For several seconds she simply sat there, unable to believe she'd heard his voice. Unwilling to turn around and perhaps discover a stranger.

"In very many ways I am a stranger,” he said softly. “We had less than a week together."

His breath washed warmth across the back of her neck. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Why hadn't she felt him enter? Why did she feel nothing in the link between them but an odd sort of grey, when once it had been so full of color and emotion that she had feared its brightness? Now, of all times, when he was standing so close that the heat of his body caressed her skin, she should have felt the rainbow of his thoughts.

That she didn't scared the hell out of her.

"Nothing has happened to the link, Nikki. It is still there."

His soft tones wrapped around her, warm and yet somehow wary. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Six months she'd waited to hear his voice. Six long months. Now he stood behind her, and she wasn't entirely sure what she should do or say.

"I used to know when you walked into the room, used to be able to feel you,” she said softly. “Even before the link became strong between us."

"Many things have changed."

"And some things haven't.” He was still talking in riddles, still not coming out with the entire truth. Last time it had led to death. She had a horrible feeling it just might again.

He sighed. “Will you at least face me?"

She bit her lip and slowly turned. He stood at the end of her desk, a briefcase clutched in one hand, his knuckles almost white. His dark hair was longer than she remembered, and the finely chiselled planes of his cheeks sharper. He's lost weight, she thought. The arms that had once held her so tenderly seemed leaner, as if what little fat there was had been burned off, leaving only muscle. Her gaze dropped. His jeans were tight enough to show the sinewy strength of his legs ... legs that had once locked her close, as if he never meant to let her go.

But he had let her go. He'd walked away when she was in the hospital, not even waiting until she was conscious to say his good-byes.

As if she'd meant nothing to him.

"Why won't you look at me, Nikki?"

"Because I don't want to see the truth in your eyes,” she said quietly. A truth told by the silence in the link and the lack of emotion in his words and actions. A truth that knifed through her hopes and turned them to ashes.

He hadn't come back for her.

"I almost killed you six months ago. I'll not take the chance of it happening again."

The edge of pain in his soft voice cut through her. He still cared, no matter how controlled, how distant, he seemed.

She lifted her gaze, finally meeting his.

His eyes were endless pools of ebony in which she'd once so gladly lost her heart. “I thought you said I couldn't die as long as you lived."

"You are not immortal, Nikki, as I am not immortal.” He hesitated. “And because it is my psyche you share, I can kill you more easily than other vampires could."

You have the taste of another vampire on you, the woman in the warehouse had said. Did that mean she'd sensed the life force Michael had shared with her? Or did it mean Jasper had left an imprint when he'd dined on her blood?

She shivered. She had to hope it was the former. The thought that a small part of Jasper might linger within her chilled her soul.

"And that's why you walked away?” Jake had said as much in the hospital, but she hadn't been willing to believe Michael would walk away over something so trivial. Besides, if he'd had the strength to stop drinking her blood when he was basically unconscious, what made him think he wouldn't when he was fully aware of what he was doing?

He met her gaze. There was no emotion in his eyes, no emotion in his expression. Nothing that would give her some clue to what he was thinking and feeling.

But perhaps she was looking for something that had never really been there in the first place. He'd once suggested that theirs was a love destined to burn brightly but die quickly.

He might still care, but caring wasn't the same as loving.

Damn it, why wasn't the link active between them? If ever there was a time she needed to read the color of his thoughts, it was now.

"It is for the best,” he said flatly.

Her smile felt as brittle as her heart. “You once asked me if I had the courage to look beyond the gift you gave me. Perhaps it is a question you should also ask yourself."

A gentle, almost wistful, smile touched his lips. “Nikki, I have had six months to think about nothing else.” He raised a hand, pushing a wisp of limp hair away from her eyes. His fingers trailed heat against her skin. “There has been enough darkness in your life. I cannot change what I am or what I do, and I will not bring you into the darkness of my world any more than I already have."

She raised an eyebrow. “Don't you think that's a decision I should at least have a say in?"

His fingers drifted down her cheek. She clenched her hands, resisting the temptation to step into his arms. To hold him and never let him go.

"No.” His voice was distant, distracted. His fingertips fell to her neck and brushed back her hair.

Though his touch was gentle, it burned deep. She wanted, needed, this man in her life.

"Jasper was but a taste of the things I hunt, Nikki. Do you really think you could walk in that darkness all the time?"

Did he really think she could walk through the years ahead without him? Damn it, she loved him. If he could read her thoughts so clearly, surely he could see the three words she feared to say out loud.

"I don't know.” She hesitated, staring at him. Just for an instant, something glimmered in his dark eyes—an echo of depravity that reminded her of Jasper.

He snatched his hand away from her neck, then spun and walked away. Fear stepped further into her heart as she watched his retreat.

Instinct suggested she'd come close to death. Suggested that Michael's vampire instincts had almost overridden his control.

And it was her fault. In saving his life by feeding him her blood, she'd destroyed the control it had taken him three hundred years to achieve.

"Oh, God, Michael, I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

"Don't."

He'd stopped near Jake's desk. She stared at his back, saw the tension in the set of his shoulders and arms. Could feel his anger and frustration, a wave of heat that boiled across her skin.

"You did what you thought was best,” he continued.

Yes, she had, but what good had it done? In some respects, she'd still lost him. She rubbed her eyes wearily. “Why are you here?"

He glanced around. The wisp of depravity had left his eyes, but the anger still burned. “You are working on a case at the moment, are you not?"

"I'm a private investigator,” she reminded him blandly. “That's what I do."

Two could play word games. If he wouldn't come straight out and tell her why he was here, why should she offer anything more than what he'd actually asked?

He sat on the edge of Jake's desk and slowly swung one leg. He looked casual, unconcerned, yet she knew the appearance was a lie. Tension and worry were emanating from him in waves thick enough to touch.

"This is a case that has gone wrong,” he said.

"Lots of cases go wrong, Michael. Take Monica Trevgard's case. It certainly didn't end the way I wanted it to."

If her words had any impact, it certainly didn't show. His face remained as impassive as ever. “Stop playing games, Nikki. You need to go to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and I need your help."

"I'm not the one playing games. Nor am I the one skirting the real issue here.” She stared at him for several seconds. When he didn't respond, she sighed and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, studying the dark liquid intently. “Why me? Why now? Don't you belong to some organization full of psychics and vampires and God knows what else?"

His reply was terse. “Yes. And it is the lady in charge of that organization who insists I accompany you."

Obviously, given the choice, he'd rather be anywhere else than here. She closed her eyes, fighting the sting of tears. “That still doesn't answer the question of why it has to be me."

He hesitated. “Seline did a reading. If you go there alone, you will die."

Fear rose. Yet death, in one form or another, had been a constant shadow in her life. She glanced up sharply. “Why was she doing a reading on me?"

"She wasn't. She was trying to discover more information about Vance Hutton."

Nikki frowned. “The actor? Why?"

"He's disappeared from an exclusive resort in Jackson Hole, and apparently he's not the first."

"So why are you getting involved?"

"The resort is the base for some form of dark force. Whether it is a vampire or something worse, Seline can't say. So she sends a killer to hunt a killer."

A chill raced across her flesh. What in the hell could be worse than a vampire like Jasper? “So how did my name get involved?"

He shrugged gracefully. “Seline's visions sometimes have a will of their own."

"And you believe her?"

His dark gaze met hers. “I would not be here otherwise."

Though she'd known this all along, having it said out loud seemed to make it final. Unchangeable. Like he'd taken the knife from her boot and sliced open her heart.

She looked down at her coffee. A tear ran down her cheek and splashed against the back of her hand. She ignored it. “What happens if the kid I'm looking for isn't in Jackson Hole?” Even though it felt as if someone were squeezing her throat tight, her voice came out even, as devoid of emotion as his.

"If it comes to that, you can search nearby areas during the day."

She frowned. It was tempting, if only because she'd be close to Michael. Yet she couldn't escape the feeling that he wasn't telling her everything. “How expensive is this place?"

"The Circle will pay for everything."

"And in return?"

He hesitated. “You are to be my cover. The resort is geared towards couples."

A couple? How could that work when he couldn't even touch her? And even if he could, could she survive touching and kissing and loving him, knowing all along it was nothing more than a lie? That after the mission was over he'd simply leave? “If you think you can share my bed and just walk away again, I've got news for you—I'm not that easy."

"I never thought you were.” He sighed and looked away. “Believe me, this is as hard for me as it is for you. But we have no other choice."

"Bullshit, Michael. We have plenty of other choices. You're just afraid to try.” As she'd been, not so long ago. Yet even then, even as he'd tried to make her admit her feelings, he'd warned he would never stay. That she could never share his world.

She hadn't believed it then, and she didn't believe it now.

"I have watched the passing of three centuries,” he said softly. “I have buried those that I cared about more times than I want to remember. I do not want to have to bury you as well."

"And I have lived just over a quarter of a century, but I've watched my mother, father and lover die brutal deaths. What makes us so different?"

"The fact that I must drink blood to survive.” His voice was as hard as his expression.

"A fact I'm well aware of, believe me."

He made a chopping motion with his hand. “Enough, Nikki. This is strictly a business proposition, nothing more."

After what they'd been through? After what they'd shared? Not likely.

"Okay then,” she said, her voice sharp. “When do we leave?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “No further arguments? Questions?"

"Nope. You can brief me on the details during the flight there."

"Okay.” He hesitated, his expression a little confused. “We have seats booked on the eight-thirty flight."

She glanced at her watch. If she went home now, she'd have plenty of time to catch a shower and rest before she had to get ready. She gulped down the last of her coffee and rose.

"Since it's nearly ten and the sun plays havoc with your health, do you want to stay here? The sofa's still in the storeroom if you want to lie down."

"If that is all right by you.” He was regarding her warily, as if expecting a violent explosion at any second.

"I have to see MacEwan at five, so I'll come by and pick you up after that."

"Fine.” He frowned. “Are you okay?"

"Yes.” She picked up her keys and headed for the door, then hesitated, looking back. “The last time you were in Lyndhurst, you taught me a very important lesson. Life is for living. You cannot fear it. You cannot retreat from it. I'm not retreating, Michael, and I'm sure as hell not giving up. I never will."

She walked out, slamming the door shut behind her.