Absolutely, Positively

example.”

    “The history of the computer would have to be rewritten?” Molly suggested.

    “Undoubtedly. If he had been able to create his vision, the world might have headed into the computer age a hundred years earlier. Just think how much farther along we'd be by now.” Harry turned away from the window, suddenly caught up in the passion he felt for his subject. “There are a thousand other examples of brilliant concepts that languished for lack of money and encouragement. I could name—”

    He broke off as the front door opened.

    “What in the world?” Molly glanced toward the glass-block barrier that divided the front hall from the living area. “I think someone's coming in, Harry.”

    Harry started forward. “Ginny must have forgotten to lock the door on her way out.”

    The intruder suddenly appeared. He was a tall, lanky young man dressed in jeans and a blue workshirt. He stopped when he saw Harry, braced his feet apart, and raised his arm. Light gleamed on the steel blade in his right hand.

    “This is the end, Trevelyan,” the newcomer snarled. “I've finally tracked you down. You won't escape this time.”

    “My God.” Molly leaped off the sofa. “He's got a knife.”

    “So he does.” Harry paused.

    The intruder drew back his hand with a lethal, practiced movement.

    “Look out.” Molly grabbed the teapot.

    “Hell,” Harry muttered. “Some people have no sense of timing.”

    The intruder hurled the blade.

    Molly shrieked and threw the teapot in the general direction of the glass blocks.

    First things first, Harry thought. He grabbed the teapot as it went sailing past.

    “Do something,” Molly yelled.

    Harry smiled wryly. He cradled the teapot in one hand and opened his other hand to show her the knife he held.

    Molly stared at him, open-mouthed. Her gaze went from the knife to the intruder's empty hands.

    “You snatched that knife right out of thin air,” Molly whispered.

    Harry glanced down at the gleaming blade. “Looks that way, doesn't it?”

2

    “Nice, Cousin Harry.” The stranger clapped appreciatively. “Very nice. Your timing is as great as ever.”

    “Unfortunately, I can't say the same about yours.” Harry set the teapot and the knife down on a nearby table. “I'm trying to conduct a business meeting here.”

    Stunned by the quick shift of events, Molly stared at Harry. “What's going on? Who is this?”

    “Allow me to introduce my cousin, Josh Trevelyan.” Harry eyed his relative with resigned disapproval. “He has a flair for the dramatic entrance. It runs in the family. Josh, this is Molly Abberwick.”

    “Hi,” Josh said cheerfully.

    Molly found her voice. “Hello.”

    Josh was young, Molly realized, perhaps two years older than her sister, Kelsey. That made him twenty at the most. He bore more than a passing resemblance to Harry. Same midnight black hair, although Josh's was not yet showing the hint of silver that marked Harry's. Same lean, elegant build. True, Josh had not yet developed Harry's look of sleek, controlled strength, but Molly had a hunch that would come with time.

    The chief difference between the two men, other than their ages, was in their faces. It was a significant discrepancy. Josh Trevelyan was undeniably handsome in the traditional sense established by Hollywood. With his long black lashes, dark, romantic eyes, and finely chiseled nose and mouth, he could have walked straight off the silver screen.

    Harry's features, on the other hand, were unabashedly, gloriously fierce. He had the face of a hardened ascetic, a man who had spent years gazing into the depths of an alchemist's seething flask in search of arcane truths.

    Harry looked like a man who had practiced self-control and self-denial for so long that those qualities had been absorbed into his very flesh and bone. It seemed to Molly that some very old fires burned in Harry's amber eyes. His powerful, long-fingered hands promised the possibilities of both great art and great despair.

    “Next time, try knocking,” Molly suggested. She sank down onto the arm of the leather sofa. She could not have remained standing a moment longer. Adrenaline still surged unpleasantly through her veins.

    “I'm sorry about this, Molly.” Harry looked at his young cousin. “Ms. Abberwick is a client of mine. She's got a point. Next time, knock first.”

    Josh chuckled, apparently oblivious to Harry's irritation. “Didn't mean to scare the daylights out of