Ghostwalker 07 - Murder Game

different. She could stop the input by wearing gloves and distancing herself. What was Kadan's life like? He saw blood and death. He killed. He fought alongside other men who killed or died. And he knew their thoughts. Their hopes and dreams. Their dirty secrets. His mind had to find a way to protect him. The coldness that he believed made him a killing machine was his mind's way of protecting him, a shield so the man didn't have to feel too much, although she was fairly certain he wasn't aware of it. There was no other choice or he would have been right alongside her in that mental hospital.

    "Why did you choose the military? Why did you choose law enforcement? It must be hell, Kadan, all those killers and victims, all those battles you have to fight."

    "What else for someone like me? Killing is what I do best. I've always known that."

    She shook her head, locking her gaze with his. "Loving is what you do best."

    A slow smile tugged at his mouth. "You're a fucking miracle."

    "And you're going to have to clean up your mouth before you meet my parents." She rolled out from under him and sat up, pushing at her long hair to get it off her face.

    There was a long silence. When she glanced over her shoulder, Kadan was already up, padding across the floor to the bathroom. She had sensed more than heard him. He moved like a mountain lion, all rippling muscle and silence.

    He turned back, his face set in grim lines. "Your parents can clean up a few things before I do. They've got a few questions to answer."

    "Look, Kadan, before everyone gets here and you decide to share with them your conspiracy theories on my parents, I want to tell you a story."

    His mouth hardened into a cruel line, but he didn't say anything.

    Tansy sighed. "When I was a little girl, I couldn't go to a regular school, or to a grocery store. I really couldn't do much of anything. My parents built me a play yard, basically from scratch, getting brand-new supplies. Even then, sometimes, I could get impressions from people handling the swings or bars. But I wanted a bike. A bicycle represented freedom to me. I wanted one so bad and I was willing to wear gloves all the time as long as I could just have a bike. You can imagine how my parents must have felt not being able to touch or feed me or even tuck me in at night without both of us wearing gloves. I hated the gloves, and so did they."

    He tried not to ache for that little girl, but she was already in his head. He had no ABC Amber LIT Converter
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    sympathy for her parents. Maybe his friends were right and ice water really did flow in his veins, because he wanted to gather her up and comfort her, and put a bullet in her parents' heads. Bastards. They hadn't stopped Whitney, and they had to have known what he was doing—or at least suspected something. Money was a motivating factor for a lot of people. Don and Sharon Meadows made big bucks with defense contracts, but maybe that wasn't enough for them.

    "There you are with that face, all grim and forbidding. My father made all the parts for a bicycle wearing gloves the entire time. Then he put the bike together and they gave it to me. No one had ever touched it." Tears burned behind her e e y s and clogged her throat so
    that she had to clear it, remembering that moment when he'd wheeled the bike out of a closet and her parents had stood there, big smiles on their faces, telling her she didn't have to wear gloves to ride it.

    "What parents do that, Kadan? He spent so much time on it. Anyone else would have been okay with my wearing gloves, but he made certain I didn't have to whenever I rode that bike, because he knew I hated them so much. They love me." She didn't know if she was pleading for it to be true, or pleading with him to believe her. "I know they do, Kadan, because I've always felt it. The only time I ever felt abandoned was when Whitney came around."

    Abandoned was an interesting word to use. Kadan studied her face. She looked fragile.
    She wasn't. She was strong—incredibly strong, or she couldn't do the things she did.
    Bathe in blood to track killers. No one did t a
    h t unless they were strong, but to him, she
    looked vulnerable and maybe a little lost.

    Don't make me choose between you and my parents.

    Kadan reached down and tugged her to her feet, drawing her into his arms. He wasn't a man who liked to retreat, but for