Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(31)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Wait.” He took one step toward her. Glided silently. It felt more predatory than anything else and her heart pounded in alarm. She gave ground, taking a step back even though she knew better. Step to the side, never back up, they just keep coming. A standard training rule.

“Dahlia, I know I’m making mistakes with you. With us.” He set his coffee cup on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning when he noted she immediately went into a fighter’s stance. “I’m not used to being with other people any more than you are. I don’t know how to talk to women any more than you know how to talk to men.” He grit his teeth for a moment, feeling like he was making an ass of himself, but he pressed on. “I don’t always know the right thing to say. I’m bound to say something that hurts occasionally. Work with me here. Professionally, there’s no problem, I know exactly what to do, but personally . . .”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to be personal about anything, Nicolas. You’re not going to get any real help from me.”

“So we have to learn together. Is that so bad? We have common ground. We’re both GhostWalkers. There are only a few of us in the entire world. I saw your books. We read the same books.”

“What books?” She challenged.

There was a small silence. “I’m sure we have the same dictionary.” Nicolas watched her mouth soften and shape into a small smile. He snapped his fingers. “Zen Mind Beginner Mind. There you go, I wore out two copies. You had one on your bed. I brought it with me in the pillowcase.”

“You can’t have my copy—I love that book.” Dahlia was ready to forgive him, mostly because he tried so hard to put her at ease. “You must be hungry. We’ll need groceries. I thought maybe if I walked around a bit and let myself be seen, they’ll come to us and we won’t have to work so hard looking for them.”

“That was a sniper out in the swamp, Dahlia. If they sent a sniper, they were looking for a kill.” There was no way to soft-soap it. He wasn’t prepared to have her wandering the French Quarter, setting herself up as a target.

She nodded. “I figured that out. When you said he was like you, I thought at first you meant another GhostWalker, but you would have said like us. You didn’t, so he had to be a sniper. How did you know he was following us?”

“Instinct, a sixth sense, my grandfather’s spirit whispering in my ear. I don’t know. When I’m out there, it comes to me and I know.”

“Does he do that? Does your grandfather whisper to you?”

There was no amusement in her voice. She wasn’t making fun of his beliefs. There was interest and perhaps a little envy, but Dahlia found nothing strange about his comment.

She accepted people for who and what they were. She accepted him. Nicolas realized at that moment that Dahlia had led such a different life, so apart, she would never feel the need or desire to judge another for their peculiarities. He doubted if she would ever feel completely at ease with others.

Nicolas knew he preferred a life apart. But it was a choice. He knew who he was and what he stood for. He never felt the need to apologize or explain, not even to Lily. He respected Lily and even felt a rare affection for her, as he did the members of the GhostWalker team, but the emotion was more about family than anything else. Whatever emotion Dahlia stirred in him ran hot and passionate and deep. She stirred up a dark violence he hadn’t known was inside of him, and she brought out laughter, something infrequent in his life.

“Nicolas, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pry.” Dahlia touched the back of his hand. A stroke of her fingertip. She left a streak of fire on his skin. “If I had a grandfather like yours, I might want to keep him to myself.”

“Both of my grandfathers were meant to be shared with the world. They did their best to bring peace into other people’s lives. Grandfather Nicolas does whisper to me when I need to hear him. To warn me, or to remind me. I feel him close to me. And bousofu is also near when I need him.”

“That would mean?” she prompted.

“Grandfather, deceased grandfather,” he interpreted for her.

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Too many. My grandfathers both had many of the same beliefs. A man should gain as much knowledge as possible.”

Dahlia nodded in agreement. “I read a lot and listened to tapes. All of my schooling was done with tutors. None of them stayed long, but I didn’t need them. And I didn’t want them. They were impatient or afraid or angry because of my strange personality. All of it became negative energy I had to cope with the entire time they were here. Often, it wasn’t even me. They were upset before they ever got there.”

“You learned several forms of martial arts.”

“Yes, and for the most part, because I was doing something physical and most of my instructors enjoyed what they were doing, it was fun. Later, as I got older and they were serious about training me, I was faster than the instructors, and some of them would get angry.”

“Honey, that’s entirely understandable. You’re barely five feet tall, and you can’t weigh a hundred pounds. To make matters worse, you’re a girl. Kicking some man’s butt is not ladylike.”

Dahlia heard the teasing note in his voice and for the first time didn’t bristle at his pointing out her diminutive size. “I’m a good eater, in spite of my size. You might be able to live on that stuff in your backpack, but I want real food. I’m volunteering to go grocery shopping.”

“I’ll call in an order. There must be someone who’s willing to earn a delivery fee. That’s what cell phones are for.”

“Aren’t you afraid your name is on a hit list right alongside mine?”

“They have no idea who I am. No one got a good look at my face, and the only one who might have been able to identify me was the sniper they set on our trail. He’s not in any condition to tell them who I am.”

“How would he know?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t know. Most likely he didn’t, but we have a feel for one another. How we walk a path, that sort of thing.”

“I see.” She didn’t, but she was becoming restless. “I need to walk around outside, Nicolas. It isn’t you, really, you’re being really supportive, but even Milly and Bernadette never spent more than fifteen or twenty minutes with me unless we were outdoors.”