Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(37)
Author: Christine Feehan

“All the time we talked, out in the bayou, you never really answered a single question I asked. It didn’t add up at all. You aren’t the kind of woman not to know exactly who you work for.” He shook his head. “You’ve been feeding me just enough to test me, haven’t you? You really know how to make a fool out of a man, don’t you?”

There was no rancor in his voice, not even a note of bitterness. He just said it and turned and walked out. His bare feet made no noise on the floor as he left.

Dahlia stood quietly at the window for a long time, watching the night, watching the clouds spin across the dark sky. Feeling like the lowest creature on the face of the earth. She shouldn’t have felt low. She was doing her job, just as he did his job, but she still felt as if she had betrayed him in some way. He knew what a security clearance was, and a need to know basis.

Her heart hurt. Ached. It was silly. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man could ever take home to his mother. She could imagine sitting at a dinner table with one of his family members smoldering over the loss of their favorite football team and accidentally catching the dining room on fire. No matter how much she might want to get to know someone, or have a friend or be in a relationship, the bottom line was always the same—it was not possible. She would not feel sorry for herself.

She’d been careful, cautious, just as she’d been taught. Just as life had taught her to be. No one in her world was ever what they claimed to be. Nicolas Trevane was probably no different. He could still very well be an assassin sent to kill her the moment she turned over the documents she’d been sent to recover. She sighed and pushed her hair back away from her face. Deep down, where it counted the most, Dahlia knew he was exactly what he seemed to be. And it wasn’t as if she lied to him. She did live her entire life in the sanitarium, at least the part that mattered most. And she did work for the government recovering information. And she wasn’t altogether certain in the beginning that they hadn’t sent a hit squad after her. She didn’t trust the NCIS any more than she trusted anyone else. She honestly didn’t know the truth of it, and she still didn’t.

If one of the NCIS agents from Jesse’s office hadn’t betrayed them, how would anyone know about her? She was a ghost, slipping in and out, able to block the security systems. Dahlia never left a trace of her existence. She wasn’t caught on film accidentally; it wouldn’t happen. She disrupted the cameras all the while she was inside. So who knew about her, and how did they know?

Nicolas appeared in the doorway. “Come away from the window.” There was no urgency in his voice, but it was an order. He was in hunter mode, and she recognized it instantly. Dahlia didn’t ask questions, she simply took a rolling dive across the bed and hit the other side of the floor. Behind her, the glass shattered, spewing shards in all directions. A bullet whined over her head and buried itself in the wall. Dahlia kept rolling until she was at the door. She crawled out on her stomach. “How’d you know?”

“I just know.” He reached down and pulled her around the corner of the doorframe. “We’ve got to get out of here. You need clothes, shoes, whatever. You have thirty seconds.”

“Gee thanks. I appreciate it.” She could see he was already in full gear, pack and everything. “Did you throw my things in your pack? My crystal spheres?” Sitting on the floor in the upstairs hall, she dragged on a pair of socks and hastily pulled on the boots he’d brought up from the kitchen.

“I’ve got them. Hurry up, we have to go to the roof.”

“Are you certain?” She didn’t bother to ask how he knew. He was a GhostWalker, and they each had their talents. Nicolas knew things. The right things.

“I’m certain.” He gave her a hand up, and indicated the window overlooking the courtyard. “We go out that way.”

“I’m right behind you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dahlia pulled on the dark sweatshirt Nicolas tossed to her as she followed him to the window. He opened it silently and swung out, sliding his hands up the wall to find finger-holds. Dahlia couldn’t help but admire how smooth, efficient, and silent he was, like a spider going up the side of the building. She followed him, every bit as quiet. This was her specialty, adhering to the side of buildings and moving in secrecy. It was one of the things she felt most comfortable doing. Evidently, Nicolas did as well. His level of energy was so low, she would have sworn he had ice in his veins. They might have been going for a casual stroll. She was very grateful that she couldn’t detect any tension from the energy surrounding him.

Dahlia was very small and it enabled her to fit closely against the wall, to become part of the shadows she spent most of her time in. She was also able to blur her image enough to help blend into her surroundings. Nicolas was a big man and carried a heavy pack. He should have been more easily seen, but she could see why he’d earned the title of GhostWalker. Even knowing where he was right above her, she couldn’t hear him as he moved, not even the whisper of clothing. She closed her mind to thoughts of him and climbed as if she were alone.

Her fingertips found cracks and her toes found places to dig in as she moved up the building to the roof. She slipped over the side, taking great care to stay low, to keep from being seen. She crawled on her stomach, like a lizard, across the roof, pulling herself along with elbows and hands and knees. She gained the street side and stopped beside Nicolas, staying quiet, waiting for him to signal they could go over the side and head for the street.

He put his hand on her arm, a brief touch, raised his hand, and flattened his palm. She shook her head briefly. She was not willing to wait up on the roof while he took all the risks. If he were going into the streets, she would go with him.

Don’t argue with me. I’ve got rank on you. The words pushed into her mind. She was startled for a moment. She’d forgotten he was a strong telepath.

No one has rank on me. We’ll go together.

We can’t afford you to be anywhere near violence. Even up here, you’ll catch the backwash of it. It makes sense for me to do what I do best.

Dahlia closed her eyes. Why had she ever named him killer? Nicolas. She didn’t mean for her heart to be in her voice. In his mind. An intimate connection between them. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you everything, after all, your life is just as much at risk as mine is.

He turned his head, his black eyes boring into hers. Arctic cold. And then, without any warning, his gaze smoldered. Went midnight black. Burned with such intensity she gasped. His mouth settled over hers. His lips were soft but firm, pressing into hers, so that her mouth opened for him. So that the taste and texture of him invaded her body and mind, poured into her with the force of concentrated silken heat and hot promises. His mouth moved over hers, his teeth nibbling at her bottom lip, at her chin before sliding away from her. They stared at one another for the beat of eternity while the clouds spun overhead and danger prowled in the street below them.