Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(10)
Author: Christine Feehan

GhostWalkers, as a rule, could detect one another fairly easily, and they always felt psychic energy when it was used. She had learned she was an exception—even Whitney hadn’t known she had powerful psychic gifts. So far, that single distinction hadn’t let her down, but Sam Johnson might prove to be the one person who was able to “feel” her psychic energy even when she wasn’t using it. She knew that was part of the code of identity. They all “felt” that subtle pulse their bodies gave off when they were in close vicinity to one another. She controlled that pulse, just as she could control her heart and lungs.

Sam led the way to the SUV. Had Nico and the Bishop not been watching his back, he would have had a difficult time leading the way across the open parking lot to his vehicle. The sense of danger grew instead of dissipated. Every step raised the hair on the back of his neck, but he never broke stride or gave away that he was worried. The trio acted the part of businessmen, but somehow they didn’t feel that way to him. Every sense remained alert, and he actually felt the pulsing of the venom sacs implanted along his wrist from one of Whitney’s insane experiments. For his body to react with such intensity, he was certain he wasn’t wrong—that something was not right about their three guests.

The facial recognition program would be nearly impossible to beat and certainly would have detected one of them as being imposter, raising the alert immediately, but Lily had confirmed the identities of all three. Clearly, the taller man was really Daiki Yoshiie, founder of Samurai Telecommunications, and the other two were his adopted brother and sister. The company had risen fast, gaining an impeccable reputation internationally. It was said that the company was run by the code of Bushido and that their word was gold.

Sam knew the exact position of all three of the visitors. They had fanned out as they followed, the woman directly behind him. None of them made noise when they walked, not the slap of the soles of their feet, not the soft brush of the material of their clothing. Still, he “saw” them. He had the ability to “feel” and map out anything behind him. He practiced each step in his mind. At the first sign of attack, he would step back and to his left, crowding Eiji, while he disposed of the woman first, believing she was the real threat. He would have to follow through, snapping Eiji’s neck and using him as a shield against Daiki’s attack. It would have to be one move, not two, killing Azami and then Eiji immediately after.

Nico would definitely take out Daiki. Still, Sam was armed and he added the second move, shooting Daiki the moment he had disposed of Eiji. He practiced over and over in his mind until he knew every move smoothly. All the while he kept his breathing easy and his stride casual. They crossed the parking lot without incident.

Unlocking the SUV, he opened the front passenger door. Daiki slipped inside, much to Sam’s consternation. He had expected the woman to take the front seat. She flashed him one look, her expression covered by the sweep of her lashes, and went around the vehicle to take the seat behind the driver. A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw. He wanted the woman where he could see her. The two men didn’t raise his hackles in the same way she did. The last thing he wanted was for her to be sitting behind him.

Sam took Daiki’s bag and stowed it in the back, then gathered Eiji’s as well and placed it carefully in the storage space. There were three rows of seats in the SUV, making the luggage space small, but the visitors seemed to be traveling light. Azami had kept her bag very neatly with her. He would have liked to get a feel for the weight of that bag. She was definitely the threat his body was reacting to.

He had been fully briefed on them. Little was known of Azami before Mamoru Yoshiie had adopted her. Rumors flew about Yoshiie, yet nothing was concrete. He was reputed to be a direct descendent of a famous samurai and his family had passed down to him all the fighting skills and way of life of the samurai. He was known as a master craftsman of sword making. He seemed a quiet, gentle man who led a family life. He had a good reputation from all who knew him, and yet the rumors persisted until the man was shrouded in myth, becoming a thing of legend.

It was whispered in Japan that Mamoru Yoshiie earned his real living as an assassin. The yakuza were rarely spoken of, especially in polite company, and when it was implied Yoshiie had some association with them, that had been firmly denied by the yakuza itself. They left the man strictly alone and some said it was Yoshiie one went to if they were in trouble with the local crime lord. Sam doubted if any of it was true until he’d met Yoshiie’s adopted daughter and his sons. All three moved with the skill of a consummate fighter.

“We were expecting at least two bodyguards to accompany you,” Sam directed his statement to Daiki. “We do have accommodations for them as well if you would feel more comfortable.”

“Azami and Eiji are my bodyguards when we are installing software for a satellite as important as this one. We know that most companies do not want strangers living and working where sensitive material might be exposed. We endeavor to make our clients as comfortable as possible.”

That made sense and it explained the way Azami’s eyes had continually swept the small airport and the roofs of the buildings, but it didn’t explain the way his body reacted so strongly to her.

“Why are we waiting?” Azami inquired very politely.

Sam couldn’t keep his gaze from shifting to the rearview mirror. Azami wasn’t looking at him—or Daiki. She peered through the tinted windows, obviously expecting trouble.

“We know a man of Daiki’s stature has enemies,” Sam said, his tone very matter-of-fact. “We had men in position to cover anyone taking undue notice of your arrival. They’ll be here in a moment or two.”

He kept his glaze glued to the rearview mirror, observing Azami’s reaction to the news. She turned her head slowly and met his eyes in the mirror. He felt the impact all the way to his toes. His blood went hot, rushing through his veins, flooding his groin with need. He kept his expression composed, but only with effort. She was potent, that sweet, demure-looking bodyguard sitting directly behind him. He had no doubt she could take off his head in seconds. So much for the intellectual, computer-nerd types.

She inclined her head, regal princess to the peasant who had just scored. She had known his men were out there all right—she wasn’t in the least surprised—but she didn’t like them climbing into the SUV and seating themselves directly behind her and Eiji, neatly flanking them, taking away any advantage they may have had.