Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(49)
Author: Christine Feehan

His head went up alertly, black eyes going ice-cold. “I’m sure you can, Dahlia, but that isn’t how we’re going to handle this one.”

Dahlia tried not to bristle at the hard authority in his voice. “Don’t get military on me. This is my mess, remember? I’m thinking I can slip inside and make certain he’s there before you come in. Why risk it, if Jesse isn’t even there? It would be silly.”

His fingers itched to shake her. She sat across from him looking cool and calm and determined. No, stubborn. She looked stubborn. There was no other word for it. “You look stubborn, Dahlia, not reasonable. Cut it out. This isn’t a democracy.”

“Exactly. I’m so glad you agree with me. You can hang back and do what you do. Put your eye to the scope and protect me, and I’ll just slip in under cover of dark and take a look around. They can’t have a crack security system in so short a time, and in any case, I’ve dealt with hundreds of security systems.”

“I’ll bet you have. So you think I should let you walk in there all alone with at least four men trained in military tactics.” He held up his hand before she could reply. “Because it doesn’t make a bit of sense to me to send you in there when we expect to find Calhoun tortured and in pain. We both know he was shot. What kind of energy is he putting out, do you think? What kinds of energy do those four men combined put out? I’d have to say it would be poor planning to send in a woman of your size, incapable of hauling him out, with your kinds of problems. I’d find you on the floor having seizures, and I’d have to haul both of you out.”

He hurt her. He saw it in her eyes before her lashes came down. A glimpse was enough to cause his gut to tie itself into knots. “Damn it, Dahlia, I’m telling you the truth, and you know it. It would be suicide sending you in there alone. Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.”

She steepled her fingers, pressed them tightly together. “It could happen. I’m not going to deny that it could happen. On the other hand, I’ve refused to live my life being afraid. What else are we going to do? I can blur my image and slip into small places. Believe me, they won’t see me. The other choice is . . .” She trailed off, looking up at him, spreading her hands out in front of her.

“I’ll go in. I’m a GhostWalker, Dahlia. I do have a few talents of my own.”

“But you can protect me with a weapon. I’m not certain I can do the same for you. I’ve been taught to fire a gun and I can hit a target, but I doubt if I could actually hit a human being. I’d try, Nicolas, but the repercussions would be so bad I’d get hit with the energy of just the intention of trying to kill someone. You’ve seen how bad it is.”

“I’ve felt it as well,” he agreed grimly. He never wanted to experience it again.

“Back at the house, I wanted to help Jesse, to keep someone from hurting him. I didn’t mean to set anyone on fire, just scare everyone, when they were taking Jesse. I don’t have any control when the energy is severe like that. I could burn down the house with you and Jesse in it.”

Dahlia tried to keep her voice even. She had never felt so worthless in her life. Nicolas had managed to reduce her to a burden. She looked away from him into the trees, breathing deeply to keep her rising emotions under control. She needed to be away from everyone, to return to the sanctuary of the bayou. It was the only place she knew. The only one she called home.

“Dahlia.” Nicolas reached out and brushed tears from her face. “I can’t change who I am, not even for you.”

She jerked her head away from the caress of his fingers. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It means I always go in first. It means I have to take the hot mission. I live by a strict code, and it’s a matter of honor with me.”

She sat in silence for few minutes before scooting back toward the broad trunk of the nearest tree, giving him plenty of room to lie down. “It doesn’t negate what you said. I would be a burden to you if I went in. To both of you.”

Nicolas sighed as he stretched out on the sheet, lying with his head in her lap. She didn’t protest, and her hand immediately nestled in his hair. She began rubbing strands of his hair between her thumb and finger. “I didn’t say burden, Dahlia. You could never be a burden. I have to do this my way. The way I was trained. You have something you’re very good at doing. This is what I do.”

She leaned back against the tree trunk. “What am I supposed to be doing while you’re in the house alone?”

“Waiting. We’re going to need to get him out fast if he’s alive. He’ll need medical care immediately. We’ll have to contact your people and get him to a hospital.”

His voice was drowsy. Dahlia looked down at his perfectly sculpted face. Her fingertips traced his strong jaw. “I don’t have any people. I do work for them, but I’m not one of them. It isn’t the same thing. Jesse’s NCIS; I’m nobody.”

He tried to analyze her voice. Was the ache of loneliness in her words or her tone? Or maybe it struck a cord in him. Even in training he had felt apart, until he had made an attempt to learn to utilize the healing skills both grandfathers said were strong in him. He had volunteered to be enhanced, mainly in the hopes of opening his mind to the healing arts. He had gained many psychic talents, and for the first time he had felt a part of something bigger, yet he still, to his shame, could not tap into the strong resource his grandfathers had been so certain was within him.

He reached up and took her hand, settling his fingers around hers. “You aren’t nobody, Dahlia, you’re a GhostWalker. They hired you because you’re exceptional at what you do. We don’t do too bad together for a couple of people that are used to being alone, do we?”

A faint smile curved her mouth. “At least I’ve learned not to singe fingers.”

A night breeze came up off the river, helping to ease the heat of the day. “I enjoy being with you Dahlia. Singed fingers or not.”

Dahlia looked down at Nicolas. His eyes were closed, his voice sleepy, drifting into no more than a murmur. There was a quality about him that she found restful. She had worked at finding peace in her life, a sanctuary, but it had always been alone, her home, the bayou, never with a person. She had been unable to spend more than half an hour at a time with Milly or Bernadette or Jesse. Yet she was with Nicolas almost continually, and the more physical contact she had with him, the easier it seemed to be.