Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(93)

“Of course not.” Dahlia admitted blithely. “Are you going to tell me what your little merry band is up to?”

“Merry band?”

“I read Robin Hood, didn’t you?”

Sam wiped the sweat from his face as the others came back to camp. “Thank God, you’re back, don’t leave me with her again. She’s worse than the alligator.”

“I’M getting the feeling we should move,” Ian said. “I’ve got that itch crawling down my back.” He shoved the plate of rib bones away from him with evident satisfaction. “You sure know how to put on the grub, Gator.”

“Hey! I did the cooking.” Sam glared at Dahlia. “And it wasn’t easy.”

“I’m going to be seriously pissed if someone blows up my cabin,” Gator said. He winked at Dahlia. “I’ve got a few little surprises of my own if they set foot on my property.”

“It isn’t going to help much if they use mortar rounds,” Nicolas pointed out. “Let’s get out of here before we find ourselves in a trap.”

Dahlia watched as the men silently shouldered their packs. She had no idea why they’d calmly waited for the enemy, going so far as to tear into the food with gusto, seemingly without a care in the world. She could feel the tension rising in her with each passing minute, yet none of them exhibited the least amount of anxiety.

She set out with them in the boats. Nicolas was with her and Kaden was with Tucker and Sam in a second boat while Ian and Gator took the third. They moved without haste along the channel toward another small inlet only yards from Gator’s cabin.

Dahlia cleared her throat as they began to pull the boats through the reed-choked marsh. “Exactly why aren’t we headed for the airstrip?”

“Don’t worry, Dahlia,” Sam called cheerfully.

Too cheerfully, she decided. She looked at Nicolas suspiciously. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m going to stash you somewhere safe, and we’re going to do a little recon.”

“And you didn’t think it necessary to tell me about it?”

“I should have,” he admitted, “but to be honest, I just presumed you’d know we’d bait the trap and draw them in. We don’t like unfinished business, Dahlia. These people are here for one purpose only. That’s to get you. I’m not leaving until there’s no threat to you from anyone here.”

His merciless tone sent a shiver down her spine. She looked away from him, back toward the river. Whatever code Nicolas lived by, hunted by, believed in, was intertwined inexorably with the man he was. The man she was beginning to fear she was falling in love with. She should have known he would never leave a threat to her. He was incapable of such a thing. There was no point in protesting the danger, or pointing out they could make a run for it. Running wasn’t in his character unless it suited his purpose—unless it suited his hunt.

She looked at him and saw the warrior in him, a throw-back to a people of integrity and honor. To a people valiant and courageous. He would take the fight wherever he needed to go, and he would be relentless in his pursuit. Dahlia sighed softly. “I can just bet what your recon is going to be.”

Nicolas turned to signal the others to get rid of the boats. He took her arm. “Let’s get you out of the line of fire. How far do you have to be to keep the energy from finding you?”

“I’ve never actually measured the distance.” She didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. That was the trouble with relationships, she decided, a woman was always torn between feeling protected by a man like Nicolas and wondering if she should just kick him for his overbearing behavior.

He brought her hand to his mouth and nibbled on her fingers, his black gaze studying her face even as they picked their way through the brush. “You aren’t worried, are you?”

“Why should I be worried? It’s just another day in the neighborhood. You know—bombs, fires, people shooting at you. Why would I be worried? Especially since we could be clothes shopping or boarding a plane. I’m not in the least worried.”

“Hmmm,” he mused aloud. “I read about this in the relationship manual. It’s called womanly sarcasm and usually means a man is in deep trouble.” He found a cool spot hidden near the center of the island. “You stay here until I come and get you.”

“What exactly do you think you’re accomplishing by this?”

“I’m keeping the enemy off our backs while we hunt the traitor and recover the data,” Nicolas replied. He bent his head to kiss her. “Be here when I get back.”

He made himself walk away from her, telling himself she’d be there waiting for him when he returned, knowing her decision could go either way. As he approached the others, he signaled and they immediately went into combat readiness, taking out their weapons and shouldering their packs, scattering into the thick reeds to lie in wait for the enemy to arrive.

The sound of oars splashing in the water was enough to send several birds into the air and to silence the hum of insects for a few moments. And it was enough to warn the GhostWalkers. Gator signaled he’d spotted the boat as it cautiously circled the island, looking for a suitable landing spot. Gator used the sounds of the bayou, a perfect imitation of an aroused alligator to give them a number. Five occupants. Nicolas spread his fingers, gestured to the others.