Dancing With The Dead

Chapter Thirteen

Swallowing heavily, Nikki stepped inside. She reached into her pocket and dug out Monica's bracelet. It pulsed lightly against her palm, a muted beat that would lead her straight to the teenager.

She moved forward quietly. There were no windows in the small corridor, and the gloom closed in. She resisted the urge to turn on the flashlight, knowing the proximity of the voices meant there was a chance they'd see it.

A cobweb trailed against her face, and she jumped sideways. Her yelp became a squeak as she bit down on it. Heart pounding unevenly, she stopped and listened. The soft murmuring in the other room continued unabated.

Sighing silently, she walked on. The corridor ended at a set of stairs. She hesitated, stomach suddenly churning. She'd climbed a similar set of stairs to escape Jasper's clutches. Oh God, was he here as well?

She couldn't feel his presence, only Monica's, but the fear that she was walking blindly into another trap was a cold weight in the pit of her stomach.

She turned on the flashlight and shone it into the gloom. The dust-caked steps showed no trace of footsteps, yet she could feel Monica's presence in the darkness below.

Could vampire's fly? Bile rose in her throat. She closed her eyes, swallowing heavily. It was ridiculous to think vampires could fly. They didn't have to, when they could move faster than the eye could see.

What if Monica was awake and waiting for her? The rhythmic beat in the bracelet spoke of slumber, but how could she be sure a vampire's heartbeat was in any way the same as a human's?

Sweat beaded her forehead. Biting her lip, she walked slowly down the stairs. Dust stirred, a cloud that stung her eyes and nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, fighting a sneeze. The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. She touched the handle, then hesitated again. What if Jasper was here? What would she do?

Probably die of heart failure. If she was lucky.

The bracelet told her nothing. Nor could she really expect it to—it was Monica's, not Jasper's. Mouth dry, she turned the handle and opened the door. The air that rolled out to greet her was thick with age and a musty dampness that spoke of leaking pipes. She swept the light across the layers of darkness. It revealed the slimy floor but little else.

A hand came down on her shoulder, and her heart almost stopped.

She screamed and spun, only to find the priest she'd seen earlier in the church grounds.

She swallowed and gave him a somewhat shaky smile. "Father, you gave me a fright."

"It was not my intention, I assure you." His voice was gentle, as if he feared he was talking to someone not quite sane. "I merely wanted to know what you were doing down here."

Should she lie? She eyed him for a moment then decided against it. Something in his green eyes told her he's seen enough of life to know the truth from a lie.

"I'm a private investigator." She pulled her wallet out of her jacket and shone the flashlight on her license.

"I got a tip that an escaped criminal was hiding in your cellar."

The priest frowned. "I don't see how. The doors are kept locked, and I've seen no one strange about."

No one but herself, she surmised from his look. "The side door and this one were both open, Father.

Have you checked them lately?"

"Not this one."

"Then my informant may be right." She glanced over her shoulder. Something stirred in the darkness—or was it only her imagination?

"Is this criminal dangerous?"

Why wouldn't he just leave? If Monica stirred, the priest was in danger. Nikki doubted if his robes would offer much protection. "Yes, she's dangerous."

"Then I think we should call the police."

She glanced back to the dark cellar. At least the priest would be out of the way if he went to call the police. And maybe it would be better if the cops were the ones to drag Monica into the sunlight and death. As long as they arrived well before sunset, there shouldn't be any sort of danger.

With Monica out of the way, the only nightmare left would be Jasper.

Foreboding pulsed across her skin. "Call them, then. Tell them Monica Trevgard is trapped in this basement. I'll stay here to ensure she doesn't escape."

His gaze widened at the mention of Monica's name, then he nodded and moved back up the stairs.

Nikki watched his retreat. Did he know Monica? Maybe she should warn him what might happen…

She shook her head and leaned against a wall. Priest or not, he wouldn't believe her.

The minutes ticked by, and the silence grew heavier. She glanced at her watch. Perhaps the priest had decided to call the loony bin first, just to ensure she wasn't an escaped nutcase.

She cast her senses into the basement, checking that Monica was still there. The wash of evil was answer enough.

A few minutes later she heard the sirens. Yet she couldn't escape the notion that something was wrong, that she was doing something she shouldn't. But they had to get rid of Monica, for everyone's safety.

Didn't they?

Footsteps pounded down the hall. She rubbed her arms, wishing they'd hurry.

MacEwan clomped down the steps and stopped beside her. "This better not be one of your tricks."

His breath washed over her, and she screwed up her nose. Too bad garlic didn't effect vampires. "It's not. She's all yours."

She offered him her flashlight, but he shook his head and produced one of his own. "Jenkins, make sure she stays put. You other two, follow me."

The three men stepped into the basement. The darkness closed around them; only the bobbing light gave away their position. She clenched her fists, half-expecting Monica to wake and try to escape. But no sound broke the silence except for the occasional footstep.

Minutes later, Jenkins' two-way buzzed.

"Call the paramedics in, Jenkins." MacEwan's voice sounded annoyed, even over the two-way. "And get them to bring down a stretcher. The girl isn't looking so good."

"And Miss James?"

"Tell her to stay put, or her ass is mine."

The young officer glanced at her. Nikki smiled sourly. "Message received. My ass ain't moving."

He grinned slightly then headed back up the stairs. Nikki shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting uneasily in the darkness. She wanted to go into the cellar and see Monica for herself, but knew MacEwan had meant what he said.

Though with Jasper still on the loose, maybe jail was the safest place to be.

Jenkins returned a few minutes later, but Nikki felt no safer with his large presence next to her. She glanced at her watch. If MacEwan didn't move Monica soon, he might well find himself trying to control a very angry, and very awake, vampire.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. Two paramedics pounded past them and disappeared into the darkness. More minutes ticked by.

Finally, MacEwan reappeared. The two paramedics carried Monica on the stretcher just behind him, with the two police officers following them.

She let the five men pass then followed them up the stairs. The teenager looked more dead than alive.

She was limp, boneless, her skin pallid and unhealthy looking. Nikki frowned. Something didn't feel right…

She crossed her arms. However Monica might look, she was still a monster. Like the fiend she called a lover, Monica enjoyed the terror she inflicted on her victims. It had been all too obvious in her eyes when she'd attacked both her and Jake.

But evil's mistress was about to meet her deserving end.

MacEwan glanced over his shoulder. "I don't want you disappearing anywhere. I'd like a word with you first."

She nodded. She had no intention of leaving, anyway. Not until she was certain of Monica's fate. She followed the men down the hall, then stopped as the first paramedic stepped outside. Beams of sunlight touched Monica's still form, washing her skin with warmth. Just for an instant she looked like the Monica of old—a carefree, innocent teenager. Nikki bit her lip and half reached out to stop them. Then she dropped her hand to her side and watched the two men carry her fully into daylight.

Monica screamed—a high, tortured sound that ricocheted through Nikki's mind. This is wrong. I'm wrong. Oh Christ… She took a step forward. Fire leaped through her brain, stopping her. She doubled over, gasping in pain, eyes watering as she struggled to see Monica.

The teenager kicked and twisted against the straps holding her captive. She screamed and cursed and called for her father, over and over and over. The two paramedics swore and struggled to keep hold of the stretcher as the convulsing became more violent. There was a tearing sound, then suddenly she was free and on the ground. Her eyes flew open, revealing a sea of red where there should have been white.

Tendrils of smoke began to rise from her flesh. She hissed, a low inhuman sound, and began to crawl towards the doorway and the safety of the church interior.

In Monica's unnatural gaze, Nikki saw past the layers of agony to the child deep within—a lost and lonely child, desperate for hope and love. Me , she thought , if it hadn't been for Jake and MacEwan.

She stepped forward to help Monica, but the fire in her brain intensified. Gasping, Nikki dropped to her knees. There was nothing she could do—nothing but watch Monica die. Tears ran down her cheeks when she met the teenager's gaze. Deep in the blue depths of her eyes, Nikki saw the sudden flash of understanding—and hate.

"Christ Almighty! Somebody do something." MacEwan's voice rose harshly above the noise surrounding the old church. "Grab a blanket or something."

The priest ran to obey. But they were far too late. Monica burst into flames. Nikki closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. The pain in her head eased, but there was no way to stop Monica's screams from penetrating every nerve, sickening her soul.

She'd been wrong about one thing. No matter what she'd done, the teenager hadn't deserved a death as horrid as this.

The screams faded into silence. The priest returned with a blanket and a police officer threw it over Monica's body. Yet the fire burned unabated, the flames so fierce they took the blanket with them. A line of dark smoke climbed skyward.

Soon there was nothing left but ashes. Laughter ran through her mind, a distant, taunting evil that crowed at his victory.

Had she been nothing more than Jasper's tool all along? She bit her lip and hugged herself fiercely, hoping, praying it wasn't so. If he could make her do this, he could make her do anything. Even betray Michael.

She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. There was nothing she could do now about Monica, nothing anyone could do, other than mourn a life lost so young.

"I've heard of things like this happening." MacEwan's voice was harsh, full of the pain he would never show. "Never thought I'd see it, though."

She rose and walked over to where he stood. The priest began to murmur over the burned soil and a few scraps of blanket, all that remained of Monica's pyre.

"How in hell am I going to explain it downtown?"

She glanced at him, wondering if he expected an answer. His face showed no sign of emotion, yet she knew the appearance was a lie. MacEwan—the tough, no-nonsense cop—hated losing a kid, no matter how bad that kid had gone. Despite all his years on the streets, he still believed they could be saved, given half a chance.

"You can't." She shoved her hands into her pockets to ward off the chill of the freshening wind. "No one would believe you if you tried."

He lit a cigarette and sucked on it almost greedily. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?" he said, after a moment.

She didn't reply, not trusting him for an instant. Fair cop or not, he was just as likely to march her downtown and interrogate her all night if she admitted too much. Yet her silence was answer enough.

"So," he continued, exhaling a long plume of smoke. "What was she?"

She gave him another uncertain look. How much had he guessed? "What do you mean?"

He gave an exasperated snort. "No games, or I might be inclined to get nasty. Normal people do not explode into flame when the sun touches them. Certainly it's not a problem Monica Trevgard has suffered before."

And wouldn't again, Nikki thought with a shiver. She watched a wisp of blanket turn in the breeze. The intensity of the fire had left the soil under Monica's body a charred mess. She doubted if anything would ever grow there again.

"She was a vampire." It was time MacEwan knew the truth, whether or not he chose to believe it. "They can't stand the sun."

He made no comment. She'd always found MacEwan hard to read and had no idea if he believed her or not.

"And this madman we still have on the loose?"

"Monica's lover. Another vampire."

"I see."

Did he? There was little emotion to be seen on his face, but his eyes were thoughtful.

"And do you intend going after this madman?"

She nodded, half expecting him to warn her off the case. As usual, MacEwan did the unexpected.

"Keep me informed of all developments, then." He dropped the half-finished cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his boot heel. Then he gave her a wintry smile. "I am not as blind as you might think. I've seen things—" He hesitated and shrugged. "Lets just say I'm not unwilling to believe there are some things on this earth that defy explanation. Just be careful. I can do without the extra paperwork."

He gave her a brief nod and walked away. She turned her gaze to the priest, watching him sprinkle water over the soil.

The back of her neck tingled in warning, and she turned. Jake walked across the road and entered the church through the main gate. Michael wasn't with him, but he was near. His anger washed over her, almost smothering in its intensity.

"Heard over the police radio they'd found Monica." Jake stopped and regarded the priest's actions with interest. "This all that's left?"

She nodded. "She went up like a torch."

"One down, one to go." There was little remorse in his voice. Taking her elbow, he pulled her away from the church. "But just what in hell did you think you were doing? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

She wrenched her arm out of his grip and stopped to glare at him. "What in hell did you think you were doing, leaving without me this morning?" If they'd been here with her, Monica might still be alive. And maybe, just maybe, she'd be less worried about Jasper being able to control her.

"We did what we thought best to keep you safe." He shrugged. "I guess it was a mistake."

"I thought we were a team, Jake."

"We are, Nik. But sometimes you scare me. It's almost as if… as if you have no sense of your own well being. You just keep pushing yourself." He looked at her grimly. "Sometimes I think you have a death wish."

She snorted softly. And yet there'd been times in the past when she certainly hadn't cared whether she lived or died. Maybe that was why she had been such an easy target for Tommy. "Even if I did, what business is it of yours?"

"Damn it, do I have to spell it out? You're like a damned daughter to me. I don't want to see you hurt!"

She was an idiot, no doubt about it. She touched his arm gently. "I'm sorry."

He sighed and shook his head. "You've been on your own too long, kiddo. It's about time you let someone in."

He was talking about Michael, not himself. "Father figure or not, does the phrase 'mind your own business' mean anything to you?"

"It's one I have great trouble with." He held a hand out. "Give me your keys. I want you to go talk to Michael. Now, Nikki," he added when she hesitated.

She swore softly but knew better than to argue when he used that tone of voice. She dug the keys out of her pocket. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been drinking."

"One or two. I'm safe to drive."

"My car's parked across the road. I'll see you back at the office."

He nodded. "Trust him, Nik. Let him in."

She scowled and turned away. She had no intention of letting anyone in, especially Michael. It was too damn dangerous. He was too damn dangerous.

Jake's Mercedes was parked in the shadows of an old elm. The darkly-tinted windows prevented any view inside, and yet she could feel Michael's anger as if it were her own.

She opened the driver's side door and climbed in. Michael watched her silently, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. He made no comment as she started the engine and drove off.

Though she kept her eyes on the road, she couldn't help being aware of every little move he made. Now that she was here, she feared talking to him. But just what did she fear? Him? Or herself?

"Why?" he asked softly, after several minutes.

It was a question that could have meant anything. She chose to answer the most obvious. "Monica had to be stopped. You know that."

"Yes. But not before she'd led us to Jasper."

Nikki bit her lip. So that was why Jasper had wanted her dead. "You never told me that, Michael. You never trusted me enough, did you?"

He made a sound suspiciously like a deep-throated growl. "No other observations, while you're at it?

No other accusations?" His voice was almost mocking, hinting at the anger she couldn't see but could sense.

"There was this morning, when I woke alone." But she'd killed someone since then. Her fingers tightened against the wheel, but she fought the rising fear, not wanting him to sense it. "I've had time to think."

"I just bet you have."

She shot him a quick look, unsure how to take his remark. His face was as remote as ever.

"So what did you come up with?" He shifted slightly in his seat, facing her.

She didn't trust his tone. It was too polite. Too controlled. "One question."

"And that is?"

A quick glance at his face told her little, yet she caught a wisp of uncertainty in his thoughts. And wariness. She unclenched her fingers against the wheel and bit her lip in indecision. She didn't want to voice her doubts, didn't want to hear his answer. And the demons whispering madness in her mind could never force her to do this. She just had to know.

"I want to know what last night meant."

His gaze, though hidden by dark glasses, burned into her soul. "What do you think it was about?"

She couldn't look at him. "Was it only a means to ensure I slept through the night? When our minds merged, did you make me sleep?"

A tide of anger seemed to leap into the car and swirl around her. She kept her eyes on the road, hands tense against the steering wheel. She didn't want to face the fury she could feel building.

"You really aren't capable of trust, are you?"

She wanted to scream that she'd trusted him more than she'd trusted any man in her entire life—except, maybe, for Tommy. Only Michael wasn't just a man.

And this wasn't about trust. It was about deception.

Wasn't it?

"I have to know, Michael."

His gaze burned into her. She shivered and tried to ignore the worm of fear in her heart.

"Think about last night, Nikki. Think about what we shared. Look inside your own heart."

No. Never again would she trust what she felt in matters like this. People died when she did. As the lights ahead changed, she slowed the car and risked another quick look. His face was still impassive, giving no indication he'd heard her thoughts. But even if he had, she still needed to know.

"You are a fool, Nikki. A fool who will not listen to her own intuition."

"Intuition has nothing to do with this." Because intuition was telling her to trust him, telling her to grab on tight and never let go, no matter how he fought. But it had told her the same about Tommy, and it had never been more wrong.

"I have to ask, Michael. Surely you can understand that?"

"The only thing I can understand is the fact that I am a fool twice over."

The sudden hint of weariness in his voice frightened her. She glanced at him quickly. What had he meant by that?

"I will not deny there is an element of truth in your fears. I had hoped you might sleep long enough for Jake and me to leave." He took off the sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. "As for what it meant—I warned you before, Nikki. It can never be anything more than just a moment we share."

His words cut through her. While she knew he couldn't stay, she'd hoped it might have been something more than just a physical release to him. To her, at least, last night had been something of a revelation.

She'd never realized that two bodies could become one so completely. That two minds could share a dance so poetic, so full of desire and care.

She blinked and looked away, then shifted the car into gear as the lights changed again, and the traffic flowed on.

"Remember, I was not the initiator last night, nor am I made of stone," he continued softly. "And there's one more question you should ask. Just who was using whom last night?"

Heat crept into her cheeks, and she bit her lip. There was no denying the fact he was right. She had used him, used his warmth, the caress of his thoughts, to keep Jasper's nightmares at bay.

But while she regretted her reasons, she didn't regret making love to him. Those memories she would treasure in the long years ahead.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was wrong. But so were you in leaving me."

He made no comment, and she drove the final few miles to the office in silence. She parked in front of the building and glanced at her watch as she climbed out of the car. It was after five. She frowned. Why wasn't her car here? Jake had left before her…

Her psychic senses sprang to life, and pain ran like fire across her body.

Only it wasn't her pain. It was Jake's.

Jasper's dark laughter whispered through her brain, a teasing gloat, edged with warning.

If she wanted Jake to live, she would have to take his place.