That sheen in her eyes, blue to violet and then a shimmering silver or opaque. Sign of a tracker. He'd never seen it or heard of it before, but now he knew what he was looking for, now he knew what that peculiar shine really was.
"He's very clever. He's surrounded by killers, by . . ." She frowned again. "I feel Whitney's taint on him. He knows Whitney. They're connected somehow, but I can't see it. Papers. That's all I'm getting. There's money. Lots of money, but . . ." She shook her head. "Whitney doesn't know. His killers don't know. He's the boss, but none of them know."
She blinked at Kadan, unable to comprehend the rush of images and impressions, shivering with cold, fighting hard to keep the voices at bay. "What does that mean?"
Kadan brushed back her hair and leaned into her, taking possession of her soft, trembling lips. "It doesn't matter, honey, come back to me." His voice was a velvet-soft lure, stroking and caressing along her skin, teasing at her nerves until she was wholly aware of him--just him.
She made a little sound in her throat, distress pouring into his mind, and she stepped into his arms. It was the first real move she'd made for comfort, and he tightened his hold around her, caging her in with a protective gesture. Lips skimming her hair and temples, he murmured soft, soothing words, uncaring what they were, only wanting to push out evil and fill her with warmth.
She buried her face against his chest. She didn't make a sound; there was no outward sobbing, but in her mind, he could hear quiet weeping, and when he lifted her chin, there were tears tracking down her face. He bent his head and licked at them, following the tracks to the corner of her mouth.
Kadan lifted her. "You're going to spend a lot of time in bed if you keep this up."
She didn't smile, just circled his neck with her arms and let him carry her without protest back to his bedroom. He undressed her, careful not to jar her, when he could feel the pain pounding in her head. He found the headache pills and gave her one with a glass of water, then stretched out again beside her, fully dressed, after snapping off the light.
"You don't have to stay," Tansy protested. "I'll be all right. The dark helps."
"I'm staying, baby. I have to chase away the nightmares if any are stupid enough to visit you tonight. Go to sleep." He flipped her onto her side, her back to him, curving his body around hers, one hand sliding beneath her shirt, palm locked over her rib cage. His breath was warm and rhythmic on the nape of her neck. He couldn't resist curling his fingers into a fist and allowing his knuckles to run along the underside of her breasts with gentle caresses.
Tansy found his touch soothed and relaxed her, easing all the tension out of her when it should have done just the opposite. Maybe because she'd spent her life without skin-to-skin contact, the tactile feeling of the pads of his fingers, the brush of knuckles, or the heat of his palm took the tightness from her muscles and melted her body.
She floated on a sea of pain, the waves crashing in her head, voices rising and sinking, the whispers loud and then soft, but instead of fighting it, curling up in the fetal position and enduring hours, or even days, of agony, she drifted also on a tide of warmth and security, feeling Kadan riding out the pain with her.
His breathing steadied her own. The stroke of his knuckles distracted her from the pounding in her temples. If the pain threatened to overwhelm her, he leaned in and brushed kisses along the nape of her neck, and then tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. She was caught between pain and pleasure, drifting . . . drifting . . . until finally the pain began to ebb and she slipped into sleep.
Kadan dozed for a while, waking every now and then when she moved. He cuddled her and whispered until she settled down. He closed his eyes briefly again, drifting a little himself, continuing to stroke her soft skin, the undersides of her breasts and down her flat belly. She didn't ever think of stopping trying to track the killers. Not once. He monitored her thoughts carefully, and once she'd started on their trails, no matter what she saw or how loud the voices called to her, even now, with the direct threat of an elite tracker, she was scared, but there was no thought of stopping.
He let his breath out slowly, his belly tight with knots, everything in him protesting her choice, when he'd been the one to draw her into the mess in the first place. And now someone had her parents. The bodyguard had been a plant, probably Whitney's, and he most likely was a GhostWalker. He was too cool, staying with the parents, living in their home, side by side, watching Tansy . . . And what had her father said when her mother had screamed? His voice wasn't surprised by what the bodyguard had done. In fact, he'd sounded for a moment as if he was still in charge.
Kadan rubbed strands of her silky hair between his fingers. She'd been in danger the entire time, and hadn't known it. She couldn't read thoughts, only objects, and wearing gloves had prevented her from seeing the danger. If she'd sensed that any of them felt guilt, she would have never connected the emotion to her. She believed in them. All of them. Even the bodyguard.
Fredrickson's betrayal had hurt her. Kadan had felt the piercing pain knifing through her heart. The protest in her mind. Sadly, it was Fredrickson's betrayal that had shaken her steadfast belief in her parents' love. She hadn't said anything to Kadan, and he tried not to let that bother him, when she should be sharing everything, but part of him didn't blame her. He wasn't sympathetic to her parents in the least.
Fredrickson had been around the Meadows family for years. Tansy believed him to be more than a friend, part of her family. She trusted him almost as much as she did her parents, and he'd made her mother scream in pain. Kadan replayed the sound in his head. He was sound-sensitive, and few things got past him, even over the phone. The sound had been genuine, but then the bastard part of him knew he could hurt an ally just for the necessary effect. And it brought results. If Kadan hadn't stopped her, Tansy would have delivered herself into their waiting hands. As her father had said she would.
If Whitney had planted Fredrickson into the Meadows' home to keep an eye on Tansy, why didn't her father know? Or had he known? Had there been a break in trust? If so, why hadn't Whitney simply killed Don Meadows? And why hadn't Meadows turned him in for the childhood experiments? Kadan turned the pieces of the puzzle over and over in his mind, but nothing fit. The moment he realized all the thinking in the world wasn't going to solve anything, he turned to the problem at hand. Tansy.
She was so unexpected. The man she called the puppet master was going to come after her. Kadan knew it with an absolute certainty. There had been shock, of course; an elite tracker was the last thing the man had expected. He must have been very shaken, although he recovered fast. There had been respect, and that made sense. Few could do what Tansy did, walk in blood and death and the filth of a killer's mind, hear the screams and pleas of victims dying, and emerge intact as she tracked the killer to his lair. Yeah, the puppet master would feel respect, but it would be more than that.
No one wanted to be truly alone. Tansy had taught him that. He'd walked the path his entire life, thinking he wanted it. He hadn't felt lonely. He'd chosen his path and kept to it, was comfortable with the way things were. And then he'd met her and he knew he never wanted to be alone again. Tansy might just be able to put up with his dominant, cold-as-ice personality and the raw need that only increased his craving for her. She had to be able to, because he wasn't going back.
And now the puppet master knew he wasn't alone. He had a companion who could tread the same minds if she chose. Tansy had noticed the smug amusement, but she hadn't caught the flair of male interest, the scent of sex. There was intrigue. Finally, someone to share his quiet genius with. Someone who would appreciate him for his camouflage. She would know what it took to control killers, to manipulate everyone around him and not get caught. The puppet master hadn't been alone for those few moments, and he wouldn't want to go back.
Kadan frowned as he buried his face in the thick mass of her hair. The puppet master wouldn't be able to stop himself any more than Kadan could. The tracker would think ab
out it first, but she wouldn't leave his mind, any more than Tansy could get the killers out of hers. He would obsess about her. Fantasize. Want to show her he was stronger and could beat her at her own game. He'd want to show off, because finally, there was someone who truly could understand and see him. The puppet master wouldn't be able to resist that lure. In the end, self-preservation, discipline, and common sense would go, and he would begin to hunt her.
Kadan inhaled sharply, drawing Tansy's scent into his lungs. His. Talk about obsession. He could go from not feeling a damned thing to--this. Need. Hunger. His hands shaking with the desire to touch her. His mouth hungry for the taste of cinnamon and sex. He skimmed the pads of his fingers down Tansy's bare midriff, careful to keep the bristles velvet-soft, moving in the direction that prevented sticking. She liked the sensation, arching toward him even in her sleep. She was very responsive sexually, her body ripe for his with a few touches. She seemed just as starved for skin-to-skin contact as he was. When one had had a lifetime of emptiness, perhaps overindulgence and feasting were the only cure.
He glanced at his watch. They had a little time left, not much. He wanted to bring her back to the surface, replacing pain with something altogether different. He caught the sheet in his fist and pulled it down her body inch by inch to reveal the long expanse of skin. When the sheet pooled at her feet, he rolled her onto her back so he could drink in the sight of her. He'd never get tired of looking at her, never tire of touching her, or making her scream with pleasure.
His hands were big, calloused and rough, dark against her skin from so many years spent outdoors in the weather. The contrast between his hard body and her soft one gave him a monster of a hard-on, but now wasn't the time. He was going to indulge himself, but this time, it was all for her--okay, maybe not all.
He bent his head to her and licked at her soft belly the way a cat licked at cream. She tasted faintly of peaches. He inhaled her scent again just because it gave him so much pleasure, a unique mixture of cinnamon and other spices that went straight to his groin. He flicked his tongue over her, tracing her ribs and then teasing the undersides of her breasts.
Tansy moaned softly. He felt her fingers move in his hair.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was a mixture of sexy and drowsy, playing along his nerve endings, so that every muscle tightened and electricity arced over his skin.
He teased his way up the outside slope of her breast, swirled around her nipple, and then bit down gently. A broken cry escaped her throat. She tugged at his hair.
"I'm not awake yet." If it was meant as a protest, it failed miserably; excitement edged her voice.
"You don't have to be." He drew her breast into his mouth, suckling strongly. She was evidently very sensitive, because she arched into him, nearly coming off the bed.
Tansy closed her eyes, allowing the sensations to roll over and into her. His voice was pure velvet, brushing at the insides of her thighs until she was shaking with arousal. His knee roughly pushed apart her legs, allowing him better access as he kissed his way back down her belly, making her stomach muscles bunch with need.
He was fully clothed, the denim rubbing roughly against her skin, and there was something very decadent and forbidden at being totally naked, held open beneath a fully clothed man. His hands went to her thighs, pushing them even wider as he dipped his head low. His hair brushed against her inner thighs, making her jump and shiver. The shadow along his jaw scraped, sending flames dancing over her skin.
He bit at her inner thighs, his tongue bathing the tiny stings. Her hips bucked and she tried to pull his head away, squirming, moaning, rather shocked at her body's uninhibited reaction to him. His breath hissed out at being denied, and he caught both wrists in one hand and pinned them against her belly, raising his head an inch to look at her with dangerous eyes.
"Lie still."
"I can't." Her head tossed on the pillow. "It's too much." His weight pinned her down while his shoulders kept her legs spread apart, her silken sheath open to him.
He didn't bother to contradict her, but simply lowered his head again, taking long, slow licks, lapping at the spicy cream her body rewarded him with. Her hips continued to jerk and buck, as she writhed beneath his relentless tongue.
He took her over the edge in minutes, enjoying every moment of her soft body melting beneath him. He loved the look on her face, the shocked delight as waves of pleasure rolled through her. Kadan laid his head on her tummy, his arm slung around her waist, feeling the aftershocks gently rock her while he touched her mind. He'd driven out the demons, slammed the door closed on the voices, and left, in the place of cold and evil, something altogether different. There was a feeling of warmth, of love even. He winced away from the word, but it was out there now, in his mind. Love. What was it and how had such an emotion twisted its way into his heart and mind?
He pressed kisses from her belly to her breasts. "It isn't about the heart, Tansy, it's all about the soul."
She brushed the hair from his forehead with gentle fingers. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I know you don't. It's just as well. I'm the tough guy, remember?"
He pushed up, but Tansy caught his arm. "Are you all right? Tell me if something is wrong." He'd just sent her rocketing to the moon, and now he was already slipping away from her into a remote, distant man she could barely read, and he knew it bothered her. He hated separating himself, but he had to get her parents to safety before deciding if they should live or die.
"Everything is right, baby. I just wasn't ready for the way I feel about you, but I'm getting there." He'd accepted that she was his world. That didn't mean he was comfortable with it yet.
CHAPTER 9
Ryland Miller wasn't at all what Tansy had expected. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with, tough and scarred and built like a fighter. His steel gray eyes seemed to look right through her, his dark hair spilled in unruly waves over his forehead, but his smile was kind. She had emerged from a shower, dressed, little makeup, hair still damp, to find Ryland sitting comfortably with Kadan.
Kadan glanced up, and something in his energy chilled her at first, but then he smiled and got to his feet, and she immediately felt a shift inside of her, a melting. Kadan took her hand and tugged until she was beneath his shoulder, one hand sliding possessively around the nape of her neck while he performed introductions. Ryland's expression went from speculative to knowing, and she had to fight to keep from blushing.
"Ryland is married to Lily Whitney. They just had their first child," Kadan said.
Tansy struggled to keep her face from showing anything but polite interest. She still found it difficult to believe that a friend of Kadan's could be married to Whitney's daughter. She glanced at Kadan, but as always, his expression gave little away.
You can trust him.
Kadan's expression might be remote, but his warmth poured into her mind. She managed to keep smiling and nod at the introductions, keeping her gloved hands behind her back. She detested wearing the gloves now that she'd had months in the mountains and her brief time with Kadan without them. It was as if she'd gone from freedom back to prison, although even to her that seemed a melodramatic analogy. She couldn't help it. Her fingers felt tight and confined, itching to get out of the cramped quarters.
Three men waited in the living room, all coming to their feet when she entered. Ryland Miller might not look like a man who could be trusted; in fact, he looked like a man of few words but long on action, yet there was a steadiness in him that appealed to her. She could feel respect and even a certain friendship in Kadan's mind for the man. It would take a strong man to marry Whitney's daughter. Kadan was blocking a good deal of the energy, but he was allowing enough to slip through, and she recognized that Ryland was a psychic talent as well.
"This disreputable scoundrel is Raoul 'Gator' Fontenot. He's going to try to steal you away from me with his charm."
Gator grinned boyishly. "Ma'am, I got me a mean little h
ellcat at home and she'd have my head if she thought I was flirtin'," he drawled in his Cajun accent and winked at her, declaring her safe even though his smile could and probably did melt hearts.
"Is Gator some kind of nickname?"
"Yes, ma'am. In the Special Forces we often give each other appropriate handles. Kadan is 'Bishop.' Rye there is 'King,' and Sam, one of our team members, is 'Knight.' " Gator grinned at her, his drawling voice like molasses on a Sunday. "I don' play boring chess, honey, but I wrestle alligators."
Kadan pinned his friend with a steely-eyed stare. "You keep flirting with her and you'll be wrestling with Flame. That woman is the only person who may be meaner than me."
Tansy sent Kadan a sharp glance. As a rule he could read people's minds. It was fairly clear that Gator might flirt, but he was definitely a one-woman man.
Yes, he is, Kadan agreed, but it's good for them to know the score.
His hand slid from the nape of her neck to her shoulder, his fingers brushing her neck, small, caressing strokes that were featherlight, but she felt them all the way to her toes.
Tough guy. She did the equivalent of mind eye-rolling, not wanting to show that even that light touch could affect her the way it did. Shivers of awareness raised goose bumps on her skin and down her spine.
Kadan merely shrugged, his hard expression and cold eyes saying it all to his friends.
Gator's unrepentant grin widened, flashing white teeth. "Flame's the better half of me and she sure keeps my life interestin."
Tansy's mind was racing with the idea of themes and nicknames in the Special Forces. Each ivory game piece had been carved obviously for a specific killer. If they were military and GhostWalkers, it couldn't be that difficult to track down their handles. There just weren't that many GhostWalkers, if what Kadan said was the truth. Wouldn't it be a matter of just going through the teams and finding out what they call one another?
She glanced toward the dining room. She could just glimpse the long table from the arched doorway leading to it. There were no figurines left out. All evidence was back in the war room, and she would bet her last dollar that the door was securely locked.