Deadly Game (GhostWalkers #5)(69)
Author: Christine Feehan

Ken placed his hand just over the glass. It was much more difficult detecting currents of energy with his body so scarred, particularly his hands. Sometimes he failed to feel things the way he should. He waited, counting the seconds, concentrating, willing himself to sense the current if it was there. If he didn’t find one, he would put it down to the lack of ability in his fingertips and proceed on the premise that one was there, but if he could just spot the current running through the foil wire in the glass, things would go a lot faster.

Ken cursed the scars that left him with so little feeling. He couldn’t detect the faint current, but when he listened, he was fairly certain that the doctor had an outside perimeter alarm. But the doc wouldn’t just rely on that. He’d have something more sophisticated inside. A sensor system would detect infrared energy. The sensor was sensitive to the temperature of the human body. In front of each door was a harmless-looking floor mat, one Ken was certain had a pressure trigger.

The doc is protecting something. I’m going to look for the control box. He has to have one hidden around here somewhere.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Jack said uneasily. You go in there and you’re probably going to kill the bastard, and how do we hide that?

Of course he was going to kill the doctor. The man had touched Mari. He had humiliated and embarrassed her and he’d enjoyed it. Maybe Ken shouldn’t have shared her thoughts, but it was too late, the information had been exchanged and he’d let it happen. He hated himself for that. She deserved so much better. He should have gone in, guns blazing, and pulled her out, but he hadn’t. He’d stood by and let them torment her. What the hell kind of man was he?

Ken. Are you even listening to me? We’ve got a team coming in. We’re going to pull the women out of there.

What the hell would you do if it was Briony? Ken demanded.

There was a small silence. You know what I’d do.

Then shut the hell up and keep them off my back.

Ken found the control box neatly tucked away under the eaves up near the attic. He’d spotted a small cable hidden along a pipe and followed it up until he spotted the box. The controls had to be set from someone leaning out the attic window or from the roof itself. The doctor thought he was clever, but unless the roof was wired as well, it simply made things easier.

I’m going up.

You’re clear now, but you have two guards circling around toward your position.

Ken went up the side of the house as silently as possible, sliding onto the roof as one of the guards strode into view. The second guard joined him, and they spoke briefly before they each went their separate ways. Ken remained still as the footsteps faded.

You’re clear.

The control box was hooked up to several alarm circuits but had its own power supply. It wasn’t all that difficult to disarm it and deactivate the numerous alarms the doctor had set.

Ken gained entrance through the grate in the attic. At once he could hear classical music blaring through the house. The scent of candles, sweat, and se**n assailed him the moment he entered. Although the doctor had his music up loud, Ken kept his weight evenly distributed as he crept across the floor to the stairs, to prevent any creaks from alerting the man to the danger threatening him. He removed the small door leading below and peered down. The house was dark, with only a few candles flickering, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Ken’s jaw tightened and adrenaline surged once again. The lights from the candles illuminated the wallpaper, throwing faces and female body parts into sharp relief.

Ken inverted as he dropped through the floor, and then righted himself, landing on his feet as silently as a cat. Floor-to-ceiling collages on every wall were of na**d women stretched out on tables in a disgusting depiction of medical art. He recognized Mari, all ages, from young girl, teen, to woman. The light spilled across her face, and he could see every emotion in the various pictures, from fear to defiance and anger.

The entire room was dedicated to Mari. There were pictures of her back striped with cane marks, of her legs and bare bu**ocks, all naked. There were close-ups of her mouth, eyes, br**sts, and vaginal area. He stopped at the edge of the wall where the doctor had been busy putting up the latest pictures. Close-ups of the inside of Mari’s thighs revealed strawberries and faint teeth marks, marks Ken had put there when he was making love to her. The pictures were raw, almost sexual in nature, an obscene portrayal of what had been the most important moments of his life.

Holding Mari in his arms, taking her with wild abandon, her body willing and receptive in spite of his roughness, in spite of his scars and appearance, had given him back his life. She had given him hope, and the doctor had reduced what they had together to something vile for a sick mind. Bile rose in his throat and he fought a churning stomach as he looked into Mari’s eyes. This time he saw humiliation and degradation. She hated what Whitney and the doctor had done with their lovemaking every bit as much as Ken did.

Rage had gone from shaking him to ice-cold, and that was always a bad sign. He moved to the next room and found the walls similarly covered, this time with a woman with an abundance of dark hair and light eyes. Floor to ceiling, in every room of the cottage, the walls held pictures of the same seven na**d women. He recognized one as Violet, the senator’s wife. Ken had never felt so dirty or sick.

He found the doctor in his bedroom, lying on his bed naked, staring up at the ceiling and the collage of all seven women. The music was loud and the man hummed as he writhed on the bed. He never saw Ken at all, only felt the sting of the knife cutting into his flesh.

“I’d be very still if I were you,” Ken hissed.

The doctor froze, lying rigid in his bed with the razor-sharp edge of the knife pressed against his throat. “What do you want?”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch,” Ken said. “Does Whitney know what a sick f**k you really are?”

“He said it was all right, that I could have my girls with me all the time.” The man’s voice was high-pitched and whiny. “He knows. Ask him. He’ll tell you. He comes in sometimes to see what I’ve done with them.”

“Where are the original pictures kept?”

“Whitney has them all. He has places we can’t go and keeps the pictures and files with him.” The voice turned sly. “He only shares with me.”

“Where does Whitney stay?”

“If I tell you, he’ll kill me.”

“I’m going to kill you right now if you don’t tell me.”