Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(8)
Author: Christine Feehan

He eased the boat into a small inlet several hundred yards from the dock and around a bend, out of sight. Nicolas slipped into knee-deep water, pulling the boat behind him to tie up to a tree. It was a slow process, taking care not to splash as he slogged through the mire until he was on higher ground. It was still a bog. Grass grew wild and tall and a multitude of shrubbery and flowers filled in spaces the trees didn’t take up.

Nicolas moved in silence, as he had most of his life. He had grown up on the reservation and spent much of his childhood with his shaman grandfather who believed in the old ways. He automatically avoided dry twigs and leaves, and with his enhanced abilities, he was able to keep wildlife from giving away his presence as he made his way across the spongy marsh toward higher ground where the sanitarium was located.

He heard gunshots in the distance. Birds screeched and rose like a cloud into the air. Nicolas ran toward the sound, closing in on the building. The bushes and trees grew much thicker on the high ground, obviously planted and coaxed into wide fences, obscuring vision of the large structure. As he pushed through a thick hedge of saw grass, he heard the distinct crackle of a radio and instantly dropped down, remaining motionless until he could determine the exact position of the guard.

Sound carried at night, especially on water. The guard was more interested in the action taking place in the building then he was in watching the water. His gaze kept straying toward higher ground and twice he swore under his breath, stroking his gun.

Nicolas let his breath out slowly. This was no amateur hit. No drug addicts looking for money. This was a professional cleanup crew, moving with military precision, hitting hard and fast and leaving only the dead behind. Lily had made inquiries in the wrong places, and a team must have been sent out to dispose of all evidence. Dahlia Le Blanc was on a hit list and the squad was taking her out. His warning radar was shrieking at him. He had stumbled into the middle of a high-level operation.

Nicolas had no way of knowing if Dahlia had been caught inside the sanitarium or if by some miracle she had been outside. She had training and skill and was obviously quite dangerous. The fact that there were fires breaking out inside the building might mean she was still alive and fighting back. Whatever the case, he couldn’t afford to waste time. He had to get past the guard and go to her aid.

It took maneuvering to get within striking distance of his prey. Nicolas lay in the open, only feet from the guard. He wished he had Dahlia’s ability to blur her image. Instead, he counted on his talent to persuade his enemy to look the other way. He whispered the suggestion even as he “pushed” at the guard’s mind to stay focused on the water. The guard was vibrating with excitement, impatient to make a kill. Any kill.

Nicolas rose up out of the bog like a giant shadow, enveloping the man, swallowing him, his hands fast and his blade sharp. He murmured to the earth and sky his plea for forgiveness and offered the universe his regret at taking a life even as he lowered the body silently to the marshy water and moved on.

He went across the spongy ground as fast as he could without chancing sinking into the bog. If Dahlia was in the building, the team would be overrunning even her capabilities. The double doors to the main entrance were open as if in invitation. Tendrils of smoke drifted out, along with the smells of gasoline and blood. Nicolas exploded through the doorway, rolling into a ball and coming up on his feet, tracking the room with his gun, eyes adjusting to the darker interior. Two bodies lay sprawled on the floor. Keeping a wary eye on the door leading into the sanitarium, Nicolas approached the bodies.

He recognized them from the pictures and dossier on each woman. Bernadette Sanders and Milly Duboune lay dead, each executed with a single bullet to the forehead. It particularly bothered him, the sight of them lying lifeless, their blood soaking into round balls of wool half unraveled on the floor. There was nothing he could do for them. The office was destroyed, files already saturated with accelerant and burning. Nicolas moved on quickly, knowing he had little time.

He found himself in what was obviously a gymnasium with every kind of exercise and training equipment money could buy. There was little damage to the room, but he smelled the gasoline splashed on the walls. There was nothing to be gained in the room so he chose a door that led into a large hallway.

The door was ajar, an open invitation, but his survival instincts were screaming. He stayed to the side of the door and took a cautious look. Flames licked up the walls and smoke billowed from several places along the floor. A table and several chairs were overturned and glass was smashed everywhere. Several men were in the room, all armed. Several splashed gasoline over the walls and floor, soaking the table and chairs. One was yelling at a man on the floor. Twice he kicked the downed man and once slammed the butt of his gun into the man’s ribs.

“Where the hell is she, Calhoun? She should have been here.”

“Go to hell, Dobbs.” Blood poured down Calhoun’s face and soaked his shirt. He spit a mouthful of blood on the floor. “She’s long gone, and you’re never going to find her.”

Dobbs reacted to the taunt instantly, turning his gun on the man’s outstretched leg and pulling the trigger. Calhoun screamed. Blood spattered the walls. A man out of Nicolas’s sight laughed.

Nicolas took aim and fired, one shot, dead center, and melted away before Dobbs could fall to the floor in a lifeless heap. At once a rain of bullets spat through the walls and doorway, seeking Nicolas as the death crew fired blindly in retaliation.

Nicolas had already gone up, choosing to use the high ceiling as a refuge, waiting for the first man to come through the door, knowing they would believe he had fled into another room. He sprawled like a spider above their heads, motionless, a shadow in the dark interior. Even the flickering orange and red of the flames didn’t reach him. They would fan out and search for him and that would divide them into a much more manageable enemy. He waited as he always did. Calm. Patient. Certain of his enemies’ next move.

Nicolas heard them talking. Heard Calhoun scream in agony as someone obviously moved him with more haste than care. Two men nudged the door open and slipped into the room with him. They split up, one going right, the other left in a standard search pattern, checking every corner of the room. Nicolas remained utterly still, only his eyes moving, watching, measuring the distance beneath him to his prey.

Dahlia? Nicolas heard the name clearly in his head. Heard the pain etched into the voice, the thoughts. He glimpsed a swirling eddy of fear and shock, of determination. You can’t save me. Get the hell out of here. Disappear. That’s an order.