Ghostwalker 09 - Ruthless Game

“Then why the hel didn’t you get on that helicopter where we could get you medical help?” he demanded, angry al over again. “Damn it, woman, do you have any sense at al ?” Now she was making him just as insane as she obviously was.
    “Whitney is not getting this baby. I don’t know those men you were so wil ing to send me off with. I have a plan, and it doesn’t include getting on the helicopter. And don’t yel at me. I’m in a delicate condition.”
    She looked suspiciously amused now. He wanted to shake her. Instead he took a long-suffering breath and let it out to force himself to be calm and reasonable . Reason and logic were the keys to dealing with a woman in her condition. “Is there a possibility that you hurt yourself in the jump? That these pains are something else?”
    She shrugged. “I’m hoping they’re Braxton Hicks contractions. Sometimes a woman can have false labor weeks before she goes into labor.”
    Relief exploded through him. Of course. He’d just been thrown for a minute. Braxton Hicks sounded like the real thing. “Okay then. That sounds good.
    Let’s just get you in bed to rest. Al this running around can’t be good for you. I can hike back tomorrow to the ravine and find the tracker and ...” He broke off, frowning. “Why are you shaking your head?”
    “You are such a chicken. Bock. Bock. Bock. ”
    He refused to al ow her very bad chicken impression to ruffle his feathers. He was above petty name-cal ing. The point was getting her in bed and out of danger. She couldn’t fixate on the pain, and it would just go away. He was certain of it. “Come on, Rose,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “I’l help you to the bathroom.”
    She rol ed her eyes. “Keep in mind I kil ed a man a few hours ago for less. I can make it to the bathroom on my own. Just turn on the generator and get me some hot water—please.”
    He turned away from her before he shook some sense into her. He was trying to help her. Didn’t she get that? Kane stalked through the kitchen into the pantry where she had stocked meager supplies. While searching the house he had discovered the generator. He crouched down to study it. It ran on gas.
    There were four large cylinders feeding it. He started it, shocked at how loud it was. When he closed the door behind him, he realized the room was soundproof. The generator couldn’t be heard outside the room where it was housed.
    “You hungry?” he cal ed. He was starving.
    “Not real y,” she cal ed back.
    She sounded so weary and, if he was not mistaken, close to tears. He needed to find a way to connect with her. For al her bravado, she had to be scared. She’d chosen him to be her partner, and she was counting on him. She hadn’t tried to run from him. If she’d been serious about shooting him, she would have pul ed the trigger without hesitation. She was a GhostWalker, trained practical y from birth. She didn’t want him dead. She wanted his help.
    He stood in the middle of the pantry, head hanging down, dragging in deep breaths. He had little fear when it came to confronting an enemy. But assisting at a birth—he shook his head. No way. Not when it was Rose. He had to get her to a hospital. If he could get to Mack, his team would come rescue them and bring a doctor.
    Lights flickered on in the bedroom, and he heard her moving around. He turned them on in the pantry to inventory their supplies. She’d stocked the place mainly with canned foods, but she’d included protein such as ham and tuna and chicken. She had several shelves of vegetables and a variety of soups. He wasn’t going to starve. He brought out a can of chicken and rice soup and heated it, hoping to tempt her to eat something.
    The shower abruptly went off as he poured two bowls and put them on a tray. The tray was intricate, hand-painted, and expensive. He gave her a few minutes to towel off and slide into bed. “Can I come in, Rose?” He didn’t want her to feel threatened in any way, although, if he was being honest with himself, he believed she belonged to him and he had the right to walk into her bedroom. He wanted her to feel the same way.
    “I’ m decent.”

    “I’ m decent.”
    He paused in the doorway. She looked smal , a porcelain dol with eyes too big for her face. The shape of almonds, they were dark and mysterious, eyes a man could fal into and never find his way out of. She looked exotic, her hair disheveled and stil damp, midnight black,