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Slowly she turned and put her hands against the wall, using it for support as she stood. No movement on the bed.
Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She turned around until her back was braced against the wall. Sick tension churned her stomach, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the padlock chaining the door closed. She lacked the time and energy for finesse; she hit the lock with all the psychic energy she could muster. It literally exploded, the noise reverberating around the room. She held her breath and watched the figures on the bed
Still no sign of movement. Maybe they were playing with her, toying with her hopes like a cat with a mouse. She had a sudden vision of reaching the door only to have Jasper reach out and grab her, destroying her last hope of freedom.
It would be the ultimate trick. The last straw. And there was nothing she could do but take the risk. Her legs were like rubber. Every step she took felt like a mile. She kept her gaze on Jasper and prayed he didn't move.
She reached the door and pushed it open. Beyond lay the steep ascent of stairs. Her prison, and their home, was a cellar of some kind.
Gripping the handrail, she dragged herself upward. The ache in her leg muscles became a scream, and it seemed to take forever to reach the top. When she reached the final step, she collapsed, bruising her knees and battling to catch her breath.
After a few precious seconds, she rose and staggered on, finding herself in a kitchen. Dust covered the mess time and vandals had caused. If the thickness of the dirt was any indication, the house had been abandoned for years.
Her hopes of quick rescue plummeted. She walked on, skirting shattered glass and smashed floorboards, seeking an exit. She had to hurry. Exhaustion was a huge wall threatening to topple her over. In the next room she discovered her clothes and shoes, thrown haphazardly in a corner. Her cross wasn't among her clothes—not that it mattered. Jasper had shown no fear of it when he'd ripped it from her neck.
She stopped long enough to throw on her jacket and jeans, and slip on her shoes. The rest she left. Time was moving, and so must she.
Panic crept past her guard and filled her limbs with energy. She ran down the corridor, no longer caring about the noise she made. The front door loomed before her—locked. She pushed with kinetic energy. The door exploded outward with enough noise to wake the dead.
She felt the urge to laugh insanely, and she clamped down on it hard. Madness was no escape—and of no use to her now.
Her eyes watered against the sudden glare of bright sunlight. She threw up a hand to protect them and staggered on. It didn't really matter where she ran, as long as it was away from the house and its occupants.
Stones scurried from under her feet. The harsh sound of traffic assaulted her ears. Blinking rapidly, she recognized shops, a mall milling with people. Safety. Jasper wouldn't find her in such a crowd. Wouldn't dare kidnap her with so many witnesses.
Wouldn't have to, when all he had to do was call her name...
Heart pounding unevenly, she ran, desperate to get lost in the evening crowds and the safe oblivion they offered her mind.
Dusk began to streak the sky with crimson sheets. She reeled like a drunkard and smacked into an old man. His curse followed her as she staggered on. She had to keep going, had to escape, before he came after her.
"Nikki!"
Her heart stopped. Oh lord, he'd found her! Without looking back, she ran on. Somehow, Jasper had found her. Terror lent her feet wings.
Nikki!
The shout reverberated through her. She bit back a cry of terror. He was after her. She had to keep on running.
Stop! Nikki, watch it...
A screech of tires filled her ears. Too late she became aware of the road, the traffic, and the red car rushing upon her.
She tried to dodge, but the car hit her. Agony exploded as oblivion swept in.
Chapter Ten
The heavy rumbling of traffic woke her some time later. Nikki shifted slightly, and silk rustled against her skin, bunching near her thigh. A faint scent clung to the material, warm, musty and recognizable. She smiled, wondering how she'd come to be wearing Michael's shirt. Opening her eyes, she studied the room. The sun peeped brightly behind the curtained window to her left, casting pinpoints of lights across the pale blue walls. Paint peeled from the smoke-stained ceiling above her, and from the small brown dresser next to the bed. It wasn't her room, or her dresser. Her heart skipped several beats. Where was she?
A hand rested lightly on hers, enclosing her fingers in warmth. Michael. She closed her eyes briefly and wished he'd take her in his arms, tell her that it had all been a nightmare, that everything would be all right. But he didn't move, and maybe that was just as well.
"What time is it?” she asked softly.
"Four in the afternoon."
The weariness in his voice tore at her heart. She turned around, but even such a small movement caused pain to run down her legs. She bit her lip, fighting the sudden sting of tears.
"Gently, Nikki. Your hip and left leg were badly grazed by the car." He sat in a chair next to the bed, bare feet propped on the mattress. He looked casual, yet there was nothing remotely casual in the way he studied her. In the dark depths of his eyes, she could see all her secrets, all her fears. All that had happened.
