Ghostwalker 07 - Murder Game

weight, and he hadn't come across any of the signs indicating a male's territory. This was one of the few times he had gone into the mountains without someone trying to kill him, and he found he enjoyed the peaceful solitude in spite of the urgency of his mission.

    He took a couple of steps and then he saw it. His heart jumped in spite of his training, breath hitching in his lungs. h
    T e print of a small hiking boot was outlined in the dust of the trail and superimposed right over the top of it was the mountain lions print. All along the cat had been stalking the woman—and he was certain it was a woman by the size of the shoe—probably walking parallel to her trail for some distance before dropping in behind her.

    He swore under his breath as he cast around for more tracks. There were older tracks, indicating the woman used this trail often, and that the mountain lion often stalked her.
    He took a breath and let it out, forcing down a feeling of urgency. If the cougar often trailed her, that didn't mean this would be the day the cat attacked. He picked up his pace
    ,
    following the pair back up the granite slope toward the cliffs.

    The mountain lion continued her steady pacing, staying in the woman's track, but not moving faster to overtake her. If she was hunting, she wasn't in a hurry to catch her prey.
    As the sun grew hotter overhead, he continued his climb, taking another long, slow pull from his camel pack, allowing the cool water to trickle down his throat so he could savor it, feeling a little exposed in the open of the granite with giant boulders towering around him.

    At night it was piercingly cold. By day it could be unexpectedly hot, or without warning, a storm could move in with alarming force. He had no wish to be caught out in the open with lightning striking everywhere.

    Kadan made it to the top of the rise and looked out over the specta u c lar view. In spite of
    the high altitude, he had no problem with breathing, his training standing him in good stead. He paused for a moment to take stock of his surroundings. The deep timber had ABC Amber LIT Converter
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    given way to high ridges of granite and tall castle-like formations. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Even he had to admit it, as much as he detested wasting precious time on such things.

    Above him, a long fall of frothy water spilled down, far below, into a pool of deep emerald green. The natural basin was made of granite, large boulders worn smooth from the constant assault of water. Something moved in the deepest end of the pool. He fixed his sight on the water's surface and the intriguing ripple came again. Without taking his eyes from the ever widening circle, Kadan pulled his high-powered field glasses from the case at his belt and quickly adjusted them. Instantly the emerald green of the water shimmered within touching distance. He found himself waiting in anticipation.

    Closer to the water's edge, to his left and near the lowest wall of granite, the water ringed, and something silvery gold appeared to break the surface for a moment. Kadan n
    u consciously held his breath. An otter? Were there otters up here? Were otters silver and gold?

    She rose up out of the water, long wet hair streaming, gleaming, and shimmering like skeins of wet silk. The droplets of water ran off the curves of her breasts, down her narrow rib cage, dipped in at her small waist to stream down her flat belly to the triangle of blond curls at the junction of her legs. She was naked, skin glowing in the sunlight, her tan so deep it emphasized the white gold of her hair. She tilted her head to one side and brought her long hair over one shoulder in an unconsciously provocative gesture.

    The wind shifted and carried her scent to him. Kadan's body tightened savagely in response. His body knew her instantly. She looked like some wild, pagan offering.
    Untamed, seductive. For him . He went very still, his breath catching in his lungs. Instant awareness shook him. He'd certainly had his share of women, but he never reacted like this—a vicious, brutal response of his body and mind, everything in him reaching toward her.

    "Whitney, you bastard," he whispered aloud. Not for one moment would he ever believe his reaction to be natural. It was too strong, too obsessive. Too unlike him.

    He crouched down for a moment, feeling sucker punched. He'd joined the