Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers, #4)(12)

Jack became aware of her utter stillness. Her eyes had widened and she stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. There was no faking the shock on her face. Whatever this woman was, she was not a member of the psychic teams he’d trained with. She heard him. She was every bit as strong a telepath as he was. You can hear me. He made it a statement.

One of the soldiers waded into the stream, turning Jack’s attention back to the danger. The situation was critical. Breathing for both of them, he was running out of air, and the soldier was almost on top of the woman. Don’t move. He put as much force into his voice as he could, the command absolute. This time he framed her face with his hands and leaned down to take her mouth, pushing the air into her lungs. You understand?

Damn. He couldn’t control his accelerated heartbeat or the strange flutter in his belly—but it had nothing to do with fear of the soldiers and everything to do with the peculiar woman. She nodded slightly.

Keep your eyes closed until I come back for you.

Her fear nearly took her into panic, he could see it in her eyes, but her mouth firmed and she nodded again, the long lashes coming down, eyes squeezing closed tight. Jack didn’t wait, couldn’t wait. The second soldier was in the water and the first was about to trip over the woman’s leg. He caught both ankles and yanked hard, dragging the man under, burying the knife in his throat, and rising almost at the second soldier’s feet, cutting thighs, belly, jugular, and throat so that he too dropped away, leaving Jack to face the third man. He reversed the knife and threw hard, burying the blade to the hilt in the rebel’s throat.

It took only seconds to retrieve his knife and wipe the blade clean. He left the soldiers’ weapons exactly where they fell and went back for the woman. They couldn’t leave anything for the general’s tracker’s to find.

Come up but keep your eyes closed. I’m getting you out of here. What the hell is your name? I’m Jack.

There was a brief hesitation, but she was desperate for air. She rose, visibly shaking. Jack caught her around the waist, one hand covering her eyes. “Let’s go, but step light, we don’t want any evidence of you being here.”

“My scarf,” she said, “I dropped it. And my name’s Briony Jenkins.”

He knew that name. And he knew of the Flying Five—and this was more of a coincidence than he could swallow. He looked around quickly. The scarf was floating a short distance from them. She’d taken it under water with them, but released it when he brought her up. The fact that she remembered it under the traumatic conditions increased his growing respect for her. Keep your eyes closed. He let go of her and turned to retrieve the scarf.

Briony took off running. All she had to do was get into heavier brush and she could disappear. The soldiers were definitely hunting her captor, and she wasn’t going to lead them—or him—back to her brothers. She heard her heart pounding frantically and the sound of her breath rushing out of her lungs. Her eyes remained on her goal; she didn’t dare turn to see if he was behind her. Every step counted.

He struck from behind, a hard tackle that knocked her to the ground, facedown, trapping her arms before she had a chance to get them out from under her. The wind exploded out of her, and his knee drove hard into the small of her back, one hand fisted tightly in her hair and the other pressing the tip of his knife against her jugular. “Don’t you f*cking move,” he hissed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Do it then,” she spat back, her mouth full of dirt and leaves. “I’m not leading you back to my family so get over it.”

“You think this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t care if it is.” She didn’t bother to try to control the violent trembling. What the hell did she care if he knew she was afraid? Let him kill her. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted. And why did his presence disturb her so much?

“Get up.” He dragged her up by her hair, the knife never leaving her neck.

She couldn’t fight him, she realized with a sinking feeling. She had four strong brothers, and, in spite of her diminutive size, she was stronger and faster than all four of them. She was trained in hand-to-hand combat and several forms of marital arts, but he didn’t give her an opening. Not one.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Then stop struggling.”

She hadn’t realized she had been. She forced her body back under control. “What do you want?”

“I was in the SEALs with a Jebediah Jenkins. The last I heard, he was the catcher for his family’s act in the circus. He had a sister, Briony, and three brothers.”

“Let go of me.” She wasn’t feeling anything. It didn’t make sense. He had killed the three soldiers, she was certain of it. Violence made her particularly ill; in fact, most of the time, she had nosebleeds, migraines, vomited, and even once, when she’d found her parents dead, she’d gone into convulsions. She no longer had her former headache, not even with being so afraid and him pulling her hair.

“Are you going to run?”

“I don’t particularly want to get slammed to the ground again, thanks,” Briony answered.

Okay. It wasn’t true that she wasn’t feeling anything. Her entire body was in some kind of weird meltdown that had never happened before. She first noticed it in the water, sitting so close to him, looking into his eyes. When his lips touched hers. She jerked her thoughts away from how hard his body was, how strong he was. She had to be sick to even have a reaction to him when he was viciously yanking her head back. “And let go of my hair, you’re hurting me.”