"Nikki? You okay?" Jake's question broke off as he swore softly and raced to her side. He knelt down beside her, his grip fierce on her shoulders. "What's happened?"
"Michael," she somehow gasped. "Oh God—"
Jake shook her. "Break the connection, Nik. We have to get moving if we're going to help him." She took a shuddering breath and forced a shield around her mind, blocking his pain as she'd been taught in psi lessons. "Okay," she said, as the pain eased to a muted, constant ache. Jake helped her upright. "Where?"
She gulped down fear and swiped the tears from her eyes. "Outside. To the left." He grabbed her hand, and they raced into the corridor and down the stairs. Her heart pounded as fast as her feet, but deep down she knew she was never going to be fast enough to rescue Michael. Already the sense of him was being stretched, suggesting he was moving away, fast. Given the pain and the curtain of darkness that billowed across the link between them, she didn't think he was moving under his own steam.
They raced down the pavement, slowing as they neared a side street. Nikki pulled Jake right, then came to an abrupt halt.
There was blood all over the concrete.
Her eyes widened, and she had to shove a hand to her mouth to stop her scream. She'd seen some horrible things in her time, but this was worse than anything.
Because it was Michael's blood.
Because there was so damn much of it.
"Hell," Jake muttered. He squeezed her hand then released it. "Wait here." Nikki took a deep, shuddering breath. "No."
Jake's gaze was rich with concern. "You don't need to see any more than you already have."
"That's his blood, Jake. It might provide some clues." She hesitated and closed her eyes. Michael's presence was moving farther and farther away. If they didn't give chase soon, they might lose him. "Get the car. I'll look around here."
Jake studied her, as if trying to decide if she was okay, then shrugged and jogged back around the corner to get the car. Nikki cautiously approached the blood and tried to keep a tight lid on the force of horror coursing through her. Don't think about the blood. Don't react to it. Just find Michael. It was a mantra she repeated as she knelt beside the dark stain. Lord, so much ... She took another deep breath and looked beyond the pool of wetness. No sign of a bullet, or whatever else had torn apart his shoulder. No sign of a fight. He must have gone down straight away. She glanced back to the blood. Camille had once said that clairvoyance was a strange gift and often bore fruit in the oddest places. If she touched the blood, would her second sight spring into action? Or would it be her psychometry that delved whatever secrets the blood might hold? Or would she simply end up with nothing more than bloody fingers?
There was only one way to find out.
She blew out a breath, closed her eyes, and slowly, carefully, dipped two fingers into the warm, sticky pool.