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.
Only then, after taking a deep breath, did she open her mind to hell. Darkness flooded her senses. Through it, she heard the faint strains of music ... an organ . Frowning, she tried to broaden the view. She needed an exact location, not merely the sounds and images of Monica's den.
A man dressed in black ... the cross. Two old cypress trees dusted with snow ... the pictures gradually formed into an area she recognized. Monica hid in the bowels of an old church up in the hills. She smiled at the absurdity of it. Yet what better hideaway could Monica find? No one expected a vampire to hide in such a place. Not even Michael...
What place?
She jumped. The question sounded so clear he might as well have been standing right next to her. She put her hand on her chest, and took a deep breath to calm the rapid pounding of her heart. Nikki, what place? Where is Monica?
In a church. An honest answer, but not one that would help him. There were at least twenty churches scattered in and around Lyndhurst. It would take them forever to find the right one. Where is the church, Nikki?
Annoyance seared her. She smiled grimly. Good. Maybe next time he'd think twice about leaving her behind ... But there wasn't going to be a next time, was there?
Nikki?
The sudden wariness behind his question made her wonder if he'd heard her thoughts. All I know is it's in the northwest, towards the mountains. Thank you. He sounded surprised, as if he hadn't expected an honest answer. We'll find her, Nikki. Maybe they would. And maybe she would. The bracelet would lead her straight to the teenager's lair. Stay in the hotel, Nikki. Stay safe.
Yeah, right. She rose and called for a cab. Her car was still parked in front of the agency, and, hopefully, she still had a set of knives hidden under the dash. Even if a knife wasn't an effective weapon against a vampire, she still felt safer with them strapped to her wrist. She glanced at the time. Two o'clock. She collected her jacket and went outside to wait for the cab.
* * * *
Two hours later, she stopped her car opposite an old church and climbed out. This was the place. She took off her sunglasses and leaned against the car to study the church. A priest puttered around in the front garden, tending to a few winter flowering plants. Two old cypress pines dominated the grounds on the right side of the old building, but the back and left side were bare and open. She squinted slightly and looked at the sky. It was after four, and the sun's strength was beginning to wane. Michael had said any exposure to the sun was dangerous to the newly turned, but she wanted to be sure of death. The later it was, the less likely that became. And it wouldn't wait until Michael arrived. She didn't question the certainty that he was coming. As he'd warned, the ties between them had been strengthened by their lovemaking, and he was using that connection to find her.
Maybe she should wait for him ... But something drove her on, told her she couldn't afford to. She locked the car door then crossed the road. The priest moved back into the old building. How could she rid the church of its unknown guest without raising the priest's suspicions? She frowned and turned down an old stone path that led through the trees. There had to be a second entrance around the back of the church. Maybe she could get in there.
Luck was with her for a change. She climbed over a small fence and approached the second door. It was locked. She looked around to ensure no one watched, then quickly zapped the door with kinetic energy.
It creaked open. The hallway beyond was dark, still. The murmur of several voices came from a room to her right, and someone moved around in another room further down the hall. Below them all, a sense of evil, sleeping.
Chapter Thirteen
Swallowing heavily, Nikki stepped inside. She reached into her pocket and dug out Monica's bracelet. It pulsed lightly against her palm, a muted beat that would lead her straight to the teenager. She moved forward quietly. There were no windows in the small corridor, and the gloom closed in. She resisted the urge to turn on the flashlight, knowing the proximity of the voices meant there was a chance they'd see it.
A cobweb trailed against her face, and she jumped sideways. Her yelp became a squeak as she bit down on it. Heart pounding unevenly, she stopped and listened. The soft murmuring in the other room continued unabated.
Sighing silently, she walked on. The corridor ended at a set of stairs. She hesitated, stomach suddenly churning. She'd climbed a similar set of stairs to escape Jasper's clutches. Oh God, was he here as well?
She couldn't feel his presence, only Monica's, but the fear that she was walking blindly into another trap was a cold weight in the pit of her stomach.
She turned on the flashlight and shone it into the gloom. The dust-caked steps showed no trace of footsteps, yet she could feel Monica's presence in the darkness below. Could vampire's fly? Bile rose in her throat. She closed her eyes, swallowing heavily. It was ridiculous to think vampires could fly. They didn't have to, when they could move faster than the eye could see. What if Monica was awake and waiting for her? The rhythmic beat in the bracelet spoke of slumber, but how could she be sure a vampire's heartbeat was in any way the same as a human's?
Sweat beaded her forehead. Biting her lip, she walked slowly down the stairs. Dust stirred, a cloud that stung her eyes and nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, fighting a sneeze. The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. She touched the handle, then hesitated again. What if Jasper was here? What would she do?
Probably die of heart failure. If she was lucky.
The bracelet told her nothing. Nor could she really expect it to—it was Monica's, not Jasper's. Mouth dry, she turned the handle and opened the door. The air that rolled out to greet her was thick with age and a musty dampness that spoke of leaking pipes. She swept the light across the layers of darkness. It revealed the slimy floor but little else.
A hand came down on her shoulder, and her heart almost stopped. She screamed and spun, only to find the priest she'd seen earlier in the church grounds. She swallowed and gave him a somewhat shaky smile. “Father, you gave me a fright."
"It was not my intention, I assure you.” His voice was gentle, as if he feared he was talking to someone not quite sane. “I merely wanted to know what you were doing down here." Should she lie? She eyed him for a moment then decided against it. Something in his green eyes told her he's seen enough of life to know the truth from a lie.
"I'm a private investigator.” She pulled her wallet out of her jacket and shone the flashlight on her license.
“I got a tip that an escaped criminal was hiding in your cellar." The priest frowned. “I don't see how. The doors are kept locked, and I've seen no one strange about." No one but herself, she surmised from his look. “The side door and this one were both open, Father. Have you checked them lately?"
"Not this one."
"Then my informant may be right.” She glanced over her shoulder. Something stirred in the darkness—or was it only her imagination?
"Is this criminal dangerous?"
Why wouldn't he just leave? If Monica stirred, the priest was in danger. Nikki doubted if his robes would offer much protection. “Yes, she's dangerous."
"Then I think we should call the police."
She glanced back to the dark cellar. At least the priest would be out of the way if he went to call the police. And maybe it would be better if the cops were the ones to drag Monica into the sunlight and death. As long as they arrived well before sunset, there shouldn't be any sort of danger. With Monica out of the way, the only nightmare left would be Jasper. Foreboding pulsed across her skin. “Call them, then. Tell them Monica Trevgard is trapped in this basement. I'll stay here to ensure she doesn't escape."
His gaze widened at the mention of Monica's name, then he nodded and moved back up the stairs. Nikki watched his retreat. Did he know Monica? Maybe she should warn him what might happen ... She shook her head and leaned against a wall. Priest or not, he wouldn't believe her. The minutes ticked by, and the silence grew heavier. She glanced at her watch. Perhaps the priest had decided to call the loony bin first, just to ensure she wasn't an escaped nutcase. She cast her senses into the basement, checking that Monica was still there. The wash of evil was answer enough.
A few minutes later she heard the sirens. Yet she couldn't escape the notion that something was wrong, that she was doing something she shouldn't. But they had to get rid of Monica, for everyone's safety. Didn't they?
Footsteps pounded down the hall. She rubbed her arms, wishing they'd hurry. MacEwan clomped down the steps and stopped beside her. “This better not be one of your tricks." His breath washed over her, and she screwed up her nose. Too bad garlic didn't effect vampires. “It's not. She's all yours."
She offered him her flashlight, but he shook his head and produced one of his own. “Jenkins, make sure she stays put. You other two, follow me."
The three men stepped into the basement. The darkness closed around them; only the bobbing light gave away their position. She clenched her fists, half-expecting Monica to wake and try to escape. But no sound broke the silence except for the occasional footstep.
Minutes later, Jenkins’ two-way buzzed.
"Call the paramedics in, Jenkins.” MacEwan's voice sounded annoyed, even over the two-way. “And get them to bring down a stretcher. The girl isn't looking so good."
"And Miss James?"
"Tell her to stay put, or her ass is mine."
The young officer glanced at her. Nikki smiled sourly. “Message received. My ass ain't moving." He grinned slightly then headed back up the stairs. Nikki shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting uneasily in the darkness. She wanted to go into the cellar and see Monica for herself, but knew MacEwan had meant what he said.
Though with Jasper still on the loose, maybe jail was the safest place to be. Jenkins returned a few minutes later, but Nikki felt no safer with his large presence next to her. She glanced at her watch. If MacEwan didn't move Monica soon, he might well find himself trying to control a very angry, and very awake, vampire.
Footsteps sounded down the hall. Two paramedics pounded past them and disappeared into the darkness. More minutes ticked by.
Finally, MacEwan reappeared. The two paramedics carried Monica on the stretcher just behind him, with the two police officers following them.
She let the five men pass then followed them up the stairs. The teenager looked more dead than alive. She was limp, boneless, her skin pallid and unhealthy looking. Nikki frowned. Something didn't feel right...
She crossed her arms. However Monica might look, she was still a monster. Like the fiend she called a lover, Monica enjoyed the terror she inflicted on her victims. It had been all too obvious in her eyes when she'd attacked both her and Jake.
But evil's mistress was about to meet her deserving end.
MacEwan glanced over his shoulder. “I don't want you disappearing anywhere. I'd like a word with you first."
She nodded. She had no intention of leaving, anyway. Not until she was certain of Monica's fate. She followed the men down the hall, then stopped as the first paramedic stepped outside. Beams of sunlight touched Monica's still form, washing her skin with warmth. Just for an instant she looked like the Monica of old—a carefree, innocent teenager. Nikki bit her lip and half reached out to stop them. Then she dropped her hand to her side and watched the two men carry her fully into daylight. Monica screamed—a high, tortured sound that ricocheted through Nikki's mind. This is wrong. I'm wrong. Oh Christ ... She took a step forward. Fire leaped through her brain, stopping her. She doubled over, gasping in pain, eyes watering as she struggled to see Monica. The teenager kicked and twisted against the straps holding her captive. She screamed and cursed and called for her father, over and over and over. The two paramedics swore and struggled to keep hold of the stretcher as the convulsing became more violent. There was a tearing sound, then suddenly she was free and on the ground. Her eyes flew open, revealing a sea of red where there should have been white. Tendrils of smoke began to rise from her flesh. She hissed, a low inhuman sound, and began to crawl towards the doorway and the safety of the church interior.