He had to acknowledge it was a possibility, however unlikely. “I doubt whether he would make such an attempt in daylight. If things went wrong, there would be little he could do to help the situation."
"Monica is my responsibility. It's my fault she's out there now. I won't be left behind on this, Michael." He stared at her for a long minute, then slowly, almost unwillingly, reached out, lightly cupping her cheek. She closed her eyes for a second, as if savoring his touch, then turned, brushing a kiss across his palm. Fire tingled where she touched, flared like pain deep in his heart.
"Why, Nikki?” he said, softly. “What is it about Monica that raises guilt in your heart?" She snapped away from his touch and rose angrily to her feet. “Keep out of my goddamn mind."
"It doesn't take telepathy to realize Monica reminds you of someone. You followed her beyond all good sense the other night. There has to be a reason."
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Maybe I'm just dedicated." And maybe she was just plain crazy. He met her gaze. “Who's Tommy?" She swore and spun away. She stopped at the windows, arms still crossed, shoulders tense. “Tommy died a long time ago. He has nothing to do with any of this." The rising tide of guilt in her suggested he had everything to do with it. “Monica reminds you of him, doesn't she?"
Though she still had her back to him, her bitter smile was an ache in his heart. “Actually, Monica reminds me more of me."
He couldn't see why. They were nothing alike. “Tell me about Tommy, Nikki." She shivered slightly. “There's nothing much to tell. He was the head of the street gang I ran with. He died when I was nearly seventeen. End of story."
Not if the pain in her heart was any indication. “Why were you on the streets? Did you run away?" She snorted softly. “No. My parents died, and I didn't like the home the authorities tried to shove me into."
The tide of guilt rose. So her parents’ deaths were also part of the reason she went after Monica. But why, if they had died before her life on the streets?
"How long were you a part of this gang?"
"Only four years.” She hesitated and rubbed her arms. “It seemed an eternity longer."
"Why didn't you stay with relatives?"
She snorted softly. “Because they thought me a witch, much the same as they thought my mother. They want nothing to do with me, even now."
He scrubbed a hand across his chin. None of this made sense. He'd met street kids many times over the years, and they all had one thing in common—a fierce, do anything to survive, nature. Most had been little more than feral animals, humanity almost lost in their quest for survival. As she'd said, four years was a long time on the streets; it was an experience that should have scarred her for life. Yet there was very little evidence of it, in her words or her actions.
"How were you involved with this Tommy?"