MacEwan took several puffs on his cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Any idea where?" Nikki shrugged. “The woman mentioned Yellowstone National Park, but that doesn't mean he's anywhere near there."

"Well, if it's Yellowstone, that pins it down to either Wyoming, Montana or Idaho,” MacEwan said dryly. “Don't suppose you care to be a little more specific?" She glanced at the watch still clenched in her hand. “Wyoming. He's in Wyoming.” The images reached for her again—images filled with lust and wanting. She shuddered and thrust the watch back in the bag. MacEwan sniffed. “Jackson is the biggest town near Yellowstone. I'll send a report to the sheriff's department, get them to keep an eye open."

"He's not in Jackson.” She frowned, concentrating on the ghostly images still flitting past the protection of the bag. “But some place called Jackson Hole."

"Ski resort area,” MacEwan muttered. “I'll see what I can do." Nikki nodded and gulped down the rest of her drink. “You mind if I keep the watch for a while?" MacEwan's look was shrewd. “You intending to track down Kincaid?" She nodded. Just because they were near Yellowstone now didn't mean they would stay there, and Wyoming was a big place. She'd need something to help pin down his exact location.

"You said the man who took my niece had Wyoming plates,” MacEwan continued, his voice flat once again. “Don't suppose you'd want to take something of hers along and see if you can find anything once you're there?"

She had a feeling saying no wasn't an option. “I'll take the bra. Just don't expect miracles." He nodded. “And don't go anywhere before you give me that description." "I won't.” She rose and offered her hand to Sondra. “Sorry I couldn't be of more help." Sondra's grip was wet. “Thank you for trying."

The dam in her brown eyes was threatening to overflow again. Nikki quickly followed MacEwan out of the room.

He opened the front door then scowled down at her. “If you find anything on Rachel, no matter how small, I want to be told."

Or there would be serious consequences, she thought. “I'll see you this afternoon." The door slammed shut behind her. She stopped, studying the traffic flowing past. Despite the early hour, the air was already uncomfortably hot. She shaded her eyes and glanced up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight, despite the weathermen promising relief in the form of severe thunderstorms. In this day and age, how could they get it so wrong so often?

It was useless going home. Though she was dog-tired, she wouldn't sleep. Not in this heat, and not until she knew how Jake was.

She glanced back at MacEwan's house. Maybe she should use his phone and call a cab. But that would mean facing Sondra again. Nikki grimaced. She'd never been comfortable with overt displays of emotion—which, she thought bitterly, was part of the reason Michael had left. Besides, she doubted if she actually had enough cash on her to pay for a cab.

Taking a bus was definitely out as an option. Given it was nearly eight-thirty, the buses would be overflowing with the day's workers. She'd probably end up crammed nose first in someone's armpit. No thanks . But she'd left her car at the office, so her only other option was walking. She resolutely walked toward the business district.

It took nearly an hour to reach the single story office block that was the agency's home. She leaned her forehead against the door for several minutes, not having the energy to reach into her pocket and get the keys. Sweat dripped off her chin, splattering to the pavement, only to dry almost instantly. If you listened hard enough, she thought, you'd probably hear it sizzling.

Above the noise of the morning traffic came the soft whump-whump of rotor blades—a helicopter, flying low. She glanced up. A sleek black and silver machine swept from behind the buildings at the end of the street and flew towards her. It was low—too low really, unless they were intending to land. Trouble was, none of the nearby buildings had helipads big enough to handle a helicopter of that size. The nearest was down near the docks.

It swept over her building, the noise almost deafening, then did a sharp left and disappeared. The noise faded. Probably one of those traffic reporters checking the roads for the local radio station—though if that were the case, why had the windows been so darkly tinted? Shrugging, she entered the office, dumping the two plastic bags on her desk before walking across to the counter that held the coffeepot. Jake had left it on earlier, presuming they'd only be gone a few hours. She bit her lip, blinking back the sting of tears. Jake would be all right. He'd survived Jasper. Surely he could survive this. She grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. It looked strong enough to hold a stick upright, but she didn't care. The coffee was hot and, more importantly, full of caffeine. Just the sort of energy boost she needed. She headed back to her desk. Lights flashed madly on the phone, indicating several people had tried to call. She ignored them and picked up the phone book, sipping her coffee as she searched for the airline numbers.

It would probably cost a damn fortune to fly to Wyoming. But if she wanted to find Matthew fast, then flying was her only real option. Her car barely made it across town these days—driving to Wyoming was out of the question. She just had to hope the agency's credit card had enough left on it to cover the cost of the trip, because she certainly didn't have all that much left in the bank. Suddenly, the back of her neck tingled a warning, and she froze. Though she hadn't heard the door open, someone had come into the office...

"Hello Nikki,” Michael said softly behind her.

Chapter Six

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?"