Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(81)

“In the way violent energy harms Jaimie,” Mack said.

“Exactly. She’s more sensitive than the rest of you. I can see it in her color patterns.”

“What color patterns?” Mack asked.

Paul waved away the question. “I just see differently. It began at a very early age.”

“Is that when your father decided to change your last name? Did he recognize what you were and tried to protect you that many years ago?”

Paul swallowed and looked away, shaking his head.

“What father wouldn’t?” Mack said, as if the boy had answered him. “Tell me about Gideon. I’ve been worried about him. We’ve all been. What’s wrong with him?”

Paul looked relieved to talk about someone other than himself. “I’ll try to explain it to you, but I have to sort of give you a starting point. It’s more than color I see, it’s all about the patterns. When violent energy rushes toward Jaimie, it invades and damages the actual patterns. Everyone with psychic energy has very distinct threads. Some merge together. Your energy and Jaimie’s merge, intertwine, and build a stronger base. I’ve not seen other couples, but I suspect that might happen with committed pairs. I have to study it a bit more.”

There was eagerness in Paul’s voice, an enthusiasm Mack had never heard before. Jaimie got that same exact tone when she was on to something in her work.

“I joined the GhostWalker program with the hope that I could learn more about what I could do and why I saw people the way I do, but”—Paul shrugged—“it seemed best not to admit to anyone that I was that different.”

“So you played down your skills.”

Paul nodded.

“What you really mean is, the old man found out his good friend Whitney was doing a lot more to the psychics than anyone had agreed upon and some of them were dying.”

Paul’s nod was barely perceptible. “Some were in bad shape. And he was taking apart anyone different. I looked at his color pattern and I knew . . .” He shook his head.

“Knew what?” Mack asked softly.

“That he was damaged beyond repair. He’s psychic and his pattern was all over the place. I could see it in his brain, the madness. He believes in what he’s doing. I knew if he found out what I could do—what I could see—he’d take my brain apart to figure out how it worked. I was the one who exposed what he was doing to . . .” He broke off and looked around the room. “To Sergeant Major.”

“And he told you to play down your abilities.”

Paul shook his head. “I was already doing that. Whitney’s a brilliant man. His weakness is thinking no one else is quite as bright as he is. His ego defeats him every time.”

“So he never guessed about you.”

“No.”

“And the old man decided to put you somewhere safe.”

Paul sent Mack a half smile. “You were the safest person he knew.”

“Did it occur to either of you I might blow your brains out, thinking you were betraying us? Your old man needs a lot more than a slap upside the head.” Mack glared at the boy. “I considered just shooting you and getting it over with. I’m not one for mysteries in my own backyard. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Top.”

“That’s boss to you,” Mack corrected.

The kid hid a smile, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, Top . . . boss.”

“You know we’re going to talk about the old man and the things you’ve been keeping from me. I’ll want to meet with him.”

“Not in his office, Top . . . boss.”

Mack’s eyebrow shot up. His eyes met Kane’s. If their commanding officer was compromised, and Paul seemed to be telling them he was, they were all in trouble. Why hadn’t Griffen found a way to reach out to him? He really hated mysteries. If someone wanted them dead, just come at them and make the try.

He sat back in his chair. “They sweep his office every day.”

Paul kept his eyes fixed on Mack. “Yes, they do.”

“Damn it. Why didn’t the old man tell me?”

“He said you’d figure it out.”

So the old man had expected him to figure it out. How? Without Jaimie experimenting with him they would never have discovered Paul. But maybe they weren’t meant to find out about Paul. Griffen had sent Paul to him as part of the team—not as his son. He hadn’t revealed the asset that Paul was because he didn’t want the boy compromised. Griffen would never have told Mack that Paul was his son. The sergeant major had expected him to figure out that he was compromised. How?

He did what he always did—he found Jaimie. She sat tailor fashion on her bed, listening. What do you think? he asked.

The suicide missions. You obviously had a bad feeling the moment the orders came down. What tipped you off?

It was the one thing that didn’t make sense, unless Griffen was working with Whitney. But if he wasn’t working with Whitney, then the suicide missions didn’t make sense at all. He would never set up the men in his own command. Mack pressed his fingers into his throbbing eyes. Griffen should have found a better way to get through to him. He must have subtly warned Mack, enough that he picked up on it, but not in a way that tipped anyone else off.

The boy was looking at Mack as if he was going to save the world—save his father. He stretched his legs out in front of him, feeling old and tired. A few minutes earlier, Jaimie’s soft body was wrapped around him, taking him away from reality, but this—blood and death and the planning of it—was his reality. He felt very alone. Weighed down. Sometimes he thought his back might break under the load.