Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(88)
Author: Christine Feehan

You smell great. He couldn’t say it out loud, not in front of everyone, and he couldn’t stop himself from running his finger down the length of her arm, taking in her soft skin. Aloud he said, “Your father is fine.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks.”

He craved that look in her eyes. Soft. Loving. Reserved only for him. His hands found her h*ps and slid upward, shaping her body. She didn’t even flinch as his palms caressed her tucked-in waist through the tank, found her narrow rib cage, and went up the sides of her br**sts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he resisted cupping the soft weight, but he couldn’t resist teasing her. No stripping you na**d on the kitchen table and having my way with you?

She nibbled on her lower lip, her gaze holding his boldly. You’ll probably have to wait on that one until we’re alone.

The way her eyes ran over him, touching on the bulge growing in the front of his jeans, had him grinning like a fool—and he rarely grinned.

“Sit the hell down,” Ryland growled. “The two of you are killing us.”

Kadan pulled out her chair for her, waiting for her to adjust her leg for comfort before sliding into the seat next to her.

“I appreciate all of you for what you did for me last night,” Tansy said. “I had no idea those men could find me, and I’m very ashamed of my father for the part he’s played putting your lives in jeopardy. Believe me, if I could find a way to repay you . . .”

“You have,” Ryland said gruffly.

“I have?”

Gator winked at her. “Yes, ma’am. That goofy look on Kadan’s face is worth all the bullets in the world.” He leaned across the table toward Kadan and sniffed. “And he sure does smell pretty now.”

Kadan hooked his foot around the leg of Gator’s chair and jerked, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor.

“Kadan’s family. That makes you family,” Nico said solemnly, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t even glance down at Gator, who sat on the floor, laughing.

“I see,” Tansy said.

Kadan dropped his hand beneath the table to her thigh. Does it hurt?

She shook her head. My hand hurts more.

He immediately took her hand and turned it over to examine the palm. “Take a look at this, Nico. When she took the gloves off, the ivory piece branded into her skin, although it’s not a burn. I tried opening her hand to get her to drop the thing, but not even using pressure points helped. I hit her hand on the table edge. Do you think it’s broken?”

Tansy attempted to pull her hand away, but Kadan tightened his grip. The men crowded around, looking at the impression of the knife embedded in her palm. Nico turned her hand around and murmured to her to open and close her fingers.

“Her hand’s not broken, Kadan, and the impression is fading. How does your talent work, Tansy?”

Again she tugged at her hand, but Kadan kept possession of it, although he did lower her arm, taking her hand beneath the table, out of sight. His fingers brushed back and forth over her palm in long, slow caresses where no one could see.

“I’m not certain. I’ve had the ability as long as I can remember. I touch something, and I can sense the impressions left behind by anyone who has touched it before me. If it’s strong energy, such as violence, the impressions are equally as strong. It’s rather like always being in on private conversations.”

“So you wear gloves most of the time?”

She nodded. “Always. I don’t wear them when I’m camping up in the mountains, but as a rule, unless I want to stumble onto someone’s secrets, I’m careful.”

“I’m shielding for her,” Kadan said. “Which is why she’s able to be okay here with all of you and in this house.” His fingers continued to stroke her injured hand beneath the table.

“We really should get started,” she said.

Kadan sighed. She was right. If he was going to eliminate both teams quickly, he needed this information. “Let’s do it then.”

“I’ll clean up,” Gator said.

“I’m going to button down the house and set up a couple of escape routes just to be safe.” Nico shoved back his chair.

“That leaves me to talk to the ladies about what they can give us on your suspects,” Ryland added.

Kadan appreciated his friends’ discretion. It was difficult enough to watch Tansy suffer while she worked, but he also knew her inevitable reaction embarrassed her. She didn’t want to try tracking in front of an audience. He held her hand as they went into the bedroom where he’d set up the pieces. He’d placed the four pieces side by side on the dresser.

“Sit. I don’t want you screwing up your hip.”

She nodded, almost without hearing him. Her gaze was already fixed on the small, perfectly detailed bull. He kept his mind in hers, wanting to understand what she was doing so he’d have a better chance of helping her when she needed him. She was already half-gone from him, tuning everything out around her but the object that she was going to handle. She pulled on the gloves almost absently, not even glancing at him.

There was only Tansy and the ivory game piece and the information it would yield. Her breathing changed first. Kadan watched Tansy’s face rather than her hands. He knew the moment she picked up the ivory bull with her gloved hands. The jolt of violent energy was strong. He felt it blast through her mind to encompass his. Along with the violence was a sexual energy that didn’t surprise him. Tansy’s record of tracking was 100 percent, and if she thought a piece represented the highly sexual nature of the owner, he believed her.

“He’s very involved in the rodeo. He likes the power of the bull and craves it for himself. He enjoys his prowess with women. His buddies want the details, and he tries to top his record of several women in one day, all begging for his attentions. He often has a couple of women at the same time. He enjoys that he can get them to do anything he wants more than he actually enjoys the sexual act. He’s a total adrenaline junkie, needing the high all the time. The murder doesn’t give him his fix, but the idea of getting away with it, the planning, carrying out, and walking away clean—that’s the rush for him. The more public, the greater the risk, the better the high.”

Her eyes deepened in color, going from blue to violet. He could see the silvery lines begin to form in them, and his belly hardened into tight fist-size knots. She moved farther and farther away from him along the thread of the cowboy, where he couldn’t really follow. He could see blurring images, coming and going fast, but his mind’s eye couldn’t grasp them. He could only pick up the impressions from her.