Toxic Game (GhostWalkers #15) - Christine Feehan Page 0,161

about children or parenting.

We’re so not getting pregnant, she informed Draden. She felt his instant, answering smirk. I mean it. Until we figure out this having twins thing …

Or triplets. Let’s not forget that’s a very viable possibility, he supplied helpfully.

Joe nearly spit his coffee out, drawing Shylah’s instant attention. She glared at him. Stop listening to private conversations.

I would, but the two of you broadcast fairly loudly.

“Trap, you’re a fucking genius for God’s sake,” Wyatt snapped, raking his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Of course, you know it’s not only possible but probable. And birth control isn’t working for us, so Pepper and I might end up holding the world record for the most children.”

“There is an alternative,” Malichai said helpfully. “Give up sex.”

The laughter was like a sound wave, building in force around the room. Wyatt flung a pillow from one of the chairs at him. “That’s not happening.”

“One of Cayenne’s trip wires just sent out an alarm,” Trap announced suddenly. “Several miles from here. But it’s our three scientists. The camera picked them up.” He lifted his watch to show the others.

The entire group stood, all humor gone. Joe gave the orders. “Zeke, you, Bellisia, Gino stay behind. We’re not going to miss, but just in case, you’re our last defense.”

Ezekiel nodded and glanced at his brothers but didn’t say anything. Shylah could see that something, some communication passed between them, but there was nothing to indicate stress or worry in the expressions on their faces.

She stayed close to Draden, not about to be left behind. As far as she was concerned, this was her operation, her responsibility, and she was going to see it through to the end. It took only minutes, and very few of them, for the team to be on the move. To her shock, they didn’t go by boat or vehicle, they went into the swamp itself on foot.

Shylah understood why the men Whitney had enhanced were called GhostWalkers. Once in the swamp, they disappeared. It was impossible to detect their presence. The insects continued with their constant cacophony of noise. Cicadas were loud, and every type of wildlife seemed to try to rival the sound. Birds shrieked. Frogs croaked. Coyotes howled. Foxes barked. The swamp was alive with raccoons and muskrats and possums. She hadn’t expected to hear so much rustling or the calls back and forth from the multitude of birds. She didn’t understand how the men could move so quickly through the swamp without disturbing its natural rhythm. It was as though, when they spread out, they each became part of nature and were accepted there.

She used the trees, following Draden, trying to keep from disturbing the wildlife so as not to give them all away. She was the best tracker in the group, but she didn’t need to be here. These men knew exactly where their quarry was, and they were converging from all directions to surround them.

Shylah’s heart pounded in fear. She knew the Williams brothers and particularly Agus Orucov were dangerous when cornered, mostly because they were afraid. She didn’t want them to infect themselves or anyone else with the virus. She hoped to take them out cleanly, but she knew better. She knew by now they were terrified of the consequences of their actions and they’d be feeling as if they had nothing to lose. Nowhere to go. If they had already heard of the death of Ethan Montgomery—and it had been reported widely—they would know there was no paycheck at the end of the day other than killing the GhostWalkers and possibly acquiring her, which they would know would be nearly impossible.

The entire world was looking for them, law enforcement in every country. There would be no escape, especially when the money ran out. They would be considered pariahs by any friend or family member. They had to know that by now, they were intelligent men. She knew they would be feeling alone, cut off and desperate. Desperate men were capable of anything. She hoped the GhostWalkers would get clean shots at them and take them out fast, but the dread building inside her told her something else—and she’d always followed her instincts.

She concentrated on running along the thicker, twisted branches and when she couldn’t, she dropped down to earth, trying not to break stride, following almost exactly in Draden’s footsteps. He was fast, his longer strides taking him some distance from her as they ran, but she managed to keep him in