Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

He picked up speed once he was a good distance from the cabin, choosing to follow the stream winding downhill. Both Jonquille and Diego were enhanced with animal DNA, which meant they had excellent hearing. They also had good instincts. Diego knew him. He’d been careful not to give any hints about his intentions, but that didn’t mean Diego wouldn’t guess what was on his mind.

He wasn’t losing either of them. Not Diego or Jonquille. He’d watched over his younger brother for as long as he could remember. Diego, of course, thought he watched over Rubin. Now there was Jonquille. If Rubin had any doubts about her being the right one for him, those kisses had sealed her fate. He wasn’t the kind of man who jumped in with both feet, all in, with women. He was careful. In fact, for the most part, he simply stayed away from them.

Rubin had been all about the catch-and-release program in the beginning, mainly because he wasn’t a man who wanted one-night stands. He was looking for something permanent. The women that came around him seemed to be shallow. They all had agendas of some kind. He wasn’t charming like Diego. He didn’t have that ease of conversation, so the women usually came on to him. It didn’t take long before his radar went off and he realized there was some hidden reason why he’d been singled out. Often, it was to get closer to Diego or one of the Fortunes brothers.

That reason should have bothered him or undermined his confidence in himself, but it hadn’t. Rubin knew his own worth as a man, a soldier and a doctor. He also knew his bank account. He didn’t come across as wealthy because he was quiet, dressed casually when he went out and talked with his slow mountain accent. He’d acquired a great deal of money because he spent very little. There was no need to spend. He banked most everything he made and he was extremely good at investments.

Rubin slowed as he came to the fork the stream had forged. A waterfall spilling over rocks and tumbling over downed tree trunks divided the stream. Going south, the bed was wider and much faster moving, the downhill steeper. The water ran over a bed of rocks. Ferns and brush closely grew along the sides of the creek, interspersed with trees.

The bed to the east was thinner, a little sluggish, overgrown on the sides so that the ferns and foliage, at times, were hiding the sides of the stream. The amount of growth in many places made it difficult to see where the actual creek bed was. That wouldn’t matter, but this was wild country and the stream could be very shallow or unexpectedly deep in places. The eastern slope appeared easier to travel because it wasn’t as steep, but the terrain was far more treacherous once one got into it and off the trails. It was true wilderness. True mountains. Just what the predator in Rubin preferred. He took the eastern route.

He contemplated the war his mind continually struggled with—the reason he found a semblance of peace away from people. It was why he sought the solace of the swamp and the mountains. He was a healer. A psychic surgeon. He was compelled to heal others. It was so ingrained in him he couldn’t stop himself. He was also a predator. He needed to hunt and to kill. That was ingrained in him as well. That was something he didn’t share or talk about.

He knew he’d been born with the ability to push aside his feelings when he needed to. He wouldn’t have been able to hunt his sister’s killers otherwise. He had been the one to calmly get his rifle and tell his mother he was going after the men who had killed his sister—he’d be back when they were dead. He hadn’t asked Diego to come with him. He hadn’t expected Diego to come, although it hadn’t surprised him. Where he went, Diego went as well. They were like-minded. That was the dichotomy—killer and healer. Rubin accepted it, but it was hell to live with, his mind always at war.

Hunting the men who would kill his brother and Jonquille, the men who Whitney had been foolish enough to send after him, gave him a much-needed excuse to let the predator in him loose—the one he held so strictly in check.

A large animal moved off to his left and he hunkered down, crouching low, waiting for it to get a drink. Elk were returning slowly to the area but were rarely seen. He’d put miles between his cabin and where he was, but he was still surprised by the sight of the large animal dipping its head warily into the stream. The animal lifted his head twice and looked around as if sensing a possible hunter, but unable to find the hidden threat.