Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(3)

“We know the head is Dr. Whitney. He’s the brains. He came up with the experiments, had the contacts, money, and security clearance to get the green light, and he faked his own murder. We find Whitney, we kill the snake.”

“Maybe.” There was doubt in Ken’s voice. “First we all believed Whitney was murdered. Then we believed he faked his own death to get out from under the illegal experiments he was conducting right along with his military experiments. Now . . .” He trailed off, once again staring at the clouds. The steady drip of blood seemed overly loud in the night. Never before had his past consumed him to the point of endangering a mission, but for the first time, he was beginning to doubt his ability to stay focused.

“You think someone was after Whitney to kill him for real and he had to fake his own death, not to hide from exposure and us, but to keep from being targeted?” Jack rubbed his temples. “How the hell did we ever get into this mess?”

“We didn’t give a damn at the time,” Ken said. “Now you’ve got a wife and twins on the way and you’ve got something to live for. Let’s pull back, regroup with our team, and ask a few hard questions. We can have Logan contact Ryland Miller’s team, and between us, we ought to have enough brains to figure out what’s going on.”

Jack frowned, rolled back over, and using elbows and toes, inched his way forward through heavy foliage. “We can’t leave the bastard an open target, can we? If someone else wants him dead, we should probably find out why and how it affects us.”

Ken wiggled his way along a rabbit path, belly down, gun cradled out of the dirt. He’d had a bad feeling for a while now. “Hold it, Jack,” Ken whispered, eye to the scope. Something is wrong. He reached out to telepathically communicate with his twin brother. It was a handy ability when they wanted to remain unseen. They’d been talking back and forth like this for as long as Ken could remember, never needing to communicate verbally with each other when telepathy was so handy. Consequently, they had a strong bond that had stood them in good stead over the years. The psychic experiment they’d agreed to after SEAL training had only added to that already powerful tool.

I feel it too. Kadan sent out the alert. They’re going to come in hard and fast. We’re going to have to protect the bastard. Whoever wants him dead is already here.

Ken kept his eye on the senator through the window. The senator’s young and beautiful trophy wife is aware they have company too. Look at her.

Jack peered through the scope. Through the window of the cabin a blonde leaned down to give her husband’s cheek a peck. She said something, smiled, showing a lot of teeth, and the senator answered her, touching her chin. She turned away, toward the window, giving them a look at her face.

Oh yeah, she knows. And she didn’t say a word to him about it, Jack said.

A lot of good men might go down this night. Ken could barely resist the urge to slide into the house and save them all the trouble by slitting the bastard’s throat. The senator had betrayed his country for money, or power, or a combination of both. Ken didn’t really give a damn what his motives were; he’d sold out. And he’d been the bait that had sent Ken into the Congo on a rescue mission—a mission that had sent him straight into hell—and his brother after him. And now, ironically, they were protecting the traitor.

“What the hell is his wife’s name?” Jack asked. “You don’t suppose she’s one of us? A GhostWalker?”

They both studied the tall blonde carefully. She had walked away from the senator into the next room, where she caught up several weapons, handling them as if she knew what she was doing.

Ken took a deep breath and let it out. The senator’s wife? A GhostWalker? What was her name? Violet Smythe. Little had been in the report about her life before marrying the senator. Violet. The name of a flower. When they’d been briefed on Whitney’s psycho experiments with children, the orphans he worked on had all been female and he’d given them the names of flowers. “Violet,” he said aloud.

Where did she fit into all of this? How could a GhostWalker betray her fellow soldiers? She knew what they’d all been through. He peered through his scope again, taking a bead on the senator’s left eye. All he had to do was pull the trigger and it would be over. No one else would get killed. One shot and the man who had delivered him into the hands of a madman would be dead.

I know what you’re thinking, Jack said. God knows that if anyone has the right to kill the son of bitch, it’s you. If you want it done, Ken, say the word and I’ll take him out now.

Jack would do it in a heartbeat. Ken touched his scarred jaw. There was little sensation on any part of his skin, and little that remained of a once-handsome face or body. A tremor went through that body, and for one moment, rage boiled over, hot and pure and not covered up by the glacier of ice he usually wore. He hesitated, knowing he could just nod his head and Jack would pull the trigger. Or, better yet, he could do it himself and have the satisfaction of knowing he’d removed a traitor. He inhaled deeply and breathed away all emotion. That way lay insanity, and he refused to follow the legacy he was born into.

He felt Jack’s relief and realized just how close a watch his brother had had on him lately. I’m fine. Of course Jack knew he was sweating bullets and hearing screams. Jack and Ken lived in each other’s mind. Jack knew. And the knowledge ate away at him that he hadn’t been able to get to Ken before Ekabela tortured him. Never mind that, in the end, Jack had pulled him out and been taken prisoner. Jack believed he should have prevented it. I’m fine, Ken repeated.