Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(96)

Dahlia made a soft sound of distress and turned her head away, reluctant to allow them to see her expression. Whitney had been the monster of her childhood, but as a child, she’d believed his experiments had been done only to her. She’d even been told the other girls were a figment of her imagination and at times believed it. “What was wrong with him?” she murmured aloud. “How could he experiment on human beings? He knew what was happening to us when we were children, but he repeated the experiment, not once, but twice. It’s horrifying.” She didn’t realize her fingers had curled into tight fists until Nicolas put his hand gently over hers. She looked at Max. “I trusted you. Both you and Jesse. You knew I felt isolated and alone, yet neither of you said anything or even mentioned you knew Whitney. Damn you both for that.”

“Dahlia, I take orders just the same as you,” Max pointed out. “You had to have known about Jesse. He was too strong of a telepath for you not to have known.”

She turned her head to look at him, her gaze bleak and flat. “I was supposed to guess that Whitney had destroyed more lives? That you and Jesse would conceal it from me?” She pulled her hand away from Nicolas, suddenly unable to bear his touch. Any touch. Her chest ached and her throat burned. “I don’t buy the excuse, Max. I have a high-security clearance, and I certainly could know about others like me.”

Dahlia pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, rocking back and forth for comfort. She made herself smaller, wanting to disappear, wishing for the sanctuary of the bayou. Why was she doing all of this? She’d never done anything she didn’t want to do, and she damned well didn’t want to be sitting in a plane with Maxwell, surrounded by the GhostWalkers. She knew if she looked at them, she would see pity in their eyes, on their faces. She’d never accepted pity, not even from herself. She owed Rear Admiral Henderson nothing after this. She’d always done good work, always made the recovery no matter the circumstances. Damn them all, and Jesse and Max most of all.

Nicolas wanted to smash something—or someone, preferably Logan Maxwell. How could he blame Dahlia for wanting to withdraw when it seemed that everyone she came into contact with betrayed her on some level? What could he say to prove his own feelings for her were real? How could she believe anything was real when the very people she worked with, worked for, had helped to keep her isolated? They had to have known her life was hell, yet they hadn’t reached out to her, hadn’t made any effort to let her know she wasn’t alone. He could feel her slipping through his fingers once again, and this time, he couldn’t blame her. How did one instill trust when all she’d ever known was betrayal?

He studied her profile. Her eyes were liquid, but she didn’t shed tears. He almost wished she would. Instead, she was gathering up her grief over the loss of Milly, Bernadette, and her home and belongings and the betrayal of Jesse and Max, cementing them deep inside. She was building the necessary barriers to protect herself and others. He could feel the energy gathering around her, swarming to her as her emotions deepened. The temperature in the cabin rose. He wondered if Max knew just how close she was to losing her control and just how dangerous it would be if she did. “Dahlia.” He said her name softly to bring her complete attention to him.

Dahlia swallowed the hard lump burning in her throat and shifted her gaze to Nicolas. He was holding out his hand to her. She stared down at it. “Are you worried about me blowing up the plane with all your men on board?”

Nicolas felt, more than saw, Max stiffen at the controls.

Dahlia had spoken softly, but even over the noise of the engine he heard. Had she meant him to? Was it a threat? Nicolas doubted it. Dahlia was upset and she had a temper, but she would never risk the lives of the other GhostWalkers because she felt betrayed. It wasn’t in her character.

“I thought if you held my hand, it would be more comfortable for you,” Nicolas answered truthfully. “I’ve reached the point where I can feel the energy as it is drawn to you. It’s massing fairly quickly in such a confined space.”

“I appreciate that you and Kaden are working so hard to allow me to be in such close proximity to others.” Dahlia slipped her hand into his.

Nicolas tightened his fingers around hers and held on. She sounded like a little girl politely thanking him for a Christmas present. Not at all like Dahlia. He felt almost desperate to get her alone. She had slept for a half hour while he had shopped for clothes for her, but even after a shower and clean clothes, he could see she wasn’t back to herself. She was withdrawing more and more into a place where he couldn’t follow her.

“Is Jesse safe?” Max asked.

“Yes,” Nicolas answered. “They have him stashed in a good hospital with the best surgeons and he’s well guarded.”

“How can I help find the traitor? You must be going after him if you’re heading to DC. I can help.”

“It’s good to hear you say that, Maxwell,” Nicolas said complacently. “We were hoping you’d be cooperative.”

Max cast him a suspicious glance. “I know the agents in our office in DC. I can’t imagine any of them betraying their country. Or Jesse for that matter. Who are your suspects?”

“Everybody is a suspect until we find otherwise,” Nicolas said. He watched Dahlia closely as he carried on the conversation with the pilot. All the while his thumb brushed back and forth across her inner wrist and he willed her to snap out of her depression. Had they been alone, he was certain he could find a way to make her laugh again, to shake off the melancholy, or maybe it was the seizure. He didn’t know a lot about seizures. That was Lily’s department. He knew seizures were dangerous and that Dahlia was humiliated that they had found her having convulsions. She hadn’t spoken to him all the way back to the Quarter, or even later, in the hotel after her shower when he’d drawn the sheet over her and promised he’d be back with clothes. She’d been so unlike herself, no snappy comebacks, no sassy remarks.