Murder Game

by Christine Feehan

  "Look, Kadan, before everyone gets here and you decide to share with them your conspiracy theories on my parents, I want to tell you a story."

  His mouth hardened into a cruel line, but he didn't say anything.

  Tansy sighed. "When I was a little girl, I couldn't go to a regular school, or to a grocery store. I really couldn't do much of anything. My parents built me a play yard, basically from scratch, getting brand-new supplies. Even then, sometimes, I could get impressions from people handling the swings or bars. But I wanted a bike. A bicycle represented freedom to me. I wanted one so bad and I was willing to wear gloves all the time as long as I could just have a bike. You can imagine how my parents must have felt not being able to touch or feed me or even tuck me in at night without both of us wearing gloves. I hated the gloves, and so did they."

  He tried not to ache for that little girl, but she was already in his head. He had no sympathy for her parents. Maybe his friends were right and ice water really did flow in his veins, because he wanted to gather her up and comfort her, and put a bullet in her parents' heads. Bastards. They hadn't stopped Whitney, and they had to have known what he was doing--or at least suspected something. Money was a motivating factor for a lot of people. Don and Sharon Meadows made big bucks with defense contracts, but maybe that wasn't enough for them.

  "There you are with that face, all grim and forbidding. My father made all the parts for a bicycle wearing gloves the entire time. Then he put the bike together and they gave it to me. No one had ever touched it." Tears burned behind her eyes and clogged her throat so that she had to clear it, remembering that moment when he'd wheeled the bike out of a closet and her parents had stood there, big smiles on their faces, telling her she didn't have to wear gloves to ride it.

  "What parents do that, Kadan? He spent so much time on it. Anyone else would have been okay with my wearing gloves, but he made certain I didn't have to whenever I rode that bike, because he knew I hated them so much. They love me." She didn't know if she was pleading for it to be true, or pleading with him to believe her. "I know they do, Kadan, because I've always felt it. The only time I ever felt abandoned was when Whitney came around."

  Abandoned was an interesting word to use. Kadan studied her face. She looked fragile. She wasn't. She was strong--incredibly strong, or she couldn't do the things she did. Bathe in blood to track killers. No one did that unless they were strong, but to him, she looked vulnerable and maybe a little lost.

  Don't make me choose between you and my parents.

  Kadan reached down and tugged her to her feet, drawing her into his arms. He wasn't a man who liked to retreat, but for her, for now, on this, he would. "Of course, they love you, Tansy. How could they not?" He trailed kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth, until he felt the tension ease from her body and she grew soft and pliant against him.

  "Your clothes should be ready." His voice was gruff. "Get dressed before our company comes." There was no choice. It was black-and-white. Her parents were either betraying their daughter, in which case they were both fucked, or something else he didn't know about was going on and they were going to tell him.

  Tansy found her clothes folded neatly on top of the dryer. She pulled on underwear and jeans and a thin tank before wandering back into the dining room to study the game pieces. She considered going into the war room, but she didn't want the victims' impressions to override the killers'. She needed to know the killers, to figure them out so she could get one step ahead of them and stop them. And there was something that bothered her . . .

  "What?"

  She nearly jumped out of her skin, twisting around to find Kadan behind her. She let out her breath. "Don't sneak up on me like that. Especially not when I'm trying to pick up impressions. You scared me."

  He took her wrist, his finger sliding over her frantic pulse. "I'm sorry, baby, I can't help the way I walk, but you're not supposed to be doing this anymore. I thought we agreed."

  She rolled her eyes but didn't pull her hand away. He was stroking her inner wrist, his touch both soothing and sexy at the same time. "Is that what you call it? I think it was more a decree at the time, but of course, you couldn't have been serious."

  "I rarely am anything but serious."

  That was probably true. Tansy gave an exaggerated sigh. "I came here to give you information on the killings."

  He tugged her hand to his mouth, his eyes watching hers. "Your mission has changed."

  She took back her hand. "My mission is the same. You can't find them all by yourself and you know it." Her frown came back as her gaze flicked to the ivory figurines. They were beautiful, yet each represented a killer. "There's something important here, really important, that I'm missing. I have to figure it out, Kadan, because without it . . ." She trailed off, looking more distressed than ever.

  Kadan touched her mind, trying to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. Her mind was racing, analyzing and discarding data, choosing pieces to put together and then breaking them apart again. Tansy had a high-speed, complex computer for a brain when it came to murder. It was no wonder the police departments who had used her had written such confusing reports. She got the job done, but it was impossible to follow her train of thought, her jumps from one conclusion to the next, or even her uncanny ability to ferret out and identify the threads of the case that really mattered.

  Her mind wouldn't let go once it started. That revelation sent a wave of apprehension through him. She wasn't going to let go of it, not because she was being stubborn, but because she couldn't. It didn't matter how much he ordered her, or even if he took her away from the evidence; she couldn't back off now until the killers were caught. That had never been mentioned in the reports on her he'd studied. Not that he would have done anything different even if he'd had the information. He hadn't met her, hadn't known what she would become to him in such a short time. In some ways, Tansy was a lot like him. Once started on a mission, he found it nearly impossible to back off. Her mind was programmed the same way.

  He could feel the pressure tugging at her relentlessly. An escaping thread in a larger tapestry she tried desperately to unravel to find the other end. He took a breath, let it out, breathing for both of them as he rested his chin on top of her head.

  "I'm sorry I got you into this, babe." His hands slid up and down her arms in a soothing motion, but he was soothing himself, not her, and he knew it. Damn, emotions were difficult to deal with.

  She waved away his apology. "Let's just go after another one right now. Maybe I can figure out what's bothering me. There are two different . . ."

  Again she trailed off and he got the same impressions in her mind: a chaotic whirl, too much data triggering her alarm buttons, but nothing tangible she could grab with both hands.

  Kadan glanced at his watch. "We've only got about two hours and then we'll have company. You're going to be hitting the headache just about the time they arrive."

  She shrugged off his warning and reached for another of the ivory pieces.

  "Damn it, Tansy." He caught her wrist and all but yanked her to the table's edge. "Put on the fuc--" He made an effort to stop himself. "Gloves. Just get them on."

  She pulled on the gloves and, without pause, reached for the snake. The figurine was very detailed, the long body coiled and covered in a pattern of scales, the head up, mouth wide open to show curved fangs. Even the eyes seemed to blaze with defiance and a menacing threat. The tongue was long and forked. When her fingers curled around the game piece, the oil poured into her mind, a fast torrent, carrying malice and glee. This one liked to see pain. Where Frog wanted his victims to acknowledge his existence, his power, this one simply fed off the pain of others. And it mattered little to him if his prey were an animal, a child, a woman or man. He just needed the pain and the screams.

  The breath slammed out of her lungs as the thick, bloody mud rushed into her mind, and for a moment she couldn't remember how to breathe properly. There was the terrifying sensation of bein
g dragged under, of gasping, desperate for air, pulling in filthy, oily muck instead, so that it filled every corner of her mind and packed her lungs so solid there was no hope of breathing. She was drowning--drowning--and she wouldn't be able to get back. It happened too fast; her quarry was too strong.

  She felt a mouth move against hers. Feel me, baby. I'm with you. Warm breath pushed into her lungs. She inhaled, took air in to push out some of the thick goo coating her insides. Another breath. He can't have you. I'll breathe for both of us.

  She could do this! She accepted another stream of air, shuddering with effort, forcing it into her lungs, concentrating on pushing past that first wave of violent energy that threatened to consume her mind. Snake couldn't have her because she had her own personal guardian angel. Kadan Montague was the strongest man she'd ever known. And he was on her side--not only on it, but at it, breathing in and out, sharing air with her.

  She found him there in her mind, and a tiny part of her held tight to him while she allowed the familiar expansion to push her own spirit out, to make room for the beast pouring into her, threatening to devour her.

  He was eager for the kill. Couldn't wait. He wanted them alive, lasting a long time while he hurt them. The places he'd been where he'd discovered appreciation of his talents were long gone, but now he could have fun again. This cool opportunity brought back memories of the tunnel in Vietnam where he'd trapped the two farmers. They'd lasted two days. Glorious fun. Both were babbling when he ended them--and he almost hadn't. He'd been so tempted to leave their raw, bloody bodies for the rats to find, but he hadn't, and he'd thought of that ever since. Maybe this time--and he'd set up a camera where no one would find it just so he could go back later and watch them being devoured alive. Such fun. The pleas were starting, growing stronger, although Tansy tried to keep the victims away for just a little longer.

  She needed to escape the snake and look for the other one, the master behind the puppets. All powerful killers, tied to strings. He pulled--they danced. The masculine whisper grew stronger. She found the thread, faint but there. The master. She had him now. She was an elite tracker and he wouldn't escape no matter how subtle he was. She blocked out the surge of oily sludge that was Snake spilling around her and kept on track. This was what--or who--had been eluding her. Elation filled her as she targeted the thread.

  A hint of satisfied amusement. No one would ever know. Genius surrounded him. Psychics, all of them, but they didn't suspect, didn't have a clue. It was his orchestra, his play, and he was the maestro conducting his performers to play their instruments with such flair. He fed the egos and raked in the cash. Millions, with millions more to be made. Untraceable millions and all for him.

  Tansy struggled to stay on the thread. It was so faint, so subtle alongside Snake's violent need for pain. The victims grew louder, as they always did, demanding she recognize them. See them. Give them justice. She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the wailing. The accusations. The oily muck swirled with enjoyment, building to a crescendo. Ah, just give me all night with these three. Not as strong as the ones in the tunnel, but I don't have as long. He would let the rats feast and he'd come back later to see his handiwork and enjoy the entertainment. Screams. Pleading. Begging. Tansy shook her head again, stretching for that subtle thread. The master didn't kill, so the violence edged him out, but he was there, imprinted in the ivory. Seeing it. Part of it. That subtle weave of influence feeding the killers at each site. She just had to keep pulling at the thread to unravel the mystery.

  She knew him now, knew she'd seen this trail before, so light she'd missed it in the first two murder scenes, but he'd been there. How was it that he was with each one? Had he been on the West Coast too? Was he present? Was he . . .

  She felt Kadan's sudden alertness, his warning system roaring in full-blown alarm. Icy fingers of fear crept down her spine. Something moved--something alive in the midst of all the blood, in the midst of all the victims. Something that was bloated and shadowy like a giant spider at the center of a web. She drew back as the shadow turned, and she knew it was as aware of her as she was of it. Terror poured into her as it--he--blinked his eyes and looked at her. For one instant there was a flicker of astonishment followed by grudging respect, almost camaraderie. He wasn't afraid. She got the impression of smug amusement.

  Hello, beautiful. Who do we have here?

  Everything in her froze. She couldn't move or speak, paralyzed by the knowledge that she was leaving just as many tracks as he was. The puppet master. And he could stalk her just as she pursued him.

  You're a dead man. Kadan's voice was low, a whip of menace, startling both Tansy and the puppet master.

  Tansy felt Kadan's hand on hers, prying her fingers open, ripping the ivory snake from them and flooding her mind with his ownership, his strength and his resolve. Kadan, the killer, icy cold and without mercy, delivering a fact, not a warning, even as he shielded her.

  She felt the startled fear of the carver of the ivory figures, quickly masked. And then all awareness was gone. The puppet master had snapped the thread and was gone from her mind.

  Kadan dug his fingers into Tansy's upper arms. She still had that faraway opaque look. She was pale, icy cold, her body trembling. Fear rolled off her in waves.

  "It's all right, baby. I'm right here. You're safe."

  She shook her head. "I'm not. He saw me."

  Kadan drew her into his body, his arms tight around her. "We saw him. We can find him, Tansy. No one even knew he existed. Hell, if I hadn't been there with you, I might not have believed it."

  He spoke aloud in a cool, calm voice, mostly to bring her wholly back to him.

  "I've never run into anyone who can do what I do. He's a tracker."

  Kadan was already aware of that and the ramifications of it. Whoever had realized she was on his trail was going to have to go on the offensive and hunt her. Kadan had felt the man's shock and then the sudden interest in Tansy. The puppet master had recognized female and a bright shining light. She didn't have violent energy, but she was a magnet for it. Kadan didn't want her to know how disturbed he was over finding the puppet master, as Tansy had dubbed him.

  "Yes, he appears to be a tracker." He hadn't known they existed until he'd found Tansy and realized exactly what she could do. He kept his tone mild, realizing she was really afraid.

  "Not just a tracker, Kadan," she corrected. "An elite tracker. I left footprints all over those scenes. If he accesses them, he'll find me there."

  "It will be a faint trail, probably thinner than the one he left behind. In any case, he won't be able to identify you any more than we can him."

  The puppet master had been all too curious about her, all too aware of her as being his equal. That would arouse his fascination, and that was the last thing Kadan wanted.

  "Come on, baby, let this go for this evening. We have to plan a rescue." He needed to divert her attention to give himself time to think about the best way to protect her.

  She shook her head. "I have to give you details before I'm all the way back."

  Her response unraveled the knots in his belly. It hadn't been as bad this time. The short times she was slipping her exercises in, even a few minutes at a time, seemed to be helping. Their connection grew stronger with each time he shared her mind, and she was turning to him more and more without realizing it, allowing him to strengthen her barriers while she worked. It offered her a little more protection to lessen the adverse affects of both the killer and the victims on her unprotected brain.

  Tansy took a deep breath and pushed down the fear that threatened to choke her. She would never forget that chilling moment when the puppet turned his head and looked right into her mind. Kadan had no concept of what an elite tracker could do. She wasn't at the top of her game. She'd burned out, fried her abilities, but the voices of the killers amused the puppet master. He ignored the victims. They were nothing to him, nuisances only.

  "Tansy?" Kadan prompted. "You've done enough ton
ight. All the detectives working on these cases, the FBI task force--no one has found a link to this man. This is a huge break."

  "We know he exists, but we have no idea of his identity or how he fits in yet. Let me go over everything. The snake enjoys inflicting pain. He's been in Vietnam, but not during the war. I got the impression of tunnels in a cane field." She shuddered. "He did terrible things to the farmers. A man and his son. He remembered the details very vividly."

  "Don't," Kadan said. The details were in her mind, just as vivid. Every cut, every sadistic torture the bastard snake had conceived of--Tansy had it in her mind now. Kadan was already trying to push the memories behind the door for her, trying to protect her from the stubborn streak that kept her pursuing evil killers when it cost her so much.

  Tansy visibly made an effort to stay focused on him, to keep the voices from scraping her mind raw. "The camera is really important to him, but he worries it will be found. He's a long way from it and has to go back to retrieve it." Her brows drew together as she tried to bring the details into sharper images. "Have your team look up, a good distance away. He camouflaged the camera so it looks like an old piece of machinery and could easily be overlooked. He worked on it a long time, and he made the metal to wrap it in. If you find it, I should get some very good impressions of him, maybe even somewhat of a description."

  His fingers tightened. "That's good, baby. Now let it go so we can combat the headache before it starts." It was already swelling in her head, rolling through her like a wave. She'd used her talent too often and too close together and her mind was raw. Now she was just scraping over old wounds. Even he could hear the whispers of the victims, when the previous times he had only heard the killers.

  She shook her head and he gritted his teeth, shoving down the urge to shake her hard and force her out of the half-hypnotic trance.

  "The other one is the important one--the puppet master. I see him surrounded by paper. And a desk. He doesn't want anyone to notice him. He prides himself on blending into the background. He's very nondescript and strives to keep it that way, although he has a bit of a problem hiding his . . ." She touched her eyes. "He wears tinted contacts to keep people from seeing."