Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(87)

The son of a bitch who wrote him up for beating the crap out of the stupid private that dared to contradict him. Yeah, he wanted to show Officer Showoff just who really was in charge. Damn the rules of the game. He’d agreed to them, but no one would know if he spent a few hours carving Mr. Officer up. Of course, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if the others didn’t know what he was doing.

Another voice began to rise, one she couldn’t push down. A woman, pleading. Begging. Stirring Blade to further action. He loved the begging. The victim had no idea she was rousing him to further acts of torture for his own pleasure, and Tansy had no way of warning her.

Shut up, bitch. Stop sniveling. Whiny, stupid bitch. Of course I’m going to kill you. I’m going to gut you and leave you hanging on a meat hook in the cooler. What did you think I wanted with you? Your fancy jewelry? Your grotesque body? No, I want you dead. But don’t worry, you’ll be like one of those fine fat pigs your family slaughters and butchers; I’ll leave you hanging there for the world to see. Or maybe your husband will carve you up and sell you to the markets to make a few extra bucks.

Blade laughed, the sound wholly evil, and Tansy’s stomach lurched. She would have problems getting his vile imprint out of her head. The stain was thick and intrusive, coating the walls of her mind and finding every niche and crack, until it seeped beneath the door where the other voices wailed to be let loose.

Look for the other one, Kadan murmured, his voice a breath of fresh air, like a cool breeze running through her brain.

Tansy made an effort to push the evil Blade to the back of her mind, ignoring his insistence on sharing his handiwork with her. His voice receded a bit, allowing her to find the lighter tracks buried beneath his thick, oily presence. The puppet master. There he was. She had to be careful, very cautious not to alert him to her presence. She tried to keep her touch light, but she’d never had to worry about her own back trail before when she’d tracked.

She drew another deep breath into her lungs, fighting to keep her stomach from churning. She leaned against Kadan and drew his masculine scent into her lungs. For a moment her world righted again, as she breathed him in, the clean outdoor spice of him. Blade receded a bit more, his voice dimming, and she seized the thread that was the puppet muster.

The impressions she received from objects such as this one often seemed like a giant spiderweb, thread after thread wrapped intricately around one another until the killer and victim were bound together and it was difficult to tell the threads apart. The puppet master had carved the game pieces, leaving a great deal of himself in the ivory long before he’d given them to the players and he’d left his own threads. They were light and subtle, but they permeated the entire web.

In all the years she’d tracked killers, none of the threads had been attached to a mind. There was no way to back-track and find them; she had to piece together information until she received a large enough picture to get the killer. She wasn’t certain how the puppet master was still attached, but he had found her particular thread and back-tracked. She had to be very careful to step lightly and cause no vibration of her own to warn him she was seeking him again.

She allowed the killer and his victim to wail and gnash around her, as she waded through the blood and gore to examine each thread until she found the strongest impression of the puppet master. She matched the flow in her mind to that subtle energy, taking care that there was no signal as she examined it. Yeah. He was there all right. She just couldn’t quite get him. Without hesitation, she closed that breath of a gap between her skin and ivory.

Heat seared her palms. The screams of the victim nearly shattered her. The killer was so strong she had the impression of him bursting through the door, his mouth stretched into a grin, his face shadowy, but there was no facial hair and no mask. The woman fell backward, trying to crawl away as he loomed over her. Tansy jerked herself away from the sight, trying not to hear or see, but looking for the shiny radial that formed the support of the web. It was several strands thick, the shiny primary thread, from the handling and carving of the knife.

The notches were made with care, each one exact and polished as per request. Idiot smug bastard wants the world to see how scary he is, but he’s a child wanting attention, wanting to be feared when he should be hiding. They’ll catch this one first, openly showing his kills on his game piece. And he’ll turn on his friends because he really isn’t so tough. He doesn’t like women, but he despises men, mostly because he’s afraid of their strength.

Tansy breathed away the thoughts the puppet master had while carving. Her fingers stroked over the blade, trying to pick up the puppet master’s essence, not his thoughts on the killer. A desk. He sat at a desk, stacks of paper all around him. She had the impression of movement, as though others flowed around his desk or were near it. The sound of muted voices. A telephone ringing. She caught a glimpse of a leg clad in a uniform. A military base. He had to work at a military base.

She breathed through her mouth, trying to keep from smelling the blood that thickened around her mind as she concentrated on her prey. The killer wanted to show off, terrifying the woman deliberately. Tansy shook her head, trying to rid herself of his evil nature. There was no conflict in him, only an eagerness to appear larger and more terrifying than anyone else. He wanted the world to fear him, thinking that would get him the respect he deserved.

She shivered, pushing the killer away from her to grab at the anchoring thread. The puppet master, so the opposite of the killer. He wanted no fame or recognition. He pulled the strings and made the others dance. If they were caught, he could walk away, no ties whatsoever to the killings. His concept, his handpicked killers, and no one knew, not even Whitney. His bank account grew and the homicidal maniacs had their fun. It was all a nice little game any way you looked at it.