Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(60)

Within minutes the German shepherd went crazy, slamming into the chain-link fence, roaring a challenge, snarling and barking, hitting the fence repeatedly in an attempt to get to his cruel handler. The yard erupted with guards, men running, calling out to one another, rushing toward the fence. One caught the guard with stick in hand, still tinged with blood where he’d driven it into the dog’s side. Lights burst on overhead, turning the grounds into daylight. Alarms shrieked as the lasers were set off.

Within a couple more minutes, enough time for the message to be relayed to Fredrickson, the door below Kadan burst open and a man went running out. Kadan swung his body through the opening, landing in a crouch inside, gun already out and tracking. From the drawings Tansy had provided, he knew this was an atrium that opened into the living room. Huge plants grew nearly wild, rising to the high ceilings, the mist kicking on automatically every few minutes to provide the atmosphere of a rain forest.

Kadan took his time. He was in enemy territory now. Not just any enemy, a GhostWalker who would feel the slightest change in the energy around him. Kadan could shield, but the closer he got to his prey, the more difficult it would become to do so. And he was close. Fredrickson was also a shielder—surprising, but it had to be true. That gift was somewhat rare, just as being an elite tracker was.

Kadan went to his belly again, green now, like the plants around him. Using his elbows to propel him forward, he slithered through the jungle of foliage to the edge of the glass. The atrium was huge, bringing the rain forest indoors. Completely glass, the room could be enclosed and kept separate from the rest of the house, or, with the double glass doors opened as they were, the sweeping, dramatic plants could become part of the enormous sunken great room.

Tansy had been raised in this opulent home. She’d lived there as if it was an ordinary, everyday house, probably taking the beauty and uniqueness for granted. Kadan had spent a lifetime on the streets, in foster homes and one-room apartments, before moving on to the military life of jungle, desert, and sea. What was he thinking? How could she go from this to what he could give her? The moment the thought entered, he pushed it away. Tansy had no place here. She couldn’t screw him up any more than she’d already done by turning him inside out.

Kadan forced his mind back under control and slid through the doorway into the great room. Fredrickson was just ahead of him, staring impassively at Tansy’s parents, who were sitting in two high-backed chairs, both with their hands tied behind their backs. Sharon Meadows was a small woman, very thin, with a wealth of blond hair. A bruise had formed just below one eye and there was swelling near her mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Fredrickson had used her to try to control Tansy. She wept silently, casting little glances at her husband, who looked as if he might have a stroke any moment.

“She’s dead if they come in here,” Fredrickson said to Don. “You’d better hope your daughter loves you both enough to give herself up without bringing help.”

Sharon shook her head hard, but only sobbed louder.

Don bared his teeth and struggled to loosen his bonds. “You don’t need to touch my wife. Tansy will come. You tell Whitney she’ll come. There’s no need for this.”

Fredrickson shrugged. “We’ll take her back, one way or the other. And we’re doing you a favor. They know about her and she’s marked. They’ll kill her if they find her before we do.”

“You keep saying ‘they’ as if that’s supposed to scare me,” Don hissed. “I don’t believe that anyone wants her dead. Whitney made that up because he wants her back.”

Kadan propelled himself forward on his belly over the smooth, rich marble floor, gun in one hand, knife in the other. He slid forward, inch by painstakingly slow inch. Each centimeter counted when he was out in the open and Fredrickson had only to turn his head. Kadan gathered his strength, his resolve, and he flowed from the floor, rising like a demon summoned from hell, hurtling the knife straight to his enemy’s throat.

The knife buried all the way to the hilt. Fredrickson gurgled, eyes wide, one hand half rising in reflex, as if to examine the instrument of his death. He swayed and then toppled to the floor. Instantly Kadan felt the psychic shield come down and lethal energy flowing toward him. He spun, already diving in front of Tansy’s mother, instincts screaming at him that she was the target. The bullet caught him higher than he’d have liked, slamming into his bullet-proof vest like an explosive fist to his chest, half spinning him and driving him backward hard.

Sharon’s high-pitched shriek hurt his ears nearly as much as the punch to his chest, but his gun hand was already up, finger squeezing the trigger, one, two, three, precise shots, dropping the second GhostWalker even as Kadan fell. Blood sprayed across the marble and spattered the walls. He saw the red droplets showering down as his body slammed hard into Sharon’s, driving her chair over backward.

The blow to his chest had ripped the breath from his body, and it felt like every bone was broken, smashed beyond repair. For an instant, the edges of his vision blurred and then went black. He woke with rage and panic seconds later, his chest on fire, burning as if a hot iron was branding him, and Sharon screaming nonstop in his ear. He fought the need to rip his vest off and shut the woman up at the same time.

Movement caught his eye, and his legs still tangled with Tansy’s mother, he rolled, the gun rock steady in his hand, instinct staying his finger on the trigger. Don Meadows froze from where he was trying to slither across the floor, his gaze fixed on the knife at Kadan’s waist.