MIND GAME. GHOSTWALKERS BOOK 2 By Christine Feehan

Nicolas moved in silence, as he had most of his life. He had grown up on the reservation and spent much of his childhood with his shaman grandfather who believed in the old ways. He automatically avoided dry twigs and leaves, and with his enhanced abilities, he was able to keep wildlife from giving away his presence as he made his way across the spongy marsh toward higher ground where the sanitarium was located.

He heard gunshots in the distance. Birds screeched and rose like a cloud into the air. Nicolas ran toward the sound, closing in on the building. The bushes and trees grew much thicker on the high ground, obviously planted and coaxed into wide fences, obscuring vision of the large structure. As he pushed through a thick hedge of saw grass, he heard the distinct crackle of a radio and instantly dropped down, remaining motionless until he could determine the exact position of the guard.

Sound carried at night, especially on water. The guard was more interested in the action taking place in the building then he was in watching the water. His gaze kept straying toward higher ground and twice he swore under his breath, stroking his gun.

Nicolas let his breath out slowly. This was no amateur hit. No drug addicts looking for money. This was a professional cleanup crew, moving with military precision, hitting hard and fast and leaving only the dead behind. Lily had made inquiries in the wrong places, and a team must have been sent out to dispose of all evidence. Dahlia Le Blanc was on a hit list and the squad was taking her out. His warning radar was shrieking at him. He had stumbled into the middle of a high-level operation.

Nicolas had no way of knowing if Dahlia had been caught inside the sanitarium or if by some miracle she had been outside. She had training and skill and was obviously quite dangerous. The fact that there were fires breaking out inside the building might mean she was still alive and fighting back. Whatever the case, he couldn’t afford to waste time. He had to get past the guard and go to her aid.

It took maneuvering to get within striking distance of his prey. Nicolas lay in the open, only feet from the guard. He wished he had Dahlia’s ability to blur her image. Instead, he counted on his talent to persuade his enemy to look the other way. He whispered the suggestion even as he “pushed” at the guard’s mind to stay focused on the water. The guard was vibrating with excitement, impatient to make a kill. Any kill.

Nicolas rose up out of the bog like a giant shadow, enveloping the man, swallowing him, his hands fast and his blade sharp. He murmured to the earth and sky his plea for forgiveness and offered the universe his regret at taking a life even as he lowered the body silently to the marshy water and moved on.

He went across the spongy ground as fast as he could without chancing sinking into the bog. If Dahlia was in the building, the team would be overrunning even her capabilities. The double doors to the main entrance were open as if in invitation. Tendrils of smoke drifted out, along with the smells of gasoline and blood. Nicolas exploded through the doorway, rolling into a ball and coming up on his feet, tracking the room with his gun, eyes adjusting to the darker interior. Two bodies lay sprawled on the floor. Keeping a wary eye on the door leading into the sanitarium, Nicolas approached the bodies.

He recognized them from the pictures and dossier on each woman. Bernadette Sanders and Milly Duboune lay dead, each executed with a single bullet to the forehead. It particularly bothered him, the sight of them lying lifeless, their blood soaking into round balls of wool half unraveled on the floor. There was nothing he could do for them. The office was destroyed, files already saturated with accelerant and burning. Nicolas moved on quickly, knowing he had little time.

He found himself in what was obviously a gymnasium with every kind of exercise and training equipment money could buy. There was little damage to the room, but he smelled the gasoline splashed on the walls. There was nothing to be gained in the room so he chose a door that led into a large hallway.

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