A smile touched Sondra's pale lips. “Rachel was always doing that...” She looked away quickly. Nikki shifted her weight from one foot to the other and wished MacEwan would hurry up. She'd never been comfortable attempting small talk—especially with desperate strangers. Sondra blew her nose, the sound strident against the silence. She tucked the handkerchief back into her purse and glanced at Nikki. “Col said you needed something of Rachel's." She nodded. “I can sometimes use personal items to get impressions of the owner." Hope flared in Sondra's brown eyes. “And find them?"

She shifted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted was to build up this woman's hopes. “Not always."

"Oh.” Sondra blinked several times, then reached into her purse and took out two plastic bags. Nikki raised an eyebrow in surprise. MacEwan had obviously been doing a little research on psychic abilities if he knew wrapping items in plastic was the best way to prevent outside influences interfering with the resonance of an item.

"I brought over a necklace she wore a lot, and a favorite bra." She accepted both and looked around as MacEwan entered the room. “Just remember, there's no guarantee this will work. Not three months down the road." Sondra gave a slight sob. MacEwan's look was severe. “Try." Nikki sat on an overstuffed sofa. Taking a deep breath, she tore open the bag containing the necklace and let it drop into her hand. The gold chain felt cool against her skin. She wrapped her fingers around it, pressing it into her palm. Then she closed her eyes and reached for the place in her mind that could call forth the images locked within the bracelet.

It felt like she was drilling for oil in a barren desert. Sweat trickled down her cheek, splashing against her fist. She frowned, reaching deeper. Gradually, an image formed. A man, in his mid twenties. Blond hair, green eyes. Her mind seized the pictures, storing them for later. If she stopped now, if she even spoke, she feared she might lose the fragile impressions forever. A white convertible with Wyoming plates. Money, lots of it, splashed about almost carelessly. Laughter and love in the darkness...

The images slipped away, dissipating like ghosts. Nikki swore softly and ran a hand through her hair. There'd been no sign of trouble in any of those images, and no telling if they had anything to do with the niece's disappearance.

"Anything?” MacEwan asked, voice tight.

"Just wait.” She ripped open the bag containing the bra.

This time, the images came thick and fast. Green eyes shining bright. White candles, flickering in the darkness. Gold-rimmed china on a red tablecloth. A glass filled with wine as thick as blood. Warmth and desire intermingled. A four-poster bed covered in gold... Given the strength of the images, it was obvious the niece had been seduced the last time she'd worn the bra. Nikki reached a little deeper to find out what had happened afterward. Rachel must have at least gone home, otherwise they wouldn't have had this bra.

Fear. Deep fear, blossoming in the midst of passion. Struggling, fighting, unable to breathe... Nikki's breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded so fast she feared it was going to gallop out of her chest. The images flowing from the bra faltered. She tried to calm down. This fear was not hers. She had to remain apart from it. Only then would she see what had happened. Pain, flaring bright. A flicker of white, stabbing through the darkness. Fire on her neck, burning deep. Lethargy ... darkness ... darkness ... the sensation of floating ... waiting ... just waiting... Nikki dropped the bra into her lap and rubbed her temples wearily. MacEwan's niece wasn't dead, but she wasn't exactly alive, either.

She opened her eyes. Sondra was still sitting on the edge of the chair, her hands locked together, expression a mix of anxiousness and hope. MacEwan stood behind her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Anything?” His voice was deadpan, as lifeless as his expression. She realized then he hadn't really expected this to work. Like Sondra, he was grasping at straws and hoping for a miracle. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I can't tell you whether she's alive or dead, I'm afraid."

MacEwan's gaze narrowed. He obviously sensed the lie but made no mention of it. Maybe he didn't want to upset his sister any more than she already was.

Sondra made a choking sound and put a hand to her mouth. Tears spilled past her fingers and splashed onto her knees.

MacEwan placed a hand on his sister's shoulder, squeezing lightly. “What can you tell us?"

"I saw a room. It had a four-poster bed and seemed covered in gold." Sondra looked quickly at MacEwan. “That's Rachel's bedroom." MacEwan nodded, his gaze not wavering from Nikki's. There was a warning in his brown eyes—don't say anything to upset his sister any further. “What else?"

"She was there with a green-eyed, blond-haired man. They were lovers. He drove a white convertible with Wyoming plates, and he had lots of money."

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."

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."

MacEwan frowned. “So what you were doing was what Matthew was doing?" For someone who supposedly didn't believe in psychic talents, he caught on pretty fast. “Yes."

"Then he's alive?"

"Yes.” Though given the woman was apparently feeding off him, she wasn't about to take bets on how long he would remain that way.