Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(58)

The estate was on five acres overlooking the ocean. A high privacy fence surrounded the beautifully landscaped lawns. Weeping willows formed graceful sentries around a shimmering pond where a low, arched bridge spanned the water, lending it a fairy tale quality. The house rose up with majestic grace, surrounded by balconies, columns, and inviting porches. Masses of flower beds and carefully trimmed hedges led up the stamped walkways and surrounded the house itself. The estate looked the picture of elegance and tranquility.

From the outside, it was impossible to see the second set of fences where the guard dogs patrolled, or the artfully hidden cameras that were scattered around the grounds. At night laser beams crisscrossed the grounds along the walkways. Guards at the front gates were alert and visibly held guns cradled in their arms.

Kadan made certain to shield his team’s presence from any other psychic in the vicinity, keeping the waves of energy close to him. He stood very still, his breathing slow and even, his heart rate normal, his mind calm. This was his world, and there was no anxiety in it for him, only a strong sense of purpose and resolve.

The air moved in and out of his lungs in perfect rhythm. This was when he was most alive—when he was hunting. He could inhale and scent information, sort through data with the same precision as a jungle cat. Men moved along the inside of the fence, staying within sight of the dogs, on alert for the slightest reaction from the canine guards. They patrolled the grounds, along the garage and house, making it difficult to keep the laser beams on. They turned them off while conducting a manual search and turned them back on when they left the area.

“In position,” Nico’s voice sounded in Kadan’s ear.

Nico could shoot the wings off a butterfly if he had to, even in a high wind. Kadan had every confidence in the sniper.

Kadan pointed at Gator, and the Cajun instantly went to the ground, belly-crawling across the open space between their position and the first fence. They’d chosen the southernmost part of the estate as an entry point. From there, they had access to the helipad and garage, two places absolutely necessary to control if they were to succeed.

Gator made it across the rocky terrain, pushed through the saw grass and rolled up against the privacy fencing. He lay quiet, his mind reaching out until he found the dogs. There were eight of them. Big German shepherds. Intelligent. Well trained. They paced along the fence in strict formation, each dog so many feet apart from the next so they could complete the circuit of the property so many times per hour.

Gator’s first touch was tentative, finding the leader of the pack. There was always one. The good handlers always recognized that fact and dealt with the most alpha of a dog team a little differently. Each dog was trained to make decisions, but none had been exposed to Gator’s talent. He could influence animals fairly easily, matching his brain waves to theirs and bending the dogs to his will. In this case, he wanted no alarm raised as they went into the compound.

It took a few minutes to connect with the alpha, to find it in the midst of all the animals, each with its own personality. The moment he merged, Gator was in a different world. His sense of smell was instantly heightened a hundred times. He scented the individual guards, the squirrels in the trees, and even a rodent that had made a home in the nearby grass. Colors dimmed, the spectrum narrowing, so that his sight was altered.

He could see the grounds now, his connection with the alpha strengthening by the moment so that he was seeing what the dog saw as it paced in between the chain-link fences. The guards moved systematically over the yard in a typical sweep, making certain no one had penetrated the interior. The dog continued moving at a steady pace, alert and a little confused with Gator sharing his mind.

He calmed the animal, joined forces, and dominated, taking control and issuing orders. One by one he connected with each animal. They were not to give away, by sound or alertness, that a stranger slipped through their ranks. He was one of them. A member of the pack. They were to continue their patrol and alert only when told.

Once he was certain the dogs would obey him, Gator signaled to Kadan. “Green light.”

Kadan had dressed for the occasion, his clothing reflective, his skin mirroring the color of the ground, and his equipment locked in place for quick use. Drawing his skin-tight hood over his hair, he made his way to the fence. It was about twenty feet high, straight up, no toe-or finger-holds. He studied it for a moment and then leapt high, catching with the pads of his fingers. He went up the smooth side easily, using his enormous upper body strength to climb, only the sticky pads of his fingers preventing him from falling.

“Guard twenty feet from your position. Hang tight,” Nico reported.

Kadan clung to the side of the fence, his skin matching the darker tones, his clothes blending seamlessly. Even the hood mirrored the images around him, so he simply disappeared. The human eye couldn’t spot him. The dogs knew he was there and reacted with a restless sidestepping, but Gator’s outpouring of influence kept them from giving the GhostWalker’s presence away.

“All clear. He went around the side of the building. Laser’s down near the helipad. You have a go now,” Nico murmured.

Kadan pulled himself to the top of the fence, changing skin color to match the surroundings as he took a quick look before he vaulted the double chain-link fences holding the dogs. He landed in a crouch, waited a heartbeat, and then began moving through the dense shrubbery, relying on Nico to be his eyes as he crossed to the back of the garage.