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."

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."

"Not clever enough, obviously. I have no idea why I'm here."

"Revenge. You will suffer, as you made me suffer, all those years ago."

"We've never met."

"Yes, we have. And when you remember, I'll savor the taste of fear in your thoughts."

The darkness around her stirred as if restless. The breathing was heavier, almost needy. Her mouth was dry, her throat aching, and her heart drumming a million miles an hour.

"In the meantime,” he continued, “I do believe you are overdressed for what we intend next. Mike, Ray, remedy that please."

Figures merged from the darkness, bloody hands reaching for her. Despite her vow, she screamed...

...Nikki scrambled to her feet and ran for the kitchen. For the next few minutes, she leaned over the sink, throwing up the coffee and doughnut she'd eaten in the cab on the way over.

Warm hands touched her shoulders, squeezing gently, then Michael leaned past her and turned on the tap. He wet his hands and gently patted moisture across the back of her neck, then her forehead.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded and reached for a cup, filling it with water. She rinsed her mouth, then turned around and rested her cheek against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and simply held her.

I'm glad you kept the full impact of that from me. It would have been bad, otherwise.

It may be the way we have to proceed with this gift of yours—at least until you gain some semblance of control over it.

I'm not sure if it's something I'll ever be able to fully control. Those images were coming at me before I'd even touched that necklace. I didn't even have to really reach.

Which is a worrying aspect. He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. Our client grows restless.

She lifted her cheek from his chest and leaned back against the sink. He'd be more than restless if he knew what was happening to his wife right now.

I know. He smoothed the hair from her eyes, fingers still hot against her skin. The caring in his gaze almost liquefied her insides. If you're not up to talking to them yet, I can sidetrack their thoughts.

Annoyance swirled softly, but she ignored it and touched a hand to his cheek. No, I'm fine.

Harris came into the kitchen. His hands were thrust into his pockets, and his expression was a mix of anger and hope. “Well, did anything happen?"

She sighed and dropped her hand. “Yes. I found her."

Her words seemed to galvanize everyone in the room.

"What?” one of the blue suits said. “Where?"

She grimaced. “I can't pinpoint it exactly without leading you there. But she's in a tunnel of some sort."

"Lady,” the Fed said dryly, “between the Bart and Muni tunnels, the sewers and storm drains, this city is a labyrinth of tunnels. Care to be a little more specific?"

A train ran past. Ten minutes ago. Michael twined his fingers through hers.

"It's near a train tunnel, I think, because one went past when I made contact—about ten minutes ago."

"Well, gee, that narrows the search area."

"And you were searching where, precisely, before now?” she asked.

The Fed smiled reluctantly, blue eyes crinkling near the corners. “Okay, so you show us. Boys, make arrangements."

The police began making frantic calls. Harris thrust a hand through his hair. “Was she ... is she....?"

"She's alive, Mr. Harris. She hasn't been hurt yet.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She swallowed heavily and looked away.

Michael squeezed her fingers lightly and turned. “Tell me, Mr. Harris, just how did those men get in here this morning to kidnap your wife?"

Harris shrugged. “I'm not sure. Anne apparently left a window open in the dining room, and the police think they may have climbed through there."

Michael didn't glance at her, but she knew he was thinking the same thing she was: Vampires couldn't enter a private residence unless asked, so there was no way in hell they could have climbed through that window to kidnap her.

"Did you have any odd callers during the week? A salesman, perhaps, that insisted you invite him in?” she asked.

Harris shook his head. “Though we did have to call the plumber during the week because our hot water heater stopped working."

She shared a glance with Michael. “What time of day did the plumber arrive?"

Harris frowned. “Evening. We were both out during the day, and it was dark by the time we got back."

"And he was the only stranger you let into the house?"

"Yes."

"Do you keep your hot water heater in the house or the garage?” Michael asked.

"The house. Why?"

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

Harris’ frown deepened, though he shrugged. “Sure. It's through that door there.” He pointed toward a door to their right.

Michael squeezed Nikki's fingers then released her hand and headed for the door.

"Hey,” a police officer said, “Where are—"

Power slithered through the air. The officer's words died, and he turned and walked to the window, staring outside. Michael's gaze met hers, almost challengingly. She didn't say anything, and after a moment he disappeared through the door Harris had indicated.

A blue suit approached. If he noticed Michael's absence, he made no mention of it. Maybe Michael had touched his mind, too. She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the rising tide of annoyance. He was right. There were times, like this, when it was simply easier to control everyone's thoughts. It sure beat answering difficult questions.

"There's no way you could define the search?” the Fed asked.

"As I said, not unless I take you there—and I'll need the necklace as a guide. I feel her vibes through it.” She glanced at Harris as the older man looked set to protest. “I'll return it, of course."

He shut his mouth and nodded. She looked away, disgusted. God, what did he think she was going to do? Run away with the stupid thing? How idiotic would that be, especially when she was going to be surrounded by Feds and cops?

There's no entrance into the room with the water heater, Michael said. Though I'd bet the plumber was a vampire.

"Miss James, are you able to try locating the tunnel for us now?"

"Yeah, sure.” She pushed away from the sink and headed into the living room to retrieve the plastic bag she'd dropped earlier. Michael? What are you going to do?

I think I saw a sewer grate just up the street. When you go outside, lift the lid. I'll dive into the sewers and try to navigate my way to wherever you end up.

What about the police?

I'll move too fast for them to see me.

And the sun?

He hesitated. You'll have to treat me gently tonight. I'll be sunburned.

What about using sun block?

Sun block?

Yeah, you know, that greasy white stuff we human's smear all over our skin to prevent sunburn. Harris is bound to have some in his bathroom.

I'm on my way to check.

She smiled. You mean to say that in over three hundred years of existence, you've never thought to use sun block?

Sun block has not been around for three hundred years.

Well, no, but it's got to have been around for at least fifty. I would have thought you'd have experimented by now.

I've had no need to before now. Besides, running around in the sun to test the feasibility of sun block is not something I'm inclined to risk without reason.

Couldn't argue with that logic, she supposed. She picked up the bagged necklace and followed the suits out the door. She went down the steps slowly, studying the street either way. The sewer grate was several houses up to her right.

Power surged, tingling across her fingertips. One of the Feds took her arm, guiding her toward a car parked just down from the grate. You ready?

Yes.

The Fed opened the door. She climbed into the car and studied the grate through slightly narrowed eyes. As the two agents climbed into the car and started the engine, she reached out kinetically and lifted the grate. It was heavier than she's expected, and she had to reach for a little more energy. She slid the lid toward the shadows of the car in front of them.

Go.

Nothing happened for a heartbeat, then a shadow flowed into the sewer hole and disappeared. She slid the grate back into place quickly to ensure any stray beams of sunlight couldn't touch him in the sewer's darkness.

You okay? No answer came and fear stirred. Michael?

I'm okay.

His words were a sigh in her mind, and she closed her eyes in relief. Are you badly burned?

Not as burned as I could have been. The sun block did take some of the sting off the sun.

But ... ?

But it's nearly eleven, Nikki. A deadly time for me, no matter how many layers I wear.

Can you move? She'd been burned badly herself once or twice and knew how painful it could be.

Yes. The vampires came down this way. I can smell the scent of their evil.

So you should be able to find the tunnel easily enough?

Hopefully. I'll meet you there.

Don't go out in the sun again.

His smile spun through her mind, a liquid caress that stirred her senses and made her body ache. Never fear, my love. I have no intention of getting a tan deeper than the one I already have.

She wrapped her fingers lightly around the necklace. “Head downtown,” she said. “Toward the Civic Center area."

They pulled away from the curb and joined the slow crawl of traffic. They were past the Federal building and closing in on Market Street by the time the necklace began to burn white-hot in her hand. “Pull over and stop,” she said.

"Thought they were in a train tunnel,” one of the Feds said as he opened the car door for her.

"No.” She climbed out and for a moment wished she could simply relax under the cool canopy of trees in the nearby gardens. “They're in an underground room of some sort, accessed through the sewers. It's close to a train tunnel, though."

"Sewer rats,” one of the cops muttered. “There are hundreds of them down there, and hundreds of places they can run."

"I doubt if we're after homeless folk,” the blue-eyed FBI agent said. “This is too well organized for them.” He handed her a flashlight, then added, “Which way?"

She took a deep breath and fought the pull of the images pulsing from the necklace. One little push, one tiny reach, and she'd be with Anne Harris, sharing her pain, sharing her fear. She swallowed back bile and nodded up the street. “That way."

They were close to a hall of some kind when she stopped. “Here,” she said, pointing to a grate. “We need to go down here."

Several cops glanced at each other, then bent and levered free the grate. A ladder led down into deeper darkness.

"Down there?” The cop pointed his flashlight at the rusty-looking ladder.

"Yep. You want me to lead the way?"

"I'll lead the way,” Blue Eyes said. “Mitch, Davidson, you follow me down. When we know it's safe, the rest of you follow."

They disappeared into the darkness. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, needing to move, needing to chase the images flashing through her mind. She crossed her arms and reached out to Michael instead.

You near?

Close. I'm not alone, though.

Fear tripped through her heart. What do you mean?

I mean there's a Loop of vamps nearby.

What in hell is a Loop?

It's a term for fledglings who were all basically created around the same time. They tend to flock together.

I thought fledglings couldn't control their bloodlust enough to hang around with anyone but their master?

The newly risen can't. But these have a few years on them and, while the bloodlust still reigns, common sense is beginning to reassert itself. There is safety in numbers.

What sort of numbers are we talking about?

Five.

We've already destroyed six of his vampires. How many of these so called Loops has he made?

Quite a few, by the look of it. Our boy appears to like his harems.

Bile rose in her throat. What are we going to do?

Nothing much we can do. I doubt if the police will be too pleased if you suddenly lose direction.

Besides which, we have to free Anne Harris.

Yes. He hesitated. She lives. I can hear the frantic sound of her pulse.

So could she, through the necklace. Only the sensation came with flashes of horror—fragmented memories of what the vamps had done to her. Repeatedly.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Could you go rescue her before we get there?

I could—but I prefer not to. I don't think Farmer has realized you're not working alone. I prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Why?

Because he'll undoubtedly change his method of attack once he realizes you have a vampire protecting you.

"All clear down here,” a distant voice said. “Start climbing down. You first, Miss James."

She did. She stepped off the ladder and into inch-thick muck. The air had a slightly damp, fishy smell, and the darkness was lifted only by the lonely flashlight beams. She clicked hers on and swung it around. Graffiti greeted her—angry scrawls and disjointed pictures—representing God knew what.

"Where now?” the Fed said once the last of the officers was down.

"That way.” She pointed to the darkness on her left.

In single file, they began moving through the darkness. Some of the tunnels were so damn small they had to almost bend over double. Others seemed to soar high above them.

And all the while the pulsing got stronger, until the agitated beat of Anne's heart was a rhythm that matched her own.

Michael?

Here. His mind voice was a whisper that breathed warmth past her ear. Darkness brushed across her fingers, searing heat deep.

And the vamps?

Up ahead.

Energy surged to her fingertips. She flexed her hands, trying to relax.

They're not going to attack?

No. I think they plan to await discovery then attack.

Why? It didn't make any sense to give up the advantage like that, though they were talking vampires. She guessed it didn't really matter if they did give up the benefit of surprise. Fledglings or not, they'd still beat the crap out of most of the officers here.

I suspect Farmer intends to let the police finally know what they are up against. His mind voice was grim.

Thank God there are no reporters down here with us. It'd cause a panic if people knew vamps were real and living in the sewers.

His smile spun around her, a touch of sunshine through the darkness. This is a city renowned for both its tolerance and its diversity. Somehow, I don't think people would be all that surprised.

The necklace burned into her hand. She held it by the top of the plastic instead, but it made very little difference to the images assaulting her mind. Anne was alive but in a bad way. She might not have had a heart attack like Dale Wainwright had, but the vamps had assaulted her and fed off her, and she was struggling to survive.

We're approaching the large chamber where the Loop waits, Michael said. You'd better try to warn the police.

She cleared her throat. “We're nearing where Anne is, but there's something waiting just ahead.” As she spoke, fog seemed to stir the darkness. It wasn't the vampires, wasn't anything threatening. Yet it came with an almost overwhelming feeling of fear.

The Fed with the blue eyes hesitated and looked over his shoulder. “What do you mean by something?"

The ethereal form disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Maybe it had been nothing more than a puff of colder air drifting in from the vent ahead.

She dragged her gaze back to the agent's. She couldn't tell him it was vampires, because he wasn't likely to believe her until he saw them himself. And maybe not even then.

"Just that. There are five ‘somethings', actually."

"Probably homeless folk.” Even so, she heard the sound of a safety clicking off.

They proceeded more cautiously. The flashlight beams bit through the darkness, spotlights that somehow left the greater darkness looking more ominous. They came into a chamber—a fact evident only by the bigger feeling of space. The Feds in front of her stopped, making her do a quick sidestep to avoid running into them.

Then she saw why they'd stopped.

The vampires were spotlighted by the flashlights as they stood in the middle of the chamber. All of them had the same disdainful expression, their arms crossed and stances casual. They were all wearing leather jackets, faded denims and black biker boots.

All of them were blood-smeared.

Guns came out of holsters. The vamps’ sneers became more noticeable, revealing bloody canines.

"F.B.I.,” Agent Blue Eyes stated. “Slowly drop any weapons you might be holding and raise your hands."

The vamp in the middle chortled. “Know what F.B.I. stands for?” His voice was guttural, like that of a man who'd spent too many years smoking. “Fuckin’ bloody idiots."

"Raise your hands,” Blue Eyes repeated stonily.

"Yeah right,” the vamp said. “Boys, let's show ‘em."

Night stole the vampires from sight, and all hell broke loose.