Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(57)
Author: Christine Feehan

Even as Tansy kissed him, Don caught the movement, correctly interpreting the threat. He gently put Tansy away from him, holding her shoulders at arm’s length.

“Are you all right, Tansy-girl?”

“I’m fine, Dad, but I was so afraid for you. I heard Mom scream and I thought the worst. Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“No, he just knocked us around a little. It was just such a shock finding out he’d been betraying us all of those years. I considered him family.”

Don Meadows was lying to his daughter. Kadan flicked a glance at Ryland. Meadows had known Fredrickson belonged to Whitney.

“What did he do to Mom? And how could he, after sitting down with us all those years eating and watching movies and being a part of our family?” She looked beyond her father to her mother’s delicate frame.

Her eyes darkened when she saw the bruises. “Mom! Oh no. What happened?”

Kadan looked from Don Meadows to his adopted daughter and then to his petite wife, Sharon. Tansy’s hair was a thick mass of almost white gold, an unusual color at her age, almost a silver gold. Sharon’s hair was dyed the same color, but Don’s hair was prematurely silver gold, lending the parents a similar appearance to their adopted daughter.

Tansy hadn’t once looked at him, not even a stolen glance, not a hint of recognition, and part of him felt dead inside. He kept his hand curled around his weapon, not speaking, not interrupting the reunion, when he really wanted to drag her against him and make her notice him.

Sharon touched the bruise on her face. “Fredrickson hit me very hard when he took over the phone call. I nearly fainted.”

“I’m sorry he did that, Mom. He was a horrible person. What happened to your mouth?”

Sharon glanced at Don. “He was angry at your father. We didn’t know Watson was in on it, and when he came in, Don tried to jump Fredrickson. They didn’t touch him; I think they knew it wouldn’t do any good.”

Don swore. “Damn cowards. Hitting a woman.”

“They knew if they threatened me, Don would do whatever they said. They hoped you would too.”

Tansy was more careful with her mother, hugging her gently and kissing the bruises on her face. “Come sit down.” She caught her mother by the hand, tugging, leading her to the couch. “I would have gladly exchanged my life for yours, Mom, but fortunately I have friends who were willing to help.”

Don made a sound that was suspiciously like derision. Tansy didn’t look at her father. She wanted to go to Kadan. He was all she could think about. He filled her mind, but she needed to comfort her mother. She needed to touch her and know she was all right before she was selfish, before she acknowledged to herself, to everyone, that Kadan was her heart and soul. Because if her parents were involved with Whitney, she’d lost them and she needed this one last time to be wholly loved by them and love them back without reservation. Once she saw Kadan’s face, nothing else was going to matter to her for a long while.

She let out her breath, running her glove-covered fingers over her mother’s arm, feeling inexplicably sad. She wanted to touch Sharon skin to skin. To be normal. “I love you, Mom,” she said, her heart heavy. “I’ve always loved you so much. I’m sorry for all the letdowns over the years, but mostly for this. I don’t know what they want, but you got this,” she touched the bruise again with trembling fingers, “because of me.”

“No!” Sharon drew her daughter into her arms. “I love you more than anything. Your father and I both do. There are no regrets.” Surprisingly, her voice was strong, fierce even. “There never will be, no matter what happens. And I’m grateful your friends came instead of you. I would have been furious with you if you’d tried to exchange your life for ours.”

Tansy kissed her mother again and took another deep breath, before daring to look up at Kadan.

Kadan saw her breath hitch in her throat. He swore he felt her heart stop beating. The color drained from her face and her eyes went that peculiar shade of violet.

“Kadan,” she whispered his name and he felt her move in his mind. Kadan. A breath. A caress in his mind.

Suddenly for him there was no one else in the room. Only Tansy. Only that look on her face that was worth all the waiting in the world. She didn’t take her gaze from his as she crossed the few steps to him, seemingly oblivious to her parents’ curious stares. Her hand smoothed, featherlight, over his scar, then skimmed his chest, finger touching the rip in his shirt.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “Just look at what they did to you.”

He should have been embarrassed with the other GhostWalkers looking on, especially when he caught sight of Gator’s grin; the man was going to have fun tormenting him later, but nothing else mattered but that look in her eyes. All the teasing in the world was worth that moment. She was completely focused on him, soft inside, worried, her heart in her eyes. Her lips trailed down the side of his face to his chest.

How bad? Her fingers went to his shirt, dragging it from his jeans in an effort to get at his chest. I have to know how bad it is. There was desperation in her voice, in her mind, and—God help him—tears.

His heart clenched. His belly knotted. How the hell did men survive women loving them? Because he honestly didn’t know. He framed her face with his hands, unable to prevent himself from seeing the blood staining his skin and the rough, scarred backs against her smooth, rose-petal-soft cheeks. The pads of his fingers, topped with microscopic velvet bristles, brushed against her mouth. That beautiful, full mouth that terrified him when nothing else could, smiling at him, kissing him, taking him to paradise, loving him as no one else had ever done or could do. She was such a damned miracle.

He bent his head to hers, uncaring that her parents watched, uncaring that his friends could probably see the caveman desperation in him. The claiming. The possession. The love that he couldn’t hide. This was coming home. Her soft mouth, hot as hell, sexy as could be. He closed his eyes and savored the cinnamon taste of her. It wasn’t enough. It never would be. His hands slipped to her shoulders, ran down the sides of her body to rest on her hips, fingers digging deep to pull her close against him. The true miracle was—she kissed him back. She didn’t step away, she pushed tight against him, pliant and soft and yielding, as if she belonged.

Thank you for bringing my parents home safe. And for keeping your promise that you’d come back to me.