Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(82)

Ken slipped into the scraggly hedges surrounding the small community of houses just as a guard came around the side of the house and stopped, the heels of his boots within a foot of Ken’s elbow. Ken’s breath caught in his lungs—he stayed absolutely still, allowing ants and beetles to crawl over him. A lizard tickled his arm as it raced up it in little starts and stops, until it perched on his shoulder, pumping up and down, scenting the air.

The guard took three steps forward and halted again, turning fast as if he was trying to spot something—or someone. Ken’s brows drew together. Had he made a sound? The whisper of clothes along the ground? He took care that his skin reflected the foliage around him. His specially designed clothes reflected the colors of his surroundings.

What had tipped off the guard? Ken slid his hand inch by inch along his jacket until he reached the knife strapped to the front. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, but he left it in the scabbard. He could draw and throw almost before others could squeeze a trigger. The move had been practiced hundreds of hours over the last few years, and he was every bit as accurate at throwing as he was with a rifle.

I’ve got him.

Jack’s voice was without emotion, a statement of fact. If the guard twitched wrong, he was a dead man, and then all hell would break loose fast.

I’ll take him out and hide the body. Ken was beginning to sweat. He could hear the man breathing, smell his fear, see the nerves as he searched the hillsides carefully. He’s got to be enhanced, Jack. He’s using either vision or hearing, but he hasn’t locked on to you. They couldn’t afford for the guard to raise the alarm. Something was making him nervous, but Ken couldn’t figure it out. There was no telltale tree cancer where a part of Jack’s weapon might be showing along the side of the tree trunk. No shiny objects. Jack had the same ability to camouflage his skin, the same reflective clothing. He disappeared into his surroundings until he was invisible. Ken knew exactly where Jack was, yet he couldn’t spot him, and if he couldn’t with his eagle sight, he was damned certain the guard couldn’t either.

He’s psychic. He’s not feeling our energy when we’re talking, but he’s catching something else, he warned his brother. Don’t move a muscle.

They both watched as the guard quartered the area with a slow, careful search. He didn’t reach for his field glasses, and that told both of them he had enhanced sight. Ken tried to draw into himself, careful to keep his breath smooth and even and silent. All the while he kept his attention on the guard, not daring to risk another look at his brother. If the guard spotted Jack, Ken would have to kill him swiftly and in utter silence, before the man had a chance to either raise the alarm or turn a weapon on Jack.

Without warning Mari’s fear filled his mind. It poured into him as if he were wide open with no careful shields built to protect him. His body shook with the overload. Air left his lungs in a rush, his mouth went dry, and his heart seemed to stop, then began to pound so loud he was afraid the guard would overhear. Sweat broke out on his brow—none of it was good when he was feet from an enhanced soldier.

He drew air into his lungs, pushed past Mari’s fear, and stayed focused on his enemy. He was so close to the man, he knew he could get to his feet and wrap his arm around the soldier and plunge the knife in a kill zone, all in a few seconds, but the man would still have time to react. Physical enhancement made them abnormally strong, and GhostWalkers were taught to fight to their last breath. The guard might just be tough enough to have time to raise an alarm. Desperation was beginning to settle in. Ken forced his body under control and remained waiting, but all the while a growing terror for Mari’s safety spread.

She’ll be all right. You’ve got to trust her.

Jack’s calm voice helped to keep Ken from rising up and taking a chance on disposing of the guard just so he could get to Mari as fast as possible. He waited, willing the man to move on. If he used mind control to get the man off of him, the outpouring of energy might very will tip off every other psychic in the compound. He breathed deep and felt for her. Mari. Her fear was for someone else. He could live with that.

The guard relaxed after another long, slow look around, and ambled off around the corner of the small house. Ken waited another three minutes to make certain the man wasn’t doubling back.

You’re clear, Jack said.

Ken crawled forward, sliding through the neat flower garden, a rather strange and prissy bed of color out in the middle of nowhere. The windows of the house were painted black, and where there was a small bit of streaking, he could see heavy drapes blocking any view of the interior.

The doctor doesn’t want anyone prying into his business. Why else would his windows be all blacked out?

He’s probably paranoid. Wouldn’t you be, living here with Whitney for a boss?

Ken didn’t answer. The window appeared to be clear of an alarm, but he wasn’t buying it. The doctor had something to hide, and he was going to find out what. He listened for the low hum of an electronic alarm. His fingers swept the sill, searching for hidden trip wires. Oh, yeah, the place was locked down tight.

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.