Mind Game

by Christine Feehan

  Dahlia lifted her face to the slight breeze coming in off the water and listened to the comforting sounds of the bayou. All the while she knew a part of her was waiting for Nicolas to come to her, and that frightened her more than the coming trouble. Music drifted up to her, cheery, upbeat strains of reggae. Gator began to sing. She watched as he pulled out a grill and began to prepare for a barbecue. It was strange to sit up on a roof and think that she might actually be part of something like a backyard barbecue.

  Dahlia watched the men gather around Gator as he drew the outline of the small island in the dirt beside the grill with a long stick. Gator drew in the shoreline and trees. Nicolas stepped up to study it. Dahlia strained to hear them over the music. None of them seemed to care whether she heard or not as they planned what appeared to be a defense against an invasion.

  "We'll want to know where they're going to come in. Gator, you know the island best, as well as the terrain. Let's choose our spot and direct them to an appropriate landing area," Nicolas instructed. He glanced up at Dahlia and winked.

  Somehow, under the circumstances, she didn't find it all that reassuring.

  "Away from the cabin," Gator said. "We'll have to block off a couple of the landing areas using natural barriers as roadblocks so they don't get suspicious. I've got a few signs that will scare them off anyplace we want to protect."

  "We'll want to draw them into a natural ambush area. Set up a few claymore mines with trip wires," Nicolas said.

  "I'll cook," Sam offered. "Ian knows his way around the claymore mines. Besides, he likes all those bugs in the swamp."

  Nicolas ignored him. "We'll need trip flares set up anywhere there's a possible landing site where they can sneak up on us. Tucker, you want to take care of that? I'll need the rest of you to help with barriers once Gator gives us a location for the ambush. I want this tight, no mistakes. Let's limit where they can come onto the island as best we can. We want them all in the same spot before we spring the trap."

  Gator's stick continued to draw lines. "This is the canal. I'm thinking we set up shop here, Nico. It's not too marshy, and they'll be more apt to choose to walk through it then some of the other spots. They'll think the bushes will be to their advantage as well, but they'll be in a box. Half a mile up is a rock face and we can close in on either side and behind them."

  Nicolas studied the map drawn into the dirt from every angle. "It's a go then. We have to take out the dock, Gator, otherwise, they may try a frontal attack using a mortar to take out the cabin."

  Gator shrugged carelessly. "We all have to sacrifice.

  Let's get to work. Sam, don't you ruin those ribs. I marinated them with my special secret sauce."

  "They're safe with me," Sam said. "I'll tear down the dock while the ribs are cooking. Watch for leeches, boys," he added cheerfully, waving at them.

  The men split up, jogging toward the areas directed. There were three main docking areas and one that could be used if necessary. Tucker set up the trip flares while Gator posted warning signs of sinkholes near the shore. He'd used the signs years earlier to keep the police from searching the island for his wayward brother. To make the intended landing spot more enticing, they drove a couple of old posts deep into the mud for a boat tie off and stamped vegetation into the ground to make the path appear used.

  Dahlia stood on the roof and watched them work. The men shed their shirts and spent time dragging brush and placing objects in various locations. She could see a film of dirt rising in the air, but she couldn't really tell what they were doing. All the while the music blasted a happy beat, and the smell of barbecued ribs provided a rich aroma.

  Dahlia climbed off the roof to stand on the shoreline as Sam pulled apart the rickety dock. He carefully carried each plank out of sight. "What are you maniacs up to now?" she asked, her hands on her hips. If they were planning violence, she wasn't catching a hint of fear or anticipation. They all seemed to be working readily with a happy smile. If anything she caught hints of hunger as the aroma spread across the small island.

  "We're just working up an appetite," Sam assured. "Turn those ribs over, will you? If I burned them, the others would feed me to the alligators."

  "Speaking of which, one or two have joined us," she pointed out.

  Sam glared at the creature closest to him, sunning itself on the bank not more than a few feet from where he was waist-deep in the water. "Ugly things, aren't they? Damn thing looks like it's just waiting for me to turn my back on it."

  Dahlia sauntered over to the grill and frowned down at the ribs. "I'd offer to keep an eye on the alligators for you, but I'm thinking you're holding something back from me. You and your little band of island boys busily working up an appetite just doesn't work for me, you know?" She glanced past Sam deliberately. "Oh, look, a little friend for alligator to play with."

  Sam whirled around hastily, staring out over the water. "Where?" He twisted back in an attempt to keep an eye on the alligator sunning itself on the bank. "Where is it?" He yanked a plank loose and held it up as a weapon.

  Dahlia carefully turned each rib over, secretly thrilled with the new experience. "I may have been mistaken."

  "That's not nice. That's just not nice at all," Sam said, glaring at her.

  "Well, it could have been an alligator, but more likely it was just bubbles or a floating stick or something like that. You aren't nervous standing in the water like that, are you? I read a book on alligators, and I think they like to come up from the deep to strike, but maybe that's sharks."

  Sam swore and hurried out of the water, dragging the plank with him and keeping it between him and the alligator on the shore. The creature didn't move or give ground, but it did emit a low warning growl.

  Dahlia burst out laughing. "You're afraid of that little bitty alligator, aren't you? It's not even full grown."

  "That's just wrong, girl," Sam said. "I hope Nicolas knows what you're really like. I'll bet he's never seen the mean side of your mouth."

  "Of course not." Dahlia admitted blithely. "Are you going to tell me what your little merry band is up to?"

  "Merry band?"

  "I read Robin Hood, didn't you?"

  Sam wiped the sweat from his face as the others came back to camp. "Thank God, you're back, don't leave me with her again. She's worse than the alligator."

  "I'M getting the feeling we should move," Ian said. "I've got that itch crawling down my back." He shoved the plate of rib bones away from him with evident satisfaction. "You sure know how to put on the grub, Gator."

  "Hey! I did the cooking." Sam glared at Dahlia. "And it wasn't easy."

  "I'm going to be seriously pissed if someone blows up my cabin," Gator said. He winked at Dahlia. "I've got a few little surprises of my own if they set foot on my property."

  "It isn't going to help much if they use mortar rounds," Nicolas pointed out. "Let's get out of here before we find ourselves in a trap."

  Dahlia watched as the men silently shouldered their packs. She had no idea why they'd calmly waited for the enemy, going so far as to tear into the food with gusto, seemingly without a care in the world. She could feel the tension rising in her with each passing minute, yet none of them exhibited the least amount of anxiety.

  She set out with them in the boats. Nicolas was with her and Kaden was with Tucker and Sam in a second boat while Ian and Gator took the third. They moved without haste along the channel toward another small inlet only yards from Gator's cabin.

  Dahlia cleared her throat as they began to pull the boats through the reed-choked marsh. "Exactly why aren't we headed for the airstrip?"

  "Don't worry, Dahlia," Sam called cheerfully.

  Too cheerfully, she decided. She looked at Nicolas suspiciously. "What exactly are you doing?"

  "I'm going to stash you somewhere safe, and we're going to do a little recon."

  "And you didn't think it necessary to tell me about it?"

  "I should have," he admitted, "but to be honest, I just presum
ed you'd know we'd bait the trap and draw them in. We don't like unfinished business, Dahlia. These people are here for one purpose only. That's to get you. I'm not leaving until there's no threat to you from anyone here."

  His merciless tone sent a shiver down her spine. She looked away from him, back toward the river. Whatever code Nicolas lived by, hunted by, believed in, was intertwined inexorably with the man he was. The man she was beginning to fear she was falling in love with. She should have known he would never leave a threat to her. He was incapable of such a thing. There was no point in protesting the danger, or pointing out they could make a run for it. Running wasn't in his character unless it suited his purpose--unless it suited his hunt.

  She looked at him and saw the warrior in him, a throw-back to a people of integrity and honor. To a people valiant and courageous. He would take the fight wherever he needed to go, and he would be relentless in his pursuit. Dahlia sighed softly. "I can just bet what your recon is going to be."

  Nicolas turned to signal the others to get rid of the boats. He took her arm. "Let's get you out of the line of fire. How far do you have to be to keep the energy from finding you?"

  "I've never actually measured the distance." She didn't know whether to be angry or grateful. That was the trouble with relationships, she decided, a woman was always torn between feeling protected by a man like Nicolas and wondering if she should just kick him for his overbearing behavior.

  He brought her hand to his mouth and nibbled on her fingers, his black gaze studying her face even as they picked their way through the brush. "You aren't worried, are you?"

  "Why should I be worried? It's just another day in the neighborhood. You know--bombs, fires, people shooting at you. Why would I be worried? Especially since we could be clothes shopping or boarding a plane. I'm not in the least worried."

  "Hmmm," he mused aloud. "I read about this in the relationship manual. It's called womanly sarcasm and usually means a man is in deep trouble." He found a cool spot hidden near the center of the island. "You stay here until I come and get you."

  "What exactly do you think you're accomplishing by this?"

  "I'm keeping the enemy off our backs while we hunt the traitor and recover the data," Nicolas replied. He bent his head to kiss her. "Be here when I get back."

  He made himself walk away from her, telling himself she'd be there waiting for him when he returned, knowing her decision could go either way. As he approached the others, he signaled and they immediately went into combat readiness, taking out their weapons and shouldering their packs, scattering into the thick reeds to lie in wait for the enemy to arrive.

  The sound of oars splashing in the water was enough to send several birds into the air and to silence the hum of insects for a few moments. And it was enough to warn the GhostWalkers. Gator signaled he'd spotted the boat as it cautiously circled the island, looking for a suitable landing spot. Gator used the sounds of the bayou, a perfect imitation of an aroused alligator to give them a number. Five occupants. Nicolas spread his fingers, gestured to the others.

  The moment they knew the incoming boat was docking exactly where they'd planned, the occupants tying up to the two posts standing upright in invitation, the GhostWalkers slipped into the water, using reeds as breathing tubes as they sank beneath the surface to make their way across the canal to box in the enemy. Once in position, they waited beneath the murky water for the signal from their point man to proceed.

  Nicolas felt the tap on his arm and sent the gesture through the line to his men. They raised slowly, blackened water creatures armed with M-4s and knives, their choice weapons of war. As still as statues, they remained in the water, camouflaged by the reeds and plants with only their heads and shoulders above the surface, rifles trained on the enemy.

  The five killers spread out, moving onto the island in silence, two using the path that had been made for them, the other three a good distance away. Nicolas and the GhostWalkers rose up out of the depths of the waters without a sound, slithering onto shore, bellies to the ground, rifles ready. They were a solid unit, had worked many missions, and knew exact positions without ever having to look. They pushed their way through the dense shrubbery following the five assassins, staying low to the ground, unseen, unheard.

  A frog set up a chorus of sound. An alligator bellowed. A large bird rose into the air with the flapping of great wings, and the wind moaned through the brush. Gator lay flat, concentrating on the beehive clinging to the branches of a tree just ahead of the five men. At once the bees became agitated, buzzing angrily, emerging from the hive in a black swarm. Snakes plopped into the water, the sound carrying loudly through the waterway. Lizards and insects skittered in large masses across the ground.

  The five men began slapping at the bugs and bees swarming around them. They ran in an effort to get away from the stinging bees. One ran into the first claymore mine and tripped the wire. The explosion was loud, and the others immediately went to ground, blasting away with weapons at empty air.

  Nicolas took the higher ground, maneuvering into position to pick them off one at a time. Kaden flanked him, choosing a target as well. They fired almost simultaneously. The two remaining turned their weapons toward the sound of the rifle fire. Sam signaled he had the shot and took it, Tucker following suit.

  Almost at once they heard the explosion behind them, coming from the other island. A fireball whooshed through the air and landed in the water, sizzling as it disappeared in the midst of black smoke. Nicolas swore. "Clean up here," he snapped and ran to the water to cross the canal.

  Dahlia was in the middle of a seizure when he found her, the violent energy burning through her veins, convulsing her body again and again. He knelt beside her, took her hand, hoping to draw the energy away from her.

  "How bad?" Kaden came up behind him.

  Knowing it couldn't be helped, but that Dahlia would hate anyone seeing her so vulnerable, Nicolas indicated for Kaden to take her other hand. Between the two anchors they were able to draw the last of the violent energy away from her body until she lay still.

  She turned her head away from them and was sick repeatedly. Nicolas handed her a wipe from his pack. She took it with shaky hands. Her head was pounding, a ferocious pain that refused to let up. "I don't think we judged the distance very well." It was a poor attempt at humor, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

  Nicolas's stomach knotted at her words. He lifted her, ignoring her protests, and took her to the boats. "We'll find a place to shower and change clothes. You can rest while I go shopping for you." It was all he could think to do. Even holding her, she was hunching away from him, avoiding his gaze, keeping her face averted from Kaden.

  "The transport will be waiting," Kaden reminded.

  "Let it wait," Nicolas said grimly.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Logan Maxwell was stocky with wide shoulders and bulging muscles on his arms. His ice-cold blue eyes assessed the group of men as they approached him in tight formation, weapons drawn, facing outward, tracking the area around the airfield.

  "Expecting trouble?" he greeted.

  "Yes," Nicolas answered, nodding toward the gun in the pilot's hand. "Aren't you?"

  "I was expecting Dahlia, not an army."

  "We're escorting her. We're her bodyguards." Nicolas kept eye contact, two males staring one another down.

  Max kept the stare going but raised his voice. "Dahlia? You all right?"

  In spite of having cleaned up and dressed in the clothes Nicolas brought her, Dahlia was still pale and wan from the seizure. Her headache was a killer. She just wanted to lie down and sleep as she always did after such an event. The men had her cut off from the pilot, separated by their bodies and guns. She forced a casual shrug. "I'm fine, Max.

  They're all just a little overprotective after what happened to Jesse," Dahlia answered. "They insist on coming along."

  Max refused to break eye contact with Nicolas. "Not if you don't want them to come. Say th
e word."

  "You think you can take us all?" Sam asked, amusement in his voice.

  "You never know," Max answered.

  Dahlia sighed. "I can't take it when you all act like this. It's embarrassing. I'm tired, my head aches, and I'm sick of all of this. I'm getting on the plane."

  "Not yet," Nicolas said and signaled Tucker and Sam to enter first. "Stay close to me, Dahlia." He didn't look at her when he gave the order, didn't take his eyes from the pilot, but he was very aware of her. How fragile she seemed. How far away from him, although they were close enough he felt the brush of her skin against his.

  "There's no one on the plane," Max said. "She always flies alone with just me."

  "Not anymore she doesn't," Nicolas answered, his obsidian eyes as hard and as unflinching as rock. "Not since someone in the NCIS sold her out."

  Max stood very still, and then he slowly holstered his gun. "Dahlia, have you spoken with the director, told him about this?"

  "No, but he has to be thinking the same thing. It wasn't all that hard to figure it out. Someone killed my family and burned down my home, Max. No one knew about me other than a few people at NCIS."

  "Including me," Max said quietly.

  Dahlia shrugged, hating to voice the suspicion out loud. She had very few friends, if one could call them that. They were acquaintances really, but she didn't have enough to throw them away. And she'd always liked Max.

  "Her last mission was a setup," Nicolas supplied, his black gaze unswerving.

  A muscle jumped in Max's jaw. He swore under his breath. "Jesse Calhoun is my friend, Dahlia. I've always felt responsible for you. You should have called for backup. Once I fly you somewhere, my orders are to stand by to fly you back, which is exactly what I did. You never said a word."

  "I was late." She said it softly. "Two hours late."

  Max swore again.

  "Get in the plane, Dahlia. I don't like how exposed you are out here," Nicolas ordered. "We can sort it out in the air." Although he was grateful she obeyed him quickly, it was unlike her to do so without a comment on his arrogance, and that bothered him. Dahlia beaten down was too much for his heart to take. He stayed very close to her, almost pushing her with his body in an attempt to get a response from her, but she kept her head down.