GhostWalkers 4 - Conspiracy Game Read online

  Jack came alive, jerking back, his movement graceful and smooth, practiced, sliding away from her, coming to his feet, the rifle coming up. He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll keep it. It belongs to my brother.” He sagged back against the wall. “Where the hell are we?”

  “My room is right up there, Jack. Can you make the jump? I don’t want to bring you through the hall where someone might see you. This is safer for both of us.” Safer for her brothers as well. She still had lingering fears that Jack might be in Kinshasa for reasons to do with her oldest brother.

  Jack wiped sweat from his face. “I think so.” But he didn’t move. He closed his eyes, allowing the rifle to hang by the sling around his neck, his hands dropping to his sides as if his arms were too heavy.

  Briony heard a slight noise and turned to see a soldier entering the alleyway. She clenched her teeth. This had to be the night from hell. They were never going to get into the safety of her room at this rate, and how could she possibly keep the soldier from seeing Jack’s tortured body or the gun slung around his neck?

  Desperate, Briony shoved Jack against the wall, her arms sliding around his neck. She leaned her body into his and lifted her mouth. The darkness surrounded them, enfolded them, so they became a shadowy silhouette the soldier could barely make out. She heard his footsteps approaching. If he saw the rifle now hidden between them, or saw the condition Jack was in, they were both in terrible trouble.

  Jack. She whispered his name intimately, needing to rouse him, to make him more aware of the danger they were in. His name came out soft in her mind. An ache. Her lips feathered over his, tiny kisses along his bottom lip.

  Jack’s heart seemed to drop away. He felt her rising fear, but she stuck it out, stood with him, in front of him, protecting him, just as she had in the forest. Somewhere deep inside, that small spark of humanity he had left yawned wider, stretched, and the longing he rarely allowed himself to think about now had a name. Briony.

  He breathed her into his mind, inhaled her into his lungs. One arm came up around her, drew her even closer, hand sliding down her spine, although he never opened his eyes. The other hand went between them to the knife at his waist. There was nothing sexual in the way he touched her, he wanted only to comfort her, but somehow the shape and texture of her body still managed to find its way through his fingertips and imprint the memory on his brain.

  His hand settled in the wet strands of her hair and he pushed her face against his shoulder, wincing as she came into contact with his wounds. Don’t look. Just stay still. He slowly withdrew the knife from his belt.

  Wait. Her fingers curled around his neck. Please, just another moment. He might walk away. She willed the soldier to walk away. A lone guard curious in the middle of the night, not knowing death was only a breath away. There was no doubt in her mind that Jack, as ill as he was, would kill the man. Weak, his body ravaged by fever, he acted on instinct, on his extensive training. He was a killing machine, and anyone in his way was going to die. It had to be such a terrible way to live.

  She closed her eyes tight, praying the soldier would shift directions. Please, please, please don’t let Jack have to kill him. For the first time in her life, she deliberately tried to implant a suggestion in another’s brain. She “pushed” at the soldier to return to the street.

  She forgot that Jack could read her thoughts until his fingers bunched in her hair. She looked up at him. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to feel like that, taking a life.

  He opened his eyes to meet her gaze. She had the biggest, softest, most compassionate eyes he’d ever encountered. His expression hardened. He didn’t feel anything anymore. That was the trouble. Not until now. This moment. Looking down at her too-innocent face.

  He was a rough, hard man, capable of great cruelty and unrelenting, swift retaliation. He could shoot a man a mile or more away. He could rise up out of a stream and cut someone down without them ever having known he was near. He was a ghost in the forest or the desert. Some called him death and most avoided him. Here she was, looking up at him with compassion and even caring on her transparent face. He wanted to crush her sinfully sweet mouth under his, and yet, all the while, a part of his brain knew exactly where the soldier was, planned his every move, the step to take him away from Briony and the smooth throw that would end a life.

  The soldier abruptly turned and walked back down the narrow alley, leaving them alone in the shadows. For a moment she sagged against him, the relief making her legs rubbery. “That was so close. Thank God.”

  He didn’t tell her that God had left him a long time ago; instead he buried his face in the softness of her neck and inhaled her scent, wishing he could keep her. She fit in his arms and in his mind, but she would never fit into his life. He would hold on too tight, keep her too close, so close she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She couldn’t possibly understand a man like him, his sins so black there was no redemption, his rules his own, and his code one beyond civilization.

  “Jack?”

  Her voice pulled him out of his semistupor—or maybe it was a dream; he honestly couldn’t tell anymore. He put her away from him and looked up at the window. “I can make it, and I’ll cover you.”

  Briony didn’t protest. He’d be lucky to make the leap, let alone try to protect her, but pointing out his rapidly deteriorating condition wouldn’t get him into the room faster. She simply nodded and sent up a silent prayer that he make it on the first try. She wasn’t altogether certain she was strong enough to jump the distance with him on her shoulder. Briony stood back to give him room, all the while keeping an eye on the entrance to the alley. “Go now,” she encouraged, afraid the soldier might return.

  Jack leapt, catching the windowsill and pulling himself into the room. Briony let out the breath she’d been holding and followed him up, sliding through the window and crouching on the floor, wanting to cry with relief. Now that she had the man in her room, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with him, but she calmly closed the window and hurried to get a bottle of cold water before turning on the light.

  “Drink. You’re dehydrated and burning up with fever. I’m going to clean your wounds and give you a shot of antibiotics. We carry medical supplies with us and I’m not bad at stitching when I have to do it.”

  “You give me the supplies and I can handle it,” he assured her, sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was small and the bed looked inviting. “Nothing ever tastes quite so good as water.” He trickled the fluid down his throat, resisting the urge to gulp it. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Briony dipped a cloth in cool water and held it to the back of his neck. “You’ve got a really bad infection, Jack. I know you could sew the wounds yourself, but why don’t you rest and just let me take care of you for now.”

  Jack took another, longer drink, his parched body greedy for the cool liquid. He took the cool cloth and bathed his face while he watched her mix up a solution in a bowl. “Get me tweezers.”

  “What?” She looked startled.

  “I’m going to take care of your face and arm. You’ll get an infection if we leave it. I won’t be in any shape to do it after, so get me the tweezers now.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “I don’t joke.” His voice was grim and he swayed, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “I mean it. You’re not touching me until I fix you up. And if I pass out and someone comes, you get the hell out of here. Go through the window, up to the rooftops, not the alley, they’ll trap you in the alley. Use the rooftops as long as you can and head back to the forest. You can hide out there.”

  “Do you boss everyone around?” She pulled the tweezers from her medical kit and handed them to him. “I feel like an idiot having you get splinters out of me when you’re sliced to pieces.”

  He caught her chin and began to pull the largest splinters from her skin. “You saved my life. Thanks. I don’t owe very many people, but I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” He cleaned
her chin with the antiseptic and held out his hand for the antibiotic ointment.

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” Her stomach lurched uncomfortably. She closed her eyes against the memory of the man lying dead in the forest.

  “He would have killed me.”

  “I know. Are you finished?”

  “I don’t like the way your arm looks. It was fairly deep. Keep putting the cream on it.” He handed her the tweezers. “Yes, I boss everyone. It works better for me that way.”

  “I see. And does everyone do what you say?”

  “The smart ones.”

  She couldn’t help but look at his ravaged body, sliced into pieces. His obviously muscled belly, his thick chest and broad shoulders and arms had taken the brunt of the torture. He had two odd tattoos. She realized she wasn’t seeing them with her normal vision, but rather with enhanced vision, as if seeing them under a UV light. She touched one. “These aren’t normal. The ink is different.”

  “No one can see them other than one of us.”

  She wanted to know more, but instead of questioning him, she knelt down on the floor in front of him. Cleaning his wounds was imperative if he was going to survive. “This is going to hurt.”

  “Just get it done.”

  “You want to put down the rifle?”

  Jack blinked down at her, surprised that he still had the rifle slung around his neck. He placed it beside his hand on the mattress and added the handgun and two knives alongside of it before taking another drink. He leaned back until his head was resting against the wall. “Go ahead.”

  Briony braced herself. She didn’t like hurting anyone, and washing the wounds with antiseptic was going to torture Jack all over again, but it couldn’t be helped. “I could get one of my brothers if you’d be more comfortable.”

  “Briony.” He said her name with a slight note of exasperation.

  She just heard the weariness. His eyes were glazed with fever and he desperately needed to lie down. Pressing her lips together, she began the arduous task of cleaning him up. The knife wounds in his chest were hideous, blackened and crusted with bugs and infection. His body shuddered and broke out into a sweat, as she washed and applied topical antibiotics, but he stoically took it, occasionally drinking from the bottle of water.

  “Ken. My brother.”

  Startled, she looked up. His body continually shook, but his expression didn’t change, no matter how many times she had to wash the various cuts. “What about your brother?” Someone had rubbed a mixture of salt, leaves, and a paste into the open wounds, and getting it out wasn’t easy.

  “I boss him, but he doesn’t always listen.”

  She flashed him a tight smile. “Good for him.”

  He swallowed several times as she scrubbed the deepest cuts, the ones so infected she wasn’t sure even the potent antibiotics she had would help.

  “Jack.” Briony took the empty bottle of water from him and gently applied pressure to his shoulder. “Lie down for a while. You’re safe for the moment. Go to sleep if you can while I do this. It’s going to take some time.”

  In spite of his desire to remain alert, Jack found his body stretching out on his side without his permission. “I’m just going to rest for a minute.”

  Briony noted that his fingertips touched the handgun, as if he needed the reassurance that it was there, but his eyes closed. He didn’t look softer or boyish in repose. He still looked as hard and dangerous as when he watched her with his restless gaze. She continued washing his chest, taking her time, wanting to do a thorough job the first time. The wounds were deep and ugly, a name carved into his chest. There were burns and tiny slices as if someone had taken a razor-sharp knife and made cuts every inch in perfect symmetry up and down his body, in long rows of ugly wounds.

  She had no idea that she was crying as she began the job of sewing the wounds closed. On some she could use butterfly bandages, but most were deep enough to require stitching. She gave him a shot of antibiotics before coaxing him to turn over. His back was terrible, with long strips of flesh missing. It was no wonder the man was running a raging fever. Insects had swarmed to the feast. Sweat beaded on his body and the shaking continued, but he never uttered a single sound.

  It took her long into the night to clean him up, eventually managing to get him to help her remove his boots and the filthy pants he wore. There were more signs of torture, the tiny slices cut into his legs and buttocks, even around his groin, as if they’d teased him with the idea of what would come later. Under other circumstances, she might have been too shy to clean a man in such intimate places, but the damage was so severe and, although at times she knew he was aware, he didn’t open his eyes. Briony tried to be impersonal, but she felt sick at the idea that one human could do such things to another. By the time she finished, she felt protective and maybe a little possessive over him.

  She pulled a light sheet over his body and brought him more water with antibiotic pills, bullying him enough awake to take them as well. Briony slipped her arm around his head to support his neck while he drank.

  He hesitated before taking the pills, his eyes boring into her with suspicion. “Nothing to knock me out. I heal fast and I can take the pain.”

  “No, of course not, although now that you say that, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.” She pushed her fingers through the close-cropped hair, raking leaves and twigs from it. “Just antibiotics. We have to hit the infection hard. You need a doctor.”

  “You did a good enough job,” he said gruffly, taking the pills with half the bottle of water. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Go to sleep.” Briony’s arms ached, and although she still wasn’t experiencing the psychic overload of too many emotions bombarding her, she had a killer headache from using telepathy, and she was shaking from the night’s events. The thought that she’d killed a man, the sight and sound of it, sickened her.

  She took a long shower, rinsing her hair and her body over and over as if that could remove the memories of the evening. Nothing seemed to help and the headache persisted. She brushed her teeth and once again scrubbed her hands before entering the room to check on Jack. His skin was hot to the touch, but he appeared to be sleeping. Turning off the light, she sank down onto the floor beneath the window and drew up her knees, hugging herself tightly.

  Her brothers were going to lose their minds when they found out what she’d done. Jebediah might just kill her and put her out of her misery. She wasn’t looking forward to the morning and his inevitable lecture on her safety and the safety of the family. The entire night had been too overwhelming. The man lying only a few feet from her had been mercilessly tortured, and now, even in his sleep, his body shuddered as if still feeling every abuse.

  Life didn’t make sense to her most of the time. And she never felt safe, or as if she belonged. Everyone around her tried; it wasn’t her family or friends—it was her. She rocked herself slightly, trying to bring some comfort when the images of blood and death rose up to flood her mind. Jack stirred, and pain rippled across his face. She looked up, alert to see if he needed anything, but he appeared to be dreaming. When he settled back into a deeper sleep, she laid her head on her knees, feeling the burning wash of tears she couldn’t prevent.

  Blood and death surrounded him. Jack was drowning in it, helpless to get to the woman floating down the river. He reached for her, but missed her outstretched hand and knew he’d lost her forever. She didn’t call out to him, but cried softly, tears pouring down her face. He heard the sound, muffled, heart-wrenching, and his eyes snapped open, gun tracking around the room.

  Briony huddled on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, head down. Her silver-gold hair spilled around her face, and the sight of her like that made his heart begin to pound in his chest. He swore silently between clenched teeth, his body too tired and too beat up to move, to get to her. Slowly he lowered the gun, resting it back on the bed.

  “Briony.”

  Her head snapped up, one hand wi
ping at her eyes, a swift movement that she tried to hide. “Are you in pain? You must be. We’ve probably got something for pain in the kit.” There was a small tremor in her voice, but she rallied, covering her distress.

  “Come here.”

  She stilled, her eyes too large and drowning in tears, long lashes spiky and wet. Jack could hardly bear the sight of her like that. She should have been somewhere where she was safe and protected—not in Kinshasa where anything could happen to her.

  “I said come here.”

  The hard note of command stopped her weeping. “I heard you.” He looked so determined, as if he might get up and come over to her in spite of his injuries. Briony got to her feet and crossed to his side, laying her palm on his forehead to access his fever. “Do you want more water?”

  He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face, his eyes still glazed with fever. She took out another bottle and removed the cap before handing it to him.

  “You washed your hair.” Jack let the liquid slide down his throat, savoring the taste of it. “Whatever you use smells good.” He caught her wrist when she turned away. Tugging, he indicated the bed. “Don’t sit on the floor. I’m not in any shape to do anything and it’s more comfortable.” Mostly he wanted to comfort her. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d be doing, but he’d give it a shot just so she wouldn’t cry anymore. When she didn’t respond either way, he pulled her down to the mattress.

  “I could jar you.”

  “I doubt it.” He let his fingers slide over her tear-wet face. “Don’t be doing this.”

  “What? Crying? Every time I close my eyes I see that man dead. Or I see someone cutting you into little pieces.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

  “You have a headache. Did you take anything for it?”

  “My headache is rather insignificant next to what the rebels did to you. I can’t believe you were running around the forest. You should be dead.”