Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(32)
Author: Christine Feehan

“I think a good cup of tea would be excellent right now,” Thorn said. She loved the tea ritual her father had often used to calm her when, as a child, she was unable to find her center. Just the thought of her father comforted her and continued to infuse her with confidence.

Tucker’s white teeth flashed at her. “You’re the second woman to suggest tea in a situation like this. I have to admit, I drank it with her, but I’m a coffee man myself.”

“The tea ritual is always comforting,” she said. “It’s always nice after a battle.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Do you often go into battle?”

“I was trained from the time I was a child in the way of the samurai by my father. It is a way of life, and the use of weapons as well as hand-to-hand combat is part of the lifestyle. Of course along with traditional weapons and fighting technique, we were required to master the modern arts of warfare as well as weapons. So, I guess you can say, I often go into battle. We keep up our skills. Our company provides this training for our employees. My brothers and I often instruct as well as train in order to stay sharp.”

“Your father must have been an unusual man.”

Thorn nodded. “Most unusual and wonderful. I miss him every day.” Her soft voice was infused with the warmth of a million memories.

The thought of her father brought her even more confidence and completely settled the last of the nerves in her stomach. Daiki and Eiji were both men of honor, like her father. She had never thought to meet a man who might live up to what her father and brothers were—until she met Sam. She knew his mind intimately. He would sacrifice his own happiness for the good of his team. He would sacrifice willingly his life for theirs. He knew what duty and honor were and stood for both.

Thorn found it strange that when she had finally set into motion her plan to track down Whitney and serve him justice or at the very least cut off his supporters and put him on the run, she found a man she could believe in—one she could trust.

“Life is very strange,” she murmured aloud.

“That it is,” Tucker agreed. “We had no idea we’d be cleaning up a full-scale assault on our guests. We don’t always use this road. It’s a private one we put in ourselves. In the winter it’s completely impassable. We use snowmobiles or winter vehicles on the public road. It’s odd that they would set up an ambush here. How could they possibly know we would use this route to bring you and your brothers up to the compound?”

Thorn turned the question over in her mind. “There are two routes and you never choose one ahead of time?”

Tucker shook his head. “We deliberately set no pattern when we’re traveling.”

“Maybe that’s why they had the second helicopter and it came late to the party,” she speculated. “They might have had a welcoming committee on both roads. A helicopter and two vehicles per road. Once they knew the route they could call for the others to back them up. They weren’t that far away. A Jeep could cut through the forest and a helicopter just had to fly like a bird in a straight line.”

Tucker nodded. “Not bad.”

She sent him a small smile. “A test? Or not bad for a girl? You already knew that, didn’t you?”

He grinned at her. “Our women are on the feisty side, just like you. You sit there very demure and look sweet, but you’re a tiger in sheep’s clothing. If Sam’s all worried about you, he’s worried about the wrong woman.”

Thorn inclined her head. “You might tell him that when he wakes up.”

CHAPTER 7

Sam struggled into a sitting position, his lungs screaming for air, sweat dripping down his face into his eyes. He threw an arm over his stinging eyes and took a deep breath, fighting for air. Blood thundered in his ears and his throat felt swollen and raw. He swore and shoved at the damp, springing curls spilling onto his forehead. He was never going to sleep again, that much was clear.

He’d seen a lot of really ugly things in his life, but his nightmares of torturing children—little girls—horrified him. He could never get to the child, no matter how hard he tried. He woke exhausted, in a panic, bile rising, every muscle in his body tight with tension and his mind in chaotic horror for the small child.

“What is it, Sam?” Lily Whitney-Miller asked. She handed him a damp washcloth. “You aren’t sleeping more than a couple minutes at a time and you wake up like this. Your pulse rate is out of control. Can you tell me what’s happening? You’ve been like this for nearly seventy-two hours.”

He swallowed down another curse, took the cool cloth and rubbed his face, breathing in and out to regain some semblance of control. “Nightmares. They’re bad, Lily. I’ve never had anything like this in my life.”

“What kinds of things are you dreaming about?”

“Doctors torturing children—little girls.” He cleared his throat to manage an intelligent sound. “Operating unnecessarily on them, Lily. Over and over.” He was going to keep to himself that the “little girls” was always specifically one girl—Azami. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing that child being dissected without anesthesia.

Lily frowned, her brows drawing together. “Forgive me for bringing this up, Sam, but prior to the general and his wife fostering you, you lived in a very abusive household. Perhaps you had nightmares as a child and the trauma you suffered is re-creating the memories.”

“What trauma?” He was genuinely puzzled. The only trauma he’d suffered was the damn nightmare.

“Sam.” Lily’s voice dropped low. Her doctor-to-patient voice made him wince. “You were shot. You were forced to kill several men in order to protect our guests. I think that’s trauma enough for anyone to produce such nightmares.”

He shook his head. “No way. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and I’ve killed. Hell, Lily. How many times have you patched me up? You know I’ve never had anything like this before. I’m afraid to close my eyes.”

“Any soldier can start exhibiting PTSD at any time,” she reminded, her voice gentle.

Sam shook his head. “It isn’t that, Lily. I probably should be more bothered by the things I’ve had to do than I am. We’ve talked about it many times. I feel I have the right to defend myself. In any case, I believe in what I’m doing. This isn’t PTSD.”

“When did the nightmares start?”