Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(86)

“Why question that particular murder?”

“There couldn’t be another motive. Who would want to kill two high school boys who were smart, weren’t robbed, and probably had never done anything to anyone in their lives? I got the impression from them that they had barely started their lives. They were shocked. Frog didn’t want to kill them; in fact, he was upset with the puppet master and the others on his team and the other team. Really upset. He asked forgiveness and even went so far as promising revenge. He didn’t want to kill them, yet he chose those two boys. They weren’t random victims. You’re going on the assumption that each of these murders was random, but Frog’s murder wasn’t. He had to fulfill some contract . . .” She broke off and looked up at him in shock. “Contract murders? Could this game be about paid hits?”

Kadan automatically shook his head. How could that be? A game? But even as he was denying the possibility, her reasoning somehow fit. Her mind worked differently, taking pieces, discarding them, and trying them in ways no one else might think of. Another gift. A talent she didn’t recognize.

“Don’t touch anything until I get back.” He didn’t want to leave her, not when information was pouring into her mind, and he was afraid she might grasp the game piece now that she had a trail to follow. “I mean it, Tansy, wait for me.”

Tansy found it difficult to resist the lure of the ivory blade. The notches meant something to either the carver or the owner of the piece. Which was it? Her mind refused to stop racing for more details. Once she was on the scent, she found it nearly impossible to focus on anything else, and the energy of both men was much more potent in this piece.

“Tansy,” Kadan’s voice was sharp. “I said no.”

He caught her wrist, the sound of his palm hitting her arm loud in the silence of the room. She blinked up at him, a little distracted by his presence.

“I need to . . .”

“No.” He kept possession of her hand. “I went to check on the file in the war room. The boys were half brothers and the insurance on them was heavy for kids that age. Mother inherits. She’d only recently remarried. Boys had different fathers, and the third husband seems to have gotten along with the boys and was broken up about the whole thing.”

“Did you interview them?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t had the chance. I got my orders, read everything, and knew I needed you, so I went looking for you.”

“But either the mother or the stepfather could have hired someone to kill the boys.” Tansy made it a statement, but she was frowning, shaking her head. “Something is just a little off kilter, Kadan. I need to get stronger impressions. I need to actually handle it.”

“With gloves.”

“I won’t get what we want. You said we’d have to solve this fast. I know your friends didn’t do this, but whoever wants all of you dead is going to use the murders as an opportunity to get rid of them. By the time the real murderers are found, it will be too late.”

He didn’t want her pulling off the gloves. She’d be annihilated by the violent energy. He could feel waves pushing at her mind, and she merely had her hands close to the game piece.

“We need to know.”

He pulled her off the chair and sat down. “Sit on my lap.”

“Kadan.” It was a protest. She frowned at him, pushing at the long blond hair falling around her face. “What are you doing?”

“Protecting you. Sit on me. I’m going to keep my arms around you, my hands on your wrists. If I tell you to drop that thing and you don’t, I’ll be in a better position to force it out of your hand. We both know this is dangerous to you.”

“I don’t know if I can concentrate like that.”

Kadan shrugged. “Take it or leave it, but you aren’t touching that thing without me surrounding you with as much protection as I can give you.”

He had that tone again. Tansy sighed. There was no moving him from his position when he used that tone. Very slowly, breathing deep, she removed the protective barrier of the gloves. She sank down onto his lap and his arms immediately circled her, his hands resting lightly over hers, which gave her added confidence.

She cupped her bare hands around the ivory knife. The energy swarmed to her, violent, almost angry. Smug. Superior. Oily sludge poured into her brain, dripping with blood, with the need for more blood. Beneath the muck, hidden, she found that small vein that ran under, nearly overwhelmed with the dominant strand, but flowing subtly, a monster at work behind the scenes.

She took a breath and worked at separating the two threads. Blade needed followers, needed them to see him dominate every situation. He looked for fights. Wanted others to argue so he could hurt and frighten them in front of others. He was cruel to his girlfriends and those who loved him, usually subtle cruelties, but he enjoyed the pain in their eyes—and the fear. Ridiculing others and making them look small in front of his friends was a favorite pastime.

Distaste. Smug satisfaction that someday . . . She almost had the puppet master, but Blade wouldn’t give up the spotlight. Something important eluded her as it moved by. She couldn’t focus properly because the violence in Blade was his primary characteristic.

More oily sludge coated her mind as he pushed deeper into her brain, determined to imprint himself there when she was really looking for the more subtle thread. Looking big mattered to him, almost more than anything else. He despised having to salute. He wanted to take out some of the officers and their families. He fantasized about it all the time.