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."
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."