Ghostwalker 07 - Murder Game

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    "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice low. Her scent filled his mind and body.
    Cinnamon. She smelled all woman and cinnamon—a lure that refused to let him go—and his body responded. Hell, he was past caring that she knew, not the way her soft body was molded against his.

    She swallowed. He felt the movement against his forearm, but there was no panic, no struggle. She even relaxed into him, her free hand coming up to hook into the crook of his elbow, one finger pressed lightly against his pressure point, and that told him a lot about her.

    "Now you let go of me."

    a
    T nsy should have been concentrating on getting free. Her mind and body should have been waiting for a moment when she could break loose, but her hand was wrapped around the hilt of a knife —one that was not new, but had gone into combat with this man and surely had been used. She didn't feel anything— nothing at all . There were no whispers to taunt and torment her, no tunnel sucking her in, no black oily void to r d ag her
    under and suffocate her. She'd never been this close to anyone—not even her parents—
    without having something rippling in her mind. She was so astonished she could barely remember she was standing in the grip of an enormously strong stranger with no one around to help if she couldn't control the situation.

    "And if I don't let go?" he asked, lowering his head to inhale her scent again. Cinna o m n
    and sin filled his lungs. Of course he was going to let her go, but not until she learned her lesson. A little fear would be good for her. She needed self-preservation to kick in. Where he was taking her, every single sense had to be honed razor-edged sharp.

    The words whispered so softly in her ear, the warm breath fanning her cheek, snapped Tansy out of her shock. Let go ! She blasted her way into his mind, slamming her fingers hard on his pressure point, jerking his elbow down so she could slip free, even as her foot kicked back to rake down his shin.

    Nothing happened. His arm remained locked tight around her throat; his body didn't even rock from hers, and her heel never touched him. Her mind actually recoiled from his, as if she'd bounced off—hard. Hard enough to set her head pounding.

    "Who are you?" For the first time there was a tremor in her voice.

    He let her go, stepping away from her, yet holding her hand so she couldn't withdraw the n
    k ife. "Now, you understand, you aren't the only one in the world with hidden talents."

    Very carefully she flexed her fingers, indicating she wanted to let go. Instantly he responded, removing his hand from hers to allow her to drop her arm. Tansy didn't look at him, but she knew he'd felt her hand tremble. She detested showing weakness, but she'd never had anyone resist her so completely.

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    She needed to keep him distracted while she led him to her camp, where she had a weapon or two that might afford her some protection.

    "'Just tell me who you are and why you're here." She started toward the trail again and this time he fell into step beside her. When he made a movement toward the inside of his shirt, her breath hitched, but he only pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, holding it out to her.

    His eyes fascinated her. Midnight blue, so blue they were almost black, unblinking and intent, much like those of the predator she'd been studying for the last year. He focused completely on his prey, and right now that was Tansy. He held her mesmerized, unable to look away from him until he allowed it.

    The movement of the wallet allowed her to tear her gaze away from those dangerous eyes, and she glanced with dismay at his identification. FBI. Only she didn't believe it.
    Everything about him screamed military. She shook her head. "I'm not buying your story." She started up the trail with a forced sigh. "Just tell me what you want and get off my mountain."

    "I need your help."

    Her heart stuttered. The breath caught in her lungs and stayed there. Fear skated through her body. Her throat closed, panic rising while she battled with the sudden roaring in her mind as a door creaked open and voices began to spill out. She shook her head, afraid to speak, afraid she might scream, afraid once she started she would never