"A boy?” Jake asked incredulously.
She nodded. “All of maybe sixteen. As solid as a brick wall and as mad as a March hare." Jake sighed and scratched at the ginger stubble lining his chin. “Just what we need. Another psychotic in Lyndhurst."
"Lyndhurst specializes in this sort of thing, does it?” Michael asked, the mild amusement in his voice at odds with the sudden interest in his face.
Jake gave him a sour look. “Lately it seems to."
"Enough!” Trevgard's gravely voice cut in. “This is not doing anything to find my daughter." Though she hated admitting it, he was right. She finished her coffee and rose. Trevgard took several steps forward, his body radiating the anger she could feel in his thoughts. He was ready for a confrontation. Wanted it.
"I'm coming,” he announced. “I'll not run the risk of losing her a second time." His company was the last thing she needed. She'd be too aware of his anger and disbelief to concentrate on the fragile images that would lead her to Monica.
"No,” Jake said. “Leave this to the experts."
"And I suppose he's an expert?” Trevgard sneered, jutting his chin in Michael's direction.
"Well, he's not someone I'd tackle on a dark and gloomy night,” Jake replied with a wry grin. Trevgard grunted and looked away. She glanced across at Michael. He stood beside her desk, arms crossed as he regarded Trevgard thoughtfully. He looked casual, yet there was something menacing about him, something that spoke of a fighter ready to step into the ring. He certainly wasn't someone she'd want to tackle on a dark night, either. He met her gaze and raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging one edge of his generous mouth. She licked her lips and looked away. Damn. She'd have to remember to watch what she was thinking.
She grabbed her keys and jacket and walked towards the door.
"Remember, use the damn phone,” Jake called. “Let me know what's happening." She acknowledged his order with a wave of her hand, and stepped outside. A blast of wintry air greeted her. She shivered and quickly put on her jacket. Michael stopped beside her, his gaze searching the streets, as if looking for someone. And while the light cotton sweater he wore emphasized the width of his shoulders very nicely, it couldn't have held much warmth. She frowned and hurried down the steps to her car. Lots of people didn't feel the cold, so why was she bothered by the fact that he didn't?
"Would you prefer it if I drove?” Michael asked as she opened the passenger's door. She hesitated. If he drove she could concentrate on finding the right building, and Monica. Nodding, she handed him the keys, then climbed in and fastened the seat belt.
"Where to?” he asked, starting the car.
She closed her eyes and tried to pin down the elusive images. “Head for the docks. I'll know more when we get there."
"That's not where I expected him to be.” He swung the car around and headed east. An odd prickle of unease ran down her spine. Michael knew her attacker. Knew him well enough to know his habits. “Why?"