Lethal Game (GhostWalkers 16)

“Roger that.”

“And next time I text you, answer me.”

Malichai wasn’t going to promise that, not even when his brother called him by his half-forgotten childhood nickname. “Good-bye, brother.”

“Catch you later,” Ezekiel returned.

Malichai rolled over to see his alarm clock. They would be serving in the dining room now. All that lasagna that was smelling so good his stomach was reacting with protests, angry with him because he was starving it. The aroma of that casserole, especially after he’d watched Amaryllis make it that morning, was driving him to get up. His stomach didn’t care whether or not he’d just eaten or if his leg was going to work. His stomach didn’t even care about his leg—it was all about the food.

Amaryllis looked up the moment he entered the dining room and she smiled directly at him. That was worth anything, even a lecture from his brother. She lit up the room—for him. He took his plate and went to the end of the line. The two men who had stared at him like a pair of idiots were at the front of the line being served by her. Another man was behind the two, another newcomer he didn’t recognize. A trio of women stood directly in front of him and one of them turned to say hello and she just stared. Then she smiled big.

Malichai had his gaze fixed on Amaryllis, but he still saw the entire room. She dished up a very large square of the lasagna and indicated that the next station held salads and bread. The two men moved on. The woman kept smiling at him and started to get chatty.

“Malichai,” Amaryllis called to him. She sounded anxious.

He immediately left the line and went to her. “What is it, honey?”

“I didn’t bring enough lasagna out to serve a first round. Would you please grab another one for me? Don’t forget to use gloves and heating pads.”

“No problem.” He put the plate down and strode out, doing his best to look as if his leg wasn’t on fire and he believed her. She had enough to serve everyone. She hadn’t liked the woman flirting with him. That put him in a good mood.

Once in the kitchen, it took him a few minutes to find the other casseroles. Amaryllis was using the oven as a warmer. He took one out, resisting the urge to cut out a square for his own dinner and eat it right there. He sauntered back in, being casual about it. She’d managed to serve nearly everyone in line. The ladies who had been just ahead of him were in front of her. The flirtatious one gave him a big smile. Amaryllis dropped the square of lasagna on her plate.

Malichai smiled at her, his focus on Amaryllis. “Do you want this entire thing on the buffet table? I can cut the squares for you.”

“Would you, hon?” she asked. “You really are the best, Malichai.”

He knew what she was doing, and he was perfectly all right with it. She’d told the ladies to back off, he was taken.

“You eating?”

“As soon as I’m finished with this round.”

“Same table?” He indicated the one where she’d been reading when he’d first laid eyes on her—when he’d first been intrigued and considered that she might be enhanced, a GhostWalker like he was.

She nodded. “That’s the one.”

Malichai cut the lasagna into large squares, took a good portion and added green salad and bread to his plate before walking to her little table and seating himself there to wait for her.4Something woke him, setting him on full alert. A sound. A whisper of conspiracy? A scratch at his door. Someone moving in his bedroom. Malichai stayed very still and allowed his enhanced senses freedom. He’d been careful to rein it in, to act normal. Now, he used every advantage that he had. He listened with ears that used his cat DNA, as well as that of a moth. Yeah, he had moth in him. Bizarre, but true. He figured his heightened sense of smell was the reason he was particularly susceptible to Amaryllis. She gave off waves of pheromones, ones he could detect, even when he was running. He had elephant in him as well, and he could find water even if it was twenty-five feet below the ground. Penguin allowed him to be a bullet in the water and to stay under for long periods of time.

He slid the knife into his hand. It fit perfectly, a part of him. He waited for the attack, breathing evenly, keeping up the pretense of sleep. He had a lot of practice at it. Missions, all over the world, catching naps anywhere he could, surrounded by the enemy.

He inhaled and knew instantly he wasn’t alone in the room. One of the two men who had been staying there nearly as long as he had. Burnell Strathom had a bad habit of trying to provoke him. He would deliberately walk close to Malichai in the hallway and bump him hard with his shoulder. His partner, Jay Carpenter, would close in from the other side and try a squeeze play on him. They’d done it several times over the last week.