Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(45)

Dahlia was very small and it enabled her to fit closely against the wall, to become part of the shadows she spent most of her time in. She was also able to blur her image enough to help blend into her surroundings. Nicolas was a big man and carried a heavy pack. He should have been more easily seen, but she could see why he’d earned the title of GhostWalker. Even knowing where he was right above her, she couldn’t hear him as he moved, not even the whisper of clothing. She closed her mind to thoughts of him and climbed as if she were alone.

Her fingertips found cracks and her toes found places to dig in as she moved up the building to the roof. She slipped over the side, taking great care to stay low, to keep from being seen. She crawled on her stomach, like a lizard, across the roof, pulling herself along with elbows and hands and knees. She gained the street side and stopped beside Nicolas, staying quiet, waiting for him to signal they could go over the side and head for the street.

He put his hand on her arm, a brief touch, raised his hand, and flattened his palm. She shook her head briefly. She was not willing to wait up on the roof while he took all the risks. If he were going into the streets, she would go with him.

Don’t argue with me. I’ve got rank on you. The words pushed into her mind. She was startled for a moment. She’d forgotten he was a strong telepath.

No one has rank on me. We’ll go together.

We can’t afford you to be anywhere near violence. Even up here, you’ll catch the backwash of it. It makes sense for me to do what I do best.

Dahlia closed her eyes. Why had she ever named him killer? Nicolas. She didn’t mean for her heart to be in her voice. In his mind. An intimate connection between them. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you everything, after all, your life is just as much at risk as mine is.

He turned his head, his black eyes boring into hers. Arctic cold. And then, without any warning, his gaze smoldered. Went midnight black. Burned with such intensity she gasped. His mouth settled over hers. His lips were soft but firm, pressing into hers, so that her mouth opened for him. So that the taste and texture of him invaded her body and mind, poured into her with the force of concentrated silken heat and hot promises. His mouth moved over hers, his teeth nibbling at her bottom lip, at her chin before sliding away from her. They stared at one another for the beat of eternity while the clouds spun overhead and danger prowled in the street below them.

Stay here.

Dahlia took a deep breath and nodded. She made herself breathe again as he slipped over the edge of the roof. He left his pack and rifle and went in silence. She strained to keep him in sight, following his progress as he climbed down two stories, his darker shadow blending in with the night. He moved fast, a smooth descent that made her think of a night creature. She watched as he gained the small patch of shrubbery close to one of the three men stealthily waiting outside the windows and doors on the street side of the house. He was much taller than the bushes, yet he seemed to blend, his body nearly indistinguishable from the leafy branches.

She loved watching him move. He came up behind the man nearest him, standing directly behind him, close enough to breathe on him. She caught the glint of metal in his hand and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the violence of the act to swallow her. Her stomach lurched. She detested the act of taking life. She had developed her own philosophy based on the books that had appealed to her. She did believe everything in the universe was connected and that each life had a purpose. While she certainly believed in defending her own life, she had firsthand knowledge of the severe repercussions. Violence, once committed, lingered behind and subtly worked on those sensitive to its ugliness.

She lay still. The waiting was much more difficult than she’d anticipated. She could feel the gathering of energy from the men below, surrounding the house and cutting off escape. They were in various stages of adrenaline high and nervous anxiety. She was no telepath and couldn’t read their thoughts, but she was certain Nicolas could.

Dahlia? I think these men are from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, or at least were sent by them. Let’s hang back and watch them. If they came to assassinate you, we can still slip away. I don’t know why they’d fire a shot through the window, that doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t feel right to me. They’re too cautious. This feels exploratory, not a hit. We don’t want to make any mistakes and kill an innocent.

I don’t want to kill anyone, innocent or not. She let her breath out, opened her eyes and blinked. Nicolas was nowhere in sight. She would never find him now, even with her awareness of him. He was a chameleon, blending into his surroundings.

We prefer GhostWalkers. There was a tinge of amusement in his voice. The night belongs to the ghosts.

She rolled her eyes. He actually sounded arrogant. Men were strange, there was no doubt about it. Do you want me to carry your pack and rifle off the roof? It isn’t going to be safe up here, no matter who they are.

His hand slipped lightly over her mouth and Dahlia was rolled over to lie on her back staring up at him. He was on his belly beside her, grinning as her eyes widened in shock.

You’re lucky I don’t kick you off the roof. She took refuge in false annoyance. She couldn’t help drinking in the sight of him, nor ignore the relief that swept through her. Which, she decided, was annoying in itself. She loved being independent. It was the best part of who and what she was. He seemed to be destroying her solitary nature.

Nicolas shrugged into his pack and retrieved his rifle. Follow me.