Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(4)

“Are you going hunting, sir?”

Kadan Montague glanced up at the crew chief, sliding his .45 smoothly into the holster at his hip and locking it down. “Something like that.” He shouldered his pack and slipped his knife securely into the scabbard before glancing at his coordinates. “This is it.”

The crew chief, recognizing his VIP didn’t want to talk, made certain the rope was secure and moved to the side to allow his passenger to step up to the open door. Kadan caught the rope with both gloved hands and waited for the pilot’s okay. The craft steadied and he went down, fast-roping, settling to earth with a slight impact and stepping clear to give the away signal. His descent had taken seconds, and the helicopter swung away, shifting toward the south, flying fast for base. It would set down at the ranger station and wait, no matter how long, for a radio signal to pick him up in the lower meadow as soon as he had the cargo ready.

Kadan took a deep, long breath of mountain air and looked slowly around him, feeling at home. Dawn was breaking over the mountain, spilling light along the ridges, turning shrubbery, leaves, and granite to gold. Pine, fir, and dogwood stretched as far as the eye could see, and huge, towering cliffs of granite jutted up toward the sky. For the first time in a long while, he relaxed. No one was trying to kill him. He might be in for a long hike, but he could enjoy his surroundings.

He moved with complete confidence, with the steady gait of a man used to being out in the wilderness and covering a large territory fast. He was at home in any environment, having trained with the military Special Forces as well as with the GhostWalker teams. Arctic, desert, mountain, and water training had given his body the fitness to hike the rigorous terrain. He enjoyed physical activity, and although he was tired from going through several time zones and being without sleep for several days, he was wholly focused on his mission.

He traveled in the direction in which he estimated he would be most likely to find Tansy Meadows’s campsite. The area had several possibilities, but she had specific needs for a long-term stay, and that narrowed her options significantly. If she was anywhere in the zone he had targeted, he would run across her tracks. An hour into his hike, he found several trails leading upward into the higher, less dense forest and more toward the craggy granite, a good place for mountain lions. He worked his way steadily to the granite, where there was more brush and fewer trees.

Kadan paused on the narrow, faint ribbon of a deer trail to take a long, slow drink of his water. He had the coordinates of the range she traveled in, taking amazing photographs for National Geographic, and he was certain the information he had was accurate. Tansy Meadows, psychic extraordinaire and elite tracker. The girl who could track serial killers with her mind. Some said she was difficult to work with, others that she was “freaky” but got the job done, and every single report he’d read on her said she was the real thing. Of course, now the law enforcement agencies claimed she’d lost her talent in a climbing accident, when she’d fallen and hit her head. He didn’t believe it for a moment, but if he was wrong, he was wasting time he didn’t have on a bad roll of the dice.

He had a few questions marks in his mind about Meadows. There were no photographs of her, not a single one, and she worked for numerous law enforcement agencies. He’d tried National Geographic, but they didn’t have a picture either. Who had that kind of power? No civilian could manage to wipe out law enforcement records—unless there was never a photograph in the first place. There were plenty of articles in newspapers, and her name was in numerous FBI and police reports across the country, and then there were her hospital records. No photograph existed there either, which meant that little Miss Tansy Meadows had to be red flagged. Kadan had high security clearance and the general even higher, yet from what they could tell, no photograph of her existed. Period.

She’d been adopted at the age of five by Don and Sharon Meadows, a wealthy couple who’d made a name for themselves in the research, design, and assembly of aircraft, specifically attack helicopters. Don and Sharon Meadows were major players in politics and frequently received government contracts for military research and design. The couple was well connected politically, but did that mean they had the clout to keep their daughter’s photograph from appearing anywhere in the news? It was possible, but doubtful. It would take far more power and influence, and for what possible gain?

The first time Kadan had heard rumors of a teenager who could track serial killers was when he’d trained at Quantico. Controversy had raged over whether there was such a thing as psychic ability, and if one had it, whether it could really be channeled to track a killer. He had never entered into the discussions, because he knew absolutely that psychic ability existed, but to harness it and be able to use it were difficult things. The police Tansy had worked with swore by her, but no one mentioned her training, which had seemed odd to him.

He continued upward, his gut telling him he was on the right path. There were no tracks yet, nothing to indicate the presence of another human being, but he was certain he was heading in the right direction. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, yet he knew he would find her. Every instinct he had told him she was somewhere close. And he would bet his last dollar that she was lying her ass off claiming she’d lost her psychic abilities. If she had worked over and over with the police tracking serial killers successfully, he doubted if a climbing accident had suddenly snuffed out her talent as she claimed when she came out of the hospital, refusing to even meet with police or FBI agents again.