While it was obvious he could take care of himself, worry gnawed at her. Last night her dreams had sent her a warning—Jasper wove a trap around them all, with Michael's death the grand finale.
"I've sent Mary on a trip to visit her mother," Jake said into the silence.
She almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. In the ten years she'd known him, he'd never been worried enough by a case to send his wife away.
His face was bleak. "If Monica is still alive after having that stake shoved in her gut, well, she knows too much about us. She'll come after us, Nikki."
Hunter and hunted, all one and the same. Just great, she thought, and took another sip of coffee.
"At least I'm lucky that way," she said after a moment. "I have no one but me to worry about."
"You must have aunts and uncles out there, somewhere. Grandparents, even. All you have to do is find them, kiddo."
Yeah, she thought sourly. She had them. But they didn't want to know her . She took another sip of coffee, then met Jake's curious gaze. "Mom once told me her family refused to understand the nature of her gifts—they thought she was possessed by the devil. That's why she left when she was sixteen. And Dad's folks disowned him for marrying someone they thought no better than a gypsy."
He shrugged. "Times change. You can't be sure how they'd react to you now."
She smiled bitterly. "Yes, I can."
She bent to gather the papers from the floor, only to have them scatter further as the door opened a second time. Michael stepped inside.
"Evening," he greeted softly, his dark gaze enigmatic when it met hers.
Intuition delivered two warnings, and her pulse skipped a beat. The wall he'd raised last night would stay in place, and he had something to say she wasn't going to like. She gathered the scattered papers then sat back down.
Jake offered Michael a cup of coffee before moving back to his desk. "So," he said. "What can we do for you?"
Michael stopped near her desk. Nikki had the sudden sensation of being caught in a small pen between two charging bulls. She leaned back in her chair and eyed them both warily.
"I came to help," Michael said evenly.
"Really," Jake drawled. "I find it interesting that Nikki didn't appear to need any help until you arrived on the scene."
Her breath caught in her throat. What made Jake think that? She glanced at Michael and caught a wisp of anger—the same dark anger that had threatened her in the warehouse. He looked at her briefly, and the anger died. Yet it was obvious Michael was a man not used to having his actions questioned.
"It might also be said that she would now be dead had I not," he replied.
Jake leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully. "Why did you come to Lyndhurst, then?"
"To catch a killer—the man who now chases Nikki."
Michael sat on the edge of her desk and sipped his coffee. He appeared very relaxed, very calm. He was not. Jake's doubt infuriated him, and she wondered why.
"Why?" Jake asked bluntly. "You're certainly not a cop or FBI or anything else official. This a personal vendetta or something else?"
"Both." He hesitated and sipped at his coffee.
Deciding how much he should tell them, she thought, and wondered if there was anyone in his world whom he trusted enough to be completely honest with.
"Jasper killed my brother. A few years later he killed a close friend of mine."
The truth as far as it went, but nowhere near the full story, she thought. "I get the feeling there's more history than that between the two of you."
Michael glanced at her. His face was guarded, wary. "Ours is a battle that has been going on for many years. I have killed his brother, and I will kill him—not in retaliation, but simply because his bloodshed will not stop until he is dead."
"Which suggests there is very little difference between you and the man you hunt."
Michael's smile was bitter. "There's one big difference. I do not hunt innocents, nor do I drain the blood of my victims."
She shuddered, remembering the bloody mess Monica had made the night before. "You said you don't kill in retribution, and yet you killed his brother. Why?"
He hesitated again. "Because they were twins who hunted and worked as one. They'd killed over one hundred people before I stopped them, and Jasper has killed as many since."
Again, the truth as far as it went, and still not the whole story. "Why is he so determined to hunt me? We both know there's easier prey living on the streets."
He sipped his coffee, studying her for several seconds before answering. "Jasper hungers for things he can never have. Power, more than anything else. You have that power, Nikki."
And Jasper, who could call his victims from the dead, would control that power should she die. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed heavily.
I will not let that happen. I would kill you myself, if it came to that.
It was a chilling thought, and not one she found comforting.
Their gazes met and, just for an instant, the link between them surged to life. His mind embraced hers, a gentle yet intimate touch that caressed her body in a way no physical stroke ever could.
Jake softly cleared his throat. She jumped, tearing her gaze away from Michael's. What the hell was happening between them? And why did she feel like running as far and as fast as she could?
"So what do you plan to do?" Jake asked into the silence.
"I plan to kill Jasper before he can kill again."
"Not exactly legal."
"With Jasper, we have no other choice. And you know it," Michael said quietly. "You had a taste of what he will be like last night in Monica."
"Then she is a vampire."
There was no disbelief in Jake's quiet statement. Only an edge of fear she could well understand.
"Yes," Michael answered. "As Jasper is."
"Shit," Jake muttered and took a gulp coffee. "So how do we kill a vampire? Chase it with a stake and cover it in crosses and garlic?"
Michael smiled, though no humor touched his eyes. "The cross works as a deterrent for vampires only because, historically speaking, they have always been made of the purest silver. The metal can burn vampires that touch it, particularly the newly turned. As for garlic, I suspect it is only a deterrent for those with weak stomachs."
"So what's the proper method of killing vampires?" Jake asked. "And how do you know so much about them?"
"As I've already told Nikki, a stake through the heart and decapitation are the best bet. Exposure to the noonday sun works, too. Either way, you must first find their daytime resting place."
"Why the noonday sun? I thought exposure to any amount of sun would kill?" she said in surprise.
"In most cases, yes." He paused, and shrugged. His quick look told her he wished this subject had never been brought up. "Age has a lot to do with it. The more years you have behind you, the more tolerant you become to silver and the sun."
"So how old is this Jasper?"
"As near as I can gather, just on ninety-eight years old. Not enough to give him much immunity."
And he still looked fifteen, she thought, feeling ill. "Then what about the zombies?"
"Kill their master, and they will die," he said, voice grim. "It's his life-force keeping them alive."
"Does putting salt in their mouth work?"
A shimmer of amusement spun around her. "I suppose if you shoved enough down their throats, they're likely to choke to death."
She scowled at him. "I'm being serious, here."
"So am I." His amusement fled. "Break their necks, and they will die. Otherwise, they cannot. Not until Jasper dies."
"How in hell is that possible?" she said. "How can he raise the dead and make them his slaves?"
Michael shrugged. "The ability to call the newly dead back to life—to reanimate their limbs—is a black art that often runs in families. From what we know of Jasper, both his father and grandfather were animators, as well."