Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers #4)(13)
Author: Christine Feehan

The spotter stepped out of the brush and lifted his gun. Four shots rang out in rapid succession. Jack waited for the bullets to strike his body, but the spotter jerked and half spun to face away from him. His knees buckled and he went down hard, face into the ground. Jack forced his head up. Briony stood a few feet away, the gun in her hand, tears running down her face. She was shaking, her arm still outstretched, her gaze locked on the dead man.

Jack reached inside himself for one last burst of strength, struggled to his feet, and staggered over to her, his hand over hers. “Give me the gun, Briony.”

She didn’t release it-didn’t look at him. She was shaking so much he was afraid she might accidentally pull the trigger again. He clamped his fingers over hers and, with his other hand, caught her face and forced her head to turn away from the body as he searched for a gentle tone. “Just let go, baby. I’ve got it now. Look at me. Only at me.”

Her gaze met his, eyes swimming with tears. “I killed him.” She turned away from him, retching, over and over.

Jack took a step closer and saw her eyes begin to roll back in her head. Briony! Deliberately he filled her mind with calm strength. He knew what violence could do to a psychic, and he wasn’t about to allow her to fall. He caught her face in his hands. “Look at me. Stay with me.”

Briony heard his voice as if from a great distance. She didn’t want to go back, there was too much pain there, but his voice refused to let her retreat. With tremendous effort, she stared into his deep gray eyes.

“You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine,” he assured her. “I’m an anchor. Just let me do my work.” He’d been too close to passing out and he hadn’t provided barriers for her, but he focused on drawing the energy away from her.

He’d never expected to be so moved by the sight of a woman’s tears-or by the fact that killing a man had made her physically ill. Worse, he could see splinters in her chin and along her arm. He didn’t even have a medical kit to help her. “We have to get out of here. The rebels are going to be swarming all over this place.” He roughened his voice, hoping to snap her out of it. “Come on. Now, Briony.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… ” She trailed off and looked back toward the body on the ground.

Swaying unsteadily, Jack reached out and caught her to him. “Stop looking at him. He would have killed both of us. Move now.” His thumb slid over her chin, wiping at the trickle of blood.

Briony blinked up at him and then firmed her mouth. Her arm slipped around his waist. “I’m all right now.” She began walking with him toward the city, once again taking some of his weight. He had taken the stabbing pain away, but he couldn’t take away the horror squeezing her heart.

“You should have left when I told you to go. You could have been killed.”

“Just walk.”

“I’m not going to make it, you know. I’m burning up, lost too much blood, in fact I can’t see very well. The rebels looking for me had to have heard the shots… ”

Briony sighed. “Save your strength. Just keep walking. I’ll get you to the city, and my brother can figure out a way to get you out of Kinshasa.”

Jack kept putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to pass out. He’d be damned if a female was going to carry his butt, and damned if she wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t walk. There was something about her that just plain got under his skin. He’d long ago chosen his path, and it didn’t include a woman of his own or a family. Briony Jenkins was a woman made to belong to a man-heart and soul. She was the kind of woman that a man married and knew with a certainty she’d stick it out through good or bad, right beside her partner. Worse, she was the kind of woman a man might kill over, and he certainly was more than good at that. It made for a bad combination.

Briony glanced up at the man leaning more and more of his weight on her. He was swearing over and over under his breath. Sheer will kept him on his feet. “Do you need to rest?”

He didn’t answer, but kept walking. They made it back to the stream, and Briony stopped him, sitting him on a fallen tree trunk. It was a measure of how far gone he was that he didn’t protest when she helped him to sit. Her bizarre childhood training was suddenly an asset. Somewhere close by she sensed several men. She waited as long as she could, giving Jack a chance to rest before dragging him up again and setting off toward Kinshasa. She had to skirt around groups of soldiers hunting in the forest. Each time, their scent gave them away before she ever came close to them.

Once inside the city itself, she hoped they looked as if they’d been drinking. It was difficult to hide the sniper rifle and he wouldn’t release it to leave behind, so she kept it locked between them, hoping their bodies hid it from anyone who might spot them. She chose the deserted streets and alleyways as she made her way with him back to her room.

“A few more steps, Jack,” she said encouragingly. The man must have a will of absolute iron to keep going. He never faltered, stoically walking in spite of the raging fever. His body was hot and dry, desperate for something to drink.

She kept to the shadows, skirting around the pockets of people they encountered. She avoided all contact with the soldiers on the corners, careful not to draw their attention. Once they were in the alley beneath the window of her room, she leaned Jack against the wall.

“I’m going up to open the window. Do you think you can make the jump?”

Jack slid down the wall to sit on the ground. He nodded, but didn’t look at her. Briony wasn’t so certain. She crouched and made the leap, catching the windowsill by her fingers. She drew herself up onto the narrow ledge and pushed open the window.

Jack. She was afraid to call out to him, all too aware of the soldiers and the possibility that the rebels had followed them into the city. Can you make it?

He didn’t answer. Briony put one hand on the sill and leapt back down to the ground, landing lightly on her feet beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take the rifle.” She reached for it.

Jack came alive, jerking back, his movement graceful and smooth, practiced, sliding away from her, coming to his feet, the rifle coming up. He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll keep it. It belongs to my brother.” He sagged back against the wall. “Where the hell are we?”

“My room is right up there, Jack. Can you make the jump? I don’t want to bring you through the hall where someone might see you. This is safer for both of us.” Safer for her brothers as well. She still had lingering fears that Jack might be in Kinshasa for reasons to do with her oldest brother.