This time he moved fast, using the pads of his fingers to allow him to climb around and then down. If his boots had been off, he would have gone headfirst even faster, but he just used his upper body strength and fingertips, crossing the wall of granite, moving at breakneck speed, crossing slab after slab. Several times he leapt across gaps, catching by his fingertips.
Both the sniper and the spotter should have targeted him by now, but the expected bullet didn't come. He didn't make the mistake of slowing down; he almost leapfrogged across the rock walls, zigzagging and moving up and down.
I smell him close to me.
His heart jumped again. Adrenaline poured into his body. He looked down and saw the surface of another giant slab of granite. This one had several smaller pieces jutting out from it. It was the fastest way down, but a fairly large jump. He'd have to push off from where he was, catch himself on a rock across and down from him, about five feet away, and then spring back, making another five-foot jump.
Stay still. I'll draw his attention.
He pushed off, deliberately brushing his elbow against loose dirt and rock, sending an avalanche tumbling to the ground below. The gap between boulders was wide, but his fingertips caught and held. The second jump was already planned in his mind, and he turned and leapt, just as the bullet hit the granite beside his left shoulder. Rock splintered, driving slivers into his arm, but he was already in the air, going for the surface below him. As soon as he landed, he let himself drop to the ground, rolling for cover. He kept rolling, smashing into the thicker brush and then going still.
Two more bullets hit the ground to the right of him and just in front of him. He belly-crawled backward into much heavier brush, careful not to disturb branches. Once in the small tunnels made by animals and debris catching on brush, he crawled, using elbows and toes to propel his body along the ground, making his way to where the sniper had set up his rifle.
Within minutes he could feel the violent energy coming at him in waves. The man was sweating; the scent of him carried on the wind. Kadan slid the knife from his boot, transferring it to his teeth as he crawled toward the sniper.
The man stared through his scope, scanning the area, trying to get a bead on Kadan, and Kadan could sense the man's shock at how fast Kadan had come down the granite wall. Even though the sniper had seen Kadan leap with his own eyes, he obviously was beginning to think he'd imagined it. The night shadows had lengthened and grown, and Kadan's reflective clothing and skin tones had made him virtually impossible to see until he moved. The sniper had fired on instinct, but now doubted himself.
Kadan let out his breath, shielding his psychic energy automatically. He didn't have the impression that the sniper was a GhostWalker, produced from Whitney's list of rejected psychic candidates, but he always erred on the side of caution. He had to get close. Very close. He moved again, this time out of the brush. He was more exposed, relying on stealth and his reflective clothing and skin changes to keep him invisible. Moving inches at a time allowed him to keep from drawing the sniper's attention, although more than once, as the man surveyed his surroundings, he looked right at Kadan.
Kadan ceased all movement until the sniper settled behind his rifle once more and took a careful survey around the heavy brush. Once the sniper was busy, Kadan eased his body closer, hardly breathing, not allowing a single leaf to crackle beneath his weight.
The sniper knelt beside the tree, eye once again to his scope, and Kadan rose, still nearly invisible, his knife held low, blade up. The sniper turned and Kadan struck, taking the man out quickly and efficiently, doing his best to make the kill clean. Blood splattered across the trunk and over the rifle. Kadan stepped back, avoiding the bright red streaks. He waited a few moments before reaching down, without expression, and checking for a pulse. He wiped the blade clean and then checked the sniper's hands, hoping to get a fingerprint. He wasn't surprised to find that the prints had been burned off. This man was a sanctioned killer and wouldn't be traced back to anywhere. More than likely he would have been declared dead years earlier. He was a ghost with no name and no home.
Kadan shook his head. This wasn't the life he wanted for the GhostWalkers. He left everything right where it lay, not even touching the weapon.
Kadan? Tansy's voice wavered.
I'm fine. Did the spotter turn away from you?
Yes, he's gone. He took off running back toward the camp. She hesitated. I don't feel a wave of violence. I can't tell what happened.
Kadan slipped the knife back into the scabbard and backed into the heavier brush. The spotter would be coming right to him.
Just stay put and let me take care of this.
He felt her hesitation and shook his head. He'd disturbed her peace just by coming to her. She knew he intended, one way or another, to bring her back with him. Now he'd brought two men who wanted them dead. She wasn't going to stick around to see what happened. He was tired. He desperately needed sleep. He didn't even know what time zone he was in anymore, but he was going to have to go chase Tansy.
I'm just too damned tired for games. Don't take off.
There was a small silence and then he felt her stirring in his mind. That same impression of heat and silk, and maybe now a hint of fire to go along with the taste of cinnamon in his mouth. Yeah, there was passion underneath all that cool. Anyone who would volunteer at the age of thirteen to track brutal serial killers had to feel passionately about life.
Do you really expect me to stay?
Her voice brushed at every nerve ending, tightening his body when he needed to remain in absolute control. If Whitney had designed his soldiers to work in pairs, he certainly hadn't taken into consideration the effect the right woman could have on a man's body.
I wish you'd give me the consideration of at least hearing me out.
There was another small silence.
I did. There was finality in her tone.
Kadan could hear the second man now. The rustle of leaves as he brushed by bushes. Breath coming in short gasps. The spotter suddenly ceased all movement. He hadn't gotten to the body, but the rifle wasn't up where it should be. He may have caught a glimpse of the barrel sticking out of the brush, lying on the ground.
Kadan crouched low, ready to spring, relying on his clothing and skin to camouflage him.
CHAPTER 4
Will you promise to leave me alone if I say no after I listen again? Tansy's soft voice held an unintentional plea.
Kadan clenched his teeth. A muscle worked in his jaw, a sure sign of agitation when he needed his usual calm. He wanted to reassure her, but he had his orders, and more importantly, he was certain she could track the killers. Give me a few minutes here.
He broke off abruptly. The spotter may have been a bit out of shape, but he was no fool. There was a hitch in his breath and then he opened fire, spraying the brush with bullets. Kadan dropped all the way to the ground while hell broke loose above him, smashing small branches and bushes alike, tearing up the vegetation and putting Kadan in real peril.
He scooted back, driving with his elbows to move along the ground, feeling for a depression or a slope of any kind where he could press his body even closer to the earth. The spotter was making so much noise with his automatic weapon that Kadan didn't bother shielding sound. He just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.
His toe slipped off into space and he shifted back, feeling with his boots for a purchase on the sloping ground. The bullets slammed the ground all around him as he scooted deeper into the brush.
Tansy gasped in his mind, her fear beating at him when he needed to stay disconnected and cold.
I'm fine. Break off. I'll handle this. He knew she wasn't combat-trained, and the ugly sound of an automatic rifle spraying the brush, toppling branches and bushes alike, must have been terrifying to her. He gentled his voice. Tansy, I'm trained for this.
He knew that would bring up all sorts of other questions in her mind. She might not be able to get psychic energy off of him, but s
he picked up on body language, and as much of an empath as she was, she couldn't fail to read that he was as dangerous as hell without all the enhancements, and with them he was plain lethal.
Be careful.
Careful was part of the way he lived--some of the time--but he appreciated that she was worried when she had every reason to want him dead.
The slope wasn't as gentle as he would have liked as he backed down it. He had to dig in to prevent slipping, but the angle kept him safe from the barrage of bullets. Eventually the spotter stopped firing. Kadan could hear him breathing heavily, and then swearing as he discovered the sniper's body.
Kadan took advantage of the man's distraction and rolled to his right, before once again crawling along the ground, this time in a wide arc to come back toward the spotter at an angle. He would have one chance. If he didn't make the kill, the spotter would blow him away--and then he'd kill Tansy. He'd hunt her mercilessly and leave no witnesses.
Kadan's jaw tightened. Failure was not an option. Tansy Meadows was going to live a long life--with him. He risked a cautious glance. The spotter was crouched beside the downed sniper, one hand on the other man's throat, checking for a pulse. His gaze constantly sweeping his surroundings, he reached inside his jacket, pulled a Glock, shoved it against the sniper's teeth, and pulled the trigger, probably to ensure no identity on the off chance dental records could be found.
Kadan rose up behind the man, knife flashing toward his throat. The man must have sensed him, because he half turned, firing his gun instinctively as Kadan's blade took him across the jugular. One of the Glock's bullets shaved off jacket and skin across Kadan's shoulder, a wicked, burning kiss that stung like hell. He closed his mind to the pain and continued with a standard figure-eight kill attack, slicing down and across the torso, thighs, and then back up to finish the kill. Again he stepped back, careful not to disturb either body.
He moved a short distance from both of them and sank into a crouch, taking a deep breath. Exhaustion washed over him. The sun was long gone and another night had crept up on him. He desperately needed to sleep, not chase Tansy over the mountains. He shoved his fingers through his hair and forced his body to his feet. They would have to be gone at daybreak. He'd leave the bodies where they lay and erase his tracks, hoping the vultures and other creatures would do a lot of damage before either man was found.
He made his way back to the campsite, moving in silence, letting the night wrap him in shadows. Tansy? You still with me?
Again he felt her hesitation. Yeah. She was with him. She was deciding to run, but she couldn't quite make a break from him. Maybe Whitney had managed to pair them, not just on his side--or maybe he was lucky and she was genuinely attracted to him. Cursing under his breath for even hoping, Kadan shook his head to rid himself of the thought. She was simply a good person who didn't want him dead.
I'm here.
He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the sound of her voice to slide down his skin like the touch of fingers. His throat ached and his body tightened. He was in bad shape to let just her voice have an effect on him. He picked up the pace, moving quickly through the trees, taking the shortest possible route back to her camp.
The tent was tucked between a couple of rocks with trees and brush, masking its presence. Food was scattered across the table and onto the ground, where ants swarmed. Wildlife had made short work of the offering.
It's safe to come back to camp now. He picked up the frying pan and carried it to her makeshift sink.
I doubt that. It will be much safer for me when you're gone.
Kadan sighed heavily, the weariness washing over him and regret biting deep. You know I have to take you with me. I'm damned tired tonight. Just get back here and drop it until I get some rest. Kadan meticulously cleaned the grounds, dumping the remains of their meal in her trash can. She obviously burned most of the remains from each day.
How inconvenient of me to argue with you when you're so tired.
Sarcasm dripped into his mind, but it didn't for one moment alleviate the ache in his body for hers. Inconvenient is exactly the word I'd use. Thank you for understanding, he agreed, hoping she'd laugh. He stripped and used her shower, allowing the water to pour over him, although it was cold and didn't take the ache from his bones.
She didn't laugh, but a trace of amusement flowed from her mind to his. Along with it came an impression of sadness, even regret.
I'm sorry, then. But I can't help you. You refuse to take no for an answer and I'm not willing to be dragged off my mountain. I'll have to say good-bye from here. Actually though, it was nice to finally meet someone who has an explanation for what I am and how I got this way.
He caught the thought that she had a lot to discuss with her parents. You can't do that. What I told you was classified information. You cannot take it to your parents. He dried himself with a thin towel and dressed in clean clothes from his pack. Come on back. Talking this way over a distance is tiring. You'll end up with a blinding headache.
Don't pretend concern for me. Now there was an edge to her voice.
Kadan sighed. There was little point in telling her he'd rather not do his job, because in the end, he was going to do it and they both knew it. I'm not chasing you over the damned mountain all night. I need sleep.
That's a relief. Go to sleep and leave in the morning.
The distance was greater between them. She was on the move and had to stretch to reach him. She wasn't used to telepathic communication, because few others, probably none that she knew, actually had the ability--but several of the GhostWalkers were able to use the talent. He'd had plenty of practice honing the skill.
You're going to force me to do this the hard way, because I'm not coming after you. Just come back now before we take this to the next level. He found himself holding his breath, hoping she would listen to him. If he believed in God, he would have sent up a quick prayer for a little help, but he'd long ago learned to rely on himself. He'd seen too many fucked-up, perverted people to believe in a higher power watching over him.
Don't threaten me. I don't intimidate so easily.
He had an instant vision of her rising up from her nap, completely nude without even an attempt to cover herself and dressing right in front of him. No, she definitely didn't give in to intimidation, and he'd wanted her to be afraid enough to learn a lesson in self-preservation.
The water was hot enough to clean the dishes with. He ignored the side of him that wanted her to like him, the part that needed her, and he tapped into the ruthless, merciless side that gave him orders when he was on a mission. He began to whisper to her, commanding her to come back as he did the dishes and set them out to air dry.
He rolled out his bedding and prepared to lie down. There would be no sleeping until she returned, but he could take a look at the missing hunk of skin, sew up the torn flesh, and relax while he persuaded her to come back to the campsite.
Kadan was driving her crazy. She couldn't get the sound of his voice out of her head. She resorted to running, a dangerous thing to do in the dark. Twice she fell and rolled, but the whispers didn't let up, not even for a breath. She lay on the ground staring up at the stars, her heart beating too loud and her stomach in knots.
It was his voice, that soft, velvety rasp, in her mind. Somewhere along the way, between the insistent hypnotic commands, he began to talk to her about himself.
Come back to me. I need you to come to me now, tonight. Do you know why I have to do this? Unlike you, living with your very rich, loving parents, my entire family was wiped out. I was eight years old. My father was a drug dealer and someone wanted to take over his territory. They broke into our home and shot my sister first. She was in the living room watching television. She was only twelve and very small. I didn't think a child's body could hold that much blood in it.
Tansy closed her eyes. She didn't want to hear this. Didn't want to see him as human. She'd been to too many crime scenes where the blood ran in rivers.
&nb
sp; Dad grabbed me and stuffed me under the floorboards, pulling out the gun that was hidden there. I could hear them all screaming. And blood began dripping into the space from the cracks. It collected all around me until I was covered in it. Until it was an inch deep in the space and I was breathing it in. Do you know what that smells like, Tansy?
She knew. She still had nightmares. She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing. He had to stop. The images in his head were vivid, as if the crime had just occurred. His voice was without emotion, cold and dispassionate, but she was in his head and there was rage and pain and a sorrow too deep to express. She connected with those raw emotions, so that tears clogged her throat, threatening to choke her.
Come back to me. I need you to come to me now, tonight.
The pull of that demand was so strong she rolled over and got to her feet, looking in the direction of her camp. She even took a few steps before she managed to stop herself. She couldn't continue to put distance between them, but she didn't run to him the way her mind and body was urging her to do.
The thing is, now, as an adult, I realize my father was not a good man. He was a major drug dealer and involved with some very bad people, but to me, he was my father. He played games with me and loved me and tucked me in at night. Maybe, as an adult, I can even admit he was responsible for bringing a bloodbath to our home, but the child in me loved him. Always really loved him and looked up to him. I need you, Tansy. Come back to me now, tonight.
She closed her eyes, feeling ill. His voice drove her temperature up, but the things he said to her made her feel sick. He was lost and alone. And that person inside her that needed to make the world a better place, that had too much empathy and compassion to be able to even touch people, drove her to her knees at the naked sorrow in his voice.
I heard screams and shots and my mother's voice pleading not to kill my brother. His name was James and he was only ten years old. He shared my room and taught me to play ball. He never minded when I tagged along after him.
Murder Game Page 7