Nikki absently ran the silver cross up and down its chain and watched the people hurry past the foggy office windows. Everyone was bundled up against the bitter wind that raced the clouds across the evening sky. She felt no warmer, despite the heat in the office.

Just how did you stop a vampire?

Last night had proven how difficult that might be. From the little Michael had said, she knew Jasper had been dead long enough to develop and refine the gifts vampirism endowed.

They'd never see him, let alone get near enough to kill him. She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the ice creeping through her veins. Michael was right about one thing. Jasper and Monica were evil. They would kill, and keep on killing, until they were stopped. She just wished she wasn't the one who had to stop them.

She leaned forward and grabbed her coffee cup off the desk, wrapping her hands around it to keep them warm. She turned her thoughts to Michael. She'd heard it said that the eyes were the window to the soul, so what did his ebony gaze tell her? That he was a man well versed in controlling his surroundings. That his secrets and knowledge were old. Centuries old.

She frowned and sipped her coffee. That was impossible, of course. And there was more than secrets to be seen in his eyes. There was also warmth, and a hint of passion that called to something deep inside her. She shivered lightly. Maybe it was just as well that he'd revealed a little too much last night.

The office opened. Jake stepped in, accompanied by a blast of wind that sent the loose papers on her desk scattering like confetti.

"It's cold outside,” he muttered sourly. He threw his coat in the general direction of his desk and stalked across the room to the coffee pot.

"So tell me something new,” she said, returning her gaze to the street. Michael was out there somewhere. While it was obvious he could take care of himself, worry gnawed at her. Last night her dreams had sent her a warning—Jasper wove a trap around them all, with Michael's death the grand finale.

"I've sent Mary on a trip to visit her mother,” Jake said into the silence.

She almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. In the ten years she'd known him, he'd never been worried enough by a case to send his wife away.

His face was bleak. “If Monica is still alive after having that stake shoved in her gut, well, she knows too much about us. She'll come after us, Nikki."

Hunter and hunted, all one and the same. Just great, she thought, and took another sip of coffee.

"At least I'm lucky that way,” she said after a moment. “I have no one but me to worry about."

"You must have aunts and uncles out there, somewhere. Grandparents, even. All you have to do is find them, kiddo."

Yeah, she thought sourly. She had them. But they didn't want to know her. She took another sip of coffee, then met Jake's curious gaze. “Mom once told me her family refused to understand the nature of her gifts—they thought she was possessed by the devil. That's why she left when she was sixteen. And Dad's folks disowned him for marrying someone they thought no better than a gypsy."

He shrugged. “Times change. You can't be sure how they'd react to you now."

She smiled bitterly. “Yes, I can."

She bent to gather the papers from the floor, only to have them scatter further as the door opened a second time. Michael stepped inside.

"Evening,” he greeted softly, his dark gaze enigmatic when it met hers.

Intuition delivered two warnings, and her pulse skipped a beat. The wall he'd raised last night would stay in place, and he had something to say she wasn't going to like. She gathered the scattered papers then sat back down.

Jake offered Michael a cup of coffee before moving back to his desk. “So,” he said. “What can we do for you?"

Michael stopped near her desk. Nikki had the sudden sensation of being caught in a small pen between two charging bulls. She leaned back in her chair and eyed them both warily.

"I came to help,” Michael said evenly.

"Really,” Jake drawled. “I find it interesting that Nikki didn't appear to need any help until you arrived on the scene."

Her breath caught in her throat. What made Jake think that? She glanced at Michael and caught a wisp of anger—the same dark anger that had threatened her in the warehouse. He looked at her briefly, and the anger died. Yet it was obvious Michael was a man not used to having his actions questioned.

"It might also be said that she would now be dead had I not,” he replied.

Jake leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why did you come to Lyndhurst, then?"

"To catch a killer—the man who now chases Nikki."

Michael sat on the edge of her desk and sipped his coffee. He appeared very relaxed, very calm. He was not. Jake's doubt infuriated him, and she wondered why.

"Why?” Jake asked bluntly. “You're certainly not a cop or FBI or anything else official. This a personal vendetta or something else?"

"Both.” He hesitated and sipped at his coffee.

Deciding how much he should tell them, she thought, and wondered if there was anyone in his world whom he trusted enough to be completely honest with.

"Jasper killed my brother. A few years later he killed a close friend of mine."

The truth as far as it went, but nowhere near the full story, she thought. “I get the feeling there's more history than that between the two of you."

Michael glanced at her. His face was guarded, wary. “Ours is a battle that has been going on for many years. I have killed his brother, and I will kill him—not in retaliation, but simply because his bloodshed will not stop until he is dead."

"Which suggests there is very little difference between you and the man you hunt."

Michael's smile was bitter. “There's one big difference. I do not hunt innocents, nor do I drain the blood of my victims."

She shuddered, remembering the bloody mess Monica had made the night before. “You said you don't kill in retribution, and yet you killed his brother. Why?"

He hesitated again. “Because they were twins who hunted and worked as one. They'd killed over one hundred people before I stopped them, and Jasper has killed as many since."

Again, the truth as far as it went, and still not the whole story. “Why is he so determined to hunt me? We both know there's easier prey living on the streets."

He sipped his coffee, studying her for several seconds before answering. “Jasper hungers for things he can never have. Power, more than anything else. You have that power, Nikki."

And Jasper, who could call his victims from the dead, would control that power should she die. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed heavily.

I will not let that happen. I would kill you myself, if it came to that.

It was a chilling thought, and not one she found comforting.

Their gazes met and, just for an instant, the link between them surged to life. His mind embraced hers, a gentle yet intimate touch that caressed her body in a way no physical stroke ever could.

Jake softly cleared his throat. She jumped, tearing her gaze away from Michael's. What the hell was happening between them? And why did she feel like running as far and as fast as she could?

"So what do you plan to do?” Jake asked into the silence.

"I plan to kill Jasper before he can kill again."

"Not exactly legal."

"With Jasper, we have no other choice. And you know it,” Michael said quietly. “You had a taste of what he will be like last night in Monica."

"Then she is a vampire."

There was no disbelief in Jake's quiet statement. Only an edge of fear she could well understand.

"Yes,” Michael answered. “As Jasper is."

"Shit,” Jake muttered and took a gulp coffee. “So how do we kill a vampire? Chase it with a stake and cover it in crosses and garlic?"

Michael smiled, though no humor touched his eyes. “The cross works as a deterrent for vampires only because, historically speaking, they have always been made of the purest silver. The metal can burn vampires that touch it, particularly the newly turned. As for garlic, I suspect it is only a deterrent for those with weak stomachs."

"So what's the proper method of killing vampires?” Jake asked. “And how do you know so much about them?"

"As I've already told Nikki, a stake through the heart and decapitation are the best bet. Exposure to the noonday sun works, too. Either way, you must first find their daytime resting place."

"Why the noonday sun? I thought exposure to any amount of sun would kill?” she said in surprise.

"In most cases, yes.” He paused, and shrugged. His quick look told her he wished this subject had never been brought up. “Age has a lot to do with it. The more years you have behind you, the more tolerant you become to silver and the sun."

"So how old is this Jasper?"

"As near as I can gather, just on ninety-eight years old. Not enough to give him much immunity."

And he still looked fifteen, she thought, feeling ill. “Then what about the zombies?"

"Kill their master, and they will die,” he said, voice grim. “It's his life-force keeping them alive."

"Does putting salt in their mouth work?"

A shimmer of amusement spun around her. “I suppose if you shoved enough down their throats, they're likely to choke to death."

She scowled at him. “I'm being serious, here."

"So am I.” His amusement fled. “Break their necks, and they will die. Otherwise, they cannot. Not until Jasper dies."

"How in hell is that possible?” she said. “How can he raise the dead and make them his slaves?"

Michael shrugged. “The ability to call the newly dead back to life—to reanimate their limbs—is a black art that often runs in families. From what we know of Jasper, both his father and grandfather were animators, as well."

Great, she thought, and wondered what other unknowns walked through the darkness, hiding from the sunlight and humanity's sight.

Be careful what you ask, Nikki, or you might just discover the answer.

A chill ran across her flesh. A premonition that perhaps it was a warning that came too late. She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"So what do you suggest we do next?” Jake said into the silence.

Grim acceptance ran through his voice. He'd finally accepted both the situation and Michael's presence.

"We must find Monica first. The newly turned tend to be unbalanced and dangerous, especially those who, when alive, had no real love for their fellow humans.” Michael smiled grimly, then added, “As you've already discovered."

"Which is where Nikki comes in. Just as well we nabbed that locket."

Michael nodded. “Once Nikki finds Monica's hideout, we wait for dawn then go deal with her."

Kill her, he meant. She shuddered then frowned, studying him. She suddenly had the odd notion she had not been included in the we.

"Meaning we introduce her to the delights of sunshine.” Jake frowned. “I don't know if I—"

"I'm not asking for help here. I can handle her alone."

"Monica is our client's daughter,” Jake said, his voice flat. “And our responsibility. Go without us, and I'll call the cops."

If the threat fazed Michael in any way, it certainly didn't show. “Then come. Either way, I care not."

His gaze met hers. Here it comes, she thought. The statement she wasn't going to like.

"We should be relatively safe from attack during the day,” he continued, his voice as neutral as his face. “But all the same, I think for safety's sake, that Nikki should go home and stay there."

Jake stood quickly, forestalling her anger with raised hands. “Vampires I can handle. This is beyond me. I'm off to eat.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He reached for the door handle, then paused and looked at Michael. “I wish you luck. After a statement like that, you'll need it."

Michael restrained the automatic urge to stop Jake's retreat. As much as he'd counted on having the other man's support, any sign of psychic intrusion would only inflame Nikki further. As the door slammed shut, he took a sip of coffee, then braced himself to face the storm brewing on the other side of the desk.

"Who in hell do you think you are, telling me what to do?” She glared at him, cheeks flushed.

"You're a liability,” he said flatly. A liability he willingly used, granted, but that didn't mean he was willing to risk her safety merely to catch the teenager. “Monica is not Jasper, and in many respects, she's more dangerous because her behavior cannot be predicted."

"So? I managed to survive her fury last night. I can do it again. Jake's more a liability in that respect than I am."

"Yes, but Jasper's not after Jake. He's after you."

"So I'm supposed to cower at home while you take care of the problem? I don't think so."

He couldn't imagine her cowering anywhere, but that wasn't what he was asking her to do. “We could walk into a trap, Nikki."

"And you'd rather risk Jasper getting his hands on Jake than on me.” She snorted softly and sat back in her chair, amber eyes narrowed. “You're a cold bastard, you know that?"

Yes. And had been told it, many times. “Are you so eager to die, Nikki?"

"No."

She hesitated slightly, and something flashed through her eyes. Death, he thought, was no stranger to her, and perhaps something she would welcome, were it not for the possibility that Jasper would use her.

"And I'm even less eager for Jake to die in my place."

"I have no intention of letting that happen.” If only because he didn't trust Jake's sense of honor—an honor that lay with the client, not with him. He wouldn't put it past the man to step in and stop the killing stroke in some vague attempt to reconcile the girl with her father. “I plan to use him as a guard, nothing more."

"Then why not take me? My abilities make me more useful in that department. At least I'd be able to sense the zombies before they approached."

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. She was making perfectly good sense, and they both knew it. “Nikki, I had a premonition—you come with us today, and you could fall into Jasper's hands."

"At last, some honesty.” She hesitated, face grim. “How safe am I at home? Jasper may not be able to cross a threshold uninvited, but the zombies can, can't they? What if he uses Monica as bait to lure you away?"

He had to acknowledge it was a possibility, however unlikely. “I doubt whether he would make such an attempt in daylight. If things went wrong, there would be little he could do to help the situation."

"Monica is my responsibility. It's my fault she's out there now. I won't be left behind on this, Michael."

He stared at her for a long minute, then slowly, almost unwillingly, reached out, lightly cupping her cheek. She closed her eyes for a second, as if savoring his touch, then turned, brushing a kiss across his palm. Fire tingled where she touched, flared like pain deep in his heart.

"Why, Nikki?” he said, softly. “What is it about Monica that raises guilt in your heart?"

She snapped away from his touch and rose angrily to her feet. “Keep out of my goddamn mind."

"It doesn't take telepathy to realize Monica reminds you of someone. You followed her beyond all good sense the other night. There has to be a reason."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Maybe I'm just dedicated."

And maybe she was just plain crazy. He met her gaze. “Who's Tommy?"

She swore and spun away. She stopped at the windows, arms still crossed, shoulders tense. “Tommy died a long time ago. He has nothing to do with any of this."

The rising tide of guilt in her suggested he had everything to do with it. “Monica reminds you of him, doesn't she?"

Though she still had her back to him, her bitter smile was an ache in his heart. “Actually, Monica reminds me more of me."

He couldn't see why. They were nothing alike. “Tell me about Tommy, Nikki."

She shivered slightly. “There's nothing much to tell. He was the head of the street gang I ran with. He died when I was nearly seventeen. End of story."

Not if the pain in her heart was any indication. “Why were you on the streets? Did you run away?"

She snorted softly. “No. My parents died, and I didn't like the home the authorities tried to shove me into."

The tide of guilt rose. So her parents’ deaths were also part of the reason she went after Monica. But why, if they had died before her life on the streets?

"How long were you a part of this gang?"

"Only four years.” She hesitated and rubbed her arms. “It seemed an eternity longer."

"Why didn't you stay with relatives?"

She snorted softly. “Because they thought me a witch, much the same as they thought my mother. They want nothing to do with me, even now."

He scrubbed a hand across his chin. None of this made sense. He'd met street kids many times over the years, and they all had one thing in common—a fierce, do anything to survive, nature. Most had been little more than feral animals, humanity almost lost in their quest for survival. As she'd said, four years was a long time on the streets; it was an experience that should have scarred her for life. Yet there was very little evidence of it, in her words or her actions.

"How were you involved with this Tommy?"

She stiffened. “That is none of your damn business."

Her voice was curt, thoughts suddenly chaotic. In many respects, that told him all he needed to know. Her relationship with Tommy had been sexual, and for some odd reason, she felt responsible for his death.

"Why does Monica remind you of him?"

"I told you, she doesn't."

"And yet you chase Monica because of Tommy."

She didn't deny it, just stood at the window, staring out.

"Why, Nikki?"

For a moment, he didn't think she would answer.

"Because I let him die.” Her voice was so soft it was a more a whisper through his thoughts than anything he could actually hear. “Because I vowed never to let it happen again."

"There was nothing you could do to save Monica. She chose her fate long before you came onto the scene."

Nikki glanced at him. “You're wrong, Michael. I could have stopped this."

The certainty in her voice made him frown. “Monica performed the ceremony over a week ago. From that point on, her fate was ordained. It was just a matter of when."

"And it was the when I could have changed.” She hesitated, then turned to face him. “Everyone has some good in them. Sometimes all it takes is one person's belief to change the tide."

He had an odd feeling she was talking more about herself than Monica. He wondered who had turned her tide. Jake?

She lifted her chin slightly. “None of this alters the fact I will not be left behind tomorrow."

He scowled. Her tenacity annoyed the hell out of him, yet he couldn't help admiring her for it, either. “You're a stubborn wench."

"I never claimed to be perfect, Michael. And nothing you can do or say will stop me from going with you."

"I can tie you up and lock you away,” he muttered.

"And I can use telekinesis to escape, then come after you."

He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm only trying to keep you safe, Nikki.” Taking a sip of coffee, he watched her over the rim of the cup. If he couldn't stop her, he'd just have to find a way to keep her out of harm's way. And that wasn't going to be any easier than trying to talk her out of accompanying them.

She shrugged and gave him a rueful smile. “I know. But I've been looking after myself for a long time now. I have to finish what I start."

In that, they were very much alike. He glanced at the front door, aware of Jake's approach. The door opened, and Jake peered around at them.

"It appears safe to enter,” he commented, doing so. “But it's hard to judge a winner here. The black looks are almost identical."

"Quit clowning around,” Nikki growled. “I'm going."

"Ah.” Jake glanced at Michael sympathetically. “She can be really difficult when it comes to doing something she doesn't want to do."

Michael smiled grimly. “I noticed."

"So, we stick to the daylight raid plan?” Jake moved over to his chair and sat down.

Michael took another sip of coffee then nodded. “It's still the safest time to try to find Monica."

Jake nodded and leaned forward, fishing through the mess in his desk. “Anyone for blackjack?” he said, producing a pack of cards.

"Just as long as you're prepared to lose your money, friend,” Michael replied with a light smile. Playing cards had to be better than sitting alone with his thoughts. He could do that anytime.

"Nikki?” Jake asked.

She shook her head and turned away, staring out the window again. Michael pulled a chair across to Jake's desk and tried to close himself off from the pain he could feel in her thoughts.

But he had a notion it was not his night to win—in any way.

Nikki crossed her arms and leaned wearily against a metal signpost. Jake and Michael were standing several yards in front of her, barely visible through the mist of rain.

She wondered why Monica had chosen a train tunnel to hide in. There had to be more secure places about. And surely a child raised in opulent surroundings could never be comfortable with the dirt and constant noise inside the tunnel.

Not to mention the high probability of being seen, or even caught. The area was a well-known haunt for street kids. Her gang had often dared each other to race through the tunnels just as a train was due. She had no doubt kids still did today. Some brainless stunts never went out of fashion.

And unless it had changed in the last ten years, there weren't many hiding holes inside. So why come here?

Maybe Michael was right. Maybe another trap waited for them. Yet she had no sense of the evil that came with Jasper's presence, only Monica. She wrapped her fingers around the locket. The metal pulsed lightly—a single beat every few minutes. Monica's heartbeat, she knew.

Jake snapped the timetable closed. She walked across to the two of them. “What's the verdict?"

He shrugged. “Near as we can figure, there's no train due for at least half an hour."

"I hope you're right. There's damn little room to move in there with a train going through."

Jake grimaced and studied the sky. “It's not going to get much brighter. Not with all this rain."

"It won't matter. Monica will have no choice but to rest soon,” Michael said, studying the tunnel. “Are you certain Monica's inside, Nikki? No one else?"

She wondered if he could sense something that she could not. The locket pulsed in her hand, and heat washed over her skin. Heat and hunger. Monica's, not Jasper's.

"Oh yes,” she replied softly. “I'm certain."

Jake switched on the flashlight and walked towards the tunnel, becoming one with the gloom. An odd prickle ran across the back of her neck.

"It's not too late to turn back, Nikki."

Yes, it is. She gripped the barrel of the flashlight tighter and walked forward. Michael kept close, and she felt safer for it. Yet instinct warned it wasn't going to be enough to save her.

She ignored the quick thrust of foreboding and watched the beam from Jake's flashlight dance across the darkness. Her own paled by comparison, barely piecing the gloom on either side. Maybe she should have stopped and bought some new batteries.

Their footsteps echoed though the silence. Would Monica hear them and flee? Would she even care?

The tunnel swung to the right, and the darkness fully encased them. Past escapades returned to haunt her, and she swung the light to the left. There had been a break in the wall near here, somewhere. She'd fled into it once in the face of an oncoming train.

Jake stopped so abruptly she almost ran into him.

"Hole in the wall,” he said, shifting his grip on the stake he held. “Wait here. I'll check it out."

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she watched him disappear. Though she couldn't sense anyone in the hole, it was better to be sure.

Michael stood behind her, as silent and still as the darkness around them. Yet he reminded her of a coiled spring. He sensed danger ahead, like her.

Jake returned. “Nothing,” he said, sounding oddly relieved. “Only rubbish."

"Monica's still ahead.” She swept the light across the darkness surrounding them. She'd heard no sound, yet she had a sudden sense of movement. The forces of evil gathered out there in the darkness.

"How far ahead?” Jake's question jostled harshly against the silence.

"I'm not sure. Not far."

Jake frowned and turned, leading the way once more. The yellow beam of light danced away from the darkness, barely penetrating the thick gloom. It would be so easy to fall into a trap.

Or walk, as she sensed they were doing.

The locket in her hand pulsed again. She clenched her fingers and let her senses flare to full life. Monica was on the move, running lightly through the tunnel. Fleeing, but not in fright. Nikki bit her lip. Something was happening, something she couldn't sense or understand.

Michael's tension washed heat across her back. Maybe he could sense the presence she merely guessed at.

"Jasper's not here,” he said softly. “But the zombies are. I think you and Jake should go back. I'll continue the hunt for Monica alone."

"Monica is our client's daughter,” Jake reminded him. “You go nowhere without us."

"The two of you will never match Monica's inhuman speed. You'll only get in my way."

Jake turned. His flashlight pierced the darkness, almost sun-bright. “And by that are you suggesting you can match her inhuman speed?"

"Yes, I am.” Michael hesitated. “I don't like the feel of this. Take Nikki and head back to the entrance. You'll be safe there."

He was certainly determined to keep her away from Monica. What did he fear—that she'd try to stop him? “I'm not going anywhere. I've already told you that."

"Damn it Nikki, you've encountered the zombies once already. Do you really think you and Jake can survive a sudden attack from three of them?"

Though annoyance barely touched his voice, it seared through his thoughts, almost burning her. She stared at him several seconds. Perhaps he was right. She'd barely escaped an attack from two. Add the teenager and an extra zombie, and the odds weren't looking favorable—even with Michael on their side. Perhaps it was time to leave Monica to her fate.

Besides, she didn't like the feel of what was happening up ahead, either.

She held up her hands. “Okay, okay. I'll retreat. Jake?"

He shook his head. “I think we owe it to Trevgard to see this thing through."

Michael raised an eyebrow. “And did you not promise your wife to take no foolish chances?"

Nikki glanced at him sharply. He'd obviously been reading Jake's thoughts, to know something as intimate as that. Maybe it was only her presence that stopped him from entering Jake's mind and forcing him to obey.

Jake glared at him. “Just how in hell did you know that?"

"As I said, Nikki is not the only one with psychic abilities. She should be your main concern here, not Monica."

Jake glanced at her, his expression troubled. “All right, I'll go. But I want Monica brought out to us. I think we need to witness what happens, as much for your sake as Trevgard's."

Michael nodded, then stepped into the shadows and disappeared.

"Damn,” Jake muttered. “How did he do that?"

"He moves fast,” she muttered, although he hadn't. He'd only taken a dozen or so steps and had hesitated, out there in the darkness. She wondered what he sensed. “And the tunnel turns to the right a few yards away. That's why you can't see him."

Jake touched her arm lightly. “Let's head back. The darkness doesn't feel quite as safe without your sinister friend around."

He was right. It didn't. The sense of danger had increased twofold in the few minutes Michael had been gone. The quicker they got out of this tunnel, the better. Nikki rubbed her arms, then turned and followed Jake down the track.

"What's that noise?” Jake said, after a few minutes.

Energy surged in response. She clenched her fists and listened. The wind sighed past them, gathering speed. The ground began to tremble.

"Christ,” Jake continued. “A train!"

She pushed him forward. “The hole's only twenty feet or so away. Head for that."

Adrenaline surged, giving her feet wings. The lights swung erratically across the darkness, and for an instant, reflected brightly in a dead blue eye. She slid to a stop.

"Jake, watch out!"

Around her, the night found form. Something grabbed her waist and swung her away into darkness. She screamed, but icy fingers covered her mouth, cutting the sound off. She tasted dirt and death, and bile rose in her throat. Struggling violently, she kicked and punched the creature that held her so tightly. Kinetic energy surged, but before she could release her weapon, something hit her head, and pain exploded.

Evil danced around her. When my creatures bring you to me, I will make you mine. Jasper's thoughts were soft, as if spoken from a great distance.

No! She lashed out blindly with kinetic energy, fighting the strength of the creature holding her. Though wrenched away, another quickly replaced it. Dimly, she felt the warm touch of blood on her cheek, heard a distant scream of anger not her own.

Then nothing but mocking laughter.