Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(36)
Author: Christine Feehan

He deliberately made growling noises under his breath, making her laugh as she fussed over the bags hanging on the stand.

“All right. What a grump,” she added, as she took the needle from his arm. “And stay off your feet. You might heal fast, but trying to heal that hole in your body in a few days is asking just a little too much—even of Zenith.”

He couldn’t help the wince. He felt as if he might be lying to her by not making inquiries, but he was determined to find out if the Yoshiie family was in the compound and if they were, just what they were up to. He owed Azami the chance to explain the Zenith and anything else she could before he gave her up to Ryland.

Lily left him with one more admonishing look and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want her sticking around to witness him trying to get out of bed. He knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. Just changing position took his breath away. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited until his vision cleared. His mouth still felt parched, as if he could never again get enough to drink. Breathing deeply, he put a little weight on his feet. The room spun, receded, and righted itself slowly. Gritting his teeth, he stood.

Black swirled in front of his eyes. White stars shot straight at him, great comets soaring and rolling. His stomach lurched. He’d been shot more than once. Knifed twice. He’d even had a brief stint with electric shock, but he’d never felt quite so weak. Was that the loss of blood or the crash after using Zenith? Good question for the doc. He forced more air into his lungs and waited for the world to right itself because there was no way he was crawling back into bed.

It took a few minutes for his legs to gain strength. The pain in his abdomen was easy enough to push aside, but the invading weakness wasn’t as cooperative. He took slow steps over to the bathroom, grateful the distance wasn’t far. He had to breathe deeply with every step and stop twice. Sam cursed under his breath. By the time he entered the war room with his team, he had to get this under control. It didn’t help that his body broke out in a sweat and small beads dotted his skin.

Cold water helped. He took a brief, cool shower, taking care not to disturb the glue holding him together, sitting on the chair someone had thoughtfully provided for him. They’d all had their share of wounds, so it wasn’t hard to try to figure out what a fellow wounded soldier might need. He sank back onto the bed and rested before he attempted to dress, but at least the lurching stomach and sweats had receded. His knees weren’t nearly as wobbly. He didn’t bother with shoes—bending over was too difficult to contemplate. He was a little proud of himself for walking in a straight line down the center of the hall without staggering or even listing to one side.

Sam pushed open the door to the war room. The large table was circled with his team members, who all looked up, various expressions on their faces. Most relieved, some a little shocked, and his captain openly scowled at him. Tucker and Gator, his two best friends, both grinned at him. Tucker jumped up to shadow him back to the table, ensuring he wouldn’t fall on his face and humiliate himself. Everyone, including Sam, knew what was coming.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sam,” Ryland demanded, bringing knowing grins to everyone’s face. “If my wife finds you up, she’ll skin both of us alive.”

Tucker’s grin widened.

Sam shrugged. “She knows.”

“Didn’t you need another blood transfusion this morning?” Tucker asked, a hint of innocence in his question.

Sam knew there was nothing at all innocent about the inquiry. He was deliberately stirring the pot—which meant Ryland.

Sam shot him a look that promised retaliation. “Go to hell, Tucker.”

Raul “Gator” Fontenot nudged Kadan. “He looks a bit like a ghost, don’ you think?”

Sam tried his famous stare down, but truthfully, his legs felt a little rubbery. He pulled out a chair and allowed himself to drop into it, stretching his legs out in front of him to ease his protesting body. More than anything, he wanted to ask about Azami. How was she? Was she still in the compound? Did they have the Yoshiie family under house arrest? Had anyone questioned her regarding her psychic capabilities? What about the second-generation Zenith?

It was impossible to lie in bed and wonder what was going on with her. He woke up thinking about her, and dreamt about her when he wasn’t having nightmares, but he damn well wasn’t asking—not them and not Lily. Not anyone who would notice it was entirely out of character for Sam to make inquiries about a woman.

“Sam.” Ryland didn’t have a “reasonable” voice, not when it came to his men—or his wife’s or son’s health. “Get your ass back to bed.”

“I can’t do that, sir. I need to report. If the Yoshiies are still in the compound . . .” That was a blatant fishing trip, and he waited patiently for Ryland to bite.

Ryland’s scowl deepened. “If I needed you to report on the Yoshiies, I would have been at your bedside demanding a report. They rested the first day and they’ve been shown around the compound. Lily’s been handling that.”

“You showed them around?” Sam’s heart jumped and settled into a normal beat. He took a slow, careful look around. There was an overwhelming relief that Azami was still close and that he would see her again. There was also guilt that he felt that way when he was more than certain that something was a little off about the Yoshiie family. More, there was that peculiar rush of adrenaline he got when he knew he was in a battle of wits, which only added to his alarm.

“Ian’s been watching them. They’ve been under guard every moment. In any case, we’re purchasing the satellite. They need access to our computers.”

“Have they been in this room?” Sam asked.

Ryland got it. He’d always been an intelligent man. He sat up very straight, every bit of casual ease gone from his body language, revealing the dedicated soldier. “They’ve been working a good portion of this week to set things up. What is it, Sam?”

What could he say? That Ian couldn’t possibly guard Azami and keep her under a watchful eye?

“I don’t know about the other two, but Azami has skills. Gifts. She’s every bit as talented psychically as any one of us in this room—maybe more so.”

Ryland nodded, visibly relaxing. “She admitted as much to us. As all of us had natural psychic talents and we know they exist, Lily says it isn’t surprising to find such gifts in others who haven’t been enhanced.”