GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

center. Just the thought of her father comforted her and continued to infuse her with confidence.
    Tucker’s white teeth flashed at her. “You’re the second woman to suggest tea in a situation like this. I have to admit, I drank it with her, but I’m a coffee man myself.”
    “The tea ritual is always comforting,” she said. “It’s always nice after a battle.”
    He raised his eyebrow. “Do you often go into battle?”
    “I was trained from the time I was a child in the way of the samurai by my father. It is a way of life, and the use of weapons as well as hand-to-hand combat is part of the lifestyle. Of course along with traditional weapons and fighting technique, we were required to master the modern arts of warfare as well as weapons. So, I guess you can say, I often go into battle. We keep up our skills. Our company providesthis training for our employees. My brothers and I often instruct as well as train in order to stay sharp.”
    “Your father must have been an unusual man.”
    Thorn nodded. “Most unusual and wonderful. I miss him every day.” Her soft voice was infused with the warmth of a million memories.
    The thought of her father brought her even more confidence and completely settled the last of the nerves in her stomach. Daiki and Eiji were both men of honor, like her father. She had never thought to meet a man who might live up to what her father and brothers were—until she met Sam. She knew his mind intimately. He would sacrifice his own happiness for the good of his team. He would sacrifice willingly his life for theirs. He knew what duty and honor were and stood for both.
    Thorn found it strange that when she had finally set into motion her plan to track down Whitney and serve him justice or at the very least cut off his supporters and put him on the run, she found a man she could believe in—one she could trust.
    “Life is very strange,” she murmured aloud.
    “That it is,” Tucker agreed. “We had no idea we’d be cleaning up a full-scale assault on our guests. We don’t always use this road. It’s a private one we put in ourselves. In the winter it’s completely impassable. We use snowmobiles or winter vehicles on the public road. It’s odd that they would set up an ambush here. How could they possibly know we would use this route to bring you and your brothers up to the compound?”
    Thorn turned the question over in her mind. “There are two routes and you never choose one ahead of time?”
    Tucker shook his head. “We deliberately set no pattern when we’re traveling.”
    “Maybe that’s why they had the second helicopter and it came late to the party,” she speculated. “They might have had a welcoming committee on both roads. A helicopter and two vehicles per road. Once they knew the route they couldcall for the others to back them up. They weren’t that far away. A Jeep could cut through the forest and a helicopter just had to fly like a bird in a straight line.”
    Tucker nodded. “Not bad.”
    She sent him a small smile. “A test? Or not bad for a girl? You already knew that, didn’t you?”
    He grinned at her. “Our women are on the feisty side, just like you. You sit there very demure and look sweet, but you’re a tiger in sheep’s clothing. If Sam’s all worried about you, he’s worried about the wrong woman.”
    Thorn inclined her head. “You might tell him that when he wakes up.”

C HAPTER 7

    S am struggled into a sitting position, his lungs screaming for air, sweat dripping down his face into his eyes. He threw an arm over his stinging eyes and took a deep breath, fighting for air. Blood thundered in his ears and his throat felt swollen and raw. He swore and shoved at the damp, springing curls spilling onto his forehead. He was
never
going to sleep again, that much was clear.
    He’d seen a lot of really ugly things in his life, but his nightmares of torturing children—little girls—horrified him. He could never get to the child, no matter how hard he tried. He woke exhausted, in a panic, bile rising, every muscle in his body tight with tension and his mind in chaotic horror for the small child.
    “What is it, Sam?” Lily Whitney-Miller asked. She handed him a damp washcloth. “You aren’t sleeping more than a couple minutes at a time and you wake up like this. Your pulse rate is out of control. Can you tell me what’s happening? You’ve been like this for nearly seventy-two hours.”
    He swallowed down another curse, took