Dancing with the Devil (Nikki & Michael 1)

She smiled wryly. That was a lie, and they both knew it. In his early forties, Jake didn't fit the typical image of private investigator. Absent were the scruffy looks, clothes in serious need of an iron and scuffed shoes. Jake's image was more the successful businessman. Not only did it make his clients more at ease, it gave him an extra advantage on the job. His look at the office was never the one he used in the streets.

She dug out a couple of donuts then tossed the box across to him. He caught it deftly and munched in silence as she gave him an edited version of the night's events. The zombies she left out, not sure if she could convince him they really existed. Jake had a hard time believing anything he couldn't see for himself. He whistled softly when she'd finished. “Sounds like Monica's got herself into something serious."

"It's more than serious. The man she's with ... he's evil, Jake. Pure evil.” She leaned back in her chair, shuddering at the seductive memory of fiery blue eyes. “I don't think we have a hope of getting her away from him."

He shrugged. “We have to try."

She bit into her doughnut. Yeah, they had to try, but she didn't hold much hope of succeeding. Evil had too strong a grip on Monica now.

Jake rose and poured himself a cup of coffee. “And this man that helped you, Michael Kelly? Where does he fit in?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don't know."

"There's too much going on here that we just don't understand. I don't like it, Nik." She struggled to smother another yawn. “Neither do I. Not a lot we can do about it, though."

"I could take you off the case."

"And just who would take it over? You?” She grinned at him. “You're so busy now, you don't have time to scratch."

"This is true.” He shrugged. “One of these days I'm going to have to hire myself another investigator.” He gave her a sympathetic look as the yawn she'd been fighting broke free. “Why don't you go home and get some sleep? You look dead on your feet."

His words revived memories of the fetid breath and cold flesh of the creatures. She shuddered and rose quickly. “It's an offer I can't refuse. I'll leave the rest of the donuts, in case you want them."

"An offer I can't refuse.” He grinned, and helped himself to another donut. “Just make damn sure you're back by six. I might be tempted to murder our client if I have to put up with him for any amount of time tonight."

"Then I'll make sure I'm late,” she replied sweetly and stepped out the door before he could throw something at her.

* * * *

In the end, exhaustion and a broken alarm clock made her late getting back to the office.

"And what happened to six o'clock?” Trevgard said the minute she opened the door. His voice was mild given the anger she could sense in him. She looked at the clock. It was nearing six-thirty, so he had every right to be annoyed.

"What happened?” Jake asked, his irritation undisguised.

She grimaced. “Alarm clock."

Jake just shook his head. He'd been telling her for weeks to replace the damn thing, but she hadn't considered it a priority.

She glanced at Trevgard. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Did you bring the bracelet?" He nodded. “Yes. Jake has it."

Jake gave her the bracelet, sealed in a plastic bag. He knew from past experience that too many people handling an object spoiled her ability to get a strong reading. She sat down, stomach suddenly churning. She'd done this a hundred times before. It was simple. Easy.

But never before had her life been at risk.>Nikki James. She's a private investigator following Jasper's current girlfriend. She's a strong psychic— very strong, in fact.

And Jasper craves power. He will kill, then retrieve her.

Anger rose at the thought of Nikki as one of Jasper's lumbering creatures. And yet, he had to acknowledge the image as one possible outcome. Nor would it stop him from using her as bait. He took of quick gulp of wine. I'm going to befriend her. Hopefully, Jasper will turn up pretty quickly, and I can get rid of him before he kills again.

Take care, Michael. You're playing with fire on this one.

Michael frowned. He had an odd feeling Seline knew more about the situation, or at least about Nikki, than she was letting on. But he also knew there was no point in questioning the old witch. She'd tell him what she thought he needed to know and nothing more. There was little more to add, so he bid her good night and broke the contact. Yawning, he stretched his legs, trying to relax the tension cramping his muscles.

Picking up his glass, he rose and walked across to the window. The blinds were open, and the pale light of the rising dawn streamed in through glass. Michael leaned a shoulder against the window frame and sipped slowly at the wine.

The sun had killed many of his kind, and it was a pleasure he'd long thought lost to him. Only time had taught him otherwise. He lifted his glass to the dawn's light and watched it reflect through the pale amber liquid. Wine was another pleasure he'd thought lost. He'd been told he could only survive by taking the life of others—that anything else would kill him. More lies. His changed metabolism might mean he could consume no food, but it didn't prevent him from taking fluids. Wine would never sustain him, but it couldn't kill him, either.

He took another sip and wondered what had happened to the woman who had turned him. Dublin in the 17th century had been an unforgiving place, and he'd fallen under Elizabeth's spell so very easily. Perhaps he'd just been desperate to escape the emptiness of his existence—even now, he wasn't entirely sure. He had a sudden vision of Nikki, her delicate features and smoky amber eyes, surrounded by a halo of dark hair. In very many ways, she reminded him of Elizabeth.