Jeff and Nico had assured him it would be safe. They would pull her into the dream they spun and hope the puppet master took the bait. There would be plenty of cover for them. Dunbar wouldn't know they were there until it was too late. He'd never get close to Tansy. They'd kill him and be back very fast. Once done, they'd alert Ryland. He was standing by in Dunbar's house, ready to destroy the body. If they failed, he would dispose of the man the moment he awakened. The details of the dream were still playing on the recording, Jeff's hypnotic voice designed to draw Tansy into the dreamscape he'd created.
Kadan hated the loss of control. He wanted to be the one protecting Tansy, standing between her and danger, yet he could only sit in a room with her body and wait for her. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, needing to anchor her to him when she seemed so far away. The phone rang. His heart jumped and he swept it up instantly, listening with dread to Jeff's theory.
"She's definitely in a dream. She's distressed. Her heart rate went up; she's breathing faster and shallow," Kadan reported. "I'm going to wake her up."
"You can't just wake her up," Jeff said, alarmed. "We don't know what's happening on the other side. I need to know what she dreams as a rule. Does she tell you?"
"Sometimes it's vivid enough that when she wakes up, it's still in her mind and I get images. Will that help?"
"Tell me. Don't leave anything out."
While he related the details of Tansy's nightmares, Kadan kept his gaze glued to her face. His hand shook as he held her to him, pulling her wrist against his chest and holding her palm over his heart.
"I trusted you with her, Jeff. Bring her back to me. I'd never survive intact without her." God help them all, because that was a threat. Kadan took a deep breath and let it out, trying to find a place inside of him that was warm. There wasn't one.
Jeff didn't bother to reply to him. He hung up, leaving Kadan more desperate than ever. There'd been a terrible sense of urgency in Jeff's voice. He could hear Nico in the background urging Jeff to hurry. It was silent in the bedroom once again; the only sounds were the clock ticking and Tansy's frightened breathing. He had talked her into this, dreamwalking with Jeff and Nico, promising her she would be safe. He had sent her off without him, trusting his friends, and they'd lost her.
He stretched out beside her and gathered her into his arms, trying to comfort her, even though he knew her mind was somewhere else. When he tried to enter her mind, there was a void, as if she had been yanked from him to another realm.
I'll love you forever. The words whispered in his mind and they sounded like finality. His heart jumped and he sat up abruptly, his dark gaze on her face.
"Get off her!" Jeff Hollister burst into the lake, diving deep, grasping Tansy by the shoulders and kicking his way to the surface.
Nico slammed hard into Dunbar, driving him back and away so that he lost his grip on Tansy. The two men fought, hand to hand, their bodies close together, each man straining for the upper hand. Nico had the physical strength, but it was Dunbar's dream and he was trying to control it. Unlike with Tansy, however, he couldn't control Nico.
Jeff burst from below, surfacing almost at their side, pulling Tansy with him. He swung her into his arms and raced for shore.
"Keep him alive. You can't kill him," Jeff yelled. "If you do, the dream collapses and she's trapped here. We won't be able to revive her."
Dunbar broke free and tried to wade away, hoping for enough distance that he could end the dream. Nico refused to let him go, wrapping his fingers like a shackle around the man's neck and jerking him over backward into the sludge.
"Hurry up, Jeff," Nico called, concerned that Dunbar might be able to find a way to wake before they were able to kill him. Everything depended on reviving Tansy.
Jeff reached down and felt for a pulse. There was none. Swearing, he tipped her head back and began CPR.
Kadan watched the emotions chasing across Tansy's transparent face. Sweat dotted her forehead and around her mouth, and fear crept into her expression. When he took her hand in his, her skin was clammy. She felt unnaturally cold. Suddenly her body shuddered and arched. She gasped audibly for breath. He actually saw fingerprints on her throat, pressing deep, and she struggled, desperate for air.
Heart slamming against his chest, he fought to find the fingers, to try to pry them loose, but there was no way to find invisible, intangible hands. Her face reddened, her eyes opened wide, then just as suddenly she was free, dragging hard, audible breaths into her lungs so that her chest rose and fell.
Kadan found himself inhaling when he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath. Tansy flinched, her mouth opening wide, eyes wild with terror, then she looked like she was holding her breath. A minute. Two. She struggled at first, her body straining against an unseen hold, until she just slipped quietly away, out from under his hands, her body going limp, the breath stilling in her lungs. Her eyes closed.
Kadan felt his own heart stop. "No!" He pressed his palm against her lips, checking for air. His fingers tried to find a pulse. He tried CPR. He even hit his fist over her heart, frantically trying to start it. Nothing. He tried to fill her mind with him, but there was only emptiness.
"Tansy, no." His eyes burned. His throat felt raw. "Fucking don't do this." He shook her again, trying to find a way to revive her. Her body remained limp and lifeless in spite of the air he tried to breathe into her. In spite of the stimulation to her heart and mind.
Kadan roared like a wounded animal, lifting her limp body into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Cold spread like an encroaching glacier, desperate to put out the firestorm of wild grief tearing through him. His heart shredded in his body, his mind went from clarity to chaos, thunder crashed in his ears, and for a moment, all civility was gone and he was standing primitive and stark in his raw, unrelenting agony. Only one other time in his life had he felt so utterly lost as a human being. He had sworn never to go there again, never to kill in cold blood, but the monster inside him was loose now, craving, needing, demanding vengeance.
Tansy. Don't leave me. Baby, please. I'm begging here. He buried his face against her throat. There was no heartbeat, no warmth, no gentle hands to touch him.
He remembered a once-innocent child begging his mother, his father, even his brother and sister. Don't leave me. But they had, and with them, they'd taken all the warmth in the world, leaving an ice-cold killing machine behind. Last time, he'd known his enemy. This time, who would pay?
He placed her body carefully on the bed again and knelt there for a moment, his hands framing her face. He hadn't touched his family, but he wasn't going to let her go without telling her. Saying it aloud.
"I love you, Tansy. With everything in me, good and bad. I absolutely love you."
He swallowed the last of the fiery grief clawing through him and stood, allowing the arctic cold to consume him, inhaling, drawing the ice into his veins and lungs and into his mind, welcoming the glacier taking him over, and then he began to assemble his weapons.
"Don't you die on us, Tansy!" Jeff yelled. "You're not going to die on us." He slammed his fist hard on her heart, turning her on her side, trying to drain her lungs. "It's not real. You can't let him kill you this way."
Nico jerked Dunbar close to him, face-to-face, staring into his malicious eyes. Without warning, Nico slammed his forehead hard against Dunbar's face, shattering his nose, driving the man backward and down. Before he could fall, Nico caught him by the throat, his fingers--with their superhuman strength--choking the air from the man. He dragged him across the macabre lake, wading through blood and victims as if they weren't there, to throw Dunbar on the ground beside Tansy.
"Don't let this son of bitch move," he ordered and crouched down beside Tansy.
Dahlia, his wife, had always been the one to focus energy, and then Nico had done the healing with Kadan, but this was a dream, not reality. Whether or not he could heal on his own outside the dreamscape world didn't matter--he was certain he could here. Tan
sy had woven the dream, and the puppet master had used it against her, but Nico could twist the dream for his own purposes, just as Jeff could.
He rubbed his hands together, gathering energy from the violence so thick in the surrounding air. When he'd acquired a pool large enough, he focused the energy between his palms, aiming it directly at Tansy's heart and lungs. White light burst from his skin, shining around each individual finger. The light hit Tansy's body, rippling over her like a wave. Her limp body shuddered.
"He's fighting us," Nico said, his voice flat and calm, wanting to scare the puppet master. "Kill him."
Dunbar's eyes widened in horror as Jeff's fingers tightened around his throat. "You can't," he gasped, his voice hoarse. "I'm holding the dream."
Jeff looked into the man's eyes, shock blossoming. "He's lying, Nico. This is Tansy's dream. She pulled him into her dream."
"Are you sure?" Nico asked.
"Oh, yeah, I'm sure."
Jeff released Dunbar and then swung his hand hard, the edge slamming into the puppet master's throat, crushing the larynx and smashing the trachea. "See you in hell, you bastard," he muttered.
Dunbar fell back, gasping for air, strangling, his face turning a mottled purple.
"This is her worst nightmare," Jeff explained. "It was powerful enough to supersede anything the rest of us were doing. She's a dreamwalker as well, which is why she's so good at what she does."
The moment Jeff broke Dunbar's hold on Tansy, the light soaked into her body. She shuddered, coughing. Gasping. Fighting to draw in air.
"Wake up, Tansy," Jeff ordered.
Ryland slipped into the neighborhood like the ghost he was, easing his way through the streets until he found the house he was looking for. The backyard was protected from the rest of the houses on the street, and he went up and over the fence and through the landscaping to the small toolshed. It took only minutes to open the lock and go inside.
The shed was amazing. Each wall was lined with shelves holding every kind of nut and bolt and screw possible. Tools hung neatly, each clearly labeled. There wasn't a speck of dirt anywhere. On the table were Dunbar's carving tools, the various blades razor-sharp and laid out neatly like surgical instruments. Beside the tools was a small piece of ivory, the shape of a frog emerging.
Ryland searched through the drawers and found a laminating machine and thick card stock. There was an index box of cards already laminated, and each card had precise instructions detailing a murder: the name or names of victims, address, how the victims had to be killed, and the time frame allotted. There were points awarded for each detail, and at the bottom of the card, there was the total number of points each murder could accumulate. Ryland had found the actual game, along with a website he was building for an online game.
Dunbar, being as neat and as precise as he was, had filed the game cards already used along with the total points for each team in the index box. The points were totaled in a fussy little hand and attached to the team's cards. In another drawer were drawings and notes on a proposed video game, titled Murder Game. There was no doubt that Dunbar had his cover already in place should any suspicion fall on him. The man was so precise, Ryland wouldn't have been shocked to find a neatly signed contract for each contracted murder filed away, along with a ledger and books for his banking.
On the floor beside the table was a wastepaper bin, and he could see a torn box with "James R. Dunbar" written clearly on it, the label Tansy had spotted. Ryland let out his breath. He was in the right place. There was no mistake. He made his way through the backyard until he came to the house. Shrubbery and flowers were well manicured. The lawn was mowed and the patio in the back was extraordinarily clean. Each window was screened and the screen was free of dirt and debris.
Ryland pried one loose and set it aside to be replaced later. The window wasn't locked, nor did Dunbar have an alarm, a testament to how safe he felt--how superior. There was no need for such things. The man probably believed it would only make him appear more innocent should any of the murders ever be traced back to him. With the proposed video game in various stages, he might actually get away with claiming the serial killers had seen his idea and had decided to implement it for their own purposes.
Ryland slipped through the window and eased his weight onto the floor. Dunbar was reputed to live alone, with no pets. He was a man who would never want dog or cat hair on furniture or clothes. Each room was immaculate, everything in its place. Ryland made his way to the bedroom.
James Dunbar lay on his bed in full uniform. He stared unseeing up at the ceiling, his body jerking and shuddering, in the throes of his dream. Ryland crept up beside him, knife out, waiting. Minutes ticked by. Dunbar's eyes suddenly bulged and wheezing gasps escaped. One hand waved in the air and then went to his throat as he choked and fought for air. Ryland stepped up, a dark shadow, looming over the figure on the bed. The eyes found him, there in the dark, and recognized death when they saw it. Ryland cut his throat.
"Puppet master down," he whispered softly, and walked away.
Tansy woke gasping for air, her throat raw and swollen, her lungs burning. Her heart pounded in her ears, and for a moment she was completely disoriented. Her chest hurt, felt bruised and battered, as if someone had been pounding on her. She touched her throat as she turned her head searching for Kadan.
He stood across the room from her, his back to her, strapping on a belt and shoving knives and guns into every conceivable loop. He pushed extra clips into a zippered pocket and reached for more.
She opened her mouth to call to him, but nothing came out, her throat was too raw and damaged. She reached with her mind, connecting, wanting him, needing him, only he wasn't there. In his place was something else, something not quite human. Ice-cold. A machine bent on destruction. Where there had been cool logic and distance, there was now utter chaos. He was no thinking person. Tansy doubted if he even knew what he was doing. He simply reacted. His warrior persona was his most familiar, and he took it like the chameleon he was, wearing the outer skin when his mind was fragmented.
He thought I was dead. He had probably watched her die. Her heart clenched. She couldn't imagine watching Kadan die. Tansy pressed a hand to her heart. He'd probably tried to revive her. She was fairly certain her chest was bruised.
Kadan. She sent his name to him wrapped in love as she sat up a little unsteadily.
He didn't turn around, the ice block in his mind an effective barrier.
She reached again, filling his mind with her, with the scent and taste of her--of cinnamon. Of love. She poured warmth into his mind. His entire body could be ice and she'd find a way to warm him. She tried to stand, needing to go to him, her body swaying weakly.
A small corner of his mind thawed just enough to let out raw pain. It burst from him in a rush of agony, so intense, so strong, it drove her to her knees. Kadan whirled around, gun in his fist, his eyes piercing cold, remote, distant, sorrow etched deep into the lines of his face.
Kadan. She whispered his name again, calling him back to her. She pushed her way deeper into his mind, filling him full of erotic images, of heat and love and her wrapped in the same skin with him. The scent of cinnamon grew stronger. Look at me. Really look at me.
His glacier-cold eyes flicked over her face, still remote, still distant, as if he didn't know who she was, as if he didn't see her. His hand tightened around the barrel of the gun.
She pulled herself up, hanging on to the bed. His mouth stiffened. His mind rejected what he was seeing. She forced her taste into his mouth, her scent into his nostrils, deeper, into his lungs. Breathe me in, Kadan. Let me in.
Fear flickered in his eyes and he took a step back. He shook his head slightly. He wasn't going to let himself feel that raw pain, no matter how real the hallucination was.
Tansy smiled at him. Gentle. Warm. She stepped closer, pushing aside the gun to move in close to him, to circle his neck with her arms and press her body, soft and pliant and so familiar, against his. He
stiffened, both hands locking on her hips to push her away. She could feel the outline of the gun pressed tightly into her skin. There was only a thin shirt between them, and her warmth slid into the palm of his hands.
Does this feel like a hallucination? She stood on her toes and lifted her face, finding his mouth to brush her lips back and forth persistently over his. Does this?
He didn't move. Didn't blink. His eyes, like a cat's, remained wide open and staring, focused on her face, but he wasn't seeing her. The denial in his mind was loud. He wouldn't go there. He wouldn't feel.
With one hand wrapped around the nape of his neck to keep him close to her, she unbuttoned her shirt with the other. His arm was heavy, but he didn't resist her when she cupped his palm around the warm, soft, inviting mound of her breast and pressed her hand over his to hold him there. Is this a hallucination, Kadan? Come back to me.
He blinked. She felt his mind move against hers. Tentative. Raw anguish. Fear mounting to terror. A tendril of hope. He inhaled, drawing the scent of cinnamon deep into his lungs, as if he could trust his sense of smell, but not his mind. The cold receded just a little more.
His hand moved against her breast, an involuntary reflex. His thumb brushed over her nipple, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. She went up on her toes again and kissed his mouth. "Kadan." His name came out. A croak. Her throat protested, but she got his name out, aching for him, for that man crouched behind a wall of ice. A man shielded by the cold.
And then he crushed her. His arms whipped up and around her, nearly breaking her ribs with their strength. The gun landed on the chair, and the momentum of his body took her backward until she hit the wall. He enveloped her, his body so tight against hers she could barely breathe, his mouth in the hollow of her shoulder, his face wet against her skin. His body shuddered, wracked by silent sobs. He held her for a long time, just held her, without speaking, his mind in a turmoil, wild and unrestrained.
When he moved, his hand whipped up to span her throat, this time gently, but his thumb tipped her head back and he took her mouth, and there was nothing gentle there. He was rough, possessive, taking over, wanting to crawl inside her.
Murder Game Page 38