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."