Nicolas walked through the large condo, checking all the exits, learning where the windows were and which made good escape routes. The main entrance opened out onto the street corner so they could choose either direction if they had to leave in a hurry. He noted there was also a street entrance through the locked wrought iron courtyard gate. The courtyard was large with overgrown plants, shrubbery, and large shade trees. It provided excellent cover should they need it. The condo had an upstairs with a balcony that also gave them access to the roof. Calhoun had chosen the location with care. They had cover, escape routes, and were near the river as well.
Dahlia opened a vault, hidden in the wall behind a picture of wild horses racing through waves. Inside were weapons, ammunition, and a great deal of cash. There were also a number of identity cards. Driver’s licenses, Social Security, and other forms of ID in various names with pictures of both Jesse Calhoun and Dahlia Le Blanc.
Nicolas thumbed through the papers Dahlia had taken from the safe earlier. All the while, he was conscious of the sound of water. Dahlia was taking a shower. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it, his imagination insisted on conjuring up a vivid picture of Dahlia naked, wet, her hair slick and her face turned up to the hot spray. He closed his eyes against the image and groaned softly. Where had all his self-discipline gone? His tremendous control? He couldn’t blame energy, sexual or otherwise, for his fantasies. It was the glimpse of her bare bottom, the curve of her hip. Her bare breasts gleaming at him in the sun. Or maybe it was her smile. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, Nicolas could swear it was for him alone, no one else. And then there was her skin…
“Hey! Lover boy! Stop mooning around and hit the shower. You smell like a swamp rat, and it just doesn’t do a thing to put me in the mood.” Dahlia stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her like a sarong. Her hair was up in a towel and she was dripping water all over the floor. She’d obviously come downstairs straight from her shower to scold him for his indiscretions, but changed her mind.
“You’re not helping me with my overactive imagination,” he pointed out as he walked toward her. He paused beside her, close, trapping her body between his larger frame and the doorjamb. Deliberately, slowly, he reached out and touched her face. He thought it a small victory that she didn’t automatically pull away. She braced herself for his touch, but she didn’t wince as he drew his finger down her cheek to the side of her mouth. “You have incredibly beautiful skin.”
Her eyes went black. Wary. He felt her tense, but she still didn’t flinch away.
“I want to kiss you again, Dahlia.”
Her eyes were huge. She lifted her chin, but didn’t break eye contact. “I want to kiss you too, but that doesn’t mean we should. It’s dangerous. And we don’t even know each other.”
A faint smile came out of nowhere. “I’m willing to get to know you intimately. Very intimately. That would solve the problem quickly.” His thumb slid over her velvet-soft lower lip, stroked small caresses there. He was fascinated by the shape of her lips. He could actually taste her in his mouth—haunting, feminine. Addicting.
Heat flared between them, smoldered there. Dahlia inhaled sharply. “Nicolas.” There was an ache in her voice.
His fingers curved around the nape of her neck. He knew better. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the consequences. It was just that nothing mattered but touching her. Getting close to her, skin to skin. Burying his body deep inside hers. The rest of it was just details. He had a primitive need to leave his mark on her, so that she would always be his. Always want him in the way he wanted her.
Dahlia could feel the heat swamping both of them. It would take so little to just wrap her arms around his neck and burn in the fire, but it wouldn’t be fair to Nicolas. He had no idea what he’d be getting into, nor how dangerous it might be. She took a deep breath and pushed one hand against Nicolas’s chest. “Go take a shower. Use cold water, it will help.”
It took him a moment to control the urgent demands of his body. As he stepped away from her, the pad of his finger slipped down her throat and trailed over the swell of her breast before he dropped his hand to his side.
Dahlia shivered at his touch. She remained still, only inches from him, refusing to back away… or move forward. “Fortunately, Jesse stashed some clothes here for me. He’s a thoughtful man.”
“Is that what you call him? I think interfering busybody would just about say it all. I like you without clothes.”
“Nicolas,” she cautioned. “I’m hanging on by a thread. You’re supposed to help.”
“Tell me why again, and I’ll work on it.”
“We don’t know what can happen.” He was still standing close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His need was urgent and evident and he made no effort to hide his arousal. “And,” she held up her hand before he could speak, “I’m not completely comfortable with you yet.”
He sighed softly. “You managed to think of the one thing to say that gives me no other recourse.” He went up the stairs, his body aching for relief.
Nicolas would normally revel in the hot shower after such uncomfortable conditions, but he found he was different. Soaping the mud from his hair, he contemplated his uneasiness. As a rule, he enjoyed solitude. He needed seclusion. Isolation was his chosen way of life, so much so that he normally avoided people, yet he felt reluctant to be away from Dahlia.
He was a methodical man, one who thought things through logically. As he showered, he forced his mind to regain discipline and control. He should have been the one controlling the situation, not Dahlia, and yet she had stopped them both times. His lack of discipline when he was all about discipline confused him. Determined to recover his normal tranquility, he used the training ingrained in him by his maternal grandfather, Konin Yogosuto. Automatically he began deep breathing. He concentrated on his teachings, beliefs that were a part of his life, a part of who he was. Unification of mind and body. Complete harmony in the universe. One with the universe. Where there is chaos, there must also be calm. He repeated the soothing mantra, allowing the familiar teachings to center him.
Energy, sexual or violent, even normal energy, swarmed to Dahlia. He created the energy simply by thinking of her. By wanting her. If he was to find a path with her, he needed to find a measure of control. Dahlia was a unique woman, one who had lived a life of solitude and betrayal. She wouldn’t trust him until he earned that trust, no matter how attracted they were physically. Dahlia needed friendship and she needed to feel “normal,” whatever that might be. Whatever it was, he was determined he would find a balance that would work for them.
It felt good to be clean and dry again. He dragged on a pair of jeans and thought about what Dahlia’s life had to have been like. While he was hunting and fishing and learning martial arts, she was alone in rooms filled with one-way glass and silent watchers. His grandfathers loved him and often hugged him, beaming with approval when he succeeded. There had been two women in Dahlia’s life, and their loyalty had not been entirely hers. She needed time. Even if a sexual relationship bound them together, Nicolas knew it would never be enough for him. He knew he wanted all of Dahlia Le Blanc, not just her body.
DAHLIA dressed slowly, grateful for the clothes Jesse had stored in the closet for her. As she pulled on a pair of jeans, she listened to the sound of the shower. Nicolas had power now, and he knew it. Dahlia had never let another human being have true power over her since Dr. Whitney had when she’d been a child. Others might believe they had control, but it was never so. She should never have blurted out the truth, telling him she wanted to kiss him.
Jesse had always told her she should have a backup plan and not to trust anyone entirely. It had never seemed a problem before. Even Milly and Bernadette, the two people she’d really loved, had reported to someone else about her. It hadn’t been just Dr. Whitney they’d reported to. Whitney had lost interest in her around the age of seventeen or eighteen. He had provided the money for her ho
me and the specialized gymnasium equipment, but once he had made a decision that she would never be able to work as an operative, he never returned. Had he checked, even once, he would have found she’d proved him wrong, perhaps out of sheer stubborness.
Dahlia wandered into the kitchen and opened cupboards. They were stocked only with the bare necessities. She made a pot of coffee, mainly for the aroma and something to do with her hands while she tried to puzzle out who wanted her dead. Who knew about her, and why would they want her dead? Was it possible those she’d worked with didn’t want it known that she did recovery work for them and sent out a team to kill not only her, but Milly and Bernadette as well? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
She rubbed at her damp hair with the towel, taking out the excess moisture. There was no need to kill any of them. No one would ever believe Dahlia Le Blanc, a woman raised in a sanitarium. It was the perfect cover and the perfect protection. If she were caught, she was simply a madwoman unhinged by her own conspiracy theories.
She looked up as Nicolas sauntered into the room. His hair was damp from his shower and he wore only a pair of soft blue jeans. He was barefoot and shirtless, showing a broad, bronzed chest that robbed her of her ability to think clearly. She tried not to stare, but it was a losing proposition. In a lame attempt to cover her reaction to his presence, she settled into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m just making coffee. I thought we both could use a cup.”
“It smells great.” Automatically, he glanced at the windows, making certain no one could see them from any angle.
“Tell me a little bit about how you got into recovery work,” Nicolas suggested.
Dahlia leaned back and allowed herself a long look at him. “I think I only said I’d do it because Dr. Whitney said I couldn’t do it. I really detested that man.”
“So you’re contrary on top of everything else.”
She watched the way his muscles rippled as he made his way to the coffeepot. He reached easily into the cupboard and pulled out two mugs. “Very contrary when it’s needed. The man who recruited me wore a uniform, and both Milly and Bernadette were afraid of him. More than just nervous, you know? I think he had a couple of stars on his uniform. Whitney was there at the time.” She shrugged. “I was about seventeen, I think, and deliberately didn’t pay much attention.”
“What about his sleeve? Did you see an anchor alongside the stars?”
“Now that you say that, yes he did.”
“Curious. So he presented himself as part of the military. This could have started as a black ops. Covert. Whitney had a lot of ties to the military. Most of his contracts were with the government, and he had a high security clearance. But if Whitney later became suspicious that you were being used by someone who didn’t have his approval, why didn’t he take you out of there?”
“Whitney and I didn’t get along very well. When he was around, there were a few accidents.” Dahlia studied her fingernails. “And yes, they were true accidents. I don’t hurt people on purpose. The repercussions are brutal. I just hadn’t learned to control my feelings. Teenagers have such intense emotions.” She shrugged. “I think he preferred to forget I existed.”
“He remembered you enough to leave a letter to Lily asking her to find you and the other women he experimented on.”
“I suppose I should be grateful.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nicolas said. “If Jesse Calhoun is a Navy SEAL and the man you saw had the uniform of an officer, and it sounds as if he could be rear admiral, then we should probably start with any Navy connections to a high-level security splinter group. Before we found you, the GhostWalker program was slated to be wiped out by a splinter group of military. We thought we got all of them, but maybe we missed somebody. And if that’s the case, they’d know about Lily and the rest of us.”
“Are Lily and the others in danger?” Dahlia asked quickly. “Call them and warn them to be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to Lily, especially because of me.”
“It wouldn’t be because of you, Dahlia. Lily is committed to the GhostWalkers, and she’s very committed to finding each of the women Dr. Whitney experimented on and helping them recover.”
Dahlia resumed towel drying her hair, wishing she had a brush. “How did you get involved with the experiment?”
Nicolas hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He had never told anyone the reasons for his involvement. “I needed my psychic abilities enhanced.”
Dahlia waited for more. When it wasn’t forthcoming she looked across the table at him with a raised eyebrow. “Nicolas, no one needs their psychic ability enhanced. Why would you even consider doing such a thing?“ His very body language screamed at her to drop the subject, but Dahlia couldn’t imagine anyone wanting the life she’d led. ”I’ve never known anything different, but you must have had a wonderful life prior to meeting Whitney.“
He shrugged. “I wanted to be able to heal people. Both of my grandfathers seemed to think I was born with the gift, but I’ve never been able to utilize it.”
“And you were willing to trade your entire life for a chance to try?”
“Obviously.”
“But it didn’t work,” she guessed.
“The experiment worked, but not for healing,” he said.
Dahlia studied his face, noting the sadness in his eyes. “It enhanced your natural abilities and made you a better hunter, didn’t it?” she guessed. “And there isn’t really a way to reverse the process, is there?”
Nicolas shook his head. “No, but there are ways to better live with it, ways Lily can help you so you might be able to live among people and at least have a chance at something resembling normal. She’s helped all of us.”
Dahlia shrugged. “Meeting her will be enough. A part of me did think I was losing my mind to believe she existed.” She pushed her hands through her hair, lifting the wet mass from her neck. “I’ve been giving it some thought. I don’t think it’s going to be all that hard to find Jesse. They want me to come after him. They must have left a trail of some sort for me to find.”
Nicolas poured a cup of coffee for her and handed it across the table. His fingertips brushed hers. His belly did an annoying ripple and his groin tightened. If he were a cursing man, now would be the best time. “I’d have to agree with you.” He kept his voice calm and even.
Dahlia took a sip of coffee, looking serene. She sat tailor-fashion in the large kitchen chair, comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt. Her long hair spilled down to her waist, a cascade of black silk. The mass left damp spots on the shirt.
Nicolas shifted his gaze to the numerous IDs. “Did you find anything in there that will help us?”
“Not really. What about your people? Do they have the connections to check on Jesse’s background? We could use a little help.”
“Lily has top security clearance and she can hack her way around any security system. I called her while you were in the shower.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “She said to tell you she was very happy we found you, and it made her feel as if she weren’t quite so alone.”
Dahlia ducked her head, unable to hide her expression from his probing gaze. Lily had always meant so much to her, even when Dahlia was certain Lily was no more than a figment of her imagination. She couldn’t readily identify how she felt knowing that Lily was real, that she was alive and was happy to have found her. It felt as if a long-lost family member had surfaced. She struggled to contain her emotions.
“Dahlia, it’s okay to show your feelings. You know everything I’m thinking.”
He thought she might smile, but she didn’t. She sat in the oversized kitchen chair with tears on her lashes and looked up at him. “No I don’t. I’m not like you. I told you, I’m not telepathic. I can reach out if the energy is right, and I can answer if the other person sustains the contact. Jesse was strong. We could talk together. You’re strong, you maintain the bridge, but I’m not reading your thoughts. I feel your hands on my body, or y
our mouth. Whatever you’re thinking, somehow transfers into a strong sensation. You’re broadcasting, but my brain doesn’t hear it. My body feels it.”
Nicolas sat down slowly. “It’s hard to take this in. Most of the GhostWalkers work off telepathy, at least to a great extent. The concept of using energy is different. It seems impossible for me to think something, you not hear my thoughts, but feel what I’m thinking.”
“We all give off energy. Emotions give off energy. You have a particularly strong sexual attraction for me. The energy is strong, and it finds me.”
“Has it ever happened with anyone else on any other level? You felt what they were thinking?” He stayed very calm, breathing in and out, but now he was tuned to his own mind and body, and the ripple of unease, of dark, dangerous violence, was acknowledged as part of him and let go.
She shook her head. “Lucky you. It’s only been you.”
He kept his expression blank, not showing the relief sweeping through him. “I do consider myself to be lucky, even privileged, being as I’m the only one. This never happened to you, even as a child? Maybe with Lily or one of the others?”
Dahlia shook her head. “Never.”
“But you can’t be around people,” he probed gently.
“Strong emotions make me sick. Violence makes me extremely sick. I’ve had seizures before. I hurt someone a couple of times, accidentally. It looks as if I do it on purpose, but when I’m in the midst of violent energy, especially raw anger or the aftermath of death, such as we experienced at my home, I generate heat along with my own emotions and things happen. My own emotions can make it happen.”
“The flames. It appears as if you throw them out there, but it’s just the opposite, it’s lack of control.”
“Exactly, but it can be useful when people think I do it on purpose.” Again that faint smile touched her soft mouth. Nicolas tried not to stare at her mouth or allow his mind to dwell for too long on the possibilities of kissing her.
She put her coffee cup on the table and leaned back. “Do you realize I know nothing at all about where I came from? I don’t even have a family. You must feel very lucky knowing your grandfather. Tell me something about him.”
GhostWalkers 2 - Mind Game Page 11
