Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers, #9)(29)

She laughed at the frustration in his voice. I’m going in while I can. I’ll be fine. If the contractions are real, they’ll grow stronger still and get longer in length.

Through his scope he watched her pick up the folding chair and carry it back inside. No light escaped from the house. Once she was inside and the small light she’d used for reading disappeared, so did the house. Kane remained absolutely still. The men were in motion, one moving right up to Jimenez’s subterranean hideaway. He examined the sand all around the house. Kane was grateful that he’d always covered his tracks when patrolling outside and familiarizing himself with the terrain.

The one close to the house joined a second man. They conferred, waved at the remaining two, who took off running for the waiting helicopter. Kane turned his full attention to the two left behind. They were up and jogging straight toward him.

“I don’t know why he just won’t let us grab her,” one grumbled. “You know this is a bullshit assignment, Fargo. He was pissed at us because we didn’t get the job done. I’d like to get my hands on the little bitch and teach her a lesson. Whitney’s been on my case since she rejected me.

And he’s been on yours ever since your little bitch tried to disembowel you.” The man snickered and then spit.

The spit landed four feet from where Kane lay in the saw grass. He remembered the speaker. Carlson James. Kane had looked up his service record the moment he’d gotten out of Whitney’s compound. James was a troublemaker in every unit he was put in. He’d been reported killed in Afghanistan two years earlier, but not before an arrest warrant had been issued for the suspected rape of a female officer. Kane knew exactly why Whitney had chosen the man for his private army. He needed someone ruthless, without morals, who would have no qualms forcing a woman to have sex with him. Carlson James fit that bill.

Why had Whitney chanced sending him? Not only had Carlson’s ego been seriously bruised by Rose’s rejection, but he was paired with her too. Kane heard the rage smoldering in the man’s belly when he spoke of Rose. He had to be eaten alive knowing another man had touched her—that she was carrying another man’s baby. Kane didn’t trust him at all. Carlson was the type of man who would turn on Whitney if the right circumstances presented themselves. It was a stupid move on Whitney’s part.

“We’ll have to set up camp a couple of miles from here,” Fargo said. “This is one shit assignment. At least my bitch isn’t knocked up by some other man.” He laughed as he brushed past Carlson.

Kane held his breath as Carlson snarled, exposing his teeth, one hand going to the knife at his belt. Tension stretched out. Fargo glanced over his shoulder and abruptly came to a halt. His eyes glittered, a dangerous excitement. Both men were jacked up on something, and Kane feared it wasn’t a drug. Whitney wanted his soldiers aggressive. Both of the men wore aggression close to the surface. They looked like two bulls squaring off.

Fargo shook his head. “We’ve got a job to do, Carlson. If we don’t get it done, Whitney will send his hit squad. He warned you not to touch her.”

Carlson’s hand dropped from his knife, but Kane didn’t get the feeling he was appeased. The man shrugged. “Yeah. I heard him.”

“It’s my job to see you don’t go near her.”

Carlson’s smirk was a parody of humor. “We’ll see how good you are at your job.”

“Don’t you worry about me. You want to take first watch?”

“She’s as big as a cow,” Carlson snapped. “Where the hell is she going? I’m heading for bed. I’ve already got sand in my mouth. I hate this place.”

The two set off, griping and complaining, moving toward the south. Kane watched them plow over the rolling sand dunes. He was not going to let Rose outside again if there was any way to prevent it. Seeing her pregnant would only provoke Carlson further. What game was Whitney really playing? Something was off about the entire setup.

Swearing, he rolled over, keeping his weapon clear, staying very close to the ground so if either man looked back they wouldn’t be able to see him. He slithered down the slope leading to the house on his belly, much like a lizard.

I’m coming in, Rose. If the lights are on, turn them off.

They aren’t on.

There was something not quite right about her voice. He took another careful look around, ensuring the enemy was still heading away from the hideaway before he lifted his hand, moving the air in the gentlest of breezes, pushing the sand over his tracks, paying particular attention to the saw grass where he’d lain hidden. When he was satisfied the ground could stand a close examination, Kane opened the door and went in. He made certain to drop the heavy metal bar across the door, sealing them in and making certain no one could sneak in that way. Tomorrow night he would set a few traps around the house, several feet out in a circle, which would warn him if anyone—like Carlson—got too close. He slipped inside the house and let out his breath, aware of the tension coiled inside him.

He felt a little like a rat caught in a trap. He preferred open places where he could maneuver. He would be more help to Rose outside, where he could pick off the enemy easily, than here inside. Something clicked in his brain. Diego Jimenez would have felt the same way. How did he manage to relax here, knowing he was hunted? Had he relied solely on the fact that his hideout couldn’t be seen easily? Kane couldn’t believe Jimenez would think that way.