Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(94)

The moment they knew the incoming boat was docking exactly where they’d planned, the occupants tying up to the two posts standing upright in invitation, the GhostWalkers slipped into the water, using reeds as breathing tubes as they sank beneath the surface to make their way across the canal to box in the enemy. Once in position, they waited beneath the murky water for the signal from their point man to proceed.

Nicolas felt the tap on his arm and sent the gesture through the line to his men. They raised slowly, blackened water creatures armed with M-4s and knives, their choice weapons of war. As still as statues, they remained in the water, camouflaged by the reeds and plants with only their heads and shoulders above the surface, rifles trained on the enemy.

The five killers spread out, moving onto the island in silence, two using the path that had been made for them, the other three a good distance away. Nicolas and the GhostWalkers rose up out of the depths of the waters without a sound, slithering onto shore, bellies to the ground, rifles ready. They were a solid unit, had worked many missions, and knew exact positions without ever having to look. They pushed their way through the dense shrubbery following the five assassins, staying low to the ground, unseen, unheard.

A frog set up a chorus of sound. An alligator bellowed. A large bird rose into the air with the flapping of great wings, and the wind moaned through the brush. Gator lay flat, concentrating on the beehive clinging to the branches of a tree just ahead of the five men. At once the bees became agitated, buzzing angrily, emerging from the hive in a black swarm. Snakes plopped into the water, the sound carrying loudly through the waterway. Lizards and insects skittered in large masses across the ground.

The five men began slapping at the bugs and bees swarming around them. They ran in an effort to get away from the stinging bees. One ran into the first claymore mine and tripped the wire. The explosion was loud, and the others immediately went to ground, blasting away with weapons at empty air.

Nicolas took the higher ground, maneuvering into position to pick them off one at a time. Kaden flanked him, choosing a target as well. They fired almost simultaneously. The two remaining turned their weapons toward the sound of the rifle fire. Sam signaled he had the shot and took it, Tucker following suit.

Almost at once they heard the explosion behind them, coming from the other island. A fireball whooshed through the air and landed in the water, sizzling as it disappeared in the midst of black smoke. Nicolas swore. “Clean up here,” he snapped and ran to the water to cross the canal.

Dahlia was in the middle of a seizure when he found her, the violent energy burning through her veins, convulsing her body again and again. He knelt beside her, took her hand, hoping to draw the energy away from her.

“How bad?” Kaden came up behind him.

Knowing it couldn’t be helped, but that Dahlia would hate anyone seeing her so vulnerable, Nicolas indicated for Kaden to take her other hand. Between the two anchors they were able to draw the last of the violent energy away from her body until she lay still.

She turned her head away from them and was sick repeatedly. Nicolas handed her a wipe from his pack. She took it with shaky hands. Her head was pounding, a ferocious pain that refused to let up. “I don’t think we judged the distance very well.” It was a poor attempt at humor, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

Nicolas’s stomach knotted at her words. He lifted her, ignoring her protests, and took her to the boats. “We’ll find a place to shower and change clothes. You can rest while I go shopping for you.” It was all he could think to do. Even holding her, she was hunching away from him, avoiding his gaze, keeping her face averted from Kaden.

“The transport will be waiting,” Kaden reminded.

“Let it wait,” Nicolas said grimly.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Logan Maxwell was stocky with wide shoulders and bulging muscles on his arms. His ice-cold blue eyes assessed the group of men as they approached him in tight formation, weapons drawn, facing outward, tracking the area around the airfield.

“Expecting trouble?” he greeted.

“Yes,” Nicolas answered, nodding toward the gun in the pilot’s hand. “Aren’t you?”

“I was expecting Dahlia, not an army.”

“We’re escorting her. We’re her bodyguards.” Nicolas kept eye contact, two males staring one another down.

Max kept the stare going but raised his voice. “Dahlia? You all right?”

In spite of having cleaned up and dressed in the clothes Nicolas brought her, Dahlia was still pale and wan from the seizure. Her headache was a killer. She just wanted to lie down and sleep as she always did after such an event. The men had her cut off from the pilot, separated by their bodies and guns. She forced a casual shrug. “I’m fine, Max.

They’re all just a little overprotective after what happened to Jesse,” Dahlia answered. “They insist on coming along.”

Max refused to break eye contact with Nicolas. “Not if you don’t want them to come. Say the word.”

“You think you can take us all?” Sam asked, amusement in his voice.

“You never know,” Max answered.

Dahlia sighed. “I can’t take it when you all act like this. It’s embarrassing. I’m tired, my head aches, and I’m sick of all of this. I’m getting on the plane.”

“Not yet,” Nicolas said and signaled Tucker and Sam to enter first. “Stay close to me, Dahlia.” He didn’t look at her when he gave the order, didn’t take his eyes from the pilot, but he was very aware of her. How fragile she seemed. How far away from him, although they were close enough he felt the brush of her skin against his.