He hurt her. He saw it in her eyes before her lashes came down. A glimpse was enough to cause his gut to tie itself into knots. “Damn it, Dahlia, I’m telling you the truth, and you know it. It would be suicide sending you in there alone. Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.”
She steepled her fingers, pressed them tightly together. “It could happen. I’m not going to deny that it could happen. On the other hand, I’ve refused to live my life being afraid. What else are we going to do? I can blur my image and slip into small places. Believe me, they won’t see me. The other choice is…” She trailed off, looking up at him, spreading her hands out in front of her.
“I’ll go in. I’m a GhostWalker, Dahlia. I do have a few talents of my own.”
“But you can protect me with a weapon. I’m not certain I can do the same for you. I’ve been taught to fire a gun and I can hit a target, but I doubt if I could actually hit a human being. I’d try, Nicolas, but the repercussions would be so bad I’d get hit with the energy of just the intention of trying to kill someone. You’ve seen how bad it is.”
“I’ve felt it as well,” he agreed grimly. He never wanted to experience it again.
“Back at the house, I wanted to help Jesse, to keep someone from hurting him. I didn’t mean to set anyone on fire, just scare everyone, when they were taking Jesse. I don’t have any control when the energy is severe like that. I could burn down the house with you and Jesse in it.”
Dahlia tried to keep her voice even. She had never felt so worthless in her life. Nicolas had managed to reduce her to a burden. She looked away from him into the trees, breathing deeply to keep her rising emotions under control. She needed to be away from everyone, to return to the sanctuary of the bayou. It was the only place she knew. The only one she called home.
“Dahlia.” Nicolas reached out and brushed tears from her face. “I can’t change who I am, not even for you.”
She jerked her head away from the caress of his fingers. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It means I always go in first. It means I have to take the hot mission. I live by a strict code, and it’s a matter of honor with me.”
She sat in silence for few minutes before scooting back toward the broad trunk of the nearest tree, giving him plenty of room to lie down. “It doesn’t negate what you said. I would be a burden to you if I went in. To both of you.”
Nicolas sighed as he stretched out on the sheet, lying with his head in her lap. She didn’t protest, and her hand immediately nestled in his hair. She began rubbing strands of his hair between her thumb and finger. “I didn’t say burden, Dahlia. You could never be a burden. I have to do this my way. The way I was trained. You have something you’re very good at doing. This is what I do.”
She leaned back against the tree trunk. “What am I supposed to be doing while you’re in the house alone?”
“Waiting. We’re going to need to get him out fast if he’s alive. He’ll need medical care immediately. We’ll have to contact your people and get him to a hospital.”
His voice was drowsy. Dahlia looked down at his perfectly sculpted face. Her fingertips traced his strong jaw. “I don’t have any people. I do work for them, but I’m not one of them. It isn’t the same thing. Jesse’s NCIS; I’m nobody.”
He tried to analyze her voice. Was the ache of loneliness in her words or her tone? Or maybe it struck a cord in him. Even in training he had felt apart, until he had made an attempt to learn to utilize the healing skills both grandfathers said were strong in him. He had volunteered to be enhanced, mainly in the hopes of opening his mind to the healing arts. He had gained many psychic talents, and for the first time he had felt a part of something bigger, yet he still, to his shame, could not tap into the strong resource his grandfathers had been so certain was within him.
He reached up and took her hand, settling his fingers around hers. “You aren’t nobody, Dahlia, you’re a GhostWalker. They hired you because you’re exceptional at what you do. We don’t do too bad together for a couple of people that are used to being alone, do we?”
A faint smile curved her mouth. “At least I’ve learned not to singe fingers.”
A night breeze came up off the river, helping to ease the heat of the day. “I enjoy being with you Dahlia. Singed fingers or not.”
Dahlia looked down at Nicolas. His eyes were closed, his voice sleepy, drifting into no more than a murmur. There was a quality about him that she found restful. She had worked at finding peace in her life, a sanctuary, but it had always been alone, her home, the bayou, never with a person. She had been unable to spend more than half an hour at a time with Milly or Bernadette or Jesse. Yet she was with Nicolas almost continually, and the more physical contact she had with him, the easier it seemed to be.
She remained quiet, willing him to sleep. He never seemed tired, yet she could see the lines of strain on his face. She smoothed the lines gently with her fingertips, went back to combing his hair with her fingers. She needed to touch him. She wanted to touch him. He slept lightly. She was very aware on some level he would know the liberties she took, but it didn’t matter. Let him sleep and dream of her.
Dahlia’s fingers slid over his chest, beautiful fingers with more strength than he expected. More magic. Her fingertips played a sultry rhythm on his skin, tightening every muscle, heightening his pleasure. She seemed small and fragile to him, but there was purpose in her touch. Demand even. The night breeze fanned his skin, cooling the rising heat and adding to his sensitivity.
Nicolas knew he was between sleep and awake, somewhere in the twilight in between the two stages. He might have been dream-walking. He was capable. It didn’t matter to him, and he refused to analyze it. He wanted her touch more than he wanted to know what was reality.
He heard her whisper, as soft as any breeze, the warmth of her breath sliding over his face. A brush of her lips against his. Soft, teasing—little feathery kisses tantalizing him. Her teeth nibbled at his lower lip. Her tongue traced the outline of his mouth. His heart thudded in his chest, the echo in his head like thunder.
He shaped the back of her head with the palm of his hand, crushing her silky hair in his fingers, and held her to him so she couldn’t escape. Why did he always feel as if she were on the verge of slipping away from him? He was dreaming. It was his dream, and he wanted to kiss her. His mouth took possession of hers. He was lost there in the silken heat. He gave up all pretense of sleeping, wanting it to be reality, losing himself in her taste and texture. “Dahlia,” he whispered her name against her skin. Inhaling her scent, taking her deep into his lungs. “What are you doing?”
“Losing my mind,” she whispered back, her mouth on fire, pouring molten lava into his bloodstream. “Just this once I wanted to feel like a real woman. You were lying there so beautiful, so peaceful, and the night is so perfect, I almost forgot what I am.” She lifted her head, resisting his firm grip, her black eyes liquid with sorrow. “It’s time to wake up.”
Nicolas caught her face in his hands, held her there. He knew what she meant, but he wasn’t willing to let his dream go. “We’ve been awake. All this time, we’ve both been awake, Dahlia.” He kissed her eyelids gently. The tip of her nose. The corners of her mouth. “You’re a GhostWalker, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
She pulled away from him and settled back against the tree. “For a man who is very grounded most of the time, when it comes to me, you’re not very realistic. You took a terrible chance on the ferry. What if instead of the violence being diluted by the sexual energy, you’d been burned when it flashed? Did it occur to you that could have happened just as easily?” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “It occurred to me.”
“Of course I thought of it, Dahlia. What was the alternative? I could have thrown you in the river I suppose, or let you have a seizure right in front of everyone.” Right in front of me. I can read your thoughts, remember? I knew if it happened you’d never want to look at me again.
&
nbsp; Her head snapped up, her eyes beginning to smolder with temper. “So you risked your life rather than allowing me a little humiliation? Damn it, Nicolas, that doesn’t even make sense. I don’t need a white knight.” If anyone needed a white knight it was definitely Dahlia. And worse, the thought of the risk he’d taken for her nearly curled her toes. She rubbed her pounding temples. “Did it occur to you that you could have raped me right there in front of all those people?” She said it deliberately harshly, needing him to snap out of his dream world so that she would too.
Nicolas sat up, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Well, no, it didn’t enter my mind. That came as a shock. Now we know what can happen when the two energies meet. What were you feeling?”
Her face flamed bright red. “I think that’s beside the point. We shouldn’t have tried something without knowing what would happen.” She detested her prim voice. “Isn’t it about time you get going?”
He glanced at his watch. “I want them to be tired and sloppy. Besides, the conversation was just getting interesting.”
“You’re going to make me answer, aren’t you? I thought you were a gentleman.”
“Only when it serves my purpose,” he answered without hesitation.
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “If you must know, I was feeling the same way. Aggressive and out of control.”
“So you wanted to tear my clothes off.”
“It isn’t funny, Nicolas. It could have turned ugly.”
“But it didn’t Dahlia.” He leaned into her, his larger body moulding against hers. His lips skimmed her cheek, teeth teasing her lower lip until her body relaxed beneath his. “It didn’t because we controlled it. We may have been shaky, but it worked. We didn’t tear the clothes off each other, and you didn’t have a seizure. We now know we can dilute the violent energy by mixing it with another kind. Next time, I’ll just tell outrageous jokes.”
Her hands slid over his. “You take too many chances, Nicolas. I was so afraid for you.”
There was a small catch in her voice that tugged at his insides. “You were the one in danger, Dahlia. I’m a hell of a lot stronger than you, and you weren’t exactly resisting.”
“And you would never have forgiven yourself, Nicolas. I’ve lived with this. I’ve done terrible things. They were all accidents, but in the end, it was my responsibility because I couldn’t control my own emotions or handle the sheer volume of energy building up in me. You’ve built your entire life around discipline. I’m the ultimate in chaos, don’t you see that? I work hard at establishing order, but I disrupt the natural flow of energy. I can’t stop it from happening, so I’ve done my best to find ways to disperse it. If I didn’t, the pain would have driven me completely insane. I had to learn how to bring order, it was the only time I wasn’t being battered by the effects of gathering energy. It isn’t going to change. If there had been a way to change it, I would have found it already.”
“Dahlia, I’m going into that house, and I’m bringing Calhoun out. You damned well better be here when I get back. I’d find you, and believe me, you’d see that I’m not always in control, so get it out of your head that you’re sneaking off to save me from myself.” He caught her shoulders and gave her a small shake. “I’m a grown man. I make my own decisions. I’m not having you ‘protect’ me any more than you want my protection. Got that?”
Dahlia sighed, wanting to be upset that he knew what was in her mind, but inexplicably pleased that he was insisting she wait for him. “I’ve got it. Just don’t go getting yourself killed. That would make me mad, and God knows, I’d probably burn down half of Louisiana.”
He pulled out his cell phone. “Don’t melt this. We need it.”
“Then why are you giving it to me?” She dropped the small cell onto the sheet.
“You may need it. Lily’s number is programmed in.”
Dahlia looked with interest at the cell. Lily was just on the other end of the phone. Real-life Lily, not a figment of her imagination. Not the one in her dreams. The temptation to pick up the phone was nearly as strong as her sudden fear. Her mouth was dry. “Be careful, Nicolas. Don’t get over-confident. You have a tendency to be that way.”
“I’m never over-confident,” he denied. Nicolas caught Dahlia’s chin and brushed his mouth gently over hers. “You listen to me this one time, Dahlia. If something goes wrong, anything at all, you haul butt out of here fast. You have the cell phone and the number. Call Lily. The GhostWalkers will be here as soon as possible.”
She caught at him before he could turn away. “You listen to me this one time, Nicolas. If anything goes wrong, don’t be a hero. Haul your butt out of there and in one piece. We’ll call Lily, and she can send the others.”
He looked down at her for what seemed an eternity, a moment stretched out in time. His hard features softened. Tenderness crept into the black obsidian of his eyes. “I hear you. I’ll come back.”
Nicolas felt her fingertips cling just for a moment and then slide from his arm.
He went with the minimum amount of equipment, wanting to get in and out as quietly and as fast as possible. He slipped into the water, a dark shape moving upriver, toward the house. He made no noise, not even a light splash to give away his position. The current was strong but he stayed close to the bank, maneuvering in the reeds and brush and rock. He allowed only his head to surface, his gaze wide open and watching the guard facing the river. With the boulders behind him and the bushes screening him, he knew he was in a good position to remain hidden.
Tension rose in him. A bad sign, one he’d come to recognize as a warning signal. The guard stared at the black surface of the water for some time before turning away. From watching earlier in the day, Nicolas knew the guard would blind himself temporarily by striking a match and lighting a cigarette. He waited for the inevitable moment, and as soon as the match flared, Nicolas slid from the water onto the embankment, yards from the house. There was no cover whatsoever. He laid on the ground, in the open, a part of the rocky terrain, moving a scant inch at a time.
He had already crawled the path he would take in his mind throughout the day while lying in the river, and he knew precisely where he would go and what he would encounter. There was no dog to sense his presence and the guard was bored and irritated with his assignment, but Nicolas didn’t rush. There had been one man on the alert, watching diligently and occasionally reprimanding the other two guards.
He worked his way to the parameter of the house and discovered a thin wire stretched low to the ground between two trees. He’d caught a flash of light from the area twice and suspected something had been strung up as a hasty security measure. It was lower to the ground than he would have liked. He couldn’t simply ease his body beneath the wire as he would have preferred. He had to go over it, and that meant rising without so much as a blade of grass to give him cover.
Nicolas waited in the darkness, breathing lightly, his senses flaring out to “feel” movement in the night. Something crunched in the rocks by the corner of the house. Footsteps coming his way. The one guard who paid attention to his duties was making his rounds with his usual thoroughness. Nicolas eased his hand down his leg until he felt the familiar grip of his knife. Careful to make no noise, he drew the weapon from the sheath strapped to his calf. Using psychic pressure was always a dicey proposition. He willed the man to look the other way, careful to keep the suggestion a light one. If he met with heavy resistance, he would have to stop instantly. Some people had very light resistance and agreed readily with every suggestion, no matter how subtle. Others had stronger barriers and often resisted and even became suspicious, or uncomfortable, looking around, shaking their heads, obviously fighting the “push” to act out of character.
The sound of a scream burst from the house. Instantly the night insects went silent. The guard on the porch tossed his cigarette aside and leaned down to call to the one circling the house. “He’s not going to tell Gregson anything. Why doesn’t Gregson just kill him a
nd be done with it?”
“Shut up, Murphy and get back to your watch.”
Murphy cursed and spun away from the railing. “With all the screaming going on, Paulie, don’t you think the neighbors are going to call the police soon?”
“By the time anyone hears him way out here, Gregson will kill him, and we’ll be long gone.” Paulie stopped walking and backed up until he could clearly see all of Murphy. His boots were no more than five feet from Nicolas’s head. “And you’d better stop yelling, the woman might show up.”
Murphy turned back to the railing, a snarl on his face. He glared down at Paulie. “I think all the screams coming from the house are going to tip her off that we’re here.”
Paulie shifted his rifle. It was the smallest of gestures, but a clear signal. “You’ve always been too squeamish, Murphy. Just do your job.”
Murphy spit over the railing and walked away, his boots making an angry sound on the wood.
Paulie stood for a moment staring up at the house before turning away to once more make his way around the parameter, just inside of the thin wire. He passed within inches of Nicolas. The guard wasn’t looking down at the ground, but out into the darkness.
Nicolas remained still until Paulie had turned the corner of the house. He eased himself up and over the wire. Almost immediately Murphy, up on the porch, returned. Nicolas froze, “pushing” him to look the other way. The cries in the house had died down, but Murphy was clearly uncomfortable with what was going on. He lit another cigarette, staring out over the river blindly. Only when he began to pace restlessly away from the railing did Nicolas gain the path to the house.
GhostWalkers 2 - Mind Game Page 19
