Murder Game (GhostWalkers 7)

Kadan swore as he turned away from her. She was gone from him. She had distanced herself from him and he felt the barrier even in her mind. He couldn't blame her. He even understood, but damn it all, she belonged to him, and the separation after sharing her body and her mind was unacceptable. He could barely breathe with the thought of losing her for good.

Reluctantly he handed her the game piece. It was a small stallion, anatomically correct. She took it between two fingers, turning it over and over. Her index finger began to stroke along the horse's neck, where there was no wild mane.

"He's the Italian Stallion. He likes being called that. He enjoys knowing he can manipulate women, and his friends know it. He makes the claim that it's their responsibility to keep their women away from him, not his."

"Italian Stallion is so trite. It's been done too many times."

Her gaze jumped to his face. "I'm sure it has."

He wasn't Italian, but he felt like she was accusing him of seducing her. Damn it. Maybe he had. He hadn't told her the story of his childhood on purpose. It had slipped out. He'd been horrified, but he couldn't stop talking, couldn't stop the flow once the dam had been pierced. He hadn't told the story to seduce her, or even to gain sympathy. He was in her mind. Sharing each other. He saw her. Saw inside of her. She was--everything.

Tansy studied the carving from every angle. "He wants this identity more than he wants his own. He encourages this one. Mostly they just call him Stallion. Who are they?"

Her finger was mesmerizing, rubbing the neck back and forth, almost in a caress. Kadan remembered the feel of her fingers stroking over his shaft. He'd been so hard. So thick. He'd never been quite like that before, full to bursting. Looking at her, with her hair all over the place, no makeup and that remote look on her face, his heart contracted. And yes, even now, the breeze carried the faint scent of cinnamon, although now it mixed with his scent.

"His friends," Kadan guessed.

"They're close but apart. They hide in the shadows. The night is ours."

His head came up alertly. "What the hell are you saying?" He snatched the game piece from her hand. "What do you mean by that?"

Tansy turned her shimmering eyes on him. Now he knew what those eyes did. They saw inside, where people never were meant to see. She was seeing too much. Where was the ice in his veins? Where was his cool?

"I didn't mean anything. I saw the words, that's all. He believes he is invincible at night." She pulled off the gloves and dropped them on the table as if she couldn't bear them against her skin.

Kadan shook his head. "I don't believe it. There aren't that many of us. Eight? Eight killers? GhostWalkers?" He shook his head again. "I won't believe that."

"So the phrase has meaning to you?"

He glanced at her sharply. She'd grown up around detectives, and her question, in that casual voice, sounded just like one.

"You're my partner," he said gruffly, staking his claim. "Don't forget that." Before she denied it, he shoved up his sleeve.

"Oh my God, how did I not see you were hurt last night?" Tansy asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's nothing. A scratch. I sewed it up. I'm showing you the tattoo."

There was an expectant silence. At first she didn't see anything on his arm, but then when he released a little bit of psychic energy, allowing it to swirl close to her, she could see the strange crest.

"The GhostWalker crest. The night is ours. It's in our creed," he explained, his expression grim. "I don't believe in coincidence. But eight . . . That would be an entire team." He shook his head. "No way, Tansy. I know them all."

"They're under a lot of strain. You know it better than anyone, Kadan," she said softly, watching him carefully. "The headaches, the continual pressure of the outside world, it could drive anyone insane. I ought to know."

"But you didn't brutally kill people. And you sure as hell haven't done it for fun. These bastards are doing it for fun."

She rubbed at the frown creasing her forehead. "So why are the GhostWalkers under suspicion? I'm not certain I get that part."

She still had blood at the side of her mouth. He hated the sight of it. Pouring water onto a cloth, he closed the distance between them. "So far we have ten murders. Five on each coast. Each was somewhat similar but very different and each had a game piece left on-site, some game pieces being used more than once."

"That doesn't explain the GhostWalker tie-in."

"You jumped over me, Tansy. Right over the top of me," Kadan pointed out. "You know we're genetically enhanced and can do things other people can't. There are strong indicators that whoever is committing these crimes can do things that would be deemed impossible. Most of the murders on the West Coast have occurred in either Seattle or Tacoma, Washington. The murders in North Carolina are near the base there as well. We believe whoever is committing them is in the service."

"Where are the GhostWalkers?"

"Scattered around, on missions. They have residences, of course, but they are often on both coasts."

"Has anyone tried to eliminate them as suspects? If they're in the military, someone has to know where they are on any given day, don't they?"

Kadan noted that Tansy was swaying, her hands still unsteady, although she tried to cover it up. He stepped closer to her, ignoring the way she stiffened when he put his arm around her waist to steady her. "The GhostWalkers operate outside ordinary parameters. They don't answer to anyone but their team leader and either the general or the admiral. Both men run teams. The missions are classified and often involve travel outside the United States without a paper trail. In other words, it is difficult to tell where the truth is because once set loose, they have the ability to travel in and out of the country and even state to state without anyone knowing. Of course we're checking into that as fast as we can, but it isn't easy, especially since I can't reveal the investigation to them or the fact that they're under suspicion."

"And they were all out of the country?"

He shook his head. "No one can confirm their whereabouts but other GhostWalkers. The general consensus seems to be that they would alibi one another."

"Would they?"

He sighed. Would they? Of course they would. Another shiver drew his undivided attention to her. Up close, touching her soft skin was a kind of private hell. He tipped her face back, taking no notice of her flinch, and dabbed away the remaining blood. "Sit down before you fall down." When she didn't respond, he took her arm and forcibly led her back to the sleeping bag. Her body was trembling, but it was her eyes that bothered him. She jerked, stared off for a moment, and then came back shivering.

"I'm all right." The words were mumbled, and twice she pressed her hand to her head.

"The headache's coming."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm used to them. I have pills somewhere." She looked around a little helplessly. Her body jerked again and her eyes stared.

"Damn it, Tansy, you're having seizures." He lifted her, cradling her close, holding her there for a moment, dropping his head against hers briefly, before laying her down on the makeshift bed.

"I know. It happens. The headache is worse." She rolled away from him and curled up in a tight ball. "I have to cover my eyes."

"Where are your sunglasses?" He was already up and looking for them, rummaging through the bags he'd packed, looking for her prescription.

She didn't answer, but started to rock, one hand shielding her sensitive eyes.

"This happened every time you chased a killer?"

She mumbled her reply, the words unintelligible, but he felt the assent in his mind.

"And people think I'm crazy."

Kadan settled down beside her, supporting her head with his palm, pushing the pills into her mouth and then holding the water bottle for her. She groaned softly at the movement, but obediently swallowed the medicine.

You don't have to stay with me. She wanted him gone, hating to have anyone see her this way. Vulnerable. Mind gone. Nearly in

sane. Hurting. It hurt so bad.

Kadan stroked back her wild hair, his fingers lingering in the silky strands. "Don't talk. Don't use telepathy, it only makes the headache worse. Go to sleep, Tansy."

She'd done this since she was thirteen. No training. No exercises to help her form barriers between the violent energy and her wide open brain. What possible reason could Whitney have had, allowing her to suffer? Was it another of his insane experiments? He had obviously documented each incident, insisting on examining and debriefing her each time she used her ability to track a serial killer. Had he wanted to see how long it took to break her?

She shivered, her body trembling as the overload fully hit. Swearing, he stretched out beside her, using his body heat to warm her. Her skin was cold, her eyes nearly opaque. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, curling so that his body protected hers. She fit. She was made for him. Whitney couldn't have done that. Kadan chose not to believe it was the pheromones. Pheromones couldn't make him feel anything but physical attraction, which he had in spades, but there was so much more.

He had long since ceased to be emotional, yet he was now--with her. Alone, with her falling into a fitful sleep, he could allow himself a little emotion. And his mission wasn't worth destroying her completely. He would find another way. There was always another way.

Her body jerked and she cried out, pressing both hands to her head.

His hands went to her shoulders, massaging gently, then moved to her neck in an attempt to ease the tension out of her. "Shh, baby, just sleep. I'm not going to make you do this. I'll find a way around all this. Just go to sleep for me."

She settled a little. He couldn't be certain if it was his reassurance, or the massage, but she seemed quieter. He moved her hair aside and bent his head to kiss the nape of her neck. "I'm going to tell them you've lost your abilities, but then you need to stay out of sight until I wrap this up." He spoke aloud more for himself than for her.

He felt her body stiffen. Her long, wet lashes fluttered, lifted, and she looked at him, her eyes so light they appeared violet.