Toxic Game (GhostWalkers 15)

Without a word, Shylah ran around Draden to take the lead position. She had a very good sense of direction and her feet always seemed to find the places to set down without making noise. It had been that way as long as she could remember. She wasn’t too hot or too cold, no matter where she was, even with her clothes and body soaking wet. Her shoes squished a little, but that was the only real sound she made as she ran.

She listened for Draden, wondering if he made the weird little squelching noises, but couldn’t hear him. She refused to look over her shoulder. Instead, she played a game with herself, listening intently for things such as breathing, his footfall, the whisper of his clothing. Occasionally she thought she felt water drops raining down on her back, but that would mean he was actually running in her exact steps, and how could he at night? In the dark? With a head injury.

It can’t be good for you running with a head injury.

I’ll make it.

And you had an open wound. You don’t know what’s in that water. You could easily get an infection.

He was silent, and she shook her head, embarrassed as realization dawned. The last thing he had to worry about was infection, not when he’d been exposed to the virus.

I’m sorry, that was stupid. I just wasn’t thinking.

No worries.

How are you with jumping? Climbing? She preferred the arboreal highway. It was one place the terrorists rarely checked. Not like Whitney’s supersoldier teams she’d had to go up against. They always checked. They knew Whitney used genetic enhancements and they weren’t about to forget to check the trees.

Lead the way.

Did he sound tired? Sick? Probably more like a man with a head injury. He’d killed a lot of men tonight. Moving that fast, exerting that much energy, had to have taken a toll. Just watching him had taken a toll on her.

Coming up on the tree we need. The first branch is about six feet off the ground. It’s strong. We climb another ten feet and go from there.

She’d made the jump countless times and maybe she was showing off a bit for him. He seemed so good at everything and she was ashamed of panicking when the dead guy had stared at her. He had shared he hated needles, but she didn’t really believe him. No one who hated needles that much would choose to be a doctor, would they? She didn’t slow down or hesitate, she flung herself at the branch, swung up and moved quickly out of the way.

Draden didn’t hesitate either. He was up almost before she was. She didn’t indulge in watching the way his muscles moved under his wet shirt but began climbing immediately. They had a good head start on the MSS chasing them. They’d been so quiet she doubted if the soldiers could have followed by sound. They probably had left a few tracks and she knew some of the recruits had been local trackers.

Shylah concentrated on climbing the tree and finding the long, thick branch that stretched out toward another tree. I have better balance without my shoes. Give me a minute. She took them off and tied them around her neck. They were very wet and heavy. She hated the feeling.

Without a word, Draden reached over her shoulder and took the hiking boots from her.

You don’t have to do that.

He indicated for her to continue. So much for being a badass soldier he would admire. She turned resolutely toward the next branch. She had extraordinary balance and she picked up the pace, not wanting to be caught anywhere in the forest during daylight hours. She knew the terrorists would swarm through the interior searching for them. They’d not only lost their commander, but far too many men.

I do admire you.

Her breath caught in her throat. You heard that, did you? I seem to be making a pretty big fool of myself.

I’m not very fond of too many people, but since I know one of your secrets, I’ll let you in on one of mine. I like flowers. Peonies were a favorite.

That’s bullshit. She couldn’t help but smile. Draden was the real deal. A GhostWalker. One who could take apart the enemy in seconds. The last thing he would know was anything about flowers.

Peonies are beautiful perennials. A classic, really. Every garden should have them. They’re dependable, have a timeless, elegant beauty and will bloom with very little attention. He was silent for a moment while she switched branches and he followed. Like you.

Her heart stuttered. He said the most outrageous thing in that voice of his, matter-of-fact as if he weren’t delivering the best compliment she’d ever had in her life.

Did your mother garden? she asked. He knew a lot about flowers, or he was very good at making things up.

Eliza loved flowers and planted them all around the place we lived. I remember the smell of them. And yes, she particularly loved what she called the classics, so we had peonies. After she was gone, I worked for a nursery that grew flowers and sold them to flower shops. I liked getting my hands in the dirt. There were rows of flowers, and the peonies had a delicate perfume that called to me. Some of the other flowers had nice scents, but I couldn’t work in the rows for too long without the smell being overpowering. I could work in the rows of peonies forever.

He’d given her a piece of himself so casually, throwing the information out there as if it didn’t matter when she knew it did. From what she knew of them, none of the GhostWalkers were the kind of men to reveal personal information about themselves or anyone else. She thought it odd that he referred to his mother by her first name, but she didn’t pry.

I’ve never smelled a peony, she admitted. Whitney grows flowers, but most

of them are exotic.

Classics are far better than exotics. Nothing rivals a cut peony. Seriously. They have a beauty about them no other flower has. And longevity. They look delicate and elegant, but they’re strong survivors.

She knew he was trying to tell her not to give up. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature. Maybe I’m more like a peony than I realized.

I saw the resemblance immediately. He paused. Perhaps not the scent at this precise moment.

Shylah muffled the laughter welling up. She ran along the branches, switching from one tree to the next in the way a cat might. She knew when to duck to avoid getting hit with other branches and several times she forgot to warn Draden. He read the route in her mind and had no problem maneuvering, making her believe he had been genetically engineered even better than she had been.

They covered several miles before she began the descent to the forest floor. They were inland, away from the river. She would rather rely on the trees instead of water as an escape route.

You set up camp quite a distance from the MSS.

It was an observation, not a judgment. Shylah liked the way Draden seemed to reserve his conclusions until he had the facts. I’ve never met a man like you before.

Have you met a lot of men?

I was in one of Whitney’s compounds. Sometimes he moved us from place to place. There were always soldiers around us. Yes, there were a lot of men.

From the tone of your voice, I’m grateful you don’t think I’m anything like the others.

Shylah stopped the continual flow of conversation in the branches of a thick dipterocarp tree, holding on to the limb above her while she took her time scanning the area carefully.

It was an observation, Shylah admitted. A good one. If I’m going to die a really ugly death, it’s nice to like the person I’m going to share that with. She made every effort to sound impersonal. He was dying too. She wasn’t looking for sympathy.

Let’s hope my friend Trap is as brilliant as I think he is.