"But why send a vampire—and a sick one at that—to greet guests? That doesn't make any sense."

"And probably won't until we discover exactly what is happening at the resort." She thrust a hand through her hair. “I don't like the feel of this, Michael."

"Then go home."

She snorted softly. “Go home. Keep safe. Is that your answer to everything?"

"It's only sensible. You're out of your league on this one." Yeah, right. And wouldn't sending her home suit him right down to the ground—at least then he wouldn't have to worry about her hanging around upsetting his precious resolves. “And you're not? You've already admitted black magic is not a field you're familiar with. Besides, I made a commitment to find Matthew Kincaid, and I have no intention of going anywhere until I do.” And no intention of going anywhere once she did.

Annoyance stirred around her. She frowned, wondering why the link surged to life only when his emotions got the better of his control.

"Matthew may not even be at the resort,” he said steadily.

"Then I'll use his watch to discover his exact position and rescue him.” She raised an eyebrow. “You're not going to get rid of me that easily, you know."

"So you keep saying.” He sighed and gestured toward the airport terminal. “We'd better get back and see if we can find our chauffeur."

"And what about him?” she said, pointing to the wet remains.

"Let his employers worry about him.” He grabbed the cart then lightly touched her arm. “Let's go." They walked back to the terminal. There were fewer people around this time. Most of their fellow passengers had obviously found transportation to whisk them from the airport. Michael grabbed a soda from a dispensing machine and handed it across to her. She sipped it warily, not wanting to upset her stomach but needing to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth. Just inside the main doors, a chauffeur dressed in blue and red waited, holding a sign with the name Kelly marked on it. With him was another couple—a man in his mid-sixties and his much younger, very busty, blonde wife.

"I'm Kelly,” Michael said. “Sorry we're late. My wife was feeling sick and had to get some fresh air." The driver nodded. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his plain face suntanned and bored looking.

“Would you mind if we take Mr. and Mrs. Rodeman with us? It appears their chauffeur has disappeared."

"Really? Well, sure, that's no problem.” He held out his hand to the older man. “Michael Kelly."

"Lucas Rodeman and my wife, Ginger."

There was more than a hint of pride in the old man's voice. He touched his wife's arm, patting her gently. It reminded Nikki of the time Jake had won the amateur's trophy at the local golf club. He'd caressed the trophy in much the same manner—as if he couldn't quite believe his luck and just had to keep touching it to ensure it was real.

"Hello,” Ginger said, her voice throaty and mellow.

She held out a limp-looking hand. Michael shook it quickly, then touched Nikki's back, his hand sliding a little, as if wiping away the feel of the woman's fingers.

She held out her hand. “Nikki.” She shook Lucas's hand and moved on to Ginger's. The blonde's fingers wrapped around hers—cold, clammy, and holding little strength. Yet heat rushed up Nikki's arm at her touch, burning through her body, her mind. She stared at the blonde's vacant blue eyes and saw only fire. Fingers of red heat reached out, flooding her mind with images. A figure in black, chanting words that compelled. Ghostly forms that were nothing more than flame rising from the rocks, bending before the will of the words. Anger and humiliation and a hurt so deep it burned the air around it...

The blonde's eyes widened slightly. Under the harsh brightness of the terminal lights, a myriad of scars seemed to cobweb the left side of her face and neck. Nikki wrenched her hand away, her legs suddenly weak.

Michael's hands went around her waist, steadying her. “Are you okay?" Concern filled the air, and his voice seemed to be a million miles away. She didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Her throat was so dry it felt like it had been burned. Darkness whirled through her mind, and her whole body was trembling as if her strength had been sucked away by heat. As consciousness slipped, she stared into the blonde's eyes and knew one thing. Ginger Rodeman wasn't human.

Chapter Nine

Michael held onto Nikki tightly as she collapsed. She was limp and shivering, yet her skin burned so fiercely he could feel the heat though her clothes.

He gathered her in his arms and glanced at the chauffeur. “Would you mind grabbing the bags for me?"

"Is she going to be okay?” Concern flitted across Rodeman's pudgy features. “She doesn't have anything contagious, does she?"

"No, I just think she's eaten something that disagreed with her on the plane,” Michael said, though he knew it was anything but.

Rodeman seemed placated by his comment. Michael touched the old man's thoughts—he wasn't thinking of anything more than getting his wife to the hotel—and bed. Ginger was a different matter entirely. Her thoughts were a vast well of emptiness. It was almost as if there was nothing there. He frowned. What in the hell had gone on? He'd felt the surge of electricity through the link. For a second, it had felt as bright as flames. Then it had died, and Nikki collapsed. Was the blonde at fault, or had something else happened?

He wouldn't know until Nikki woke, and until then Rodeman and his wife weren't going to get beyond his sight. No matter what it took or what he had to do.

He followed the chauffeur out to the limousine. Nikki was featherlight in his arms. She certainly hadn't gained any weight in the six months he'd been away, and he wasn't surprised. She'd barely eaten enough to keep a gnat alive back then, and he doubted if his walking out on her would have improved her appetite any.

The chauffeur opened the rear door. Michael placed Nikki on the seat then climbed in beside her. He pillowed her head on his thigh and carefully brushed the hair from her closed eyes. Her skin still burned but, thankfully, the heat was at least abating. He reached down the link between them. Her thoughts were beginning to stir. Confusion and fear were uppermost in her mind, fogging the lingering images. But the reflection of flames came through clear and strong. Why? What was it about the blonde's touch that conjured so much heat in her mind and body?

Rodeman and his wife climbed into the limousine and made themselves comfortable on the opposite seat. The chauffeur leaned in the doorway. “There's some ice water in the refrigerator. And there are linen cloths beside the fruit platter. Might help if you cool her down a little."

"Let me,” Ginger said.

Her mellow tones set his teeth on edge. She took a small bottle of water from the refrigerator and carefully wet the cloth before holding it out.

"Thanks,” he said, managing to keep his voice neutral despite the anger surging through him—an anger that was born not only from worry, but his own inability to protect her. Damn it, this was the precise reason he couldn't afford to have her in his life.

He touched the cloth to Nikki's forehead. She sighed, and awareness surged through the link. He only partially raised his barriers. He needed to know what had happened, and the only way to do that immediately was to use the link.

Michael?

Her mind voice was full of uncertainty, as if she feared that by simply acknowledging it the link would disappear again. As it would once he knew what had happened to her. Are you okay? He wiped her cheeks and neck, then placed the cloth back on her forehead. Her sigh shimmered through him. Yes. I just wasn't expecting that to happen. What exactly did happen?

Confusion surged, touched by fear. I'm not sure. But my psychometry ability has been taking some strange turns lately. First I go so deep into Matthew's mind that I actually start acting out what he's doing, and now this. When I touched Ginger's hand, I was hit by images. Weird images, filled with flames and chanting and emotions .

He frowned slightly. Going deep into Matthew's mind didn't really surprise him. She'd had the psychic strength and the capability to do it all along, but she hadn't realized it until he'd merged their minds with Jake in an effort to find where Jasper had him hidden. But touching the blonde's hand and seeing images was something she should not have been able to do. That was a form of clairvoyance, and as she said, her gift was seeing the past from inanimate objects, not humans. What do you think these images were? Nightmares lingering on the surface of her thoughts, perhaps?

No. They were memories. Ginger isn't human. I'm not sure what in hell she is. Michael glanced out the window for several seconds, watching the dark landscape go by. Four hearts beat steadily into the silence—Nikki's, the chauffeurs, Rodeman and his wife. Ginger looked, sounded, and smelled human. If she wasn't, then she was the best damn imitation he'd ever seen. What exactly did you see?

The images didn't make any sense.

Tell me. Whether they make sense or not doesn't matter right now. Seline might see their meaning, even if he couldn't. He had to contact the old witch before the morning, anyway, to let her know they'd arrived safely.

Okay. She hesitated. Heat whispered across the link, embers of memories stirred briefly to life. There was a man dressed in black, chanting. His words seemed to compel flames from the rock. I could feel anger, humiliation and hurt. Whether it belonged to the figure or the flames I'm not sure. Is Ginger evil?

Confusion washed through the line, a timorous wave of yellow. Michael frowned, wondering why her emotions seemed to come through as colors. Odd, to say the least. She's not evil—she's not anything. She just is.

His frown deepened. How could someone not be anything ? It didn't make any sense. Her sigh shimmered. I told you it didn't make any sense . She was reading his thoughts again. The link had to be more open than he'd thought. I told them you'd eaten something on the plane that disagreed with you.

Okay. She hesitated. Just for an instant, her spirit reached out to his, entwining them in a dance that was gentle and yet shocking in intensity. Then she was gone, from his thoughts and his soul, leaving him aching for more.

"Shouldn't have eaten that chicken,” she murmured aloud.

He touched her face, his fingers still trembling from the power of the dance. “I did warn you about airline food,” he said softly. “You feeling any better?"

She looked up at him, her dark amber eyes filled with laughter and longing. At that moment he knew she was going to make it as hard as she possibly could for him to walk away a second time. But walk he would.

Because he'd rather see her lonely than dead. Because he didn't want to see her used in some madman's sick plot of revenge against him. Jasper had tried and failed, but others might succeed.

"A little,” she said, then glanced across at Rodeman and his wife. “Sorry about fainting on you. I think it was a combination of bad food and the heat."

"Don't you worry about it, little lady. Why, Ginger here, she faints all the time." Ginger smiled and patted her husband's hand. “I have only fainted once in the time we have been together. That, too, was caused by something I ate."

Her voice still grated against his nerves. Why? It wasn't exactly harsh on the ears. “How long have you two been married?"

"Three moons,” she said. Heat crept across her pale cheeks. “Three months, I mean." Michael raised an eyebrow. Moons was an interesting phrase to use.

"Moons, months, who cares, huh?” Rodeman chuckled and clasped wife's hand. His touch seemed more possessive than gentle. “As long as we're happy, time don't mean a damn." Michael had a feeling it was an expression often repeated. Maybe he was trying to convince himself as much as everyone else. “So this is not your honeymoon?"

"Hell, no. But Ginger was feeling poorly, and I thought a holiday might do her some good."

"What made you come here?” Nikki said softly. She wasn't looking at Ginger or Rodeman, but at some point in between them. Perhaps she was trying to get a reading on the blonde. "I asked to come.” Ginger shrugged. “I have never been here before, and I have heard much about it."

"Did you hear about Vance Hutton's disappearance?” Michael asked casually. Ginger didn't react. Didn't blink. Rodeman almost slipped off the seat. “Hutton disappeared? When?

How?"

"Walked out on his wife a few days ago and hasn't been seen since."

"Well, I'll be damned,” Rodeman muttered. “Didn't they just get married?"

"A week ago. They were on their honeymoon."

"Just as well we're not then, huh doll?"

Ginger's smile was ghostly. Sadness crept into her eyes, only to disappear when she blinked.

"What about you folks?” Rodeman continued. “You honeymooners?" Michael smiled and glanced down at Nikki. Her gaze was still caught by some point between the Rodemans. Worry snaked through him. What was she seeing? “Married two days ago."

"I guess that means we won't be seeing much of you in the next few days then.” Rodeman's laugh was like the man, big and affable.

"Probably not.” He shrugged. Unless the Rodemans’ were night owls, it was doubtful whether they'd see them at all.

The limousine pulled to a gentle stop. The driver climbed out and opened the doors. Rodeman edged forward on the seat. “Been nice meeting you folks. Come and have a drink with us sometime in the next couple of days."