Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,98

pocket. “But, yeah, now that you say that, Lotty did mention he’d found some muddy place that was dangerous he liked to go. Luther never spoke of it. At least not to me. If he’d mentioned it to the Sawyers, they would have said something.”

“Luther’s closemouthed about anything on his property. He doesn’t like outsiders coming onto his land. Spelunkers like to explore caves. If they got wind there was even a small system, someone would try to find it. You know Luther. He’d shoot a trespasser if they didn’t get off his land when he told them to,” Rubin said. “If this muddy place he found was a cave system, he wouldn’t say a word.”

“He would have several ways to get to this underground hiding place, especially if he keeps his still there. He would keep supplies there. Weapons. Emergency equipment,” Diego speculated.

Rubin nodded. “He has an entrance in that section of land that he recently replanted. But he’s got one in his house. Lotty’s been dead for six years, Diego. He’s had time to prepare. He knew he would be getting old. He deliberately became a recluse and discouraged people from visiting, including Edward. Edward told us how Luther acted like he believed he was a government spy. Luther Gunthrie on his worst day would know Edward Sawyer isn’t a government spy. He didn’t want Edward to see what he was up to.”

Rubin was already considering the best way to get into Luther’s cabin without being seen by the sentries who were patrolling. He wasn’t worried about the two men hunting for Luther in the woods—they were already moving on, quartering another area, doing a thorough, systematic search.

Rubin sent the songbirds into the air, specifically looking for snipers, or any of the ground crew who might be sitting up high in the branches of a tree with high-powered lenses looking for signs of Luther—or even them. It was possible, even probable, the elite soldiers had warned them that Rubin and Diego might be on their way. How they could guess this would be their destination, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to rule it out.

Once the birds were in the air, he accessed their vision, studying the trees and tops of the highest boulders that might be used. He even sent one bird to check the ridge just to be safe. Once he was certain no one was watching, he called the birds back, waited until they settled once more on the branches of the trees around Luther’s home and then gave them the command to warn him if the sentries became interested in Diego or him.

We’ll time the two sentries and slide inside the cabin between their rounds. He signaled to Diego to move forward while he covered his brother.

Diego kept low to the ground, but he was fast, running through the brush to a spectacular flowering shrub that was a good ten feet high and fifteen feet wide. It had low, sweeping branches, riddled with leaves and clusters of brilliant flaming-red flowers. The flame azalea was part of the rhododendron family, and when the brothers had first seen it, the shrub and been small.

Luther had planted that shrub for Lotty so she could wake up every morning and look out her window and see the flowers growing heavy on the branches. She always called it one of her greatest joys. He still carefully maintained it, snipping the dead flowers off so new ones could grow. His care could be seen in the health and size of the plant.

Diego utilized the sweeping branches, sliding under them and changing his coloring to reflect the plant. Immediately, he slid his weapon into his hand, the familiar stock feeling a part of him. His sense of smell was uninterrupted, as the five-inch funnel-shaped clusters of flaming flowers gave off no fragrance. There was little wind to give him much in the way of information. Still, he took his time inspecting the ground around the Gunthrie cabin.

Someone had tried to erase the tracks around the house, but they weren’t up to Luther’s expertise or his. He could see crushed grass in places and a bruised leaf here and there. He checked the roof and the sides of the building. Luther kept the branches of the trees cut back so there was no chance of one falling on his home. He’d always said he liked the sound of the rain falling on the metal. More than likely, he liked it because