Chapter Eight
Nikki absently ran the silver cross up and down its chain and watched the people hurry past the foggy office windows. Everyone was bundled up against the bitter wind that raced the clouds across the evening sky. She felt no warmer, despite the heat in the office. Just how did you stop a vampire?
Last night had proven how difficult that might be. From the little Michael had said, she knew Jasper had been dead long enough to develop and refine the gifts vampirism endowed. They'd never see him, let alone get near enough to kill him. She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the ice creeping through her veins. Michael was right about one thing. Jasper and Monica were evil. They would kill, and keep on killing, until they were stopped. She just wished she wasn't the one who had to stop them.
She leaned forward and grabbed her coffee cup off the desk, wrapping her hands around it to keep them warm. She turned her thoughts to Michael. She'd heard it said that the eyes were the window to the soul, so what did his ebony gaze tell her? That he was a man well versed in controlling his surroundings. That his secrets and knowledge were old. Centuries old.
She frowned and sipped her coffee. That was impossible, of course. And there was more than secrets to be seen in his eyes. There was also warmth, and a hint of passion that called to something deep inside her. She shivered lightly. Maybe it was just as well that he'd revealed a little too much last night. The office opened. Jake stepped in, accompanied by a blast of wind that sent the loose papers on her desk scattering like confetti.
"It's cold outside,” he muttered sourly. He threw his coat in the general direction of his desk and stalked across the room to the coffee pot.
"So tell me something new,” she said, returning her gaze to the street. Michael was out there somewhere. While it was obvious he could take care of himself, worry gnawed at her. Last night her dreams had sent her a warning—Jasper wove a trap around them all, with Michael's death the grand finale.
"I've sent Mary on a trip to visit her mother,” Jake said into the silence. She almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. In the ten years she'd known him, he'd never been worried enough by a case to send his wife away.
His face was bleak. “If Monica is still alive after having that stake shoved in her gut, well, she knows too much about us. She'll come after us, Nikki."
Hunter and hunted, all one and the same. Just great, she thought, and took another sip of coffee.
"At least I'm lucky that way,” she said after a moment. “I have no one but me to worry about." "You must have aunts and uncles out there, somewhere. Grandparents, even. All you have to do is find them, kiddo."
Yeah, she thought sourly. She had them. But they didn't want to know her . She took another sip of coffee, then met Jake's curious gaze. “Mom once told me her family refused to understand the nature of her gifts—they thought she was possessed by the devil. That's why she left when she was sixteen. And Dad's folks disowned him for marrying someone they thought no better than a gypsy." He shrugged. “Times change. You can't be sure how they'd react to you now." She smiled bitterly. “Yes, I can."
She bent to gather the papers from the floor, only to have them scatter further as the door opened a second time. Michael stepped inside.
"Evening,” he greeted softly, his dark gaze enigmatic when it met hers. Intuition delivered two warnings, and her pulse skipped a beat. The wall he'd raised last night would stay in place, and he had something to say she wasn't going to like. She gathered the scattered papers then sat back down.
Jake offered Michael a cup of coffee before moving back to his desk. “So,” he said. “What can we do for you?"
Michael stopped near her desk. Nikki had the sudden sensation of being caught in a small pen between two charging bulls. She leaned back in her chair and eyed them both warily.
"I came to help,” Michael said evenly.
"Really,” Jake drawled. “I find it interesting that Nikki didn't appear to need any help until you arrived on the scene."
Her breath caught in her throat. What made Jake think that? She glanced at Michael and caught a wisp of anger—the same dark anger that had threatened her in the warehouse. He looked at her briefly, and the anger died. Yet it was obvious Michael was a man not used to having his actions questioned.
"It might also be said that she would now be dead had I not,” he replied. Jake leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why did you come to Lyndhurst, then?"
"To catch a killer—the man who now chases Nikki."
Michael sat on the edge of her desk and sipped his coffee. He appeared very relaxed, very calm. He was not. Jake's doubt infuriated him, and she wondered why.
"Why?” Jake asked bluntly. “You're certainly not a cop or FBI or anything else official. This a personal vendetta or something else?"
"Both.” He hesitated and sipped at his coffee.
Deciding how much he should tell them, she thought, and wondered if there was anyone in his world whom he trusted enough to be completely honest with.
"Jasper killed my brother. A few years later he killed a close friend of mine." The truth as far as it went, but nowhere near the full story, she thought. “I get the feeling there's more history than that between the two of you."
Michael glanced at her. His face was guarded, wary. “Ours is a battle that has been going on for many years. I have killed his brother, and I will kill him—not in retaliation, but simply because his bloodshed will not stop until he is dead."
"Which suggests there is very little difference between you and the man you hunt." Michael's smile was bitter. “There's one big difference. I do not hunt innocents, nor do I drain the blood of my victims."
She shuddered, remembering the bloody mess Monica had made the night before. “You said you don't kill in retribution, and yet you killed his brother. Why?" He hesitated again. “Because they were twins who hunted and worked as one. They'd killed over one hundred people before I stopped them, and Jasper has killed as many since." Again, the truth as far as it went, and still not the whole story. “Why is he so determined to hunt me? We both know there's easier prey living on the streets."
He sipped his coffee, studying her for several seconds before answering. “Jasper hungers for things he can never have. Power, more than anything else. You have that power, Nikki." And Jasper, who could call his victims from the dead, would control that power should she die. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed heavily.