He wasn't surprised. After what she'd just endured, she should sleep a week.
"How is she? Will she be okay?” the blond stranger asked anxiously. Michael ignored him, focusing instead on the big man near the desk. Frustration, fear and worry were evident in his thoughts, and he was about ready to explode. Slipping into the old man's mind, he ordered him to be silent. Nikki needed attention. He didn't have the time to be involved in a war of words.
"She's fine,” he said, returning his gaze to the blond man. “She just needs to rest."
"We'll put her in the room behind you. By the way,” he said, “I'm Jake Morgan."
"Michael Kelly.” He shook the offered hand impatiently.
"Thought you might be. How long will she be out?"
Michael shrugged. “Minimum, a couple of hours. I shall stay and keep watch over her.” And what better way to start gaining her trust than by being here, guarding her, when she woke?
Jake nodded, not asking the questions Michael could see in his mind. Instead, he rose and crossed the room to speak to the older man.
Michael slipped his arms under her body and carefully lifted. She was light. Too light, really. How in hell did she manage to maintain the energy needed to feed her psychic gifts when there was so little of her?
He took her into the next room and laid her carefully on the old couch that dominated one wall of the small storeroom. She stirred and opened her eyes.
"Don't leave me,” she murmured.
Her gaze was filled with shadows and fear. He smiled and sat beside her. She shifted slightly, using his leg as a pillow. Closing his eyes, Michael carefully reached into her mind, calming the surface turmoil, stilling her fears—at least enough to allow her to sleep peacefully for several hours. That he could do this without her knowing spoke of her desperate need for rest.
He opened his eyes and gazed at her. She looked so young lying there, almost childlike. Yet he'd caught the occasional whisper of thought that spoke of a harsh past. He caressed her forehead, her skin like satin against his fingertips. Though he knew he could not afford to get more involved than he was, he found himself wishing again that he had the time to learn more about her. But that was a freedom he'd lost long ago, and it was too late now for regrets.
* * * *
Darkness drifted through her dreams. It filled her mind, washing corruption through her soul. She fought it, desperate to be free. Yet she couldn't break the chains holding her captive. In the distance she heard a voice whisper her name. She turned toward the sound, following it desperately through the darkness.
Awareness surfaced. A door slammed in the front office. Trevgard, Nikki thought, and knew by the sudden leap of tension in the main office that both his patience and his temper were growing thin. She also became aware of Michael, of the firmness of his thigh against her cheek, the gentleness of his fingers caressing her forehead. Of his scent, an odd mixture of spice and earthiness. Much too aware.
She sat up abruptly. Averting her gaze from his, she pushed her hair back behind her ears. How did you react to a man who had saved your life and yet was still so much of an enigma?
"A simple thank you would be sufficient,” he said quietly. She glanced up sharply. “I've never met anyone who can read my thoughts as easily as you appear able to.” Tommy had been able to read her thoughts, but not so easily, unless she'd been angry or tired. Michael shrugged, ebony eyes regarding her warily. “Telepathy is a strong gift in my family. Over the years, I've honed its use."
She had an odd feeling he wasn't speaking of blood relatives when he spoke of family. She frowned, but turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Jake opened the door and entered the room>She frowned at the thought and tore open the plastic, dropping the delicate gold bracelet into her hand. Her skin tingled as she closed her fingers around the charms, pressing them into her palm. Shutting her eyes, she reached for the place in her mind that could call forth the images locked within the bracelet. Gradually, they came.
A factory. Three floors. Broken windows. Dark. Her mind seized the pictures, storing them for examination at a later point. She had to go with the flow or lose it. She didn't have the strength for a second try.
The smell of the sea ... creak of boats. Inside ... evil. She recoiled. Oh God, he's here!
Panic seized control, and for an instant, the images faltered. Now she understood her earlier intuition. Evil was here in the darkness—and hunting her. Her fingers twitched against the bracelet, but she fought the instinct to break the contact. Time was running out for Monica. She had to find her quickly, and this was the only way of doing it.
And surely the man she feared couldn't harm her spirit. Could he? Sweat broke out across her brow, but she reached again for the images.
Stairs ... a basement. Two rooms, three. In the fourth one, Monica. Naked. Unconscious but alive. Something hit Nikki hard, drawing her into darkness, snaring the very essence of her soul as securely as a fly in a web.
And the spider laughed in demonic delight.
Chapter Four
Only the harsh notes of her breathing broke the silence.
There was nothing to see, nothing beyond a deep void of darkness. Yet something or someone was near. She rubbed her palms down her thighs and wondered what sort of game was about to be played. Soft laughter stirred the satin cover of night, filling the void with its corruption. She closed her eyes. He was here—in the cage that had captured her spirit—and there was no escape. Energy pulsed above her head, a net of power that somehow held her prisoner. If she stayed here too long, she would die.
Was that his aim?
Sweat trickled down her back. Fists clenched, she watched a golden shaft of light spread across the darkness. It revealed a makeshift bed. On it lay Monica.