Chasing the Shadows (Nikki & Michael 3)

She listened to the rhythmic flow of his breathing and tried to match it. Gradually, the tension began to leave her limbs.

"Relax, relax."

His voice was a whisper that soothed her soul. Gradually, the tension, the awareness of everyone else, began to ease away. All she could hear was Michael. All she could feel was the necklace burning into her palm, the gold almost molten against her skin. But she ignored the images pushing at the edges of her mind, knowing she dare not follow them yet.

"Open your mind to me. Let our thoughts become one." She lowered her barriers. Felt him do the same. Heat danced through her, a warmth that burst like an explosion through every fiber of her being and left her tingling with awareness. His mind flowed around her, separate yet united with her own. His thoughts, his emotions, were a blaze of color that almost left her blind. She could see areas he wished kept hidden, vast tracks of forbidding darkness. Knew there would be identical areas in her own mind—memories she had no wish to share yet, even with him. It was similar, and yet so very different from the first time they'd tried this. Then, they'd been wary strangers—lovers, but still strangers, distrusting of each other, distrusting the strength of the emotions that swirled between them.

Concentrate. The cool breeze of his thoughts whispered through her. Now, reach for Anne Harris. Let our thoughts become hers, separate but one.

She wrapped her fingers around the necklace, pressing the plastic wrapped metal into her palm. It had grown suddenly cold against her skin, but her fingers twitched, burned by the images rushing from the jewelry. Her senses leaped away, following the trail that led to Anne Harris. Shapes began to form. Fear trembled through her fear, but Michael chased it away.

Concentrate on Anne, Nikki. Reach for her. See her. Feel her. Let her thoughts, her mind, touch ours without ever overriding us.

She reached—and was swept into Anne Harris’ thoughts and actions. Became an observer who did not feel or fear...

* * * *

...Darkness surrounded her, but she was not alone. She could hear them—their breathing was rapid gasps that spoke of fear. Or excitement.

She knew they watched her. Their gazes caressed her skin, heated touches that were not real, and yet they seemed to sear so very deep. She thought the watchers were probably waiting for her to break under the strain of her terror. But she wouldn't. Even though fear trembled through every limb, even though she was so damn nervous—so afraid—it felt like she was going to throw up, she wasn't going to beg them to leave her alone. She refused to give them that satisfaction, no matter what they did to her. A chill ran across her flesh. She swallowed back bile and let her gaze roam around the darkness. The newspapers said the third victim had been found in the sewers. Though this place was dark, she didn't think it was the sewers. Though there was a slight fishy odor in the air, it didn't smell as bad as she imagined any sewer would. Nor was it damp.

"Do you wonder why you are here?” The voice swam out of the darkness—cold, deep and vaguely familiar.

She jumped, her heart beating so loudly it seemed to echo like a drum. The darkness around her stirred, as if in hunger.

"I know why I'm here. You're going to kill me.” Her voice was high, almost childlike. She cleared her throat, determined to face the disembodied voice with courage. Neil had often said the only thing we truly have control over in this life is the manner in which we accept death. It wasn't until now that she really understood what he meant.

Tears stung her eyes. She wouldn't see him again. Would never get the chance to tell him she loved him—something she hadn't said in such a very long time. Moisture rolled past her chin and dripped onto her hands, clenched tightly in her lap.

"Interesting.” The voice was behind her now. “There is a strength in you lacking in the others."

"Maybe the others didn't know what you intended to do. Or maybe they thought begging would save their lives."

"And you don't think it will?"

"No. Begging makes no difference to a sick mind."

The disembodied voice laughed softly. The sound sent another chill across her flesh. There was nothing remotely human in that laugh.

"If I have a sick mind, then you are partially responsible for it." She frowned, then wondered why she was even bothering to take anything this man said seriously.

“What do you mean?"

He didn't answer. The beat of her heart seemed to reverberate through the silence, a sound that was oddly, briefly, accompanied by a more metallic-sounding beat and a rushing sigh of wind that stirred her hair and caressed her skin with momentary warmth.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember me,” he said eventually. “None of the others did. Until later."

She swallowed back the rush of bile. “Given what you did to them, do you really think it was memory?

Or was it just the frantic need to agree with anything you said in the hope you'd stop?" He chuckled again. “You are very clever.">Yes, but—

You agree that she won't go willingly, don't you?

She didn't reply, just glared at him. He was right, and she knew it. He looked back at Jake. “No, she won't feel the compulsion. Where do you want me to send her?"

"Not to Boston, that's for sure.” Jake hesitated. “What about Long Beach? She has a friend down there—a recent friend, not one from Boston. Mary said some time ago she'd like to see her again."

"This friend's name?"