Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

"Anywhere, anytime."

Jake's grin was slightly forced, but at least he was making the effort. And it would be good to sit back and wait out the day's heat with an icy beer. If he couldn't be with Nikki, at least he could sit and enjoy a drink—a normal pastime in his otherwise abnormal life.

Jake stopped close to the entrance, and Michael climbed out. The sunshine raced heat across his unprotected flesh. It was a warning he dare not ignore.

He ran up the steps and ducked inside. The interior of the bar was dark and cool and smelled of sweat and stale smoke. It didn't matter. All he needed was someplace to wait out the worst of the day. He ordered two drinks from the disinterested barman then moved across to a table hidden in deep shadow. Jake sat opposite him and took a sip of his beer. He smacked his lips in appreciation, then gave Michael a shrewd look. “So,” he said, “just what do you plan to do about Nikki?" He knew Jake wasn't referring to the fact that they'd left without her. The man saw too much. “What's this,” he asked lightly. “A little fatherly inquisition?"

Jake shrugged. “I've known her a long time. I don't want to see her hurt."

"Neither do I.” He took another mouthful of beer, but its taste had soured. “When did you two meet?" Jake smiled. “When she was sixteen. She saved my life."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “How?"

"I was tracking a runaway for his parents and got cornered by his gang. Nikki came out of nowhere and faced them all down."

It was easy to imagine the skinny little ball of fierceness she must have been. He smiled slightly. Nothing much had changed. “So, she was a hellcat even then."

"But a vulnerable one,” Jake said sharply. “Her toughness is just a shell."

"I know."

Like he knew she had problems with trust, that she feared commitment because everyone she'd ever loved had died. The knowledge didn't make things easier, or help him decide how to proceed. Not that he could proceed.

He met Jake's gaze squarely. “I'm here to do a job, nothing more. Nikki knows that."

"Women are strange folk, buddy. What they know and what they understand are often two very different things."

True. But that wasn't the case with Nikki. She didn't want him close, didn't want anyone close. She might concede to physical attraction, but would definitely allow nothing more. “I don't think that'll be a problem here."

"Until the last few days, I would've agreed with you. But you've cracked her shell, and no matter what either of you might say, I have eyes. I can see what you're both denying."

"I'm not denying I'm attracted to her, just saying that I've been honest with her.” Honest where it counted. Up to a point, anyway. “Believe me, I have no desire to hurt her." Jake nodded. “I just needed to know she's in safe hands. Let's enjoy our drinks, my friend." Michael picked up his beer and made no comment.

* * * *

Nikki blinked the sleep from her eyes, then flipped the sheets away from her face. Bright sunshine caressed her skin, filling her with warmth. She felt contented and lazy and, for the first time in ages, happy. Like a big, fat cat rolling in the sun.

And this is one fat cat who's not had enough, she thought with a grin, and reached across the bed. Only Michael wasn't there.

Fear leaped through her. The hotel room was silent, empty. She clenched her fists against the sheets. They'd left without her.

"Damn you both,” she muttered and flung the blankets aside, climbing out of bed. If they thought they had her beaten, they were wrong. She'd just have to go after Monica alone. The thought sent a chill down her spine. She ignored it and quickly dressed. Jake and Michael had forgotten one major point—she was still the only person who could accurately pinpoint Monica's whereabouts.

Or was she? Nikki frowned and walked into the kitchen. Last night she'd seen the enormous power behind Michael's gifts. He'd never said he couldn't find Monica. She stopped in sudden horror. Had last night been little more than a convenient way to tire her and make her sleep?

Pain stabbed through her heart. That last time couldn't have been a lie. Their minds had entwined too closely for any lie to survive.

And yet, with the strength of Michael's gifts, how could she ever be sure? Tommy had been able to make her believe he cared, and he'd only possessed a tenth of Michael's abilities. She crossed her arms and stared at the smoke-stained wall. Why did it matter so much anyway? One night, that was all she'd asked for, all she'd wanted. One night free from Jasper's taint. Michael had surely given her that.

So why did she suddenly feel so cheated? Especially when she'd been the initiator? She'd only seduced Michael to run Jasper's dark whispering from her mind. But something in his touch had made her feel cherished. Loved, even.

She closed her eyes at the thought. Because it was nothing more than a lie. He'd warned that he couldn't love her and that he couldn't stay. He'd given her last night, but he couldn't give her anything more. It was totally foolish to even want something more. People died when she cared too much, and she didn't want to see him dead.

The kettle whistled shrilly into the silence. She made a cup of coffee then picked it up and walked back into the living room. The newspaper lay on the sofa, and headlines leaped out at her. Three more dead in Highgate!

She took a gulp of coffee, almost scalding her throat in the process. Monica had to be stopped, before she could slake her thirst on more innocents. She put the cup down and shoved a hand into her pockets, dragging out the locket she'd swiped from Trevgard's. Obviously, Jasper hadn't bothered searching her when he'd stripped her.

Dark laughter flickered through her thoughts, and her pulse rate jumped. She swallowed uneasily, but knew she had no choice. Monica had to be found. She wrapped her fingers around the locket. A chill chased horror through her mind. Monica's evil had grown. Images pushed forward, but she held them at bay and sat down.