Mind Game (23 page)

Nicolas took his time thinking it over. He could catch thoughts at times. He could definitely sense emotions. If he had ever “felt” energy, it was prior to a physical attack on him. Perhaps black anger in a very aggressive person. Was he gaining strengths? He didn’t know if he wanted the same curse as Dahlia had been gifted with.

It’s just that we actually controlled the energy together, Nicolas.
The excitement radiated out of her.
Maybe our first try wasn’t that successful, but this really worked. I’ve never really controlled it. I’ve managed it. Kept it under wraps until I could find a place to get rid of it, but we actually breathed together and I found the tranquil little lake in your mind and the energy just floated away.
Dahlia couldn’t begin to tell him what a breakthrough it was. She’d tried for years to do meditation and chanting practices and nothing had ever worked. The meditation had helped to ease the burden, but she had never managed to just allow the energy to dissipate. With Nicolas, she had finally accomplished it. It seemed a miracle to her.

I’ve noticed your ability to use telepathy has grown stronger. I don’t need to hold the bridge entirely by myself. You’re meeting me halfway.

Dahlia blinked.
I am? That doesn’t make sense. I have no
telepathic ability. I never have. I can send my thoughts if the other person is a strong telepath and they do all the work.

I’m not doing all the work.
Nicolas put his arm around her. She’d gone from angry to happy to alarmed in the space of a few minutes.

What does that mean?
Dahlia didn’t want to be telepathic. She had enough to handle with the “gifts” she had.

“Pull over,” Nicolas said suddenly, startling her. “Right here, let us out.”

Dahlia looked out the window and saw they were well out of town, just over a bridge near the water. The cabbie parked under a small grove of trees. Nicolas handed him several bills before getting out of the car. He was careful to retain possession of her hand and to keep the taxi between them and any observers. Almost immediately he drew her into the sanctuary of the grove of trees. They watched the cab drive off.

“Where is he?” Dahlia hadn’t seen either the blue Ford or its driver.

“On the other side of the bridge. He pulled onto a dirt road and got out of the car. He was walking up the road.”

“That’s not good. There’s no cover.”

“I didn’t expect them to make it easy. They’d want an out-of-the-way place they could use to get information out of anyone they bring there, and one easily defended. With no ground cover along the road they can see anyone approaching.”

Dahlia sank down gratefully onto the ground and drew off the sweatshirt. It was already hot, and the tank top she’d worn beneath was clinging to her skin. “I guess we wait here all day?” She braided her hair and tied it into an intricate knot to get it off of her neck. Her body desperately needed sleep, and it would allow her not to dwell on what had flared between them on the ferry.

“I’m going to scout the area closer to the road and make sure I’m right, but yes, we can rest here.” He lowered his pack to the ground beside her. “At least you’re outside and away from people.”

Dahlia bunched up the sweatshirt and curled up on the ground, her head pillowed on the thick material. “I’m going to sleep while you go do whatever it is you do. I’m exhausted.”

She looked vulnerable lying on the ground. His stomach tightened into a knot. Nicolas hunkered down beside her, handing her the canteen. “I won’t be long, Dahlia.” He pushed stray tendrils of hair from her face.

She gave him a faint smile. “Take all the time you need. I intend to sleep. I require a lot of sleep in highly traumatic situations. This would be one.”

He continued rubbing strands of her hair through his fingertips. “I thought you had a difficult time sleeping.”

“I said I require sleep. It isn’t exactly the same thing.”

“Are you going to worry about me?”

“Absolutely not. You’re a grown man.”

He laughed. “You have a little mean streak in you.”

She looked smug. “It’s what makes me so appealing.”

He started to rise. Dahlia caught his arm. “Did you bring that raggedy blanket with you?”

Nicolas could feel the sudden tension rising between them. She did her best to look nonchalant, as if it didn’t matter in the least, but he swore he could hear her heart pounding. Her gaze shifted away from his and her hand dropped away.

“I’ve got it.” His voice was gruffer than he intended. He found the piece of cloth with its tattered edges pushed down inside his pack. He extended the scrap of material.

Dahlia half sat to take the blanket from him. She reached for it slowly, her fingers curling around it almost reverently. He watched the way she stroked it, like a child might, almost as if she didn’t know what she was doing, or as if the gesture were automatic. Her fingertips brushed the edges, a small caress. She smiled up at him. A genuine smile, but there were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Nicolas.” Her voice sounded strangled.

Everything in him wanted to gather her into his arms. “You’re welcome Dahlia.” He turned away from her because he had to. Because his feelings overwhelmed them both. Because she would think it was pity, and she’d hate him for it. Because she was eating him up inside. Watching her take comfort in a silly piece of cloth, as if the damned thing represented her family, her past. . . . And it did. He cursed Peter Whitney as he walked away from her.

Nicolas wanted to be her comforter, not some scrap of material that should have been tossed out years earlier. Not once in his life had he ever thought he was in over his head. Not as a boy in mountains when his grandfather had vanished, leaving him to find his way home. Not in the dojo during training when he was “attacked” by several grown men with much higher rank, not during his Special Forces training or the first time he was dropped into a jungle alone on a mission. But he did now. He had no idea how to bind Dahlia to him.

As a child he’d grown up without a mother or even a grandmother. He had never really explored emotional relationships or marriage. He’d never been given advice on the matter. The closest he’d really come to seeing a relationship was watching Ryland Miller pursue Lily. The man had lost his mind. Nicolas had a feeling he’d joined the ranks of men losing their minds over women.

Nicolas shook his head as he moved along the edge of the river, keeping to heavy brush. He needed a good position to study the terrain they’d be crossing that evening. He also wanted to get some numbers on the force they’d be facing. It was possible Calhoun was already dead and they were putting their lives in jeopardy for nothing. He was on a reconnaissance mission, and it was familiar to him. He could lose himself in the work and not think about the violence of his emotions when he dragged Dahlia’s body to his. Not think about the heat and the need and the aching hunger. He groaned and closed his eyes, shaking his head, drawing on his inner strength to push her out of his mind. He achieved a measure of calm, but had to acknowledge she was with him, somewhere twisted around his heart and entwined deep inside him where he never was going to get her out.

Nicolas cut branches from a plant that grew in abundance along the river. He fashioned a covering for himself, taking his time, weaving it into a fair replica of the bushes he would be moving through. He had all day, and he was a patient man. He simply became the plant, moving in slow motion across the reed-choked bank so sluggishly it was impossible to detect him. He lay right out in the open, on his belly, stretched out among the plants and bushes, crawling his way up the river until he had the old dilapidated house in sight.

Nicolas found a perfect spot, lying in mud on the edge of the river, water lapping at his stomach, reeds and bushes climbing around him, and a good view of his quarry. Throughout the day there was little activity at the house. He counted three guards. One was sleepy in the sun, uncomfortable in the heat and humidity, identifying himself as no native of Louisiana. Another paced continually, repetitiously choosing the exact same route as he chain-smoked. The third man took his job seriously. He ignored all exchanges between the other two guards and studiously lifted his glasses to his eyes, sweeping the river, the road, and all surrounding areas of the house with meticulous care. None of the three were the same man who had been on the ferry. That meant at least four were guarding Calhoun, if he were in the house.

CHAPTER TEN

Nicolas returned to Dahlia well after the sun went down. She sat beneath the trees, looking like a beautiful porcelain doll. Her skin was flawless, so perfect she seemed to glow. There were a few twigs and leaves in her hair, but instead of detracting from the beautiful picture she made, her disheveled hair made him think of wild nights and hot sex. A white sheet with small lilacs strewn across it was spread on the ground. Two paper plates held cold fried chicken and beans and rice. “You’re sunburned,” she greeted, smiling up at him.

“You’ve been busy,” he observed. He wasn’t certain he liked the idea that she’d been out shopping while the enemy was in the same area, but he kept his opinions to himself.

“I thought you’d be hungry and thirsty after lying in the sun all day.”

He was already drinking. The water cooled his throat as it went down. He was parched. He’d left the canteen with Dahlia and, although the river kept him reasonably cool, he was dehydrated. “You were right.” He felt hot and muddy and a mess.

“If you want to wash up, I discovered a little potting shed just on the other side of the grove, and it actually has a sink and running water.” Dahlia jumped up. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“I’ll find it.” Looking at her hurt. He could clearly see he was beyond all help when it came to Dahlia Le Blanc. He caught up his pack and took off in the direction she’d pointed. Even his lungs didn’t work right around her. Somewhere along the line they seemed to have reversed roles. He’d always been the calm, in control of his feelings type, and Dahlia had been the opposite. Now, he swore she’d done something to change all that. He’d gone off into the field and everything had worked exactly as it was supposed to, but then he’d come back, taken one look at her, and everything went berserk in him. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling looking at her and not knowing what to do. It was her eyes that haunted him.

Deep in the depths of her eyes, when he met her gaze, he caught a glimpse of scars, terrible wounds that had never quite healed, but were still raw and painful and hidden from the rest of the world. But he saw those wounds when no one else could, and he knew he was born for her. He was born to heal her. He had been told, assured over and over, that he had the talent buried within him, yet when he looked at her, when he touched her, there was no lessening of her pain from her past. If anything, he seemed to add to that silent burden.

Nicolas found the small shed behind another, larger workshop. He stripped off his filthy shirt but didn’t bother changing his trousers. He and Dahlia would be in the water part of the time and he didn’t want all of his clothes wet. He washed up carefully, even rinsing his hair. For the first time it mattered to him what he looked like to someone.

She wore the same determined smile as before when he returned. “Come and eat, Nicolas. You can’t go after Jesse until it’s dark so you may as well take a short nap.”

Dahlia waited for him to settle onto the sheet she’d “borrowed” from a clothesline. He looked so good she was afraid she might blurt out something all too revealing, so she kept quiet and just watched him as he devoured the chicken and rice and beans she’d acquired from a small deli a few miles up the road. It had been a hike, and she’d had to be in a small crowd while she sorted out what Nicolas might want to eat, but it was well worth it when he was so obviously enjoying the meal. She felt proud of herself and maybe even a little bit wifely, which was really silly and annoyed the hell out of her. But she couldn’t stop smiling like a goofball. The sleep had done her good, and she felt much better and able to cope once again. She was ashamed of her anger earlier and hoped her gesture made up for it.

“I didn’t see any sign of Calhoun,” Nicolas admitted as he mopped the last of the beans off the plate. “But they had the place heavily guarded, and they wouldn’t need to do that if he were dead or if they were holding him somewhere else. I think we have a good chance of finding him alive, Dahlia.”

“Do you think any of those men are like us? GhostWalkers?” She used his definition deliberately to try it on. To see if it fit her. To be part of something when she had nothing. “Because Jesse is telepathic. I can’t reach him, but maybe you can.”

Nicolas had thought of attempting to reach out many times during the long hours of lying in the sun trying to see into the house. He was wary of a trap. He was certain Jesse Calhoun’s kidnappers had wanted Dahlia to follow them. It had just been too easy. They were expecting her to try to rescue her handler. Nicolas couldn’t imagine the man taking the kind of abuse and torture he’d witnessed just to set the stage. He doubted if Calhoun was in on whatever was going on, but the men were too well trained and too heavily armed not to be part of something very well funded and dirty.

“I don’t know. I can reach a specific person if I have established a link with them, but unfortunately, Calhoun and I didn’t have time to do that. If anyone in the house was telepathic, they might pick up on the communication. I don’t want to risk tipping them off. They might kill Calhoun before we have a chance to get him out of there.”

“I can slip past them, Nicolas.”

His head went up alertly, black eyes going ice-cold. “I’m sure you can, Dahlia, but that isn’t how we’re going to handle this one.”

Dahlia tried not to bristle at the hard authority in his voice. “Don’t get military on me. This is my mess, remember? I’m thinking I can slip inside and make certain he’s there before you come in. Why risk it, if Jesse isn’t even there? It would be silly.”

His fingers itched to shake her. She sat across from him looking cool and calm and determined. No, stubborn. She looked stubborn. There was no other word for it. “You look stubborn, Dahlia, not reasonable. Cut it out. This isn’t a democracy.”