Nikki winced as the paramedic pulled the bandage tight. He glanced up. “Too tight?"

"Depends,” she muttered. “Are my fingertips supposed to be blue?"

A smile crinkled the corners of the medic's kind blue eyes. “No, but you have to admit, it is a pretty shade."

"Yeah, but it's not a good look on fingers."

She glanced past the doctor and watched Detective Col MacEwan approach. They'd obviously dragged him out of bed. His normally neat brown hair was everywhere, and he wore a striped pajama top half-tucked into his jeans. “Any news on Jake?” she asked.

"Yeah. He's in surgery now, with wounds to his stomach and chest. The doctors are hopeful.” MacEwan planted his feet behind the doctor and crossed his arms. “Now, you want to tell me about your little fight here?"

Nikki scrubbed her good hand across her eyes. She was hot and tired, and her head still pounded something fierce. All she could smell was sweat and blood and fear. She just wanted to go home and stand under a hot shower to wash it all away. The last thing she needed was MacEwan and his questions.

"It didn't start out as a fight, you know."

MacEwan snorted. “Never does with you. But it always ends the same, doesn't it?"

With people dead or missing, Jake in the hospital and her getting patched up. The unspoken words hung like a sword in the air. She glanced down at her newly bandaged hand and muttered a thank-you to the medic.

"Don't use that hand too much, or the clips won't hold,” he warned. “And if you start getting a headache, I want you to come straight to the hospital."

She snorted softly. She already had a headache, and its source certainly wasn't the knock on the head. But she nodded and waited until he'd gathered his bags and left before she looked back to MacEwan. “The woman wasn't human. Neither were the men who'd accompanied her.” He studied her for a minute, then dug a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one and took several long drags, blowing the smoke toward the starlit sky. “I suppose you expect me to believe that."

"You're the only one who will—and the only one I'll say it to. My official statement is that we were attacked by five unknown assailants—one woman and four men."

MacEwan's brown-eyed gaze was shrewd. “That doesn't jell with the number of corpses I have in that warehouse."

"There should be at least three—one with a broken neck, two with gunshot wounds."

"We've got two. And no sign of the kid you were following."

So one of the vamps hadn't been killed. She wondered if the woman had rescued him, or whether he'd simply slid away before the cops had arrived. “If you don't believe we were here following Matthew, check with his mother.” She rolled her neck, trying to ease the ache.

"Oh, I did."

She snorted. Why was she not surprised? She and MacEwan might have come to a better understanding of each other during that whole Jasper mess, but that didn't mean friendship had blossomed as a result.

"And?"

"And it's the only reason your ass is not currently parked in a cell."

"For what? Having the audacity to defend myself?"

MacEwan smiled grimly. “Blowing someone's brains out is manslaughter, regardless of whether it's done in self-defense or not."

"I didn't blow anyone's brains out—a fact I think you'll discover once you run prints on the gun."

They wouldn't find Jake's prints, either, as he'd been wearing gloves—gloves that were now sitting in her jacket pocket. She'd taken them off him before the cops arrived.

MacEwan snorted. “Like I can take that at face value. The gun's registered in Jake's name, isn't it?"

It was, but they still had to prove Jake had pulled the trigger. Which would be rather hard, seeing she and the vampires were the only witnesses. “If the case is so clear-cut, why haven't you charged us?"

"Not saying I won't. I was just stating that Mrs. Kincaid backed part of your story, and it's the only reason you're still sitting here."

Great. Now she was going to spend the next twenty-four hours wondering when MacEwan was going to bust her butt and throw her in jail. Just what she needed on top of everything else.

She ran a hand through her sweat-heavy hair. “Don't suppose you saw anything in the warehouse that would give us some clue as to where Matthew might have gone?"

She hadn't had the chance to look herself. She'd stayed with Jake until the ambulance arrived, and the cops had pretty much followed the paramedics in.

MacEwan blew a smoke ring skyward. “Nothing that I can see on first glance. We do have witness reports of a car speeding down Ocean Road away from here at approximately the time you gave us."

She raised an eyebrow. “Don't suppose these witnesses saw how many people were inside?"

"Three. One woman, two men."

"Your witnesses had rather good eyesight, didn't they?"

MacEwan gave her a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “It was a patrol car that spotted them. They gave chase, but the perps managed to lose them."

"Back to driving school for them,” she muttered. “What about the plate number?"

"Wyoming plates. We're checking it out."

She crossed her arms and frowned at MacEwan. He was being just a little too helpful. Usually he only provided information in small dollops—if that. “What are you after?"

He crushed his cigarette under his heel and gave her another wintry smile. “Help. Jake told me some time ago about an ability of yours ... physiometry?"

Nikki's smile was tense. “Psychometry. The ability to touch objects and get some sense of the owner."

He nodded. “He said you can use it to trace people—that that was how you kept finding Monica Trevgard."

She rubbed her arms. They'd been nowhere near quick enough to save Monica, and she hoped the same wouldn't be said about Matthew. The woman in the warehouse had given her the impression that Matthew's death wasn't a first option, so maybe she had some time to find him yet.

"It's a talent that's a little shaky. It doesn't always work."

He shrugged. “At this stage, I'm willing to give anything a try."

The edge in his voice suggested this was something personal. Her frown deepened. “What do you want me to do?"

He raked a hand through his dark hair then glanced around. “My niece was abducted three months ago. We've tried everything we can think of to find her—gone through every official channel. There's no sign of her. My sister's going crazy. I thought that maybe...” He shrugged. “You help me, and I'll help you."

She frowned. “Why are you so convinced she's still alive?” He'd been a cop long enough to know the chances of that were remote—especially given the fact it obviously wasn't a ransom-induced kidnapping.

"She is alive.” His voice was flat, but there was desperation in his eyes.

Clutching at straws. “I can't guarantee anything.” After three months, whatever psychic resonances his niece might have left on her personal items would probably be fading.

"Just try."

She nodded. MacEwan had to be frantic if he was coming to her for help. In the past, he'd been the biggest denouncer of her gifts. Yet he hadn't mocked her months ago when she'd called him for help with Jasper and his zombies, nor had he mocked when she'd mentioned that the bodies in the warehouse were vampires. MacEwan wasn't a man easily figured out, that was for sure.

He took a business card from his jacket and handed it to her. On the back was a handwritten address.

"I should be finished here by six,” he said. “You can reach me at home anytime after seven."

She nodded and tucked the card in the pocket of her jeans. It looked like she wasn't going to head home and grab that shower after all. She'd barely even have enough time to go see Jake at the hospital. “I'll need something of your niece's—something she wore all the time."

MacEwan frowned. “Like what? Jewelry? Clothes?"

She shrugged. “Jewelry works best—metal seems to hold the resonance of its owner longer. But I can sometimes get quite good readings from a bra."

"I'll talk to Sondra, see what she can come up with.” He half turned away, then stopped, looking back. “I know you'll want to see Jake once you leave here, but don't screw me around on this."

Nikki snorted. As if she would. She knew better than anyone how stupid that would be. Though she'd never felt MacEwan's wrath herself, she'd seen it fall on others. Fair cop or not, he had a mean streak wider than the Mississippi when pushed too far.

"Just don't expect me to perform miracles."

He nodded and reached for another cigarette. “I won't. I just have a feeling time is running out for her. If we don't find her soon, we won't find her alive."

"I'll be there as soon as I check on Jake.” Hopefully, he was fine. Hopefully, the wound wasn't as bad as it had looked. “Don't suppose you could talk to Matthew's mother and see if you can convince her to part with something of Matthew's?"

The chances of Mrs. Kincaid being willing to see her, let alone touch something of Matthew's, weren't likely to be high right now. Hell, they'd be lucky if she even bothered paying them—not that Nikki could really blame her.

MacEwan nodded. “I'll talk to her.” He took a drag on the cigarette, then crushed it under his heel and walked away.

She wondered why he bothered smoking. In all the years she'd known him, she'd never actually seen him finish a cigarette.

She pushed off the crate she'd been sitting on and headed for the street. Jake had given her a spare set of car keys for use in emergencies like this—when he was stuck somewhere and his much-loved Mercedes was parked in a dubious area. He'd kill her if she left it there.

The car was parked under a streetlight about a block down from the warehouse. She climbed in and sped over to the hospital.

Mary, Jake's wife of twenty years, was pacing the confines of the hospital's waiting room. Her long gray hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, giving her lined features a severe, almost gaunt, look.

"How is he?” Nikki stopped a couple of feet away from the older woman.

Although she'd known them both for a long time now, she still found it easier to talk to Jake rather than Mary. Maybe because Mary always looked so perfect, so polished, and talked about art and literature and other things that went way over Nikki's head. Things that made her aware of her years on the streets and her lack of schooling.

Not that there was anything resembling malice on Mary's part. After all, she'd welcomed a grubby sixteen-year-old into her home some ten years ago and had become, in many ways, a surrogate mother. But she was a mother Nikki couldn't easily talk to.

"He's still in surgery. He's lost a lot of blood. They don't know...” Mary faltered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “...don't know if his heart will take the strain of two major operations so close together."

A chill slithered through Nikki. Jake hadn't mentioned anything about heart problems. She hesitated, then stepped forward and drew Mary into her arms, offering the comfort words couldn't. A shudder ran through the older woman's slender frame, and hot tears fell on Nikki's arm.

"This has to stop. He has to stop."

The chill increased. “He'll be fine, Mary.” Yet even as she said it, Nikki tasted the lie. Would this be a case of third time unlucky?

Maybe Mary was right. Maybe it was time for him to stop. To walk away while he still could. Though what she would do—where she would go—if he did was something she didn't want to think about.

Mary sniffed and pulled away. “The police told me he was attacked—and that he'd possibly killed his attacker. Do you think they'll charge him?"

"I don't know.” As MacEwan had said, manslaughter was manslaughter, regardless of the circumstances. And the gun was registered to Jake, even if his prints weren't on it.

Mary's gaze searched hers. “What happened out there? I thought you were only following a teenager?"

"We were. The people he met with weren't all that happy about our presence. There were at least five of them. We're lucky to be alive.” Lucky the woman had run, rather than attacking a final time.

A doctor wearing blue surgical scrubs came into the waiting room. Mary spun around. His gaze briefly met Nikki's, and her stomach clenched. The operation hadn't gone well—she could see it in his eyes.

"We've removed the bullet from his stomach, but the knife punctured his lung. He made it out of surgery okay, but the next twenty-four hours are vital."

Meaning there'd been complications, Nikki thought, and rubbed her arms.

Mary went white. Nikki gently cupped the older woman's elbow, ready to catch her should she faint.

Mary didn't seem to notice. “But he'll be all right, won't he?"

There was a tremulous note to the older woman's voice. The doctor hesitated. “I can't promise anything."

"Can I see him?"

"Not for the next couple of hours. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? We'll call if anything happens."

Mary snorted softly. “Would you do that if it was your wife in there?"

The doctor smiled. “No. I don't suppose I would.” He hesitated again. “I'll keep you posted."

Mary sank down onto the chair once the doctor left. “He has to live, Nikki. He has to."

"He will.” Jake was tough. If he'd lived through Jasper's attack, surely he could live through this. She glanced at her watch.

Mary caught the movement. “You have to go?"

She nodded. “MacEwan wants to see me."

"Then go.” She reached out, gripping Nikki's arm tightly. “Just don't you go after the madmen who did this. Jake wouldn't want that. He never did believe in revenge."

Neither did she. Jasper had taught her the folly of seeking retribution, if nothing else. “I have to find Matthew. He'd want me to do that."

Mary nodded. “Be careful."

"Always am.” She took the car keys and parking ticket out of her pocket. “Tell him his car is safe. It's on level three, to the right of the stairs."

Mary accepted the keys with a nod. “I'll let you know if anything...” Her voice trailed off, and she blinked several times.

"Do that,” Nikki said, her throat restricted and aching. Turning away sharply, she swiped the tears from her eyes and went in search of a cab.

MacEwan opened the door at the second knock. He'd obviously just come out of the shower—his hair still dripped, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Not that it mattered. A thick brown mat covered much of his skin. Nikki smiled slightly. He seemed to have more hair on his chest than he did on his head.

"Come in,” he said. “The living room is the second door on your left. I'll just go get some clothes on."

She nodded and headed down the hallway. MacEwan's house was something of a revelation. She expected spartan—white walls and minimal furniture. The reality was rich claret walls, cream ceilings and lots of antiques. The house exuded warmth and friendliness—totally the opposite of the man himself.

She entered the living room and stopped. A woman rose from an overstuffed chair, a look of expectancy in her brown eyes. MacEwan's sister, obviously. Nikki hoped he hadn't raised her hopes too much.

"You must be Nikki James,” the woman said, her large hands clasped tightly together, knuckles almost white.

Nikki offered a hand. “Yes, I am. You're Sondra, I gather?"

Sondra nodded. Her handshake was firm, her skin slightly clammy. “Thank you for agreeing to help us."

She hadn't exactly agreed, but there was no point saying that. “No problem."

Sondra perched on the chair again. “What happened to your hand?"

Nikki glanced down. The white bandages really stood out against all the claret and browns that filled the living room. “Stabbed myself with a knife. Apples are tougher than they look these days.” Why she lied, she wasn't entirely sure. Maybe because the other woman, despite her size, looked as fragile as glass—and any reminder, no matter how distant, of what might have happened to her daughter might just break her.

A smile touched Sondra's pale lips. “Rachel was always doing that...” She looked away quickly.

Nikki shifted her weight from one foot to the other and wished MacEwan would hurry up. She'd never been comfortable attempting small talk—especially with desperate strangers.

Sondra blew her nose, the sound strident against the silence. She tucked the handkerchief back into her purse and glanced at Nikki. “Col said you needed something of Rachel's."

She nodded. “I can sometimes use personal items to get impressions of the owner."

Hope flared in Sondra's brown eyes. “And find them?"

She shifted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted was to build up this woman's hopes. “Not always."

"Oh.” Sondra blinked several times, then reached into her purse and took out two plastic bags.

Nikki raised an eyebrow in surprise. MacEwan had obviously been doing a little research on psychic abilities if he knew wrapping items in plastic was the best way to prevent outside influences interfering with the resonance of an item.

"I brought over a necklace she wore a lot, and a favorite bra."

She accepted both and looked around as MacEwan entered the room. “Just remember, there's no guarantee this will work. Not three months down the road."

Sondra gave a slight sob. MacEwan's look was severe. “Try."

Nikki sat on an overstuffed sofa. Taking a deep breath, she tore open the bag containing the necklace and let it drop into her hand. The gold chain felt cool against her skin. She wrapped her fingers around it, pressing it into her palm. Then she closed her eyes and reached for the place in her mind that could call forth the images locked within the bracelet.

It felt like she was drilling for oil in a barren desert. Sweat trickled down her cheek, splashing against her fist. She frowned, reaching deeper. Gradually, an image formed. A man, in his mid twenties. Blond hair, green eyes. Her mind seized the pictures, storing them for later. If she stopped now, if she even spoke, she feared she might lose the fragile impressions forever.

A white convertible with Wyoming plates. Money, lots of it, splashed about almost carelessly. Laughter and love in the darkness...

The images slipped away, dissipating like ghosts. Nikki swore softly and ran a hand through her hair. There'd been no sign of trouble in any of those images, and no telling if they had anything to do with the niece's disappearance.

"Anything?” MacEwan asked, voice tight.

"Just wait.” She ripped open the bag containing the bra.

This time, the images came thick and fast. Green eyes shining bright. White candles, flickering in the darkness. Gold-rimmed china on a red tablecloth. A glass filled with wine as thick as blood. Warmth and desire intermingled. A four-poster bed covered in gold...

Given the strength of the images, it was obvious the niece had been seduced the last time she'd worn the bra. Nikki reached a little deeper to find out what had happened afterward. Rachel must have at least gone home, otherwise they wouldn't have had this bra.

Fear. Deep fear, blossoming in the midst of passion. Struggling, fighting, unable to breathe...

Nikki's breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded so fast she feared it was going to gallop out of her chest. The images flowing from the bra faltered. She tried to calm down. This fear was not hers. She had to remain apart from it. Only then would she see what had happened.

Pain, flaring bright. A flicker of white, stabbing through the darkness. Fire on her neck, burning deep. Lethargy ... darkness ... darkness ... the sensation of floating ... waiting ... just waiting...

Nikki dropped the bra into her lap and rubbed her temples wearily. MacEwan's niece wasn't dead, but she wasn't exactly alive, either.

She opened her eyes. Sondra was still sitting on the edge of the chair, her hands locked together, expression a mix of anxiousness and hope. MacEwan stood behind her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Anything?” His voice was deadpan, as lifeless as his expression.

She realized then he hadn't really expected this to work. Like Sondra, he was grasping at straws and hoping for a miracle. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I can't tell you whether she's alive or dead, I'm afraid."

MacEwan's gaze narrowed. He obviously sensed the lie but made no mention of it. Maybe he didn't want to upset his sister any more than she already was.

Sondra made a choking sound and put a hand to her mouth. Tears spilled past her fingers and splashed onto her knees.

MacEwan placed a hand on his sister's shoulder, squeezing lightly. “What can you tell us?"

"I saw a room. It had a four-poster bed and seemed covered in gold."

Sondra looked quickly at MacEwan. “That's Rachel's bedroom."

MacEwan nodded, his gaze not wavering from Nikki's. There was a warning in his brown eyes—don't say anything to upset his sister any further. “What else?"

"She was there with a green-eyed, blond-haired man. They were lovers. He drove a white convertible with Wyoming plates, and he had lots of money."

Sondra frowned. “I never saw anyone fitting that description."

"He only visited at night,” Nikki said softly.

MacEwan continued to stare. Whether he'd caught the implication or not, she couldn't say. She'd always found him a little hard to read.

"But I would have seen him if he'd come to our house. Rachel lived with me, you see. She couldn't have gotten anyone in without—"

MacEwan lightly squeezed his sister's shoulder again, silencing her. “Did you see him well enough to work up a sketch?"

Nikki nodded. Not that it would do much good—not if Rachel's lover had been a vampire. “I can come done to the station later today, if you like."

MacEwan nodded and glanced at his watch. “I'm back on shift at five. Anything else?"

Nothing she could mention with Sondra in the room. Nikki shook her head. “Did you manage to get anything from Mrs. Kincaid?"

MacEwan nodded. “A watch. You want to do the reading now?"

"Yes.” She hesitated and glanced at Sondra. “But I need a drink first, if you don't mind."

"Sondra, why don't you go and get us all something cool?"

The other woman nodded and left the room.

"What aren't you telling me?” MacEwan said immediately, his voice soft but fierce.

Nikki rubbed her eyes. She didn't need this, not on top of Jake getting hurt—and losing Michael. “There was a struggle in her bedroom. She was hurt, but I don't know how badly.” She hesitated, not sure if she should go on.

"And?” MacEwan's voice was clipped, harsh.

She licked her lips. “Her lover was a vampire. He turned her."

He stared at her for several seconds. “But if she's like Monica was, there would have been mass killings reported, and there hasn't been anything like that. There's only been a couple of shootings."

One of which was Jake, she thought, and swallowed heavily. “It might only mean she's no longer in Lyndhurst.” She hesitated, frowning. “Ask your sister if she's missing anything—something personal but old, that has perhaps been in your family for years."

Michael had once told her a fledging vampire had to return to home ground and find something of the past to carry with them through eternity—a reminder of everything they once were, and everything they had lost. If Rachel were alive, then some family heirloom of her mother's would be missing.

MacEwan frowned. “Why?"

"Because it'll mean she survived the turning process and is out there somewhere."

MacEwan scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “There was no sign of a struggle in her bedroom, you know. No blood."

Which might only mean the vampire who'd turned Rachel had cleaned up after himself.

"You're wrong,” he continued. “You have to be."

Though his voice was harsh, Nikki saw the anguish in his brown eyes. Despite his words, MacEwan believed her. He'd seen Monica rise from the dead and had battled against the zombies. He knew what Rachel's turning meant. Knew what he would eventually have to do.

"For Sondra's sake, I hope I am,” she said softly. It wouldn't be the first time, and it was always possible she'd somehow read the images wrong. Though her gut feeling was that this time she hadn't.

Sondra returned, carrying three glasses. Nikki accepted her drink with a smile, but the cool lemonade did little to ease the dryness in her throat.

MacEwan took a plastic bag from his pocket and tossed it to her. Her fingers tingled as she caught it, and wisps of color danced before her eyes, images that were unfocused but strong, even through the plastic. This one could be bad, she thought, but she really had no other choice. Not if she wanted to find Matthew alive.

She opened the bag. Sensations flooded her. Heat and color and sound became thick threads she could reach out and touch. They flowed like music around her, and every fiber of her being thrummed to their tune. The watch burned into her skin, and her senses leapt away, following the rainbow-colored trail back to Matthew.

But she didn't just see the resonances of past events. This time, she could feel his thoughts, see what he saw.

This time, she became one with him.