Chasing the Shadows (Nikki & Michael 3)

Michael nodded and began rebuilding Mary's memories, imprinting on her mind the exuberance of her seeing her friend again and making sure there were no doubts about the trip and leaving Jake for the next week. Then he released her.

"You'd better be getting ready if you want to make the plane,” he said, prompting her. Mary glanced at her watch and surged to her feet. “Ohmigod, you're right. Jake are you going to take me to the airport or not?"

"The limo has been booked, but I'll be escorting you out there.” He hesitated, waiting until Mary had left the room, then added, “I'll meet you two at Harris's later." Nikki rose. “I'll just go say good-bye, then we can get going." Michael nodded and glanced at Jake. “You got the address?" Jake handed him a card. “From what he said, she was snatched from her bedroom last night." He frowned. “Were they at a hotel or a bed and breakfast?"

"No. Private residence."

His frown deepened. “It can't be vamps snatching these women then."

"Well, it isn't human, that's for sure. Harris took a swing at the man and said he simply stepped back into shadow. If that doesn't sound like a vamp, then what the hell is it?" It certainly sounded like a vampire. The question was, how were they getting into the house in the first place? One of the few myths about them that was true was their inability to step into a private home unless invited. It couldn't be forced, but had to be freely given. It was doubtful if any man or woman would give such permission in the early hours of the morning. So how were these vamps getting in?

Chapter Ten

Nikki stepped onto the sidewalk and stared up at the beautiful old Victorian. Painted blue and yellow, it was a cheerful sight that belied the deep sense of sorrow and anger she could feel coming from inside the old house.

She shivered and rubbed her arms. Emotions were not something she'd ever been able to feel before now—not unless she was linked through psychometry to the mind of another. It was not something she wanted to feel now .

Michael climbed out of the cab and touched a hand to her back. “Let's get inside." She glanced up at him. His face had gone pink. Sunburn. “You pushing your limits?"

"It's past ten, so very definitely.” He opened the gate and ushered her through. Worry slithered through her. “It could be midday before we finished. What are you going to do then?"

"Let's worry about it then."

He climbed the steps and pressed the doorbell. A cop answered. Nikki all but groaned. It was hard enough to focus her gifts—harder still to control them, especially given the way they were currently changing. To try to do so in a room filled with disbelieving police officers would be next to impossible.

"Could you please tell Mr. Harris that Nikki James and Michael Kelly are here to see him?” Power caressed the air as Michael spoke. For a heartbeat, the cop's eyes went blank. She clenched her fists and bit back her instinctive comment.

The cop nodded and disappeared. A second later, a small, bearded man appeared, his brown eyes red-rimmed, face haggard. “Come in, come in, both of you,” he said and offered Michael his hand. “Neil Harris."

Nikki shook his hand in turn. His fingers were clammy, feeling oddly like wet parchment against her own. She had to resist the temptation to wipe his touch away afterward.

"The cops aren't too happy about me inviting you here,” he continued, voice raspy, almost harsh. “But I told them they could stick it. You found the other woman, and found her alive, and I'm not about to turn my back on any chance, no matter how remote."

He led them into the living room. Besides the cops, there were several suited men inside—Feds, she presumed. They were hovering around the phone, waiting for a call she knew would never come. Michael glanced at her sharply. Why not?

She hesitated, examining the distant, shadowy thoughts. Because he fears us. Or me. And he cares more about the revenge now than the money itself.

Which means we may not have much time to play with to rescue this woman. We don't. She rubbed her arms and tried to ignore the bitter fury that swam around her. Billie Farmer, if that was this killer's true name, had already begun to take his revenge on Anne Harris.

"So, what do you need?” Harris said, coming to a stop in the center of the room.

"Something she wore all the time. A favorite necklace or bra are usually good." He nodded and left the room again, leaving them under the watching eye of the silent police officers. Michael twined his fingers through hers, his touch furnace hot. Neil Harris returned with a jewelry box and a handful of bras. “Take your pick,” he said, dumping them all on the coffee table.

She skimmed her hand over the top of them. Muted rushes of color and heat ran across her senses, but there was nothing she would have deemed truly promising—until she reached the heart-shaped pendant that had fallen from the box. Fear practically swamped her.

She swallowed heavily and glanced up at Harris. “Do you have a plastic bag?" He frowned, but disappeared into the kitchen to get one. Michael took it from him and carefully swept the necklace into the bag before handing it to her.

Though she held it by the plastic and wasn't actually touching the metal, flashes of fear and darkness still pulled at her mind. If she went in uncontrolled, as she normally did, it could be very bad indeed. She met Michael's gaze. “How do you want to do this?"

He pushed the coffee table back against the sofa. “Sit on the carpet and relax." She did. Michael sat cross-legged in front of her and took hold of her free hand. The heat of his touch burned through her flesh, warming the ice formed by her apprehension.

"Now relax and close your eyes."

She closed her eyes, but the awareness of all those watching them burned deep, tearing at her concentration.

He gently squeezed her fingers. “Listen to the sound of my voice. Concentrate on it. On me." She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Why not use the link?

Because the link and your talents seem to work on two entirely different levels, and I don't think they're truly compatible for what we are about to try. Aloud, he murmured, “Breathe deeply and relax."