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She crossed her arms, rubbing them lightly. She'd done the right thing in telling Michael to go. At least now she didn't have to worry about betraying him. But what would she have done if Jasper wasn't a problem? What if there'd been only Michael and her and an endless eternity to share together?
Outside, a young couple strolled hand in hand across the road. She didn't have their courage. It was simple fact. Jasper only gave her a more believable excuse to push Michael away. She turned from the window and walked across the room. Maybe she needed to work. Maybe if she buried herself in mundane office tasks, she wouldn't have to think about Michael or Jasper or long years of loneliness left ahead.
She walked into the bedroom to collect her coat and keys, and brushed past the bed. Memories rose to haunt her—being in Michael's arms, his bed, his throaty laughter as she'd whisked his pants away, the fire of their minds, touching and loving.
How could she have given it all away? How could she have thrown away her one chance of lasting love?
She froze. There, she'd finally admitted it. She loved him. But it didn't matter a damn. She didn't want him to die, so they simply couldn't be together.
She spun away from the bed and its memories and retreated to the front door. After a quick glance around to check that all the lights were off, she opened the door and went outside. The night was clear and held the promise of being cold. A chill ran up her spine as she unlocked the car door. It had nothing to do with the wind's icy fingers teasing the back of her neck. Someone was watching her.
She ignored the sensation and got into the car. There was little else she could do. It wasn't Michael or Jasper, so more than likely it was one of the zombies. And she sure as hell wasn't going to confront one of them.
But if only one zombie was watching her, what were the other two up to? Foreboding pulsed, a warning of trouble ahead. She grimaced and drove out of the driveway. It would be a nice change if the warnings were a little more specific.
The first thing she saw as she walked into the office was the madly flashing light on the answering machine. Throwing her keys on her desk, she grabbed a pen and paper and sat to answer some calls. It was nearing midnight when she stopped. She rubbed at the crick in her neck and closed her eyes in sudden weariness. I need a drink , she thought, something strong . But Jake kept the whiskey under the cupboard near his desk, and she just couldn't be bothered with getting up. It was probably just as well. The mood she was in, she'd probably get drunk and end up feeling sorry for herself. She leaned back in the chair and rested her feet on top of the desk. For some reason, she felt safe in the office. All the doors and windows were locked and barred, so if anyone tried getting in she'd hear them. A few hours’ sleep would not go astray. She closed her eyes and drifted. Images formed in her mind. Images that were indistinct and blurred, but full of panic. Figures lurched and spun in a gentle and terrifying dance. Death laughed, white teeth flashing across the darkness. She jerked upright, her feet crashing to the floor. Now she knew what the other two zombies were up to. Jake was in danger.
She reached for the link, then stopped. It wasn't fair to call Michael every time she or Jake was in trouble. He was here to find Jasper, and she shouldn't keep distracting him from that. It left her with only one other option. Picking up the phone, she quickly dialed MacEwan's number. He answered on the second ring.
"It's Nikki James. I need help,” she said.
"To do what?” His voice was terse, annoyed.
She wondered if she'd woken him. “It's one of those situations that can't rationally be explained." Silence met her reply. She waited, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip on the receiver.
"Tell me what's going on,” he said, after a long moment.
She sighed in relief. At least he hadn't dismissed her outright, as many others would have. “The man responsible for the recent spate of murders is going after Jake. Only he's sending his people to do it."
"I see no problem. Jake's still in the hospital?"
"He is, but it's not that simple.” She hesitated, then softly cleared her throat. “The people being sent are
... well, they're zombies."
MacEwan made no sound. Even the soft rasp of his breathing had disappeared.
"They're two of the four women who went missing in Highgate Park." MacEwan swore softly. It was hard to tell whether he believed her or not, and all she could do was wait. Jake was in danger and needed help. If MacEwan wouldn't assist her then she'd have no choice but to turn to Michael. She couldn't cope with two zombies on her own, and she wasn't going to let Jake die now.
"And I was worried about explaining Monica Trevgard's sudden crisping. Jeez..." If he had any doubts as to her sanity, she couldn't hear it in his voice. Maybe he had seen too much on the streets to be fazed by anything life threw at him now. Or maybe he was just humoring her while he called the men with the white coats on the spare line.
"How do we deal with these people?"
"I'm told the only way to stop them is to break their necks."
"So I'm supposed to order my men to break the necks of a couple of dead women?” His voice was scratchy with either disbelief or amusement. Maybe both.
"There's no other way to stop them.” She glanced anxiously at her watch. Three o'clock. Time was running out for Jake. She had to move.
"Maybe.” Disbelief was stronger in his voice this time. “We'd better meet at the hospital. Ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes,” she confirmed and hung up.
She stood and looked around the room. While she still had the silver knives down her boots, she wasn't so sure they'd be a deterrent against the zombies. And her wrist knives certainly didn't worry them. Jake had a gun locked in the safe, but would that work any better than a knife? Could a dead person be killed by a gunshot? What was that old rhyme? One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight...
What about salt? Michael had said it was useless against zombies, but thrown into their eyes, it would stop them, if only briefly.
She walked across the room and opened the small cupboard under the sink. Jake had a fetish for extra salt on his chips, so there had to be some in here somewhere. She moved several jars around, eventually finding a large shaker. For good measure, she grabbed the pepper and shoved both in her pocket. Then she retrieved her keys from her desk and ran out to the car. MacEwan was waiting for her at the hospital, leaning against the side of a car almost as battered as her own. Two other officers waited near the hospital's main entrance. She knew there would be others guarding the remaining exits. When MacEwan did something, he did it properly. She stopped her car beside his and got out. “How many men do you have?" He exhaled a long plume of smoke, then dropped the rest of his cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “Six, two men guarding each of the exits."
