Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(51)
Author: Christine Feehan

Kadan took his time. He was in enemy territory now. Not just any enemy, a GhostWalker who would feel the slightest change in the energy around him. Kadan could shield, but the closer he got to his prey, the more difficult it would become to do so. And he was close. Fredrickson was also a shielder—surprising, but it had to be true. That gift was somewhat rare, just as being an elite tracker was.

Kadan went to his belly again, green now, like the plants around him. Using his elbows to propel him forward, he slithered through the jungle of foliage to the edge of the glass. The atrium was huge, bringing the rain forest indoors. Completely glass, the room could be enclosed and kept separate from the rest of the house, or, with the double glass doors opened as they were, the sweeping, dramatic plants could become part of the enormous sunken great room.

Tansy had been raised in this opulent home. She’d lived there as if it was an ordinary, everyday house, probably taking the beauty and uniqueness for granted. Kadan had spent a lifetime on the streets, in foster homes and one-room apartments, before moving on to the military life of jungle, desert, and sea. What was he thinking? How could she go from this to what he could give her? The moment the thought entered, he pushed it away. Tansy had no place here. She couldn’t screw him up any more than she’d already done by turning him inside out.

Kadan forced his mind back under control and slid through the doorway into the great room. Fredrickson was just ahead of him, staring impassively at Tansy’s parents, who were sitting in two high-backed chairs, both with their hands tied behind their backs. Sharon Meadows was a small woman, very thin, with a wealth of blond hair. A bruise had formed just below one eye and there was swelling near her mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Fredrickson had used her to try to control Tansy. She wept silently, casting little glances at her husband, who looked as if he might have a stroke any moment.

“She’s dead if they come in here,” Fredrickson said to Don. “You’d better hope your daughter loves you both enough to give herself up without bringing help.”

Sharon shook her head hard, but only sobbed louder.

Don bared his teeth and struggled to loosen his bonds. “You don’t need to touch my wife. Tansy will come. You tell Whitney she’ll come. There’s no need for this.”

Fredrickson shrugged. “We’ll take her back, one way or the other. And we’re doing you a favor. They know about her and she’s marked. They’ll kill her if they find her before we do.”

“You keep saying ‘they’ as if that’s supposed to scare me,” Don hissed. “I don’t believe that anyone wants her dead. Whitney made that up because he wants her back.”

Kadan propelled himself forward on his belly over the smooth, rich marble floor, gun in one hand, knife in the other. He slid forward, inch by painstakingly slow inch. Each centimeter counted when he was out in the open and Fredrickson had only to turn his head. Kadan gathered his strength, his resolve, and he flowed from the floor, rising like a demon summoned from hell, hurtling the knife straight to his enemy’s throat.

The knife buried all the way to the hilt. Fredrickson gurgled, eyes wide, one hand half rising in reflex, as if to examine the instrument of his death. He swayed and then toppled to the floor. Instantly Kadan felt the psychic shield come down and lethal energy flowing toward him. He spun, already diving in front of Tansy’s mother, instincts screaming at him that she was the target. The bullet caught him higher than he’d have liked, slamming into his bullet-proof vest like an explosive fist to his chest, half spinning him and driving him backward hard.

Sharon’s high-pitched shriek hurt his ears nearly as much as the punch to his chest, but his gun hand was already up, finger squeezing the trigger, one, two, three, precise shots, dropping the second GhostWalker even as Kadan fell. Blood sprayed across the marble and spattered the walls. He saw the red droplets showering down as his body slammed hard into Sharon’s, driving her chair over backward.

The blow to his chest had ripped the breath from his body, and it felt like every bone was broken, smashed beyond repair. For an instant, the edges of his vision blurred and then went black. He woke with rage and panic seconds later, his chest on fire, burning as if a hot iron was branding him, and Sharon screaming nonstop in his ear. He fought the need to rip his vest off and shut the woman up at the same time.

Movement caught his eye, and his legs still tangled with Tansy’s mother, he rolled, the gun rock steady in his hand, instinct staying his finger on the trigger. Don Meadows froze from where he was trying to slither across the floor, his gaze fixed on the knife at Kadan’s waist.

“I’ll f**king put a bullet in your throat,” Kadan warned, feeling deadly with his chest on fire, fighting for every breath. “Go, Gator,” he managed to order into the radio while he extricated himself from the woman’s flopping limbs.

Sharon’s screams would draw everyone for miles. Calmly, Kadan pulled out an air syringe and pressed it against her neck. He didn’t bother to untie her hands. The drug worked fast, halting her scream in mid-shriek so blessed silence fell.

“You bastard. What the hell have done to her?” Don demanded.

Kadan sent him one quelling look, and the man was smart enough to stop talking. Kadan’s chest hurt like a bear, still painful with every breath he drew, but the fire was beginning to subside a bit. He still wanted to rip his vest off, along with the shooter’s head. He pushed down his need to put another bullet in the dead man’s head, most likely Watson’s, and instead, he took care to insure the room was cleared of all enemies so he had only to contend with Tansy’s parents.

“Any more guards in the house?”

“Most are outside. Several are on the roof.”

“Then they’ll be coming at us eventually. Are you going to give me trouble?” As a rule Kadan could read minds in close proximity, especially in a situation like this one where fear and anger were strong emotions, but Don Meadows had some kind of barrier that blocked his thoughts and emotions from escaping.

“Not if you’re getting us out of here.”

“Tansy sent me.”

“She all right?”

Kadan liked him a little better for that. “She’s fine.” He slipped another knife from his belt and cut the tape binding Meadows’s wrists. It was a calculated risk since he couldn’t read the man’s mind, but they had to move fast.

“Coming in.” Ryland’s voice floated over the radio.