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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.
MacEwan took several puffs on his cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Any idea where?" Nikki shrugged. “The woman mentioned Yellowstone National Park, but that doesn't mean he's anywhere near there."
"Well, if it's Yellowstone, that pins it down to either Wyoming, Montana or Idaho,” MacEwan said dryly. “Don't suppose you care to be a little more specific?" She glanced at the watch still clenched in her hand. “Wyoming. He's in Wyoming.” The images reached for her again—images filled with lust and wanting. She shuddered and thrust the watch back in the bag. MacEwan sniffed. “Jackson is the biggest town near Yellowstone. I'll send a report to the sheriff's department, get them to keep an eye open."
"He's not in Jackson.” She frowned, concentrating on the ghostly images still flitting past the protection of the bag. “But some place called Jackson Hole."
