Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(46)

She shook her head, locking her gaze with his. “Loving is what you do best.”

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re a f*cking miracle.”

“And you’re going to have to clean up your mouth before you meet my parents.” She rolled out from under him and sat up, pushing at her long hair to get it off her face.

There was a long silence. When she glanced over her shoulder, Kadan was already up, padding across the floor to the bathroom. She had sensed more than heard him. He moved like a mountain lion, all rippling muscle and silence.

He turned back, his face set in grim lines. “Your parents can clean up a few things before I do. They’ve got a few questions to answer.”

“Look, Kadan, before everyone gets here and you decide to share with them your conspiracy theories on my parents, I want to tell you a story.”

His mouth hardened into a cruel line, but he didn’t say anything.

Tansy sighed. “When I was a little girl, I couldn’t go to a regular school, or to a grocery store. I really couldn’t do much of anything. My parents built me a play yard, basically from scratch, getting brand-new supplies. Even then, sometimes, I could get impressions from people handling the swings or bars. But I wanted a bike. A bicycle represented freedom to me. I wanted one so bad and I was willing to wear gloves all the time as long as I could just have a bike. You can imagine how my parents must have felt not being able to touch or feed me or even tuck me in at night without both of us wearing gloves. I hated the gloves, and so did they.”

He tried not to ache for that little girl, but she was already in his head. He had no sympathy for her parents. Maybe his friends were right and ice water really did flow in his veins, because he wanted to gather her up and comfort her, and put a bullet in her parents’ heads. Bastards. They hadn’t stopped Whitney, and they had to have known what he was doing—or at least suspected something. Money was a motivating factor for a lot of people. Don and Sharon Meadows made big bucks with defense contracts, but maybe that wasn’t enough for them.

“There you are with that face, all grim and forbidding. My father made all the parts for a bicycle wearing gloves the entire time. Then he put the bike together and they gave it to me. No one had ever touched it.” Tears burned behind her eyes and clogged her throat so that she had to clear it, remembering that moment when he’d wheeled the bike out of a closet and her parents had stood there, big smiles on their faces, telling her she didn’t have to wear gloves to ride it.

“What parents do that, Kadan? He spent so much time on it. Anyone else would have been okay with my wearing gloves, but he made certain I didn’t have to whenever I rode that bike, because he knew I hated them so much. They love me.” She didn’t know if she was pleading for it to be true, or pleading with him to believe her. “I know they do, Kadan, because I’ve always felt it. The only time I ever felt abandoned was when Whitney came around.”

Abandoned was an interesting word to use. Kadan studied her face. She looked fragile. She wasn’t. She was strong—incredibly strong, or she couldn’t do the things she did. Bathe in blood to track killers. No one did that unless they were strong, but to him, she looked vulnerable and maybe a little lost.

Don’t make me choose between you and my parents.

Kadan reached down and tugged her to her feet, drawing her into his arms. He wasn’t a man who liked to retreat, but for her, for now, on this, he would. “Of course, they love you, Tansy. How could they not?” He trailed kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth, until he felt the tension ease from her body and she grew soft and pliant against him.

“Your clothes should be ready.” His voice was gruff. “Get dressed before our company comes.” There was no choice. It was black-and-white. Her parents were either betraying their daughter, in which case they were both f*cked, or something else he didn’t know about was going on and they were going to tell him.

Tansy found her clothes folded neatly on top of the dryer. She pulled on underwear and jeans and a thin tank before wandering back into the dining room to study the game pieces. She considered going into the war room, but she didn’t want the victims’ impressions to override the killers’. She needed to know the killers, to figure them out so she could get one step ahead of them and stop them. And there was something that bothered her . . .

“What?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, twisting around to find Kadan behind her. She let out her breath. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. Especially not when I’m trying to pick up impressions. You scared me.”

He took her wrist, his finger sliding over her frantic pulse. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t help the way I walk, but you’re not supposed to be doing this anymore. I thought we agreed.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull her hand away. He was stroking her inner wrist, his touch both soothing and sexy at the same time. “Is that what you call it? I think it was more a decree at the time, but of course, you couldn’t have been serious.”

“I rarely am anything but serious.”

That was probably true. Tansy gave an exaggerated sigh. “I came here to give you information on the killings.”

He tugged her hand to his mouth, his eyes watching hers. “Your mission has changed.”

She took back her hand. “My mission is the same. You can’t find them all by yourself and you know it.” Her frown came back as her gaze flicked to the ivory figurines. They were beautiful, yet each represented a killer. “There’s something important here, really important, that I’m missing. I have to figure it out, Kadan, because without it . . .” She trailed off, looking more distressed than ever.