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"So I'm supposed to cower at home while you take care of the problem? I don't think so." He couldn't imagine her cowering anywhere, but that wasn't what he was asking her to do. “We could walk into a trap, Nikki."
"And you'd rather risk Jasper getting his hands on Jake than on me.” She snorted softly and sat back in her chair, amber eyes narrowed. “You're a cold bastard, you know that?" Yes. And had been told it, many times. “Are you so eager to die, Nikki?"
"No."
She hesitated slightly, and something flashed through her eyes. Death, he thought, was no stranger to her, and perhaps something she would welcome, were it not for the possibility that Jasper would use her.
"And I'm even less eager for Jake to die in my place."
"I have no intention of letting that happen.” If only because he didn't trust Jake's sense of honor—an honor that lay with the client, not with him. He wouldn't put it past the man to step in and stop the killing stroke in some vague attempt to reconcile the girl with her father. “I plan to use him as a guard, nothing more."
"Then why not take me? My abilities make me more useful in that department. At least I'd be able to sense the zombies before they approached."
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. She was making perfectly good sense, and they both knew it.
“Nikki, I had a premonition—you come with us today, and you could fall into Jasper's hands."
"At last, some honesty.” She hesitated, face grim. “How safe am I at home? Jasper may not be able to cross a threshold uninvited, but the zombies can, can't they? What if he uses Monica as bait to lure you away?"
He had to acknowledge it was a possibility, however unlikely. “I doubt whether he would make such an attempt in daylight. If things went wrong, there would be little he could do to help the situation."
"Monica is my responsibility. It's my fault she's out there now. I won't be left behind on this, Michael." He stared at her for a long minute, then slowly, almost unwillingly, reached out, lightly cupping her cheek. She closed her eyes for a second, as if savoring his touch, then turned, brushing a kiss across his palm. Fire tingled where she touched, flared like pain deep in his heart.
"Why, Nikki?” he said, softly. “What is it about Monica that raises guilt in your heart?" She snapped away from his touch and rose angrily to her feet. “Keep out of my goddamn mind."
"It doesn't take telepathy to realize Monica reminds you of someone. You followed her beyond all good sense the other night. There has to be a reason."
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Maybe I'm just dedicated." And maybe she was just plain crazy. He met her gaze. “Who's Tommy?" She swore and spun away. She stopped at the windows, arms still crossed, shoulders tense. “Tommy died a long time ago. He has nothing to do with any of this." The rising tide of guilt in her suggested he had everything to do with it. “Monica reminds you of him, doesn't she?"
Though she still had her back to him, her bitter smile was an ache in his heart. “Actually, Monica reminds me more of me."
He couldn't see why. They were nothing alike. “Tell me about Tommy, Nikki." She shivered slightly. “There's nothing much to tell. He was the head of the street gang I ran with. He died when I was nearly seventeen. End of story."
Not if the pain in her heart was any indication. “Why were you on the streets? Did you run away?" She snorted softly. “No. My parents died, and I didn't like the home the authorities tried to shove me into."
The tide of guilt rose. So her parents’ deaths were also part of the reason she went after Monica. But why, if they had died before her life on the streets?
"How long were you a part of this gang?"
"Only four years.” She hesitated and rubbed her arms. “It seemed an eternity longer."
"Why didn't you stay with relatives?"
She snorted softly. “Because they thought me a witch, much the same as they thought my mother. They want nothing to do with me, even now."
He scrubbed a hand across his chin. None of this made sense. He'd met street kids many times over the years, and they all had one thing in common—a fierce, do anything to survive, nature. Most had been little more than feral animals, humanity almost lost in their quest for survival. As she'd said, four years was a long time on the streets; it was an experience that should have scarred her for life. Yet there was very little evidence of it, in her words or her actions.
"How were you involved with this Tommy?"
She stiffened. “That is none of your damn business."
Her voice was curt, thoughts suddenly chaotic. In many respects, that told him all he needed to know. Her relationship with Tommy had been sexual, and for some odd reason, she felt responsible for his death.
"Why does Monica remind you of him?"
"I told you, she doesn't."
"And yet you chase Monica because of Tommy."
