Shadow Game (GhostWalkers)

by Christine Feehan

  “A wild idea. And this is whose baby?”

  “Your father’s. He thought it up, convinced the powers that be that it could be done, and convinced me and the rest of the men that it would make the world a better place.” There was a wealth of bitterness in Ryland Miller’s voice.

  “Obviously something went wrong.”

  “Greed went wrong. Donovans has the government contract. Peter Whitney practically owns this company. I guess he just doesn’t have enough money with the million or two in his bank account.”

  She waited a long moment before responding. “I doubt my father needs any more money, Captain Miller. The amount he gives to charities each year would feed a state. You don’t know anything about him so I suggest you reserve your opinion until all the facts are in. And for the record, it’s a billion or two or more. This corporation could disappear tomorrow and it wouldn’t change his lifestyle one bit.” Her voice didn’t rise in the least, but it smoldered with heat and intensity.

  Ryland sighed. Her vivid gaze hadn’t wavered an inch. “We have no contact with our people. All communication to the outside must go through your father or the colonel. We have no say in what is happening to us at all. One of my men died a couple of months ago and they lied about how he died. He died of a direct result from this experiment and the enhancement of his abilities—his brain couldn’t handle the overload, the constant battering. They claimed it was an accident in the field. That’s when we were cut off from all command and separated. We’ve been in isolation since that time.” Ryland regarded her with dark, angry eyes, daring her to call him a liar. “And it wasn’t the first death, but by God, it’s going to be the last.”

  Lily pushed a hand through her perfectly smooth hair, the first real sign of agitation. The action scattered pins and left long strands falling in a cloud around her face. She was silent, allowing her brain to process the information, even as she was rejecting the accusations and implications about her father.

  “Do you know precisely what killed the man in your unit? And is there the same danger to the rest of you?” She asked the question very quietly, her voice so low it was almost in his mind.

  Ryland answered in the same soft voice, taking no chances the unseen guards would overhear their conversation. “His brain was wide open, assaulted by everyone and everything he came into contact with. He couldn’t shut it off anymore. We can function together as a group because a couple of the men are like you. They draw the noise and raw emotion away from the rest of us. Then we’re powerful and we work. But without that magnet…” He broke off and shrugged. “It’s like pieces of glass or razor blades slashing at the brain. He snapped—seizures, brain bleeds, you name it. It wasn’t a pretty sight and I sure didn’t like the glimpse of our future. Neither did any of the other men in the unit.”

  Lily pressed her fingers to her temple and for just a moment, Ryland caught the impression of throbbing pain. His face darkened, gray eyes narrowing. “Come here.” He had an actual physical reaction to her being in pain. The muscles in his belly knotted, hard and aching. Everything protective and male in him rose up and flooded him with an overwhelming need to ease her discomfort.

  Her enormous blue eyes instantly became wary. “I don’t touch people.”

  “Because you don’t want to know what they’re really like inside, do you? You feel it too.” He was horrified to think her father may have experimented on her too. How long have you been telepathic? More than that, he didn’t want to think about never touching her. Never feeling her skin beneath his fingers, her mouth crushed to his. The image was so vivid he could almost taste her. Even her hair begged to be touched, a thick mass of shiny silk just asking for his fingers to toss away the rest of the pins and free it for his inspection.

  Lily shrugged easily, but a faint blush stole along her high cheekbones. All of my life. And yes, it can be uncomfortable knowing other people’s darkest secrets. I’ve learned to live within certain boundaries. Maybe my father became interested in psychic phenomena because he wished to help me. For whatever reason, I can assure you, it had nothing to do with personal financial gain. She let out a slow breath. “How terrible for you, to lose any of your men. You must be very close. I hope I can find a way to help all of you.”

  Ryland sensed her sincerity. He was suspicious of her father in spite of her protests. Is Dr. Whitney psychic? He knew he’d been broadcasting his sexual fantasies a little too strongly but she was unshaken, handling the intensity of the chemistry between them easily. And he knew the chemistry was on both sides. He had a sudden desire to really shake her up, get past her cool demeanor just once and see if fire burned beneath the ice. It was a hell of a thing in the middle of the mess he was in.

  Lily shook her head as she answered him. We’ve conducted many experiments and have connected telepathically a few times under extreme conditions, but it was sustained completely on my side. I must have inherited the talent through my mother.

  “When you touch him, can you read him?” Ryland asked curiously in a low voice. He decided men were not all that far from the caves. His attraction to her was raw and hot and beyond any experience he’d ever had. He was unable to control his body’s reaction to her. And she knew it. Unlike Ryland, she appeared to be cool and unaffected, while he was shaken to his very core. She carried on their conversation as if he weren’t a firestorm burning out of control. As if his blood weren’t boiling and his body hard as rock and in desperate need. As if she didn’t even notice.

  “Rarely. He is one of those people who has natural barriers. I think it’s because he believes so strongly in psychic talent, whereas most people don’t. Being aware of it all the time, he’s probably built up a natural wall. I’ve found many people have barriers to varying degrees. Some seem impossible to get past and others are flimsy. What about you? Have you found the same thing? You’re a very strong telepath.”

  “Come here to me.”

  Her cool blue gaze drifted over him. Dismissed him. “I don’t think so, Captain Miller, I have far too much work to do.”

  “You’re being a coward.” He said it softly, his hungry gaze on her face.

  She lifted her chin at him and gave him her haughty princess look. “I don’t have time for your little games, Captain Miller. Whatever you think is going on here, is not.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. She had a perfect mouth. “Yes it is.”

  “It was interesting meeting you,” Lily said and turned from him, walking without haste away from him. As cool as ever.

  Ryland didn’t protest, instead watched her leave him without a single backward glance. He willed her to look back, but she didn’t. And she didn’t replace the glass barrier around his cage, leaving it for the guards.

  TWO

  THE sea was angry. Waves rose up, cresting high, a boiling cauldron of dark rage. White foam was left behind on the cliffs as the water receded, only to return, reaching ever higher. Reaching with hunger and fury, with deadly intent. The dark, fathomless waters spread, a dark eye seeking. Hunting. Turning toward her.

  Lily wrenched herself awake, fighting for air. Her lungs burned. She pressed the button to bring the window down. Slightly disoriented, she told herself it was a dream, nothing but a dream. Cool air rushed in and she inhaled deeply. She noticed with relief that they were nearly to the house, already on the estate property. “John, would you mind stopping the car? I feel like walking.” She managed to keep her voice steady, in spite of the way her heart pounded in alarm. She detested the nightmares that so often plagued her sleep.

  Lily had wanted to dream of Captain Ryland Miller, but she’d dreamt of death and violence. Of voices calling to her, of death beckoning with a bony finger.

  The chauffeur glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You’re wearing high heels, Miss Lily,” he pointed out. “Are you ill?”

  She could see her reflected image. Pale, eyes too big for her face, dark circles. She looked like hell. Her chin lifted. “I don’t mind the heels, Jo
hn. I need the exercise.” She needed to get the remnants of the nightmare out of her mind. The oppressive feeling of danger, of being hunted, was still accelerating her heart rate. Lily tried to appear normal, avoiding John’s gaze in the mirror. He had known her all of her life, and he was already concerned with the shadows in her eyes.

  Why did she have to look so pale and uninteresting just when she finally met a man she connected with? He was so gorgeous. So intelligent. So…everything. She had walked into the meeting without one iota of information and had come off looking a complete fool rather than a woman of extraordinary intelligence. Miller probably dated model-thin blonds with big breasts, women who hung on his every word. Lily brushed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away the nightmares that refused to allow her rest. Hoping to rid herself of the image of Ryland Miller embedded in her brain. He had somehow branded himself deep into her flesh and bones.

  Come here to me.

  His voice had whispered through her body, heated her blood, melted her insides. Lily hadn’t wanted to look at him. She had been all too aware of the cameras. All too aware she knew nothing of men. She was bewildered by her father’s behavior, bewildered by the sheer weight of her attraction to Ryland Miller. And she had run like a rabbit, wanting to find her father and learn what was happening.

  The limousine slowed to a stop on the long, well-paved road winding through the enormous estate up to the main house. Lily hastily climbed out, not wanting to risk further conversation. John leaned out his window and studied her for a long moment. “You aren’t sleeping again, Miss Lily.”

  Lily smiled at him as she pushed a hand through her thick mass of dark hair. The chauffeur claimed he was still in his early sixties, but she suspected he was probably in his seventies. He acted more like a relative than a driver and she could never see him in any other light than as beloved family. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m having those strange dreams I get once in a while. I’m trying to catnap during the day. Don’t you worry about me, it’s happened before.” She shrugged her shoulders in a dismissing little gesture.

  “Have you told your father?”

  “As a matter of fact, I had planned to tell him over dinner, but he stood me up again. I thought he might be in his lab, but he didn’t answer the phone or his page. Do you know if he’s home yet?” If he were home, she would have a few words to say to him. It had been unforgivable to drop her into the situation with Miller without giving her the least indication of what was happening.

  She was furious with her father this time. Miller didn’t belong locked up in a cage like an animal. He was a man, a strong, intelligent man, loyal to his country, and whatever was going on at the Donovans laboratories had better be stopped immediately. And what was the nonsense with the computers and her father’s codes? He had written reams of gibberish and acted as if the mess were legitimate notes on his work. She couldn’t consult with nothing to work with. Dr. Peter Whitney, father or not, had a lot to answer for and he’d ducked out on their appointed meeting like a coward in retreat.

  Impatience crossed the chauffeur’s face. “That man. He needs an assistant to walk along behind him and kick him every now and then so he notices he’s actually living in the real world.” The renowned doctor had a long history of ignoring or forgetting his daughter’s important moments and it annoyed John. The event never mattered—birthdays, planned outings, graduation ceremonies, Dr. Whitney just never remembered. The chauffeur had attended each and every event, watching Lily earn honor after honor without a family member present. It was a sore point with John Brimslow that his boss would treat his daughter with so little care.

  Lily burst out laughing. “Is that what you say about me when I’m researching and I forget to come home?” She kept her gaze centered on the top button of John’s coat, hoping she had become an expert at hiding emotion. She was used to her father’s absentminded ways concerning her. Their dinner date would never have been important enough to him to try to remember it and normally she would have been understanding. She often was caught up in a research project and forgot to eat or sleep or talk with others. She could hardly condemn her father for being the same way. But this time, he was going to get a well-deserved earful, and he was going to sit down and tell her everything she wanted to know about Captain Miller and his men, with no excuses.

  Her chauffeur grinned unrepentantly. “Of course.”

  “I’ll be up to the house in a few minutes. Tell Rosa, will you please, otherwise she’ll worry.” Lily stepped away from the car with a small wave, turning away so John couldn’t continue to look at her face. She knew her face had thinned, making her cheekbones stick out, and not in the complimentary way of a model. The nightmares had put dark smudges under her eyes and a droop in her shoulders. She had never been all that much to look at, with her too large eyes and her limp, and she had never been fashionably thin. Her body was curvy at a young age and insisted, no matter how much exercise she did, on being truly feminine. She had never minded much before about her looks, but now…

  Lily closed her eyes. Ryland Miller. Why couldn’t she have looked stunningly attractive just once? He was so unbelievably sexy. She had never been attracted to classic handsomeness. Miller wasn’t handsome, he was too earthy, had too much raw power. Her entire body felt hot just thinking about him. And the way he looked at her…No one had ever looked at her like that before. He looked hungry for her.

  She slipped off her heels and stared up at the house. She loved San Francisco, and living in the hills overlooking the beautiful city was a treasure she never tired of. Theirs was an Old World country estate, several stories high and sprawled out with balconies and terraces, giving it an elegant, romantic charm. The house had more rooms than she and her father could ever possibly use, but she loved every inch of it. The walls were thick and the spaces wide. Her refuge. Her sanctuary. God knew she needed one.

  The wind blew softly, ruffling her hair and touching her face gently. The breeze brought her a sense of comfort. After a nightmare, the impression of danger usually dissipated a few minutes after waking, but this time it lingered, an alarm that was becoming frightening. Night was beginning to fall. She stared up at the skies, watching the gray threads spinning into darkening clouds overhead and floating across the moon. Dusk was a soft blanket enfolding her. Wisps of fog began to drift across the terraced lawns, white lace in ribbons curling around the trees and bushes.

  Lily turned in a circle, taking in the rolling manicured lawns, the shrubbery and trees, the fountains and gardens artfully placed to please the eye. The sprawling acreage to the front was always perfectly immaculate without so much as a leaf or blade of grass out of place, but behind the house, the woods were left wild. There always seemed to her a balance in nature, a quiet and a sense of peace. Her home gave her a freedom she couldn’t find anywhere else.

  Lily had always been different. She had a gift—a talent, her father called it. She called it a curse. She could touch people and know their private thoughts. Things not meant to be out in the open. Dark secrets and forbidden desires. She had other gifts as well. Her home was her one refuge, a sanctuary with walls thick enough to protect her from the assault of intense emotions bombarding her night and day.

  Fortunately, Peter Whitney seemed to have natural barriers so that she couldn’t read him when he had tucked her into bed at night as a child. Still, he had been careful of physical contact, careful the barriers in his mind held firm when she was around. And he had taken great care in finding others with natural barriers so that her home was always a sanctuary for her. The people who had cared for her became her family and were all people she could safely touch. It had never occurred to her until that moment to ask how Peter Whitney had known the people he hired were people his unusual daughter would be unable to read.

  Ryland Miller had been totally unexpected. She could have sworn the earth moved when she first set eyes on him. He had gifts and talents of his own. Lily knew her father considered him dangerous. She s
ensed Ryland was dangerous but she wasn’t certain in what way. A small smile curved her mouth. He was probably dangerous to all women. He certainly had an effect on her body. She had to corner her father and make him listen to her for once. She needed a few answers that only he could give her.

  Anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach and Lily pressed a hand to her midsection, wondering at the persistence of the threatening omen. She knew better than to ignore a continual disquiet so deeply imbedded in her bones. With a soft sigh, Lily headed determinedly for the house. The path she took was a narrow one, made of blue-gray slate, leading around the maze, through the tea garden toward a side entrance.

  Lily stepped on the smooth slate stair and the earth rocked. She caught at the ornate banister, her shoes falling to the ground as she used both hands to steady herself, it took her a moment to register that there was no earthquake, but the motion was very much as if she were standing on a boat as it was riding over the waves in the ocean. She heard the lapping of the water against wood, a hollow sound that echoed through her mind. The vision was so strong, Lily could smell the sea air, feel the spray of salt water misting her face.

  Her stomach clenched in reaction. Lily’s fingers tightened until her knuckles turned white. Again she felt the rocking of the waves. She lifted her face to the darkening sky and saw the ominous clouds whirling faster over her head, spinning wildly until only the center was clear and dark and moving relentlessly, searching, searching. Lily jerked her hands from the banister and wrenched open the kitchen door. Staggering inside, she slammed the door and leaned against the wall, her breath coming in hard gasps. She closed her eyes and drew the air of her home, her sanctuary, into her lungs. She was safe inside the thick walls. Safe, as long as she didn’t fall asleep.

  The kitchen smelled of fresh-baked bread. Everywhere she looked there were gleaming tiles and wide-open spaces. Home. Lily patted the door with her palm. “Rosa, it smells wonderful in here. Did you cook dinner?”