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.
Chapter Five
The room was black. He couldn't see anything, not even a small crack of light. Matthew scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand. For the moment, he didn't mind the darkness. It meant no one could see he'd been crying.
He hadn't seen Lizzie since they'd dragged him from the trunk of the car and down a long series of steps to this room. He'd been hot and sweaty and thirsty, but he hadn't said anything. Just curled up in one corner of the bed like a scared animal.
Matthew sniffed. No wonder the guys at school hated him. They must have known what a coward he was.
Beyond the darkness of his room, he heard footsteps. He hugged his knees tighter and wished he'd listened to his mom. At least then he'd be home—though if his dad was there, drunk and beating up on her again, he was probably better off here.
The footsteps stopped. He stared into the darkness, his heart pounding in his ears. A door opened, and light flooded the room. He threw up a hand to protect his eyes.
"Matthew Kincaid, I gather."
He swallowed. He didn't like the sound of that voice. It was low pitched and hollow, as if the stranger spoke from the bottom of a deep well.
"Yes?" he said, his own voice high and shaky. He squinted but couldn't see anything more than a shadow. A big shadow—with wheels.
"You made several claims to Elizabeth. I hope they are true."
Elizabeth? Did he mean Lizzie? Matthew edged further into the corner. "Who are you?"
"No one you should fear if you told the truth."
"I did, I really did. Except for my age."
"For your sake, I hope so. Elizabeth? Make our young friend a little more… comfortable, will you?"
The door closed, leaving him in blackness again. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and wished he'd had the courage to ask for a drink.
"How are you feeling, Matthew?"
He yelped and scrambled down to the far end of the bed, hands shaking as he stared into the darkness.
The voice had come from right beside his bed, yet he couldn't see anyone.
"Relax. I mean you no harm."
He edged further away. "I don't believe you."
"You wanted to come here. You wanted to see Yellowstone with me, remember?"
"This isn't Yellowstone."
"No. But we're close. We could go there soon—tomorrow perhaps."
"I want to go home," he muttered sullenly. "This isn't fun."
"Reality never is," Lizzie agreed. "Look at me, Matthew."
"I can't see…" His voice faded. Gold fire flickered to life in the darkness. He stared. The flame grew brighter, transforming itself into a pair of dark amber eyes.
Something touched his hand. He tried to pull away, but couldn't. The eyes drew closer until they filled his sight. The touch moved to his neck. Pain hit him, filling his body. He tried to scream but no sound came out…
…Nikki jerked upright, the scream dying on her lips. MacEwan and Sondra were staring at her, their expressions alarmed and confused.
"Christ Almighty, what was that all about?" MacEwan reached for the pack of cigarettes on the side table.
"That was something I really hadn't expected." How in the hell had she joined minds with Matthew? It was something she'd only ever done once, when Michael had telepathically channeled her psychometry abilities in an effort to find and save Jake from Jasper's clutches.
"That doesn't really explain what just happened. You were scampering across the floor like some frightened animal."
It was only then that she realized she was no longer sitting on the sofa but on the floor, close to the fireplace. Heat crept across her cheeks. She must have been acting out what was happening to Matthew.
She rose and walked back to the sofa, grabbing her drink from the side table. The ice had melted, making her wonder just how long she'd been in Matthew's thoughts.
She sat down. Sondra's face was ghostly, and there was fear in her eyes. Nikki wondered if it was fear of what had just happened—or maybe fear of her.
"Answer the damn question," MacEwan growled. "What in the hell just happened?"
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. It was a good question and not one she was entirely sure she could answer. "Instead of seeing images like I usually do, I somehow joined Matthew's mind. Became him, if you like."