Predatory Game (GhostWalkers #6)(47)
Author: Christine Feehan

Chapter 10

Saber stood very still in the middle of the bathroom, her body trembling. The room was large, with cooling tiles and wide, open doorways. Jess could roll his chair into the shower. The Jacuzzi tub was huge and she thought about sitting in it and letting herself cry. Maybe she’d brought this on herself with her voice. She’d deliberately used her voice, tried to summon her watcher from the shadows, and maybe she’d succeeded.

She paced for a while and then tried sitting. Eventually the cleaners left along with most of the GhostWalkers. Only Logan remained, and he went into the office to talk to Jess. They left the door slightly open. She was fairly certain Jess wanted to catch her before she went upstairs, but she had no intention of going up. She couldn’t stay in that room. Instead, she crept past the office and into the kitchen.

The room smelled comforting and spicy. The scent made her feel a little better. She made a cup of tea, but couldn’t sit still, shaken and uneasy that someone had managed to get into the house, so close to her-to Jess. The clothes weren’t the only thing slashed to ribbons. She’d spotted the picture of Jess she had on her bedside table, glass shattered, frame smashed, and the photograph ripped up.

A prickle of awareness slid beneath her skin, into her mind. She took a breath and let it out. Someone was watching the house. Was it the GhostWalker team? Were they keeping tabs on her? Protecting Jess? She stayed quiet, stilling her mind, trying to feel friend or foe.

The unease that would not quiet gave her the answer: that was no friendly out there that she was picking up. She hurried up the stairs, keeping her steps quiet. If she was lucky Jess would think she’d fallen asleep and he’d work with Logan for a while. The GhostWalkers had more than likely interrogated the prisoners and they’d be feeding information to Jess in the office. That should buy her the time she needed.

In her bathroom, Saber scrubbed her face clean, removing the faint lines along her eyes and around her mouth. Adding color to her skin tone aged her by a couple of years, nothing dramatic, and the eye makeup took away the lost waif look she always had without it. She looked at herself in the mirror and her heart squeezed down hard, her lips trembling as the picture blurred into memories she didn’t want to ever think about.

Such a beautiful child, he had said, his hand stroking her cheek while she’d looked up at him. Such a beautiful child and so lethal, so deadly, one of my greatest achievements. Just sit there and play the game with little Thorn. Wrap your hand around her ankle and feel her pulse. There’s a girl. You feel it don’t you? Her heart, tapping away, that steady rhythm. Just like the puppy. Keep your touch light. In order to win, they can’t know you are there.

But the puppy died. I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. Tears welled up before she could stop them.

At once he frowned, looking severe. What did I tell you about crying? Do you want to go back into the dark? In the ground where bad girls belong?

She struggled to hold back the tears, shaking her head, suddenly very afraid. She reached for Thorn’s ankle. The little girl was sound asleep, her hair sweeping across the pillow, so white it looked like silk from a corncob. She was only about three, and at eight, Saber felt very motherly toward her. Her own heart beat too fast in anticipation. She had to be careful, keep Thorn from any danger. Stay in control. The doctor wanted her to show control. She moistened her lips and absorbed the rhythm of Thorn’s body into her own.

Saber forced her body to relax, to simply take in the sound and feel of that small little heart. She kept her touch light, so light Thorn wouldn’t wake up. The thump was so tiny but strong. She knew the exact pathways in Thorn’s body, the veins and arteries and neural pathways, every line that fed or was fed by that single organ.

She breathed for both of them, air rushing in and out of their lungs. For a moment she experienced a strange euphoria, as if they were both the same person, one in the same skin, heart and minds totally in tune. And then she introduced the small irregular beat. A thud. Wait. Another thud.

Thorn stirred, pain rippling across her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked directly into Saber’s eyes. Knowledge was there. Understanding. Thorn had always been so intelligent, far beyond what Whitney ever guessed-or maybe he did-and maybe he was afraid of her.

Saber tore her hand from Thorn’s ankle. “I did it. And I didn’t mess up this time.” She kept her voice triumphant, with no hint of defiance. But she wasn’t touching Thorn again. There would be no second experiment because she was beginning to suspect the doctor would have been happy if she’d killed Thorn. He’d been happy when the puppy had died. She’d seen that in his eyes even when he looked at her sternly.

There was a long silence. She kept her head bowed. Finally he dropped his hand on top of her head. “Good job, Winter. You’re a very good girl.”

Saber blinked to bring her face in the mirror back in focus. She was now white and ravaged from the memory. Thorn. She hadn’t let herself think about Thorn or her sacrifices for years, but if there was one girl, one woman, who could outsmart Whitney, it was Thorn. “Be alive,” she said aloud. “Stay alive.”

She stared at herself, looking for flaws. Her face was smooth and unlined, beautiful soft skin and very large eyes. She looked so young with her too-slim body and her little girl face. No one would ever suspect her of anything deadly. She straightened her shoulders and firmed her mouth. She had skills and she would use them to protect Jess. Whoever wanted him dead was going to have to contend with her. If it was Whitney, well, she’d always suspected he’d find her someday, and she wasn’t about to allow him to hurt or kill Jess. If it was some nutcase fixated on her voice, she was going to remove the threat to Jess once and for all.

Pushing aside the dresser, she crouched low to remove the small grill from the wall. The pipe curved back and she had to reach deep to pull her field kit out. Opening the leather case, she surveyed her options. As she studied the various choices, she sleeked back her hair using a stiff gel and then pulled a skull cap tight over it. She stripped with quick efficiency and dragged on a bodysuit so thin and tight it seemed a second skin. The suit acted as a sealant, keeping cells from being left behind when she took out a target. Her clothes were next, very nondescript, something a teen might wear. She pulled jeans and a T-shirt over the suit.

She took no weapons, but she coated her hands with a solution to fill in all the lines of her palms and fingers, making them perfectly smooth, so she left behind no prints or cells, but could still make skin-to-skin contact. It was a miracle invention, one of Whitney’s finest, and yet he hadn’t turned it over to the government. The only covert use for it seemed to be his own. Originally she’d stolen several bottles with the idea that she might send it anonymously to a research center, hoping they’d duplicate it, but it was impossible to know which facilities he was associated with.