Kiss The Night Goodbye (Nikki & Michael 4)

"Nik? It's me, Jake."

She put a shaking hand to her chest. Her heart thumped so hard it felt like it was going to jump out.

"You all right?” Jake continued.

"Yeah.” She rose and brushed her bloody fingers on her jeans. “I was just trying to find out where they might be going."

"With his blood?” Jake's voice was as incredulous as his expression.

"I haven't been sitting back and twiddling my thumbs during my lessons these last few months,” she said tartly. “They're headed south."

"Then so are we."

They climbed in to the Mercedes. Jake slammed the car into gear and took off with a squeal of tires. She grabbed the cell phone from the glove compartment and called the Circle, asking to be put through to Camille.

"What's happened?” The old witch's voice was nail-grating sharp.

"Michael's been shot and kidnapped. They're heading south in some sort of van.” She hesitated, frowning as she tried to remember what she'd seen. Images rose—blood glistening to widening pools near dark hair. Her stomach curled. She swallowed heavily and added, “The van is gray. Probably a mechanic's van or something like that. We're following in Jake's car."

"We'll get people in the air immediately.” Camille hesitated. “We'll get him back, don't worry." No, they wouldn't. A sob escaped. She bit her lip and hung up. Jake leaned across and squeezed her knee. “He'll be all right. He's tough, remember that." She nodded, not daring to speak lest she lose it right then and there. She had to keep it together. Had to find him.

Because if she didn't, no one would.

She reached for the link between them again. There was no response from his mind, and the sense of him was growing more distant. “Left at the next street,” she said. “And hurry." The car slid around the corner. The tires squealed in protest and the Mercedes fishtailed several times before Jake brought it back under control.

"They can't be heading for the airport,” he commented. “It's in the opposite direction." She fought the urge to close her eyes as Jake wove in and out of the traffic. “They wouldn't get an unconscious person past security, anyway."

Ahead, the lights changed to red. Jake pressed his foot on the accelerator rather than the brake. Nikki tensed, her knuckles white with the force of her grip on the side of the seat. Cars moved into the intersection. Jake swore and slapped his palm against the horn. Then he gunned the engine, and the big car surged forward.

She closed her eyes and prayed that someone upstairs was looking out for them. Tires squealed. Other horns blasted. Something hit the back of the Mercedes, and they slewed sideways. Jake swore, his hands slamming against the wheel as he fought to keep the car going forward. Then they were through the intersection and speeding up the street. She blew out a breath, but her relief was short lived. A car flew out of a side street and arrowed towards them.

She barely had time to scream a warning before the car hit and blackness swamped her.

* * * *

Nikki drifted in and out of consciousness, as if caught in a fragmented dream. Pain was a beat as steady as her heart, pounding through her veins like blood. Her throat burned, and for what seemed like ages, she couldn't swallow. Could barely even breathe.

Voices swam around her. Many voices, except for the one she really wanted to hear. Lights as bright as any sun burned into her eyes. She tried to blink, felt the touch of heat against her cheek and eyelid. Realized someone was holding her lid open, pouring light into her eyes. Something bit into her arm, sharp, stinging. The pain began to ease, and for a while, there was nothing but peace.

When awareness returned again, it was to darkness. She opened her eyes, staring upwards, seeing the white ceiling and wondering where the hell she was.

Then memory hit.

"Ohmigod,” she said, jerking upright. “Michael!"

Hands grabbed her. She fought their grip blindly, desperate to get free, to go to him. God, he needed her. Badly.

"Nikki!” Jake's voice cut through the haze of fear. “Calm down. It'll be all right." Her strength left in a whoosh, and she collapsed into his arms. “No,” she sobbed. “It won't.” He was hurt—not so much physically as spiritually, and the ache of it pounded through her veins. Jake hugged her tight. “Seline has put everyone who's free or on leave onto finding him." It wouldn't help. She was the only one who could find him. The only one who could rescue him. Whether that was intuition or just plain old fear, she couldn't say. She sniffed, then asked, “Are you all right?"

"Bruised, but fine.” He kissed her forehead and pulled back. “How are you feeling?"

"A little achy.” She shrugged and swiped a hand at the tears on her cheeks. “Where are we?"

"The Circle's private hospital."

"Why?"

His gaze searched hers. “You don't remember?"