Ghostwalker 07 - Murder Game

them down and drowns them. He likes to watch their eyes." She frowned. "He doesn't need scuba gear; he can hold his breath a really long time, or maybe he doesn't even need to do that. He breathes underwater—is that possible? Can one of the GhostWalkers actually breathe underwater? He's killed many times. But his murder in the game wasn't satisfactory to him. Something went wrong. He wants another turn."

    She was breathing hard—too hard. Already he could feel the headache beating at her, piercing her skull like an ice pick. He tasted blood in his mouth and knew she was bleeding. His belly churned in response to her pain. He detested her doing this—and they had at least six more game pieces to go through.

    Kadan stepped closer to pull her into his arms, but she shook her head, waving him away from her so she could finish. She looked fragile, swaying, her skin pale and beaded with tiny drops of sweat, although there were goose bumps on her arms and she kept shivering.

    "He's small and slight, barely able to make the requirements for the military. Everyone underestimates him and that makes him angry. He wants women to notice him, but he can't really perform well because deep down he's insecure. He relates better when he's feeling murderous. His friends tease him a lot. He's the butt of some very ugly jokes, but after he gets over his mad, he convinces himself it's their way of showing him affection."

    "And this particular murder?" Kadan began to rub her shoulders. He didn't want to share her mind while it was pounding with pain, and he had to ignore her suffering in order for her to get the rest out. He wanted to stop her, hold her, wipe her mind clean. He felt like a bastard, twisting the knife deeper, looking for more to help him uncover the killers.

    She shook her head adamantly. "He was so angry, angry enough that for a moment he thought about killing…" She frowned, pressing her fingertips to her eyes. "Who?
    Someone else, someone supposed to be impartial, fair. How can he be successful at this kind of murder?"

    She closed her eyes, took a breath, and let herself drown in the sludge. It wasn't as thick or as bloody, but the impression of "Frog" was strong. He didn't like killing this way. The guys were bastards, helping him plan but laughing behind his back. He knew they were laughing. Hell. He didn't want to do a couple of nerdy high school kids. At least give him jocks. He might want to cut off a few body parts while they watched him. Damn bullies shoving him around just because they could. Now he was going to have off a couple f o
    skinny nerds who'd been bullied all their lives. Paper-pushing bastard probably rigged the game—did one of his endless psych evals and saw this would make him sick.

    Young voices rose into wails. Pleading. Begging.

    I'm sorry, man, it's just a game, you know. I gotta do it for my team, but when this is ABC Amber LIT Converter
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    over, I'll find that dickhead paper pusher and watch him die for you. He chose you, not me.

    The pleading rose to a crescendo. She could see their eyes. So young. So scared. They'd never even been with a girl and they were going to die. Frog kept talking to them, assuaging his guilt at the expense of his two victims. He wanted them to understand that he had no choice. It was all part of the brotherhood. He needed forgiveness.

    Girlish screams of fear. Tears tracking down baby faces. They couldn't be more than fifteen. Two young boys just beginning life. Mom. Dad. I love you. I'm sorry.

    What did they have to be sorry about? Only that a killer had trapped them and was about to end their lives. Nothing else. They hadn't lived long enough or screwed up bad enough.
    Two boys who were intelligent and loved gadgets.

    Her entire body shuddered, muscles locking. They were just babies, and Frog was going to kill them and then cut them into tiny pieces. At least he was merciful enough to kill them with a single shot to the head, to make certain they didn't suffer. And then he began to slice them into pieces. Thirty each.

    Stay cool, baby. I'm here with you. Feel me. Look into my eyes. You're only far away in your head, but if you reach for me, they can't take you. I'm your anchor.

    hy thirty? W
    W
    hat's the significance of thirty? The number had to mean something. It meant something to Frog. A signal, a message, but to whom?

    Kadan slid his