GhostWalkers 4 - Conspiracy Game

by Christine Feehan

  “My God. How can you be walking around? Did the rebels do that?” Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and reached out to touch his muscle just above where the skin was shredded. “You need a doctor. You’re already infected.”

  A tremor ran through his body at her touch. So light. A mere drift of the pad of her fingers, but he felt it through his entire body. “We have to keep moving. I pissed off their general.” He watched her face for a reaction, but she was staring in horror at his wounds.

  “I can’t feel your pain.” Her dark gaze rose to meet his. “Why is that? You know, don’t you? You know why I’m different, why I can’t function like everyone else. No one else would have known I could stay under water like that, not even my brothers. Why? What am I? What are you?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Jack’s gaze moved restlessly through the forest. “We have to keep moving. The rebels are searching for me and they aren’t going to stop.”

  “Answer me,” Briony insisted. He was swaying on his feet and didn’t even know it. The man was going to collapse, and there was no way she could leave him to die.

  “GhostWalkers are enhanced both physically and psychically.”

  Her heart began to pound. “How did they get that way?”

  Jack took a step and his legs went out from under him. Briony caught him before he hit the ground. He tried to push her away. “Go. Keep moving. Circle back through the forest until you’re on the edge of town. They’ll be watching, so use the trees if you have to, but get out of here.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Amusement crept into his eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me to shut up before.” His arm slid around her shoulders, one finger pushing the wet strands of hair behind her ear.

  “I have a lot of brothers, so don’t let it go to your head. Why are men such idiots, anyway?” Like she could leave him now. Her brothers would have told her the exact same thing. She blew her hair out of her eyes and looked around her. Jack was a heavy man. He’d lost too much blood and his skin was fiery hot, indicating fever. “Okay, tough guy, you’re going to lean on me and we’re going to start back toward the city. And don’t waste energy arguing. Just do it.”

  Her mind was racing with the possibilities. Could she have been enhanced physically and psychically? It made more sense than being born so different. She could run faster, jump higher, stay under water longer, do things no one else she’d ever met could do. How? When? All the visits to her special doctor, the one she detested, the one her parents insisted she go to, were beginning to make sense.

  She slipped her arm around Jack’s waist and took most of his weight. If she wasn’t enhanced, how could she practically carry a man of his size? He was twice her weight. “How were we enhanced?”

  “Dr. Whitney.”

  Her mouth went dry. She knew that name. Knew he was the one who had put her up for adoption, who had designed her education and provided medical care for her and her family her entire life. Her birth father? Had he even been her father? What was she? Some kind of freak experiment?

  Her mind began racing with the possibilities. Why were they both there in Kinshasa? Was it a coincidence that Jack and her brother Jebediah were in the service together? What were the odds that they would all end up in Africa together, especially since someone had paid an exorbitant amount of money to get them there?

  Briony risked a brief glance at Jack’s face. Even ravaged by pain and suffering, he was handsome in a masculine, chiseled sort of way. His features seemed carved out of stone, not real, but hard and weathered while remaining good-looking. He kept his gaze focused ahead, walking steadily, but more and more his weight was on her. The slow blood loss, coupled with exhaustion and his terrible wounds, was taking its toll. “Keep walking. One foot in front of the other.” The closer she got him to the city, the less distance she’d have to carry him—and it looked like carrying was going to be involved.

  They struggled for about a mile, following the stream. Briony had paused to get a better grip on him, when he suddenly pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his. His skin changed color to match the darker vegetation on the forest floor, and she immediately did her best to match his stripes. Jack had been nearly unconscious, but suddenly he was alert, pulling a handgun and signaling her to silence.

  What is it?

  Sniper. He’s been tracking me since I escaped the rebel camp. He’s damned dangerous. You should have left when I told you to go.

  Briony’s heart tripped into overtime and she tasted the familiar dryness of fear. She took a deep breath to combat the adrenaline and forced her mind away from panic as she lay listening. He’s behind us and to our right.

  That would be him. Hopefully he didn’t spot us while I was being careless.

  Briony squeezed her eyes closed tight and tried not to breathe. She hoped not, as well. She couldn’t let this man suffer any more. No matter who he was or what he’d done, no one deserved to be tortured like he had been. She took a deep breath. Are you a good shot?

  Jack looked at her. You aren’t going to do anything stupid.

  You’re going to pass out, tough guy. I know the signs. We don’t have all that much time and we can’t afford him behind us. I’m a good shot—but… She hesitated.

  Jack’s hand tightened on the nape of her neck. Whatever you’re thinking—don’t.

  Briony knew they couldn’t outwait the sniper. Jack was going to pass out. How he’d rallied enough to know what was going on was beyond her. I’m thinking I’m scared.

  Don’t be. I’ll get you out of this. See those trees to our right? I’m going to cover you. You do a slow crawl to the trees and get into the branches. Use the branches to make it to the river. Keep your skin camouflaged and don’t draw attention to yourself. Jack slipped her the handgun. You know how to use this thing?

  Briony hesitated then put her hand over the gun. There was no way to explain to him what the aftermath of violence could do to her. Feeling someone’s emotions, feeling them die would bring a total meltdown. On the other hand, she was well trained, an expert marksman, and she believed in self-defense. I know how to use it.

  He turned toward the region of forest where he was certain the sniper followed them. On his belly, eye to the scope, he waved her forward. Go. Get out of here. Don’t stop moving until you’re safe in your room.

  Briony inched her way through the ferns and rotting leaves, her heart pounding overly loud. She detested being a coward, wondering why, with all her special skills, she was always so afraid. She made it to the trees and crouched in the deepest shadows, studying the branches and vines for the best shelter, for the best position. With her extraordinary night vision, she was able to see some twenty-five feet up and over two trees, to a particularly large tree trunk with an umbrella of branches spreading in every direction, perfect for her needs.

  Briony leapt to the lowest branch of the nearest tree and began to climb swiftly. She was slight, her body made for the aerial acts she’d practiced since she was a toddler. It was easy to use the vines to pull herself through the trees until she reached the tree beside the one with the larger, thicker trunk. She had taken care to stay hidden within the foliage when she climbed, but now she deliberately reached out and shook a branch, not too hard, just enough to give away her position.

  What the hell are you doing?

  Drawing his fire to give you a target.

  You do that again and I swear I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.

  She could hear the menace prowling through his declaration—but felt it was an empty threat. Jack was a scary man, but he wasn’t a man who would ever beat a woman—just the opposite in fact—unless she was the enemy. She’d caught that information in his mind. Well, I’m not leaving you behind. Get ready to shoot something because I’m going to let him see me.

  Damn it. Just damn it.

  Helpless male rage filled her mind, but she didn’t wait—couldn’t
wait. Her courage was going to fail if she didn’t act right then. Briony allowed the branch of the tree to sway just a little more, as if something heavy had stepped onto it. There was no wind in the forest, and the movement would draw the eye of the sniper instantly. Briony leapt to the next tree, sheltering behind the wide trunk, just as the bullet sent splinters of bark showering over her. Several pieces embedded in her arm and one in her chin. On the heels of the first shot came the second.

  Tell me you’re all right.

  Briony clung to the tree, forcing her knees to be stiff when her legs had turned to rubber. The bullet had hit only inches from her head. The sniper had fired a lot faster than she’d anticipated. She sagged against the trunk and waited for her body to stop shaking. Blood trickled from the stinging wounds, but the splinters were mere scratches when it could have been so much worse. Did you get him?

  Stay still. There were two of them. I took out the sniper, but his spotter is just as capable. You aren’t hit. Jack made it a statement as he kept his eye to the scope, waiting for a shot at the spotter. He detested the fact that he was distracted by worry. He was worried about her. Answer me now or I’m coming to you. He would too. He’d risk getting shot just to make certain there wasn’t a scratch on her body—at least not one he hadn’t put there. His fingers itched to shake her for taking such a chance.

  I’m fine. Those shots are going to be heard by someone. They’ve got friends.

  Get the hell out of here. Back to your room. Take a shower and get rid of those clothes. Ditch the gun in the forest. If anyone does any searches, you were asleep the entire time. Jack rested his head on his rifle for a moment and then put his eye back to the scope. The lens blurred. He was weak and running out of time. In another few minutes he wouldn’t be able to protect her—and that made him feel the edge of desperation.

  Briony stood for a long while in the tree, too shaken to move. She’d always had incredible night vision, and now, staring into the area where the sniper had been, she spotted the broad leaves of a philodendron plant swaying slightly. The spotter was making his way toward Jack.

  Do you see him?

  There was no response—not even awareness. Briony’s breath left her lungs in a rush. Jack was unconscious, or nearly so, and the enemy was creeping up on him. Before she had time to think, she leapt down to a tree branch that swept the ground. The forest floor was thickly carpeted with vegetation and cushioned her footsteps as she stealthily made her way through the underbrush back toward Jack. She had no real idea of what she was going to do, but she couldn’t let him die.

  She didn’t examine too closely the need to keep Jack alive. There was no time for introspection, only to know she couldn’t leave him. She shoved her way through the tangle of vines and bushes, dropping flat to crawl along a narrow animal trail. She pushed through a particularly thick mass of ferns into damp earth. A noise to her left had her dropping flat. She lay still for a moment, her heart pounding.

  Briony inhaled. She had an amazing sense of smell and she could tell exactly where Jack was, and how close the spotter was to him. Jack lay on his belly, the rifle cradled in his arms, but his head was down. She willed him to move.

  Jack! Wake up. He’s almost on top of you. You’ve got to defend yourself.

  Jack heard the urgent command, the fear and anxiety in Briony’s voice. It drove him to find the strength to focus, to scent the spotter. The man was already on top of him. Jack turned to face him, knowing in that split second, that heartbeat of time, that he was too late—that he was a dead man. Get out of here. It was the only warning he could give Briony. He didn’t have the strength to bring up his rifle, let alone the time.

  The spotter stepped out of the brush and lifted his gun. Four shots rang out in rapid succession. Jack waited for the bullets to strike his body, but the spotter jerked and half spun to face away from him. His knees buckled and he went down hard, face into the ground. Jack forced his head up. Briony stood a few feet away, the gun in her hand, tears running down her face. She was shaking, her arm still outstretched, her gaze locked on the dead man.

  Jack reached inside himself for one last burst of strength, struggled to his feet, and staggered over to her, his hand over hers. “Give me the gun, Briony.”

  She didn’t release it—didn’t look at him. She was shaking so much he was afraid she might accidentally pull the trigger again. He clamped his fingers over hers and, with his other hand, caught her face and forced her head to turn away from the body as he searched for a gentle tone. “Just let go, baby. I’ve got it now. Look at me. Only at me.”

  Her gaze met his, eyes swimming with tears. “I killed him.” She turned away from him, retching, over and over.

  Jack took a step closer and saw her eyes begin to roll back in her head. Briony! Deliberately he filled her mind with calm strength. He knew what violence could do to a psychic, and he wasn’t about to allow her to fall. He caught her face in his hands. “Look at me. Stay with me.”

  Briony heard his voice as if from a great distance. She didn’t want to go back, there was too much pain there, but his voice refused to let her retreat. With tremendous effort, she stared into his deep gray eyes.

  “You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine,” he assured her. “I’m an anchor. Just let me do my work.” He’d been too close to passing out and he hadn’t provided barriers for her, but he focused on drawing the energy away from her.

  He’d never expected to be so moved by the sight of a woman’s tears—or by the fact that killing a man had made her physically ill. Worse, he could see splinters in her chin and along her arm. He didn’t even have a medical kit to help her. “We have to get out of here. The rebels are going to be swarming all over this place.” He roughened his voice, hoping to snap her out of it. “Come on. Now, Briony.”

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… ” She trailed off and looked back toward the body on the ground.

  Swaying unsteadily, Jack reached out and caught her to him. “Stop looking at him. He would have killed both of us. Move now.” His thumb slid over her chin, wiping at the trickle of blood.

  Briony blinked up at him and then firmed her mouth. Her arm slipped around his waist. “I’m all right now.” She began walking with him toward the city, once again taking some of his weight. He had taken the stabbing pain away, but he couldn’t take away the horror squeezing her heart.

  “You should have left when I told you to go. You could have been killed.”

  “Just walk.”

  “I’m not going to make it, you know. I’m burning up, lost too much blood, in fact I can’t see very well. The rebels looking for me had to have heard the shots… ”

  Briony sighed. “Save your strength. Just keep walking. I’ll get you to the city, and my brother can figure out a way to get you out of Kinshasa.”

  Jack kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to pass out. He’d be damned if a female was going to carry his butt, and damned if she wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t walk. There was something about her that just plain got under his skin. He’d long ago chosen his path, and it didn’t include a woman of his own or a family. Briony Jenkins was a woman made to belong to a man—heart and soul. She was the kind of woman that a man married and knew with a certainty she’d stick it out through good or bad, right beside her partner. Worse, she was the kind of woman a man might kill over, and he certainly was more than good at that. It made for a bad combination.

  Briony glanced up at the man leaning more and more of his weight on her. He was swearing over and over under his breath. Sheer will kept him on his feet. “Do you need to rest?”

  He didn’t answer, but kept walking. They made it back to the stream, and Briony stopped him, sitting him on a fallen tree trunk. It was a measure of how far gone he was that he didn’t protest when she helped him to sit. Her bizarre childhood training was suddenly an asset. Somewhere close by she sensed several men. She waited
as long as she could, giving Jack a chance to rest before dragging him up again and setting off toward Kinshasa. She had to skirt around groups of soldiers hunting in the forest. Each time, their scent gave them away before she ever came close to them.

  Once inside the city itself, she hoped they looked as if they’d been drinking. It was difficult to hide the sniper rifle and he wouldn’t release it to leave behind, so she kept it locked between them, hoping their bodies hid it from anyone who might spot them. She chose the deserted streets and alleyways as she made her way with him back to her room.

  “A few more steps, Jack,” she said encouragingly. The man must have a will of absolute iron to keep going. He never faltered, stoically walking in spite of the raging fever. His body was hot and dry, desperate for something to drink.

  She kept to the shadows, skirting around the pockets of people they encountered. She avoided all contact with the soldiers on the corners, careful not to draw their attention. Once they were in the alley beneath the window of her room, she leaned Jack against the wall.

  “I’m going up to open the window. Do you think you can make the jump?”

  Jack slid down the wall to sit on the ground. He nodded, but didn’t look at her. Briony wasn’t so certain. She crouched and made the leap, catching the windowsill by her fingers. She drew herself up onto the narrow ledge and pushed open the window.

  Jack. She was afraid to call out to him, all too aware of the soldiers and the possibility that the rebels had followed them into the city. Can you make it?

  He didn’t answer. Briony put one hand on the sill and leapt back down to the ground, landing lightly on her feet beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take the rifle.” She reached for it.