Ghostwalker 02 - Mind Game

had covered several miles swimming and few more wading waist-deep in the reeds and swamp. Tree trunks rose out of the water, silent sentinels everywhere, guarding narrow strips of land. He was exhausted and his side throbbed. He hoped it didn’t mean he’d reopened the wound. Not a good thing when he was in the water.

    He glanced down at the woman lying motionless on top of him. They were both covered with streaks of black mud. He pushed strands of her dark hair aside. “Dahlia. Wake up.”
    She had finally lost consciousness out in the channel after fighting every step of the way, holding back the wash of energy to keep from giving away their position and gamely keeping up with him until her body said enough . “You’re beginning to worry me.” It was the truth, and he objected to worrying on principle. It was a useless pastime and one he avoided at all costs. He shook her gently. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, wake up for me.”

    Nicolas sat up, ignoring the shrieking protest his body made. She looked vulnerable, starkly white beneath the mud. Just looking at her caused a curious shift in his belly. He was a man very much in control of himself, and yet, Dahlia had awakened something long dormant and apparently strong within him. It was uncomfortable not recognizing exactly what he was feeling.

    Thunder boomed directly overhead, rattling the trees and shaking the ground. Rain poured down on them, a heavy deluge soaking them within minutes. Dahlia stirred, her slight body shrinking away from the impact of the stinging rain. She turned her head to try to escape the onslaught. Her lashes fluttered, drawing his attention to their length. She looked up at him. He caught a glimpse of fear quickly masked. She looked around her, slipping off his lap to break physical contact.

    “I guess I passed out. The overload gets me every time.” Her gaze touched his face, jumped away. “It can be a liability.”

    He shrugged, the gesture casual. “I’m a GhostWalker too, remember? I know what it’s like.” He got to his feet and reached down, offering his hand.

    Dahlia hesitated a moment before she put her hand in his. “I still don’t know what a GhostWalker is.” She took a careful look around. “You got us to the right place. The trapper’s cabin is that way.” She indicated an area to their right.

    Nicolas shouldered his pack. “Do you remember Dr. Whitney? Dr. Peter Whitney?” He watched her closely. Her face changed—her expression went blank. There was instant withdrawal, not only physically; she distanced herself from him in her mind. He could feel the separation and it was almost a blow. That stunned him. Uncertain if he could.
    cover his rare inner turmoil, he was the one to look away, studying the direction she indicated before setting out.

    “I remember him.” Her voice was low and filled with distaste.

    “Did you figure out what he did to you?” Nicolas kept his voice neutral and continued to walk ahead of her, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t have to hide her expression from him. Or maybe he needed to hide his expression, he wasn’t entirely certain which it was. Before he’d started off on the trail, he noticed she was shivering, her body reacting to the harsh conditions. In spite of the deluge of rain, the air was still warm. It made him want to gather her up and hold her close. He shook his head in an effort to rid himself of his extraordinary thoughts.

    Dahlia listened to the sound of the rain. She always found it soothing. Even now, with it pouring down on top of her, she felt she could lose part of herself in it. The part that hurt people. The part she could never control. When she sat out in the rain, it washed her clean. “I feel as if Whitney stole my life. Yet at the same time, I feel as if I should be grateful to him. He built my home and he hired Milly and Bernadette. He also provided me with everything I could need or want. My brain requires…” She broke off and stared at the silent trees on either side of them, afraid she might shame herself with tears. She was exhausted and vulnerable, filled with such grief she could barely breathe. She couldn’t even look at Nicolas’s broad back while they walked, not if he wanted to talk about Dr. Whitney.

    “You aren’t alone, Dahlia. Whitney brought over a number of children, most infants, from various foreign countries. He found the little girls in orphanages, and he was very wealthy so he didn’t have much