Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(20)

Do you need me to create a distraction? I can lead some of them off you.

No, don’t do anything yet. When I need you, I’ll give you the signal, but don’t let them know you’re close—not yet.

“Link your fingers behind your head and walk forward,” the man in charge ordered.

Sam had six semiautomatics centered on him. He did what he was told. The occupants of the Jeep were worrisome, and now that they had him, they were going to move fast to keep his team from raining fire down on them. He and Azami had bought a few minutes, but not enough to get his team down the mountain.

The brush was thick and he swore as he deliberately walked through it, swallowing more precious minutes and making a show of stumbling. He didn’t want to look like a threat to any of them. He couldn’t quite look like a whipped pup, but he tried to project that image. He was about to reveal secrets to Azami, and there would be questions he didn’t want to answer, but if he was going to get out of this alive and keep her safe, he had no other choice. She’d be watching him this time and she’d see what he could do. This time, the battle was more like a pool game, all about the angles.

One of the men made a comment, laughing a little at his discomfort, the words in his own language. Not so tough. They lied to us about these men, he interpreted.

“Shut up,” the commander growled, clearly not wanting them to speak anything but English.

He was more cautious than the others and absolutely the biggest threat—which meant the commander had to go first. Sam chose each target carefully. He could take out five of them for certain, but his energy would be sapped quickly after that. He’d have to be in almost continuous motion, taking only a second for each kill. His body wouldn’t have time to catch up to the speed he was moving. He wouldn’t feel whole, the sensation of his body tearing apart strong, but he simply had no other viable choice.

Azami, when I give you the word, can you take the two soldiers hanging back in the trees, nearly out of my sight? Can you see them?

No problem.

There it was—that supreme confidence he found sexy as hell in the middle of a firefight. Who knew he was such a f*cking pervert that a woman in battle could turn him on with just her soft voice filling his mind with assurance that she could take out the two soldiers. Purring. She purred, the sound of her voice vibrating through his entire body.

Time slowed down like it always did for him when he needed it to. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees and lighter branches swayed gently. The sky overhead was pale blue, a few wispy clouds floating. A perfect day. He noted the faint crackle of leaves as mice scurried away from the intruders. Somewhere a hawk screamed. Life continued with or without Sam Johnson.

The commander signaled the closest man forward. It was now or never. Sam sent Azami the order. Take them.

He ran straight at the commander, his fingers gripping the handle of his knife. He crossed thirty feet with blurring speed, so that the commander blinked and Sam stood in front of him, already drawing the blade across his throat. Sam ran for the soldier twenty feet from the commander, banked off a tree and plunged the knife through his throat, twisted and was sprinting toward the third soldier. Racing up the trunk of a tree, slingshotting off, somersaulting in the air, he landed behind the third soldier, cutting his throat as his feet touched ground. Another burst of speed took him directly to the fourth soldier.

He slashed in a figure eight, cutting arteries, feeling the effects of repeated teleportation, his body beginning to shake with overload. He put on another burst of energy, racing from the fourth soldier to the fifth. He zipped around trees, to come up behind the soldier.

The entire thing had taken seconds only, but the fifth soldier had caught the fall of his companions and whirled around in a circle, his finger steady on the trigger. Sam had to turn with him, staying behind the man, praying Azami was clear of the stream of bullets as they cut through leaves and trees and mowed down branches. His body shuddered, legs suddenly rubber. Sam plunged the knife deep into the soldier’s kidney, knowing he was going to go down. He had to take the soldier with him to keep him off Azami.

The gunfire would draw the Jeep filled with mercenaries, and he was terribly weak. He might not be able to protect the woman. Get out of here. Make your way back to your brother. The team is on the way, in the air now. I can feel them getting closer.

He twisted the knife free and plunged it a second time, determined to take the soldier down with him. His knees gave out and he went down hard, retaining possession of the knife. The semiautomatic continued firing as the soldier sprawled over Sam, the sound deafening.

I don’t need protection.

There was just a bit of haughtiness in the soft voice filling his mind. She poured warmth and confidence into him. The gun went silent, but he felt the vibration under him, indicating the Jeep was racing toward the battle. Sam summoned strength and shoved the dying soldier off him. The man rolled, his dark eyes staring at Sam in a kind of a shock. They’d been a far superior force in numbers, but one GhostWalker and a woman had destroyed them.

You get your men?

Of course.

Sam pushed down the smile that little haughty note brought out and rolled to get his hands under him. He groaned at the sudden crashing pain and tried to push himself onto his hands and knees. This was more than weakness from teleporting too much. The distances had been relatively short and his body felt nearly settled. He’d taken a couple of deep wounds from the stabbing broken branches in the trees, but really . . . in front of Azami?