Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(119)

Mari’s face paled and she took a step back.

“Don’t you dare look at me like you’re afraid I’ll hit you!” Ken caught her arm and jerked her toward him.

Mari’s hands came up in a defensive fighting position. “Get off of me.”

“That was really sensitive of you,” Jack declared. “Sheesh, Ken, can you be any dumber?”

Ken ignored his brother and pulled Mari tight against his body. “Last night I was so deep inside you we were sharing the same skin. And today you’re going to look at me like I’m some kind of f*cking monster.” He looked down at his fingers biting deep into her arm, abruptly let go, and looked to his brother for help.

Jack took great care not to glance at Briony. Baby, you’re the brains of the outfit. Do something fast.

Without hesitation, Briony made a small sound of distress. Instantly everyone looked at her. She wrapped her arms protectively around her large stomach. “Jack. I’m so afraid. Last time . . .” She trailed off.

Instinctively Mari went to her. “Sean isn’t going to get close to you. There’s no way that will happen.”

“They came last time, Mari, with helicopters, and we barely escaped. I can’t climb the cliff now. I can’t run. The doctor put me on bed rest because I’ve had a few contractions. I can’t fight this time.”

“Mari’s a damn good soldier, Briony,” Ken said. “She’s a hell of a shot and I’ve seen her fight. She isn’t about to allow anyone to get near you.”

Mari shot him a quelling look, but smiled with reassurance at her sister. “I won’t let anything happen to you or the babies. I promise. Why don’t you lead the way to the tunnel?”

“Mari . . .” Ken had no idea what he was going to say, but he didn’t want to leave it like this. She was wavering about her decision to stay with him, and ever since he’d brought her into the house she’d been different.

“Go. Get it done. I need another gun and a couple of clips of ammo, just to be on the safe side.”

“I can show you where everything is,” Briony said, slipping her hand into Mari’s.

Ken shook his head and followed Jack out of the house, checking his rifle and guns automatically as they cached weapons throughout the yard.

“Keep your mind on what’s going on here,” Jack said. “Otherwise you’re a dead man. She’s not going anywhere.”

“How would you know?”

“I see the way she looks at you. Any fool can see.”

“She isn’t like Briony, Jack. No matter how you cut it, in the bedroom or out of it, I’m going to be rough on her. Sooner or later she’s going to hightail it out of here fast. I don’t know what the hell I’ll do then.” And he didn’t. He couldn’t think about her leaving him because he knew she was contemplating just that. His mind went numb—blank.

“Ken.” Jack put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Sean is a trained killer. This isn’t going to be easy. You have to keep your mind on what you’re doing. Why don’t you let me switch places with you? He won’t know the difference.”

Ken shook his head. “I’ll be fine. This is my war, Jack. You just watch yourself up there. If he sees you climbing and thinks you’re me, he could very well go after you or try to take you out with a nice, well-placed shot.”

Jack shrugged. “Then you’d better be in position covering me.”

Ken nodded and went into the shop, emerging a few minutes later with a blond wig on his head. He hunched, trying to make himself smaller, staying to the thicker foliage so anyone watching would only catch glimpses of him. Sean needed to see Jack, to believe it was Ken climbing the rock face. It would further the illusion that Mari was hiking in the woods by herself. Ken took up a position, sitting on a boulder near the spring, lacy fern fronds covering most of his body as he waited for Sean to spot him. All the while his gaze searched the ridges to make certain the enemy wasn’t lying in wait to get a shot off at Jack.

Minutes passed. Fifteen. He could see Jack moving up the sheer face of the rock to his favorite lookout spot. To an outsider he appeared to be engaging in a little recreational rock climbing. Ken knew that once Jack was at the top, he would slide into the shadow of the cliff, right into a neat little depression where no one could spot him, and he would have a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding region.

Twenty minutes. Ken bent, picked up a few small pebbles, and idly tossed them into the spring. The back of his neck prickled. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades. There was the whisper of leaves brushing against clothing. It would all be on instinct now, and Ken had survival instincts honed from his childhood, when his father entered the house drunk, intent on inflicting as much pain and damage as he could on his sons. He knew when he was in danger. He was being stalked.

Ken bent down again as though picking up more pebbles. He stayed low, sweeping the area with a casual glance around. He made a great show of selecting flat stones for throwing. A twig snapped off to his left on the narrow deer trail that crisscrossed the hills. The deer had a favorite spot to lie in the shade near the spring. Ken glanced toward the area where the grasses were perpetually trampled and saw part of a pant leg. He palmed the knife in his boot as he straightened, taking care to stay in the middle of the overgrown ferns.