Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(61)

Dahlia sighed, wanting to be upset that he knew what was in her mind, but inexplicably pleased that he was insisting she wait for him. “I’ve got it. Just don’t go getting yourself killed. That would make me mad, and God knows, I’d probably burn down half of Louisiana.”

He pulled out his cell phone. “Don’t melt this. We need it.”

“Then why are you giving it to me?” She dropped the small cell onto the sheet.

“You may need it. Lily’s number is programmed in.”

Dahlia looked with interest at the cell. Lily was just on the other end of the phone. Real-life Lily, not a figment of her imagination. Not the one in her dreams. The temptation to pick up the phone was nearly as strong as her sudden fear. Her mouth was dry. “Be careful, Nicolas. Don’t get over-confident. You have a tendency to be that way.”

“I’m never over-confident,” he denied. Nicolas caught Dahlia’s chin and brushed his mouth gently over hers. “You listen to me this one time, Dahlia. If something goes wrong, anything at all, you haul butt out of here fast. You have the cell phone and the number. Call Lily. The GhostWalkers will be here as soon as possible.”

She caught at him before he could turn away. “You listen to me this one time, Nicolas. If anything goes wrong, don’t be a hero. Haul your butt out of there and in one piece. We’ll call Lily, and she can send the others.”

He looked down at her for what seemed an eternity, a moment stretched out in time. His hard features softened. Tenderness crept into the black obsidian of his eyes. “I hear you. I’ll come back.”

Nicolas felt her fingertips cling just for a moment and then slide from his arm. He went with the minimum amount of equipment, wanting to get in and out as quietly and as fast as possible. He slipped into the water, a dark shape moving upriver, toward the house. He made no noise, not even a light splash to give away his position. The current was strong but he stayed close to the bank, maneuvering in the reeds and brush and rock. He allowed only his head to surface, his gaze wide open and watching the guard facing the river. With the boulders behind him and the bushes screening him, he knew he was in a good position to remain hidden.

Tension rose in him. A bad sign, one he’d come to recognize as a warning signal. The guard stared at the black surface of the water for some time before turning away. From watching earlier in the day, Nicolas knew the guard would blind himself temporarily by striking a match and lighting a cigarette. He waited for the inevitable moment, and as soon as the match flared, Nicolas slid from the water onto the embankment, yards from the house. There was no cover whatsoever. He laid on the ground, in the open, a part of the rocky terrain, moving a scant inch at a time.

He had already crawled the path he would take in his mind throughout the day while lying in the river, and he knew precisely where he would go and what he would encounter. There was no dog to sense his presence and the guard was bored and irritated with his assignment, but Nicolas didn’t rush. There had been one man on the alert, watching diligently and occasionally reprimanding the other two guards.

He worked his way to the parameter of the house and discovered a thin wire stretched low to the ground between two trees. He’d caught a flash of light from the area twice and suspected something had been strung up as a hasty security measure. It was lower to the ground than he would have liked. He couldn’t simply ease his body beneath the wire as he would have preferred. He had to go over it, and that meant rising without so much as a blade of grass to give him cover.

Nicolas waited in the darkness, breathing lightly, his senses flaring out to “feel” movement in the night. Something crunched in the rocks by the corner of the house. Footsteps coming his way. The one guard who paid attention to his duties was making his rounds with his usual thoroughness. Nicolas eased his hand down his leg until he felt the familiar grip of his knife. Careful to make no noise, he drew the weapon from the sheath strapped to his calf. Using psychic pressure was always a dicey proposition. He willed the man to look the other way, careful to keep the suggestion a light one. If he met with heavy resistance, he would have to stop instantly. Some people had very light resistance and agreed readily with every suggestion, no matter how subtle. Others had stronger barriers and often resisted and even became suspicious, or uncomfortable, looking around, shaking their heads, obviously fighting the “push” to act out of character.

The sound of a scream burst from the house. Instantly the night insects went silent. The guard on the porch tossed his cigarette aside and leaned down to call to the one circling the house. “He’s not going to tell Gregson anything. Why doesn’t Gregson just kill him and be done with it?”

“Shut up, Murphy and get back to your watch.”

Murphy cursed and spun away from the railing. “With all the screaming going on, Paulie, don’t you think the neighbors are going to call the police soon?”

“By the time anyone hears him way out here, Gregson will kill him, and we’ll be long gone.” Paulie stopped walking and backed up until he could clearly see all of Murphy. His boots were no more than five feet from Nicolas’s head. “And you’d better stop yelling, the woman might show up.”

Murphy turned back to the railing, a snarl on his face. He glared down at Paulie. “I think all the screams coming from the house are going to tip her off that we’re here.”