New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan has over 30 novels published and has thrilled legions of fans with her seductive and sensual ‘Dark’ Carpathian tales. She has received numerous honours throughout her career including being a nominee for the Romance Writers of America RITA, and receiving a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times, and has been published in multiple languages and in many formats, including audio book, e-book, and large print.
For more information about Christine Feehan visit her website: www.christinefeehan.com
Praise for Christine Feehan:
‘After Bram Stoker, Anne Rice and Joss Whedon
(who created the venerated Buffy the Vampire series),
Feehan is the person most credited with
popularizing the neck gripper’
Time magazine
‘The queen of paranormal romance’
USA Today
‘Feehan has a knack for bringing vampiric Carpathians
to vivid, virile life in her Dark Carpathian novels’
Publishers Weekly
Also in Christine Feehan’s
‘Dark’ Carpathian Series:
Dark Prince
Dark Desire
Dark Gold
Dark Magic
Dark Challenge
Dark Fire
Dark Legend
Dark Guardian
Dark Symphony
Dark Melody
Dark Destiny
Dark Secret
Dark Demon
Dark Celebration
Dark Possession
Dark Curse
Dark Slayer
Dark Peril
Dark Predator
Also by Christine Feehan:
Sea Haven Series:
Water Bound
Spirit Bound
Ghost Walker Series
Shadow Game
Mind Game
Night Game
Conspiracy Game
Deadly Game
Predatory Game
Murder Game
Street Game
Ruthless Game
Samurai Game
Drake Sisters Series:
Oceans of Fire
Dangerous Tides
Safe Harbour
Turbulent Sea
Hidden Currents
Leopard People Series:
Fever
Burning Wild
WildFire
The Scarletti Curse
Lair of the Lion
Copyright
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 978-1-4055-1253-4
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Christine Feehan
Excerpt from Dark Storm Copyright © 2012 by Christine Feehan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Hachette Digital
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Praise for Christine Feehan
Also by Peter Lovesey
Copyright
For My Readers
Acknowledgments
The GhostWalker Symbol Details
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Dark Storm
Dark Predator
Lair Of the Lion
For Kylie and Brandi Magner.
Thank you for coming to FAN;
I miss our wonderful lunches!
For My Readers
Be sure to go to www.christinefeehan.com/members/ to sign up for my PRIVATE book announcement list and download the FREE eBook of Dark Desserts, a collection of yummy recipes sent by my readers from all over the world. Join my community and get firsthand news, enter the book discussions, ask your questions, and chat with me. Please feel free to email me at [email protected]. I would love to hear from you. Join me for a fun-filled time at my FAN convention. Visit www.fanconvention.net for more information. I hope to see you there!
Acknowledgments
I could never have written this book without the help of several people. Thanks to Brian Feehan for his extremely helpful advice whenever I’m stuck, and of course to Domini Stottsberry, who always works so hard on research and in every other aspect of helping put a book together. Special thanks to Jason Hutton of the 2/75th Rangers for his invaluable work on the military scenes. I have no idea what I would have done without you. Of course, I take full responsibility for all mistakes and greatly appreciate Jason’s aid in helping me with terms and planning missions and escapes.
The GhostWalker Symbol Details
SIGNIFIES
shadow
SIGNIFIES
protection against
evil forces
SIGNIFIES
the Greek letter psi, which is
used by parapsychology
researchers to signify ESP or
other psychic abilities
SIGNIFIES
qualities of a knight—
loyalty, generosity,
courage, and honor
SIGNIFIES
shadow knights who protect
against evil forces using
psychic powers, courage,
and honor
CHAPTER 1
Congressman John Waters stroked his hand up the silken thigh of his companion until he reached the top of her stocking, where his fingers traced bare skin. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear so he could be heard above the blasting music. “Would you like one more drink before we leave?”
Brenda Bennett sent him a practiced smile and turned her face so she could nip his earlobe with her teeth before whispering back, “Make it a Red Bull and vodka. I want to spend a long time tonight with you. I have so many delicious things I’ve been thinking of doing with you and I don’t want to chance falling asleep.” She paused, her breath warm against his ear. “Either one of us.” Her tongue teased his earlobe.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Waters said with what he thought was a sexy leer.
Brenda playfully touched his leg with the stiletto heel of her sexy red open-toe shoes. “I’ll visit the ladies’ room and make certain I’m looking my best for you.”
“You always look your best,” the congressman assured his favorite companion. He patted her thigh and stood up to make his way through the crowd to the bar.
Brenda glanced to her left, her eyes meeting the woman seated at the table adjacent to hers, giving the briefest of nods. Both got up and made their way through the crowd to the bathrooms. The Dungeon was the hottest club in town, where only the elite came together for two purposes—making deals and playing bondage games to get laid. Brenda made very certain her clients went away happy and returned often with very large pocketbooks. She was always especially happy to see the congressman because she was always paid double.
Brenda smiled at the woman who followed her inside, but prudently remained silent while
they both checked the stalls to ensure they were alone before they spoke.
“I got your call, Sheila. Getting Waters here tonight wasn’t easy on such short notice. He had some big thing going on with his wife. You have to tell Whitney to give me more of a heads-up when something is this important to him.”
Sheila shrugged. They both knew it didn’t matter in the long run how difficult the task was. Their boss made obedience well worth it. “Whitney wants you to make absolutely certain our good congressman goes through with his vote to approve the research on his new weapon.” Sheila Benet handed Brenda the thick envelope, retaining possession when Brenda eagerly closed her fingers around it. “Don’t fail, Brenda,” she warned. “He doesn’t accept failure.”
“Have I ever failed him?” Brenda asked, her dark eyes glittering with anger. “I have never failed him. You remind him that every name he’s ever given me, I’ve found a way to seduce or blackmail them into doing what he wants. I can read weakness, and although he hates working with women because we’re so damned inferior, he won’t find too many men who can do what I do. You just tell him that, Sheila.”
Sheila raised her eyebrow, still retaining possession of the envelope. “Do you really want me to tell him all that?”
Brenda pressed her lips together tightly, but caution tamped down some of her anger. “I work hard for him. The one time I told him not to press Senator Markus, he insisted, and even then, when I knew what was going to happen, I still found his weakness. Rather than be blackmailed, he killed himself, just like I said he would. Whitney needs to place a little more value on me as a resource, that’s all I’m saying.”
Sheila gave her a brief, cold smile as she allowed her fingers to slide away from the envelope, leaving it in Brenda’s hand. “That’s probably the very reason why he padded your pay, Brenda. Perhaps you might consider that he’s a brilliant man who rewards those useful to him. He had no choice but to call you when Waters seemed to be wavering on his vote. Make certain the good congressman doesn’t even consider letting him down.”
Brenda pushed the thick envelope into her purse and gave Sheila a smirk. “No worries. I’ve recorded every single session with the honorable, upstanding John Waters and I don’t think he would ever want the things he’s done to come to light—not with his uptight wife and righteous, church-loving family so vocal about all things sinful. He’ll do whatever Dr. Whitney needs him to do.”
“You have a pretty good thing going here, Brenda,” Sheila said. “You get paid by Whitney and by the mark.” Her eyes went glacier cold. “Don’t blow it.” Abruptly she turned and went into the nearest stall, slamming the lock into place to signal she was done. She’d given her warning and if Brenda chose to bitch again—well, that was between her and Whitney. But people who crossed him generally had a way of disappearing fast.
Brenda hummed to herself, a slight smile on her face. She adjusted her silk blouse so that it was just open enough to reveal the enticing rounded curves. The material fell nicely over her nipples, pushed up by the camisole she wore beneath the silk. She glanced down to get her bright red lipstick from her purse. The water in the sink suddenly turned on. Her gaze jumped to the steady stream of water. She shrugged and looked up, uninterested in why the automatic faucet would have been triggered. In the mirror, just behind her, she was startled to see the face of a woman standing very close to her. There was no sound at all. She had time to register a waterfall of platinum blond hair and Asian features. A hard blow to the back of her skull sent her head forward, slamming her into the edge of the sink. She felt nothing at all as blackness descended.
Brenda’s body slipped to the tiled floor from the edge of the basin. With gloved fingers, the woman threw a handful of water onto the floor around Brenda’s feet and the soles of her shoes, crouched to snap one stiletto heel, and jerked the envelope from Brenda’s purse, all in one smooth, silent move. As she stood, she removed a tiny camera placed just over the mirror and seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye.
“Brenda?” Sheila called out tentatively.
The water continued to run in the sink. Sheila frowned and glanced under the door of the stall. Brenda was lying on the floor. “Brenda?” she said again, her voice cracking. There was no answer, only the sound of the water running.
Sheila continued to stare under the door, frozen in place. She couldn’t see any other feet, but Brenda’s shoe was off her foot, the heel broken. A thin stream of red ran along the cracks, moving in an ever-widening puddle. She gasped and jumped up. Behind her the toilet automatically flushed and she nearly screamed. Very slowly, with the tips of her fingers, she pushed open the door and peered out. Brenda lay on the floor, the front of her skull smashed from where she had slipped on the water. Her clothes, instead of looking sexy and tempting, revealed her for what she was—a highly paid prostitute, her body obscenely displayed there on the bathroom floor.
Swearing under her breath, Sheila quickly took toilet paper and opened Brenda’s purse to retrieve the envelope of cash. It was gone. Her heart jumped. Whitney would never believe her. The money had to be on the body somewhere, and she had to find it or he’d think she stole it. That would be just like him. She crouched down beside Brenda and looked her over. There didn’t seem to be a place she could have concealed the envelope.
Voices just outside the door had her jumping up and backing away, back toward the stall door. She let out a scream and stood, covering her mouth, her gaze frantically searching the body as the bathroom door burst open and three women came to an abrupt halt and added their voices to hers. At once chaos erupted.
Harry Barnes, aide to Senator Lupan, scowled as he pushed his BMW to the limit on the curved mountain road. Why in the hell had Sheila Benet picked such a ridiculous place for a meeting? There were plenty of safe places downtown where civilization reigned. He was allergic to grass. To bugs. To stupid cows. He was finally about to score with the woman he’d been chasing for three straight months and he wasn’t going to blow his chance because Sheila had suddenly gotten paranoid. They could meet under the nose of the senator and the old man wouldn’t notice.
He punched a button and music flooded the car. He set his teeth as he glanced at his GPS. Another three miles. Stupid, stupid woman. Maybe he could call and his date would understand he’d be an hour late. Sheila had said not to make any calls, that if someone was on to them, they’d pick up his cell phone call. Damn. He slammed his flat palm against the steering wheel in pure frustration. No one was on to them. Why should they be? How could they be? And no one would dare to monitor his cell phone.
“Friggin’ Sheila,” he snapped and ordered his phone to call the sexy Miss Catherine. She looked very good in her prim little pencil skirts and red silk blouses as she sat behind a desk, her long hair coiled in that uptight little bun. He had images of unwrapping her like a Christmas gift stuck in his head and until he made it happen, he couldn’t move on. He talked for the next couple of minutes, persuading her to wait for him, that he’d make it worth her while. He hung up feeling smug, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. Using the senator as an excuse was genius. What woman wouldn’t be impressed that he was so indispensable to a senator that he couldn’t get away until the senator was ready to call it quits and go home?
Smirking, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, pleased with himself. “That’s how it’s done,” he told himself aloud and grinned at his reflection in the rearview mirror. For a few moments there, he’d forgotten how good he was at playing the game. Now that he knew for certain his evening’s fun wasn’t lost, his mood swung back to cheerful—after all, Whitney was going to pay him handsomely for keeping the old senator in line. Not hard to do at all these days. It only took a little work on his knees and the man was putty in his hands.
Sheila Benet’s car was parked to one side exactly at the mile marker she’d told him, leaving enough room for him to pull over. He slipped out of the car and stretched. It was a beautiful night, the stars overhead and a hal
f-moon shining brightly down on them.
“Hey, Sheila, how’s it going?” he greeted as he sauntered over to her car. “Nice night for all this cloak-and-dagger drama.”
Sheila stuck her head out the window. Her car was still running. “No one followed you?”
“I don’t think there’s a cow alive on this road tonight. I haven’t seen headlights in the last fifteen minutes.” He resisted rolling his eyes as he held out his hand for the fat envelope. “Senator Lupan will do exactly as I ask him. Tell Whitney he has no worries on that score. The old man can barely breathe without his oxygen. I keep him isolated and happy. He has no family; there’s only me, and no one realizes just how bad that last stroke really was. He relies very heavily on me now.”
“He can’t step down until this is done, Harry,” Sheila reiterated as she placed the envelope in the aide’s out-stretched palm.
“No worries. He’ll hang in there, if for no other reason than for something to do. He’s sick, but his mind is active and he needs the interaction and the adulation his position provides. I stroke his ego and a few other things for him and he falls right into line.” Harry flashed her his most charming smile. “It’s all good, Sheila. He’ll vote the way we want him to. I guarantee it.”
“Would you bet your life on it?” Sheila asked with a snide curl of her lip.
Harry’s smile faded as he turned away from her in disgust. Sheila Benet was a coldhearted bitch. He’d never once failed Dr. Whitney. It didn’t matter how distasteful the task was, he got it done. Just because Sheila had the mad doctor’s ear didn’t make her so damn high and mighty. As many years as he’d been working for Whitney and taking the payoffs from Sheila, one would think she would have tried to be a little friendly.
“Harry.” Sheila had followed him to his car. “It doesn’t pay in this business to get overconfident. Anyone can be bought. We got to you, didn’t we?”
Harry gave her a black scowl and tossed the thick envelope of bills in his glove box in disgust, not bothering to count the money. It was always right. He started his car and then slammed the door closed, flipped Sheila off, and took off fast, leaving her standing there.
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