Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(108)

Mack cursed softly under his breath. He was fairly certain the pregnant woman they were referring to was the woman Kane was searching for.

“You know one of the GhostWalkers who turned in evidence against Whitney was the one who impregnated her. He’s searching for her and Griffen is helping him, using all of his sources.”

“You have a line to Griffen. Let them search. As soon as they know where she is, we’ll know and we can snatch her first,” Abrams said. “Use both of them to get what we want. You can always have the bastard killed on a mission later if he gives you any more trouble.”

Jefferson didn’t bother to mention he’d tried it several times already.

Abrams put down his glass and picked up his coat. “I’ve seen Ed Freeman, James. I don’t think his own father or anyone else will ever be able to tell the difference.”

“Can we trust Violet?”

“We don’t have to. If she tries to destroy Whitney or any of us, Ed will die. It’s that simple. Whitney has a protection built into the program and there is no way Violet is going to let Ed die. She’ll ride him all the way to the presidency.”

“And we’ll control both of them.” Satisfaction purred in Jefferson’s voice.

“A triumph beyond measure,” Abrams agreed.

Violet swiftly pocketed her listening device and rolled under the beams back toward the safety of the groves of trees. Javier had already anticipated her departure and moved before her, sliding into the shadows just parallel to her, escorting her back to where she’d left her car, just to make certain she didn’t backtrack and surprise them.

James Bradley Jefferson cleaned up the glasses, carrying them carefully through to his kitchen, where he washed them thoroughly and put them away. The small recorder he’d secreted in the book was removed and taken with him to his bedroom. One by one the lights in the house went out until only a single lamp shone in the bedroom.

Mack waited until the moon moved across the sky and the sounds of the night had resumed a loud chorus. The slightest thing could alert a pro, including the sounds of insects. As he descended he made certain his energy was suppressed, that he moved with the night itself, keeping the natural rhythm.

Gideon’s sole job was to protect him, and Mack couldn’t imagine a better backup. Gideon never missed. Javier waited by the house. “He’s got two cameras in the back. That’s our best bet, boss,” Javier said. “Both are on five-second sweeps. You should be able to move through the two of them if you watch each lens, and use that weird-ass teleportation thing you’ve got. No one will ever know you were in the house.”

Mack scowled at him. “I told you, it isn’t exactly teleportation.”

“Whatever. Just do it and watch where you position yourself.” Javier glanced at his watch. “Counting down now.”

Mack crouched low, leapt over the high back fence—probably the reason there were only two cameras. He landed just to the right of the house and moved with blurring speed, his body looking to the naked eyes like a shadow made of dust, a blur, and then forming from one spot after another until he crossed the open yard to the back door. He couldn’t teleport anywhere he wanted, he could only use short bursts of speed, moving his mass small distances, rather than one long one. He’d found a few uses for his particular talent, but not many, and it took a lot out of him.

It wasn’t difficult to bypass the alarm on the door. The box was located on the roof and easy enough to access. Mack slipped into Jefferson’s house and padded silently through the kitchen, down the hall, to the bedroom. The door was ajar. A fireplace cast a small glow over the room, illuminating the man reading in bed.

Jefferson wore a pair of glasses and lounged with his robe tied loosely over a striped pajama shirt. The covers were pulled up to his waist. Beside his bed was a cigar in an ashtray and a drink. Mack moved with his blurring speed, looking like a dark shadow materializing beside the bed.

Jefferson dropped his book, his hand sliding toward his pillow.

“Don’t,” Mack said softly as he removed one glove. “I just wanted to give you a chance to realize you’ve already accomplished what you set out to do.”

Jefferson relaxed. “And what would that be?”

“You wanted to create an assassin who could go into an enemy camp undetected, kill the general, and walk out with no one the wiser.”

“You’re a GhostWalker.”

“How else could I have gotten in without detection?” Mack leaned down and laid his palm very gently over Jefferson’s heart. He moved without aggression, utterly calm, almost tranquil, so Jefferson was without alarm.

“You overheard my conversation.” He winced. Looked up at Mack. “Oh, f*ck.”

“No,” Mack corrected softly. “You’re f*cked. You shouldn’t have been so stupid as to come after us. What did you think would happen?”

Jefferson slumped back on the pillow, his mouth open, his eyes wide and staring, one arm flung out as if toward the phone, reaching for help.

Mack waited until he was certain the man was dead before he pulled on his glove and exited, turning on the alarm and once more moving undetected through the cameras.





CHAPTER 18


The moment Mack made his way up to the second floor, he felt the instant tension and knew something was wrong. His team—Ethan included—was assembled around a table, an obvious makeshift war room. His beeper had gone off in the plane, so he wasn’t at all surprised that there was trouble.