Murder Game (41 page)

“Do we have a vehicle ready for a quick escape?” Kadan asked as he checked the IV. He crouched down beside the bed, taking Tansy’s hand in his.

“We’re ready for them. The neighborhood’s going to hell though.” Ryland went out, turning off lights as he went, plunging the house into darkness.

Kadan pressed his forehead to Tansy’s. “You awake, baby? I need you to wake up.”

“It hurts. I’m not sure I want to be awake.” She’d been aware of Nico sending fire through her body and not much else. Everything around her had taken on a dreamlike quality.

“I’m putting a knife under your pillow. Use it on the enemy, not on yourself.” There was a bite to his voice, suppressed hurt under the layer of coolness.

She caught his sleeve and turned her head, her lashes lifting so he could look into her eyes. “I wasn’t leaving you, Kadan. It was an accident. Really an accident. I wouldn’t do that. I was hurt and upset and angry at my father, but I wouldn’t do that to either one of us.”

“We’ll talk about this later.” He pulled out a gun. “Keep this in your hand, and don’t shoot me when I come for you. We’ll have to move fast when we leave.”

“Take the IV out then.” She tried to sit up.

His arm was a bar across her chest. “You’re going to just lie here and rest while we take care of you. Don’t give me any problems right now, Tansy, because I’m willing to tie you to the bed to keep you out of trouble. You scared the hell out of me and I didn’t much like it.”

“It was an accident.”

His hand spanned her throat, tipping her head up. Cold blue eyes stared down at her. “Accidents are fucking out of the question from here on out. Are we straight on that?”

Tansy’s eyes searched his. She swallowed against his hard, calloused palm before nodding.

Kadan leaned down to kiss her, brushing feathery kisses all over her face, throat, and neck. When he got to her earlobe, he tugged with his teeth and then pressed his lips against her. “Never scare me like that again.
Never.
”

“I won’t.”

Kadan didn’t much care that he was demanding the impossible. He kissed her again and pushed the gun into her hand. “Don’t move until one of us comes for you.” He waited until she nodded again before he turned away and strode out of the room.

The moment he was in the living room, he went into warrior mode, gathering his equipment and slipping out of the house through a window. He went up where he could have a better view of the neighborhood and the yard. He didn’t want anyone to get close enough to enter the house, or even get where they could fire into the bedroom where Tansy lay. On the outside Kadan had Nico, who could hit anything in his crosshairs, and Gator, who had an army of animals and the capability to walk through enemy lines and dispose of anything coming at him with his knife. Ryland was inside, prepared to evacuate with Tansy at a moment’s notice.

“I want a full count, Nico,” Ryland’s voice hissed in Kadan’s ear. “We’re taking this one to them. They’ve been coming at us, and this time we send a message back to Violet. Bring it hard.”

Kadan took a long, slow look around. He’d chosen a house far back from the street in a quiet cul-de-sac. The streetlights didn’t reach the edge of the property and the nearest house was yards away. Down the street, only a half a block away, was a park, well manicured but with several stands of trees. Behind his house was his escape route, a Jeep trail through an undeveloped lot that dumped into a street near a freeway.

“I have six. They think they’re being very stealthy and they’re definitely loaded for bear.”

“Give me positions,” Kadan snapped.

“Six o’clock, between two houses. Coming toward the backyard,” Nico responded.

“I’ve got him,” Gator said into his radio. “You can move, Kadan; none of the dogs are going to bark.”

“Second man coming over the roof, third house on the right. I’ve got him marked,” Nico droned. “Third running along the fence just about a block away, but coming fast.”

“He’s mine,” Kadan said, and slipped over the edge of the roof, dropping into a crouch in the grass.

“Make the targets quiet, if possible,” Ryland said. “Nico, can you hold off on your man until we locate the other three? Once you take your shot, the others will know we’re hunting them.”

Kadan went through the front yard in a crouching run, using blurring speed. Motion drew the eye, but with the night and their enemies a distance away, he was confident he could make it to cover before he was spotted. He flattened against the SUV parked in front of the house, waiting again.

“Position,” he whispered.

“Closing fast, about ten yards.”

Kadan went up the side of the SUV and gained the roof, lying flat, knife in his fist. Gator crossed the open meadow at the back of the house, a shadowy figure that flitted from one lone tree to the next, taking him closer and closer to the neighbor’s yard. Kadan had always admired the smooth, stealthy way Gator moved. There was never a sound, as if even the wind held back when he was on the move. He could make himself part of anything, until it was impossible to see him when he went still, and then he just flowed like water over rock.

Gator stretched out on the lawn, lying prone out in the open. Kadan marked where he’d gone down, but still had trouble spotting him. Footsteps forced him to look away. His prey was drawing close. He shifted, the movement barely discernible. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the first man emerge between two houses and rush across the open space of the lawn, directly in Gator’s path. The Cajun rose up like a specter, his knife hand flashing in a swift slash, across, down, and back up. He stepped back and the body fell forward. Gator was already moving fast for the shadows. The hit had taken less than two seconds.

Kadan concentrated on the runner approaching. He counted the steps, lifting his head to watch the man emerge from the tree line and burst along the walkway coming straight at him. He reversed the knife and threw, using a sidearm technique, keeping from exposing himself at all as he lay flat on the roof of the vehicle. The man staggered backward, clutching at his throat, gurgling. He went to his knees and fell face forward onto the walkway.

Kadan immediately slid from the roof to the house side of the SUV, away from the street, and crouched low to minimize any target he might present. He glanced around in a wide sweep. Nico had his eye to a scope, sighting down on the sniper on the roof several houses down. Behind him a man rose up, all in black, gun in hand. Kadan drew and fired in one swift motion, squeezing the trigger three times.

Nico rolled, came up, rifle to his shoulder, and fired off a round at the sniper. The man went down, his gun skittering across the roof, followed by his body.

“Thanks, bro.”

“Four down,” Kadan reported.

“Find the other two,” Ryland snapped. “No one goes home on this one.”

Nico kept rolling to the edge of the roof and disappeared as he leapt to the ground. Gator skirted some hedges and came out fighting hand to hand with a fifth man. It was impossible to get a clear shot at him. Kadan sprinted, covering the distance fast to back the Cajun, just as Gator went inside and sunk his knife into the man’s thigh. Kadan shot the man as he lurched back.

“Five, Rye,” Kadan reported.

“I’ve got six. He tried the window. Clean up and let’s get out before the cops arrive. We’re on the clock,” Ryland said. “Gator, don’t leave behind any of those mines. Let’s move, everybody.”

CHAPTER 17

Naughty, naughty girl.

The voice was chilling. It sounded taunting and disembodied, as if coming from a great distance, down a long tunnel, but carrying untold menace and a dangerous threat—of what, she had no idea.

Tansy turned her head to try to catch a glimpse of the speaker, but no one was there. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Fear skittered down her spine. She swallowed hard and remained very still, trying to determine where she was. It was difficult to see; there were no lights, but she had the impression of people moving around her.

She shifted, wanting to find light, but her leg didn’t work properly. Her hip and thigh throbbed with pain. A dark, almost inky black substance ran down her leg, in a long stream to pool on the floor. The ink dripped steadily from above her, as if the ceiling was a sieve. One fat drop plopped onto her shoulder. She frowned and tried to brush it off.

It won’t come off.

Tansy took another look around her. The walls were leaking the same inky black stuff. It was sticky and thick. Her feet were covered.
What is it?
she asked, puzzled.

There was a moment of bursting triumph. She felt it resonate through her, a kind of wild elation that was both victorious and smug. She pressed her lips together, determined to remain quiet and not give the hidden watcher more ammunition. She had the feeling he was feeding off her fear, wanting her to recognize his superiority.

Tansy squared her shoulders and forced confidence. If he had to hide his identity from her, he was no doubt concerned about her abilities. All she needed to do was find her way out of this strange maze she seemed to be in. Her feet were weighted down with the thick goo, and it was rising, now ankle-deep. Shadows moved in the ooze. She bent to peer at them. Her father’s face stared back at her, eyes wide open in terror, mouth gaping wide.

Tansy drew back, her heart leaping, air slamming out of her lungs. She touched her leg, and her hand came away with the inky blackness on it. She lifted it and saw that it wasn’t black, but red. Blood coated her hands.

Daddy!

She reached for him, trying to grip his shoulders, not understanding why he was drowning and she was now only up to her knees. She tried desperately to pry him free, yanking at his shoulders and arms, but he was trapped. She couldn’t dive in—her leg refused to move—she could only hold him, watching in horror as the blood rose and he continued to drown right before her eyes.

She heard screaming, the keening wail of anguish, heard her father’s last desperate gurgle for air, and then he went under, and she could only hold his shoulders, her arms buried deep, refusing to let him go, even though she knew he was already gone.

Daddy’s girl shouldn’t be so naughty. Look what happens when she’s bad.

The screaming filled her mind, burst through her head, roared in her ears to consume her. She became aware that she was fighting, punching at something solid with her fists, pummeling hard, kicking, and writhing, until something caught her wrists in a vicious vise and slammed her arms hard to the mattress.

“Tansy! Stop. You’re safe. It’s a bad dream. You’re safe. Look at me. Look at me, baby. You’re safe, here with me.” Kadan’s voice cut through the screams.

She realized that she was the one screaming. Her throat felt raw and sore; her heart was beating wildly, her mind chaos. She clung to the sound of his voice, pushing through the layers of her mind. “There’s so much blood.”

Kadan pressed kisses along her face. “There’s no blood. Open your eyes, honey. Trust me. There’s no blood.”

“My father?” Her voice hitched. She forced herself to pry open her lashes.

Kadan’s face was above hers. Real. Solid. So strong. She looked beyond him to see the other three GhostWalkers, guns drawn, crowded in the doorway. She didn’t recognize the room, but it was light and there was no evidence of blood anywhere.

Ryland, Gator, and Nico turned and went out, closing the door behind them, leaving Tansy staring up at Kadan’s face again. She could see the lines there, the stamp of hard authority, the cut of his mouth, so grim, his eyes, watching her intently, wholly focused on her, but more important, he was there in her mind, filling her up until there was no room for horror and fear.

His thumb slid along her wrists and he reluctantly let go of her arms. “Are you okay now? Let me look at your leg and see that we didn’t open that gash.”

She remembered the hurried exit from the other house the night before, although she’d been drowsy and suspected he’d put painkillers and something to make her sleep in the IV. Shockingly, her leg hurt less than her bruised hand. Whatever Nico had done had really helped.

“It’s fine.” She felt shaky, wanting him to hold her. “I think he was there.”

Kadan’s gaze jumped back to her face. “He? Who?”

She moistened her dry lips. “The puppet master. I think he found me.”

“It was a dream. Last night was very traumatic, Tansy. There was blood everywhere. It stands to reason you’d have a nightmare.”

She shook her head. “I think it was more than that. Please make certain my father’s all right. He was in my dream, drowning in blood, and I couldn’t save him.”

Kadan rubbed his chin along the top of her head.
Rye. Check in with Tucker and Ian. I need to know her parents are safe.
It stood to reason she’d have nightmares about her father; after all the revelations, how could she not?

“Rye’s calling now, honey.” He kissed her forehead and moved back to examine her hip. Her screams still echoed in his mind. He’d known more fear in the last twelve hours than he had since his childhood. “Tell me why you think the puppet master found you. Tell me about your dream.”

She did, in a hesitant voice. It occurred to him, as he watched her face, that she didn’t expect him to believe her. She must have had nightmares before her breakdown, very similar to what she was suffering now, and no one believed that the voices wouldn’t leave her head. She could still hear the victims and their killers long after the police had closed the case. He had to be very cautious in his reaction. Her fingers plucked nervously at the sheet, and that small telltale action tugged at his heartstrings.

“The last dream I had, for one moment I thought I heard his voice, but then it was gone and it was all part of the nightmare. This time I’m sure it was him.”

Kadan let out his breath, his mind turning the possibility over. “Can you do that? Talk to one of the killers in a dream?”

She shook her head. “No way. I get impressions, sometimes very strong ones, but it’s always of things they’ve done in the past, not present. The puppet master is a tracker and he can follow my impressions, but he shouldn’t be able to enter my dreams.”