Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(27)

He squatted down beside the woman, smirking, high on the power. She’d do anything to live. Anything at all he wanted. Too bad, baby, your death is in the cards . . . He began laughing at his own joke.

Tansy could hear a far-off voice calling her name. The voice sounded familiar and she tried to concentrate on it. She was in a labyrinth of the dead. So many bodies. So much blood. The victims begged and pleaded. Debased themselves. Endured both physical and emotional torture, and she went through it with them, helpless to aid them. Sometimes she could see their faces, the desperation in their eyes, the pleading. Sobs welled up. She couldn’t reach them. She couldn’t touch them. She couldn’t stop their killer.

“Tansy, drop it! Damn it. Hear me. Feel me. I’m real, they’re not.”

The voice was stern, commanding, penetrating through the blood and gore. For a moment she was aware of being in two places, the long blood-filled tunnel with glassy eyes staring at her and a hand gripping hers. And then the killer laughed and clothes ripped and women screamed. A child pleaded, the voice hopeless, dragging her down, down into the oily black and red sludge where she took a breath and went under.

Screw them all, doll face. We’ve got all day to get acquainted. Fight me. I want you to fight me. See how pretty your daughter looks with all those cuts over her breasts? Nice red stripes.

He slowly took off his belt, knowing two pairs of eyes were mesmerized by him.

Won’t she look even prettier with nice wide stripes all over her? Come on over here, doll face. Crawl on your hands and knees, right past your old man who didn’t do a thing to save you. He would have given you up, begged me to use you however I wanted just so I didn’t kill him. He wasn’t strong. You needed someone strong. And now it’s too late. Crawl over here and put that whiny mouth of yours to work while I teach this little girl what a real man is. If you’d chosen the right man, none of this would have happened, would it?

He caught the woman by her hair, yanking her head up, sticking his face next to hers. Spit ran down her face as he shouted at her.

Would it?

Kadan tried prying open Tansy’s fingers. He was going to lose her if he didn’t pull her back. Her face was nearly gray it was so pale. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. Her pulse was out of control, her eyes staring at something that wasn’t really there.

“Drop that f*cking thing.” His voice didn’t even sound like his own. He growled the command in a demonic voice. Kadan Montague, the killer who had ice for blood, was desperate, terrified he was losing her.

Swearing, he dug the pads of his fingers deep into her wrist, finding the pressure point that would open her fingers, slamming her hand against the ground at the same time. The game piece flew a couple of feet and rolled free. Tansy’s body convulsed. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose. Kadan knelt in the dirt, his body blocking the early morning sun while he tried to wake her. He shook her, called her name, and then left her to get water.

Tansy choked, coughed, turned her head and then rolled to her knees, her stomach rebelling, the retching relentless. Waves of dizziness disoriented her. She wiped her face, and her hand came away smeared with blood.

“Here. Drink this.” Kadan thrust a bottle of water into her shaking hands and a jacket around her nude body.

Tansy tried to raise it to her mouth, but she spilled droplets everywhere. Kadan reached around her, his hand closing on hers, steadying the bottle.

“Take a drink.” His voice was gruff.

Tansy did, swishing the water around and spitting it out to cleanse the oily taste from her mouth. It didn’t go away. Her mind seemed unusually calm, and she had a bad feeling she wasn’t the one controlling the voices. She took a couple of more cautious sips, letting the cool liquid trickle down her throat, before she looked up at Kadan.

“They’re still there in my head, aren’t they? Just like always. You’re stopping them.”

He nodded. “Why in the hell when that f*cker knew you were chasing serial killers didn’t he give you the tools to work with?” Fury shook his voice.

Tansy took a deep breath and let it out. “I presume you’re referring to Dr. Whitney.”

“Didn’t your parents call him in when you became ill after chasing a killer?”

She nodded. “It seemed part of the adoption agreement. He arranged the adoption and my father seemed to think he was the best person to treat me. I had to recount, in great detail, how each case affected me.”

“He could have helped you deal with it better.”

“I usually did deal with it better. If I prepare my mind for the shock, I can control the energy and voices for a short time. Unfortunately, the times became shorter and shorter, until I reached the point of really being useless. And I can’t get them out of my head once they’re in there.” She took another drink of water, savoring the cool water when her throat felt raw.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Her eyes met his. He looked as if he meant it. She shrugged. “I guess you had to try.”

Kadan shook his head, refusing to take the out. “I wasn’t thinking about the job when I threw the game piece. It was left behind at the crime scene. There’s always a piece left behind. There seem to be eight different pieces, and one of the eight is always left at each scene.”

“Because you have eight players.”