“You may need it. Lily’s number is programmed in.”
Dahlia looked with interest at the cell. Lily was just on the other end of the phone. Real-life Lily, not a figment of her imagination. Not the one in her dreams. The temptation to pick up the phone was nearly as strong as her sudden fear. Her mouth was dry. “Be careful, Nicolas. Don’t get over-confident. You have a tendency to be that way.”
“I’m never over-confident,” he denied. Nicolas caught Dahlia’s chin and brushed his mouth gently over hers. “You listen to me this one time, Dahlia. If something goes wrong, anything at all, you haul butt out of here fast. You have the cell phone and the number. Call Lily. The GhostWalkers will be here as soon as possible.”
She caught at him before he could turn away. “You listen to me this one time, Nicolas. If anything goes wrong, don’t be a hero. Haul your butt out of there and in one piece. We’ll call Lily, and she can send the others.”
He looked down at her for what seemed an eternity, a moment stretched out in time. His hard features softened. Tenderness crept into the black obsidian of his eyes. “I hear you. I’ll come back.”
Nicolas felt her fingertips cling just for a moment and then slide from his arm. He went with the minimum amount of equipment, wanting to get in and out as quietly and as fast as possible. He slipped into the water, a dark shape moving upriver, toward the house. He made no noise, not even a light splash to give away his position. The current was strong but he stayed close to the bank, maneuvering in the reeds and brush and rock. He allowed only his head to surface, his gaze wide open and watching the guard facing the river. With the boulders behind him and the bushes screening him, he knew he was in a good position to remain hidden.
Tension rose in him. A bad sign, one he’d come to recognize as a warning signal. The guard stared at the black surface of the water for some time before turning away. From watching earlier in the day, Nicolas knew the guard would blind himself temporarily by striking a match and lighting a cigarette. He waited for the inevitable moment, and as soon as the match flared, Nicolas slid from the water onto the embankment, yards from the house. There was no cover whatsoever. He laid on the ground, in the open, a part of the rocky terrain, moving a scant inch at a time.
He had already crawled the path he would take in his mind throughout the day while lying in the river, and he knew precisely where he would go and what he would encounter. There was no dog to sense his presence and the guard was bored and irritated with his assignment, but Nicolas didn’t rush. There had been one man on the alert, watching diligently and occasionally reprimanding the other two guards.
He worked his way to the parameter of the house and discovered a thin wire stretched low to the ground between two trees. He’d caught a flash of light from the area twice and suspected something had been strung up as a hasty security measure. It was lower to the ground than he would have liked. He couldn’t simply ease his body beneath the wire as he would have preferred. He had to go over it, and that meant rising without so much as a blade of grass to give him cover.
Nicolas waited in the darkness, breathing lightly, his senses flaring out to “feel” movement in the night. Something crunched in the rocks by the corner of the house. Footsteps coming his way. The one guard who paid attention to his duties was making his rounds with his usual thoroughness. Nicolas eased his hand down his leg until he felt the familiar grip of his knife. Careful to make no noise, he drew the weapon from the sheath strapped to his calf. Using psychic pressure was always a dicey proposition. He willed the man to look the other way, careful to keep the suggestion a light one. If he met with heavy resistance, he would have to stop instantly. Some people had very light resistance and agreed readily with every suggestion, no matter how subtle. Others had stronger barriers and often resisted and even became suspicious, or uncomfortable, looking around, shaking their heads, obviously fighting the “push” to act out of character.
The sound of a scream burst from the house. Instantly the night insects went silent. The guard on the porch tossed his cigarette aside and leaned down to call to the one circling the house. “He’s not going to tell Gregson anything. Why doesn’t Gregson just kill him and be done with it?”
“Shut up, Murphy and get back to your watch.”
Murphy cursed and spun away from the railing. “With all the screaming going on, Paulie, don’t you think the neighbors are going to call the police soon?”
“By the time anyone hears him way out here, Gregson will kill him, and we’ll be long gone.” Paulie stopped walking and backed up until he could clearly see all of Murphy. His boots were no more than five feet from Nicolas’s head. “And you’d better stop yelling, the woman might show up.”
Murphy turned back to the railing, a snarl on his face. He glared down at Paulie. “I think all the screams coming from the house are going to tip her off that we’re here.”
Paulie shifted his rifle. It was the smallest of gestures, but a clear signal. “You’ve always been too squeamish, Murphy. Just do your job.”
Murphy spit over the railing and walked away, his boots making an angry sound on the wood.
Paulie stood for a moment staring up at the house before turning away to once more make his way around the parameter, just inside of the thin wire. He passed within inches of Nicolas. The guard wasn’t looking down at the ground, but out into the darkness.
Nicolas remained still until Paulie had turned the corner of the house. He eased himself up and over the wire. Almost immediately Murphy, up on the porch, returned. Nicolas froze, “pushing” him to look the other way. The cries in the house had died down, but Murphy was clearly uncomfortable with what was going on. He lit another cigarette, staring out over the river blindly. Only when he began to pace restlessly away from the railing did Nicolas gain the path to the house.
The windows along the side were locked. It didn’t present much of a problem. He could work uncomplicated locks. These were classic sliders. With all the practice Lily had made the GhostWalkers do, such a minor thing didn’t even cause headaches anymore.
Get the hell out of here, Dahlia. It’s a damned trap. The male voice was weak and edged with pain, but carried the unmistakable command of a man used to obedience.
Jesse Calhoun must have felt the surge of power when Nicolas manipulated the locks. I’m not Dahlia. Are any of the guards telepathic?
Nicolas felt Calhoun’s shock and instant withdrawal. Come on, man. I don’t have a lot of time before the guard comes around to this side of the house. Dahlia’s waiting close by.
You’re the shooter. In the sanitarium. Their plan went all to hell because of you.
How many inside?
Four. I don’t know how many outside, but they’ve got the house covered. And they have sensors in the rooms. I’m dying anyway. You can’t save my life, I’ve lost too much blood and my legs are hamburger. Just get Dahlia out of here.
I’m coming in now.
Calhoun cried out in pain, a long scream that tore at Nicolas’s gut. He had no idea if Gregson was still in the room torturing Jesse, or if the scream was meant to cover any sound. Regardless, Nicolas took the opportunity to slide the window open and slip into the house. Using his enhanced abilities, Nicolas tripped the sensors throughout the house as he went up the wall to the ceiling, knowing they would come for him. They wouldn’t know which room he was in, and they would have to search each one. To do that would divide their numbers.
He clung to the walls like a spider, pressing with his hands and digging with his toes, moving up in the corner until he loomed over the door. He didn’t have long to wait. The door burst open, and the shadowy figure in the hall let loose with his weapon. Bullets chewed up the walls and floor, knocked out the pane of glass.
The man stepped into the room, sweeping the area with his flashlight. Nicolas sprung onto the floor behind him, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, transferring his knife from his teeth to his hands as he did so. Others were pouring bullets into various other rooms. He loomed up behind the guard, a silent, lethal shadow and was gone just as quickly, rolling down the hall, away from the thud of boots toward the darkened alcove. Just above the window seat was a wide built-in cabinet. Nicolas went up and over the cabinet to lay in the darkness, fitting the familiar grip of the Beretta into his palm.