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"Ski resort area,” MacEwan muttered. “I'll see what I can do." Nikki nodded and gulped down the rest of her drink. “You mind if I keep the watch for a while?" MacEwan's look was shrewd. “You intending to track down Kincaid?" She nodded. Just because they were near Yellowstone now didn't mean they would stay there, and Wyoming was a big place. She'd need something to help pin down his exact location.
"You said the man who took my niece had Wyoming plates,” MacEwan continued, his voice flat once again. “Don't suppose you'd want to take something of hers along and see if you can find anything once you're there?"
She had a feeling saying no wasn't an option. “I'll take the bra. Just don't expect miracles." He nodded. “And don't go anywhere before you give me that description." "I won't.” She rose and offered her hand to Sondra. “Sorry I couldn't be of more help." Sondra's grip was wet. “Thank you for trying."
The dam in her brown eyes was threatening to overflow again. Nikki quickly followed MacEwan out of the room.
He opened the front door then scowled down at her. “If you find anything on Rachel, no matter how small, I want to be told."
Or there would be serious consequences, she thought. “I'll see you this afternoon." The door slammed shut behind her. She stopped, studying the traffic flowing past. Despite the early hour, the air was already uncomfortably hot. She shaded her eyes and glanced up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight, despite the weathermen promising relief in the form of severe thunderstorms. In this day and age, how could they get it so wrong so often?
It was useless going home. Though she was dog-tired, she wouldn't sleep. Not in this heat, and not until she knew how Jake was.
She glanced back at MacEwan's house. Maybe she should use his phone and call a cab. But that would mean facing Sondra again. Nikki grimaced. She'd never been comfortable with overt displays of emotion—which, she thought bitterly, was part of the reason Michael had left. Besides, she doubted if she actually had enough cash on her to pay for a cab.
Taking a bus was definitely out as an option. Given it was nearly eight-thirty, the buses would be overflowing with the day's workers. She'd probably end up crammed nose first in someone's armpit. No thanks . But she'd left her car at the office, so her only other option was walking. She resolutely walked toward the business district.
It took nearly an hour to reach the single story office block that was the agency's home. She leaned her forehead against the door for several minutes, not having the energy to reach into her pocket and get the keys. Sweat dripped off her chin, splattering to the pavement, only to dry almost instantly. If you listened hard enough, she thought, you'd probably hear it sizzling.
Above the noise of the morning traffic came the soft whump-whump of rotor blades—a helicopter, flying low. She glanced up. A sleek black and silver machine swept from behind the buildings at the end of the street and flew towards her. It was low—too low really, unless they were intending to land. Trouble was, none of the nearby buildings had helipads big enough to handle a helicopter of that size. The nearest was down near the docks.
It swept over her building, the noise almost deafening, then did a sharp left and disappeared. The noise faded. Probably one of those traffic reporters checking the roads for the local radio station—though if that were the case, why had the windows been so darkly tinted? Shrugging, she entered the office, dumping the two plastic bags on her desk before walking across to the counter that held the coffeepot. Jake had left it on earlier, presuming they'd only be gone a few hours. She bit her lip, blinking back the sting of tears. Jake would be all right. He'd survived Jasper. Surely he could survive this. She grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. It looked strong enough to hold a stick upright, but she didn't care. The coffee was hot and, more importantly, full of caffeine. Just the sort of energy boost she needed. She headed back to her desk. Lights flashed madly on the phone, indicating several people had tried to call. She ignored them and picked up the phone book, sipping her coffee as she searched for the airline numbers.
It would probably cost a damn fortune to fly to Wyoming. But if she wanted to find Matthew fast, then flying was her only real option. Her car barely made it across town these days—driving to Wyoming was out of the question. She just had to hope the agency's credit card had enough left on it to cover the cost of the trip, because she certainly didn't have all that much left in the bank. Suddenly, the back of her neck tingled a warning, and she froze. Though she hadn't heard the door open, someone had come into the office...
"Hello Nikki,” Michael said softly behind her.
Chapter Six
For several seconds she simply sat there, unable to believe she'd heard his voice. Unwilling to turn around and perhaps discover a stranger.
"In very many ways I am a stranger,” he said softly. “We had less than a week together." His breath washed warmth across the back of her neck. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Why hadn't she felt him enter? Why did she feel nothing in the link between them but an odd sort of grey, when once it had been so full of color and emotion that she had feared its brightness? Now, of all times, when he was standing so close that the heat of his body caressed her skin, she should have felt the rainbow of his thoughts.
That she didn't scared the hell out of her.
"Nothing has happened to the link, Nikki. It is still there." His soft tones wrapped around her, warm and yet somehow wary. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Six months she'd waited to hear his voice. Six long months. Now he stood behind her, and she wasn't entirely sure what she should do or say.
"I used to know when you walked into the room, used to be able to feel you,” she said softly. “Even before the link became strong between us."
"Many things have changed."
"And some things haven't.” He was still talking in riddles, still not coming out with the entire truth. Last time it had led to death. She had a horrible feeling it just might again. He sighed. “Will you at least face me?"
She bit her lip and slowly turned. He stood at the end of her desk, a briefcase clutched in one hand, his knuckles almost white. His dark hair was longer than she remembered, and the finely chiselled planes of his cheeks sharper. He's lost weight , she thought. The arms that had once held her so tenderly seemed leaner, as if what little fat there was had been burned off, leaving only muscle. Her gaze dropped. His jeans were tight enough to show the sinewy strength of his legs ... legs that had once locked her close, as if he never meant to let her go.
But he had let her go. He'd walked away when she was in the hospital, not even waiting until she was conscious to say his good-byes.
As if she'd meant nothing to him.
"Why won't you look at me, Nikki?"
"Because I don't want to see the truth in your eyes,” she said quietly. A truth told by the silence in the link and the lack of emotion in his words and actions. A truth that knifed through her hopes and turned them to ashes.
He hadn't come back for her.
"I almost killed you six months ago. I'll not take the chance of it happening again." The edge of pain in his soft voice cut through her. He still cared, no matter how controlled, how distant, he seemed.
She lifted her gaze, finally meeting his.
