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Michael? She thrust the link wide and called with every ounce of strength she had. There was no response. His mind wasn't shuttered, simply lost in a fog she could not traverse. A fog she'd felt once before—when Jasper had drugged her to stop her using her talents to contact Michael. If she'd sucked away his strength, if he couldn't use his talents because his mind was warped by drugs, he couldn't protect himself—not in any way.
Panic tore through her heart. He couldn't die ... not now, not when there were so many things left unsaid between them.
Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to regain some sense of control. Don't think. Don't feel. React .
She pushed to her knees and grabbed the cell phone from her pocket, quickly dialing Jake.
"Where are you?” she asked, the minute he answered.
"Down at Fisherman's Wharf.” He hesitated, and concern touched his voice as he continued. “Why?"
"Because Michael's in trouble. Meet me near the Hard Rock on Van Ness Avenue." She hung up and climbed to her feet. She thought briefly about catching a cab but knew it was probably faster to run, even though the peak of rush hour had come and gone. So she ran. The fog slapped wetly against her skin, soaking her hair and dribbling down her face. Or maybe that was tears. She didn't know. Didn't care. Her heart pounded a rhythm that was as fast and fearful as every step, yet deep inside she knew no matter how fast she was, it was never going to be enough. Not to save Michael from the damage Farmer was inflicting.
Maybe not even to save his life.
A sob escaped her lips. She put a hand to her mouth and kept on running. The streets, the lights, the people still out and about, blurred around her. All she wanted—all she could think about—was Michael. She swung onto Van Ness. Heard rather than saw the Hard Rock. Did see Jake, pacing impatiently out front. She slowed, then stopped.
He took one look at her face and swore softly. “Where is he?"
"Not here.” She bent, leaning her hands against her knees, her entire being shuddering as she sucked in great gasps of air. “But close."
"If there's any hope of rescuing him, we have to hurry, Nik." They didn't have a hope of finding him let alone rescuing him. Not right now. She knew that without a doubt. But they had to try. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least try. She pushed upright and studied the night. The pull of his presence came from up ahead. “This way,” she said.
"What's happened?” Jake's quick steps seemed to echo against the sidewalk while hers made no sound at all. It was almost as if she were part of the night, as silent as the breeze. Or Michael.
Her breath caught somewhere in her throat. Don't think. Don't feel . Not yet. “I don't know exactly. I just know I can't touch his mind, and that Farmer has beaten the crap out of him."
"Drugged?"
She nodded tightly and wondered how in hell something like that had happened. He was usually so careful ... but then, maybe it was a little hard to concentrate when someone you loved had just threatened to walk out of your life. Guilt swirled, but she pushed that away, too. She had no time for guilt or fear or anything else beyond determination.
She'd save him from Farmer. Find him, save him, and somehow kill Farmer in the process. She swung right and made her way down a smaller street. An old restaurant came into sight, its windows boarded up but door gone.
This was it. This was where they'd been. Where they no longer were. Jake stopped beside her. “Anyone there?"
She shook her head, her gaze searching the street, trying to catch some sense of where Farmer had taken Michael. Instinct suggested they were heading northwest. But it also suggested they shouldn't follow. Not yet.
Jake looked around, then stepped past the shattered doorway into the old restaurant. She followed him inside.
He bent and studied several dark smudges on the floor. “Blood.” His voice was as grim as his expression when he looked up.
She swallowed bile and somehow managed to say, “He's alive, Jake. Farmer wants to use him as bait."
"So what the hell are we going to do? The two of us are pretty much next to useless when it comes to fighting a vampire and his horde."
"Maybe.” She moved past him into the deeper darkness. There was something here that teased the outer reaches of her psychic senses. Something she had to find. “There are ways we can protect ourselves, at least."
"I thought garlic and holy water didn't work."
She edged forward and held out her hand. Energy tingled across her fingertips, warning she was close.
“It doesn't. But silver does. Wooden stakes do."
"So does shooting the bastard's head off,” Jake said. “I'd rather be armed with a gun any day."
"Gun's don't frighten vampires. They tend to think they're beyond them.” She knelt and brushed her fingers against the old tiles, touching a sliver of metal.
It was the cross she'd given Michael when they first met. Farmer must have torn it from his neck, because Michael would never have left this here willingly. Michael knew she'd use it to follow him—and that was something he'd never want.
