's the extended family you're worried about," Gwen surmised. "How will Roy survive the wedding, much less holidays, family gatherings, and the occasional offer to read his fortune in chicken entrails?"

A strange look crossed Shawna's face, something that was equal parts chagrin and relief. "I take it Damian has told you about our colorful clan."

"A little. Nothing that would make any difference to me, if I were in Roy's shoes."

"That's what he says," Shawna agreed. "I've put out some hints about eccentric family members, and he just smiles and shrugs. The way Roy sees it, what we have is between him and me. No one else comes into it. It's just about us."

Gwen was starting to see where the problem might lie. "Five kids is a big family these days. How many siblings does Roy have?"

"None. His parents pa.s.sed on a few years back. Roy is a few years older than I am," she explained."Well, more than a few. He's in his late forties."

"I guess that's not too old to be starting a family. a.s.suming he wants kids, of course."

"a.s.suming we want children," Shawna corrected.

"No, you want kids, all right. Your face lights up when you talk about your family, even the weirder members."

Grief slid into Shawna's eyes, and was quickly veiled. "Roy knows himself well enough to realize there's no room in his life for children. He works long hours. He likes to sail or play golf on weekends, and he enjoys travel. He wants to marry a woman who's as serious about her career as he is about his. And he's realistic enough to know that people can't have it all. What's the sense of having children if you never see them?"

The argument sounded pretty well-rehea.r.s.ed to Gwen. "And you're okay with that."

Shawna nodded. "Roy and I want most of the same things. I don't think it gets much better."

"You could be right. I don't have high expectations for relationships, myself."

"That's not what I meant!" she protested.

"No offense. What I'm saying is that most women take men way too seriously. It sounds to me like you're taking a realistic view to this monogamy thing, which means you're less likely to make a mistake than some starry-eyed romantic."

"I guess," she said hesitantly.

"One more question: What kind of things do you guys argue about?"

Shawna blinked. "Argue?"

Uh-oh. In Gwen's experience, that wasn't a good sign. No two people could rub together for any length of time without finding a few rough edges. The lack of any point of contention could mean that one person was deferring far too much, and that went nowhere good. It could also indicate the inability of one or both parties to confront problems. Or maybe there were deliberately hidden issues. Whatever the case, perfect harmony was a myth, and an insidious one at that.

And Shawna, judging by the expression on her face, had bought shares in that particular stock. "Why did you ask me that?"

"Answers can be surprisingly illuminating," Gwen said, keeping it cryptic. "So, I take a closer look at this guy, set your brother's mind at ease, and you're good to go."

"That sounds reasonable," she allowed. She was about to say more, but her gaze settled on someone near the door, and a flash of panic shot through her eyes.

Gwen wasn't surprised to see a tall, well-dressed Black man approaching their table, coffee cup in hand.

"Shawna," he said, putting a bit of surprise into it. His gaze slipped to Gwen and back, and his eyebrows rose. "This is your breakfast meeting?"

"It's not like a meeting meeting," Gwen said, her voice pitched a few notes higher and several years younger than her usual husky alto tones. "It's more like, community-service time."She stuck out her hand, keeping it a little stiff and awkward, as if business handshakes were new territory for her.

"GiGi Silver," she announced, giving one of her established teen personas. "I'm a junior at Mount Hope, and Ms. O'Riley agreed to help me with a school project. But you probably didn't hear about it. I sort of left it to the last minute," she confessed.

He took her hand briefly. "School project."

"Yeah! We have to research three different careers, and her brother-he's a cop, which is something I thought might be sort of interesting-told me to call his sister the banker and see if she could talk to me, and maybe let me follow her around for a few hours. You know-watch her at work, ask questions and stuff."

As Gwen hoped, Shawna picked up her cue. "Roy, maybe you could help out, too?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, and he sent Gwen a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'd be glad to. Call my office, and my secretary can set something up."

"Great! Have you got, like, a business card?"

He fished out his wallet and handed her a card. His smile changed when he turned it toward Shawna, turning warm and genuine. "Is dinner at nine still good for you?"

"Absolutely."