The bracelet told her nothing. Nor could she really expect it to—it was Monica's, not Jasper's. Mouth dry, she turned the handle and opened the door. The air that rolled out to greet her was thick with age and a musty dampness that spoke of leaking pipes. She swept the light across the layers of darkness. It revealed the slimy floor but little else.
A hand came down on her shoulder, and her heart almost stopped. She screamed and spun, only to find the priest she'd seen earlier in the church grounds. She swallowed and gave him a somewhat shaky smile. “Father, you gave me a fright."
"It was not my intention, I assure you.” His voice was gentle, as if he feared he was talking to someone not quite sane. “I merely wanted to know what you were doing down here." Should she lie? She eyed him for a moment then decided against it. Something in his green eyes told her he's seen enough of life to know the truth from a lie.
"I'm a private investigator.” She pulled her wallet out of her jacket and shone the flashlight on her license.
“I got a tip that an escaped criminal was hiding in your cellar." The priest frowned. “I don't see how. The doors are kept locked, and I've seen no one strange about." No one but herself, she surmised from his look. “The side door and this one were both open, Father. Have you checked them lately?"
"Not this one."
"Then my informant may be right.” She glanced over her shoulder. Something stirred in the darkness—or was it only her imagination?
"Is this criminal dangerous?"
Why wouldn't he just leave? If Monica stirred, the priest was in danger. Nikki doubted if his robes would offer much protection. “Yes, she's dangerous."
"Then I think we should call the police."
She glanced back to the dark cellar. At least the priest would be out of the way if he went to call the police. And maybe it would be better if the cops were the ones to drag Monica into the sunlight and death. As long as they arrived well before sunset, there shouldn't be any sort of danger. With Monica out of the way, the only nightmare left would be Jasper. Foreboding pulsed across her skin. “Call them, then. Tell them Monica Trevgard is trapped in this basement. I'll stay here to ensure she doesn't escape."
His gaze widened at the mention of Monica's name, then he nodded and moved back up the stairs. Nikki watched his retreat. Did he know Monica? Maybe she should warn him what might happen ... She shook her head and leaned against a wall. Priest or not, he wouldn't believe her. The minutes ticked by, and the silence grew heavier. She glanced at her watch. Perhaps the priest had decided to call the loony bin first, just to ensure she wasn't an escaped nutcase. She cast her senses into the basement, checking that Monica was still there. The wash of evil was answer enough.
A few minutes later she heard the sirens. Yet she couldn't escape the notion that something was wrong, that she was doing something she shouldn't. But they had to get rid of Monica, for everyone's safety. Didn't they?
Footsteps pounded down the hall. She rubbed her arms, wishing they'd hurry. MacEwan clomped down the steps and stopped beside her. “This better not be one of your tricks." His breath washed over her, and she screwed up her nose. Too bad garlic didn't effect vampires. “It's not. She's all yours."
She offered him her flashlight, but he shook his head and produced one of his own. “Jenkins, make sure she stays put. You other two, follow me."