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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.
She wrapped her fingers around it. Though her palm tingled, no images rushed from the cross's silver heart. He was still unconscious, and there was no telling yet just how badly he'd been hurt. But if the muted ache pounding through her brain was anything to go by, his wounds were serious. Maybe not enough to kill, but certainly enough to maim him longer than any of them had before they faced Farmer.
She walked back to Jake. “We should go back to the hotel and plan what we're going to do next." Jake's expression was shocked. “You're not going after him?" She held out her hand and showed him the cross. “Michael would never have left it. We both know he wouldn't want me to follow him, no matter how deadly his situation. Farmer took it off. He's the one who wants us to follow."
"And if we don't, he might just kill Michael."
She took a deep breath. It didn't calm the churning in her stomach or the fear pounding through her heart. “He won't until he gets his hands on me. So we keep away until we have a surefire way of killing the bastard."
"That's not going to be easy. For a start, we don't even know what he looks like."
"I'll know him when I see him.” If only because the scent of evil was never easily disguised. Jake nodded. “Then let's get back."
He led the way out the door. They walked quickly through the damp night, and while she could find no scent of evil in the darkness that swirled damply around them, it was a huge relief when the warm lights of the hotel finally came into sight.
The woman manning the reception desk looked up as they entered. “Miss James? A parcel has arrived for you."
Jake raised an eyebrow. “You expecting anything?"
She shook her head. “But Michael was. Seline was sending him a charm of some sort."
"Ah, the mystery lady who runs the Circle. We ever going to get to meet her?" Nikki gave him a dirty look as she picked up the small, wrapped box. “I can't even get him to talk about her—which is one of the things we were arguing about."
"Ah. Sorry, Nik."
She shrugged. Their argument wasn't what mattered right now. Getting Michael back safely was.
"You want something to eat?” Jake continued as they made their way across to the elevators. She shook her head. “I very much suspect if I eat anything right now, I might just throw up." He looked at her, then touched her elbow and drew her into his embrace. “He'll be okay,” he said softly.
“Michael's survived for more than three centuries. It'll take more than a psycho like Farmer to destroy him."
She closed her eyes, fighting tears. She couldn't cry. Wouldn't cry. Not until Michael was safe. A bell chimed into the silence, announcing the elevator's arrival. She didn't move and neither did Jake, and for that she was glad. In many ways, he'd become almost a father to her, and right now, she needed a father's comforting. Needed to be held. Needed to be told it would turn out all right—even if the words were nothing more than a lie.
It was several minutes before she sniffed and pulled away. Forcing a smile, she said, “Thanks." He nodded, thumbing a tear from her cheek. “Michael's a survivor. Remember that, if nothing else. And there's no way on this Earth he's going to give up life until he's had a chance to tell you off for walking out on him like you did."
