"So the government was officially notified that it couldn't be done."
Dahlia nodded. "The report came in just a few weeks before they all started dying."
Nicolas studied her face before crossing the room to stand in front of the window where he examined the spiderweb fragmenting the glass. "You're not an innocent woman working out of a sanitarium, are you?" He stared out the window into the darkness. "You know exactly who you work for."
Dahlia crossed the room to stand beside him. Close, but not touching him. "I'm sorry, yes. I work for the NCIS, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. So does Jesse. I didn't know who you were, Nicolas, or whom you worked for. You showed up the same time my home and my family was destroyed. I'm investigating something that has probably killed several people. Jesse Calhoun has been taken prisoner and is probably being tortured for information. If I were a member of the other side, I'd probably put someone like you in place. I had to be sure you were really who you said you were. It was such a coincidence for you to show up at exactly the right moment."
"All the time we talked, out in the bayou, you never really answered a single question I asked. It didn't add up at all. You aren't the kind of woman not to know exactly who you work for." He shook his head. "You've been feeding me just enough to test me, haven't you? You really know how to make a fool out of a man, don't you?"
There was no rancor in his voice, not even a note of bitterness. He just said it and turned and walked out. His bare feet made no noise on the floor as he left.
Dahlia stood quietly at the window for a long time, watching the night, watching the clouds spin across the dark sky. Feeling like the lowest creature on the face of the earth. She shouldn't have felt low. She was doing her job, just as he did his job, but she still felt as if she had betrayed him in some way. He knew what a security clearance was, and a need to know basis.
Her heart hurt. Ached. It was silly. She wasn't the kind of woman a man could ever take home to his mother. She could imagine sitting at a dinner table with one of his family members smoldering over the loss of their favorite football team and accidentally catching the dining room on fire. No matter how much she might want to get to know someone, or have a friend or be in a relationship, the bottom line was always the same--it was not possible. She would not feel sorry for herself.
She'd been careful, cautious, just as she'd been taught. Just as life had taught her to be. No one in her world was ever what they claimed to be. Nicolas Trevane was probably no different. He could still very well be an assassin sent to kill her the moment she turned over the documents she'd been sent to recover. She sighed and pushed her hair back away from her face. Deep down, where it counted the most, Dahlia knew he was exactly what he seemed to be. And it wasn't as if she lied to him. She did live her entire life in the sanitarium, at least the part that mattered most. And she did work for the government recovering information. And she wasn't altogether certain in the beginning that they hadn't sent a hit squad after her. She didn't trust the NCIS any more than she trusted anyone else. She honestly didn't know the truth of it, and she still didn't.
If one of the NCIS agents from Jesse's office hadn't betrayed them, how would anyone know about her? She was a ghost, slipping in and out, able to block the security systems. Dahlia never left a trace of her existence. She wasn't caught on film accidentally; it wouldn't happen. She disrupted the cameras all the while she was inside. So who knew about her, and how did they know?
Nicolas appeared in the doorway. "Come away from the window." There was no urgency in his voice, but it was an order. He was in hunter mode, and she recognized it instantly. Dahlia didn't ask questions, she simply took a rolling dive across the bed and hit the other side of the floor. Behind her, the glass shattered, spewing shards in all directions. A bullet whined over her head and buried itself in the wall. Dahlia kept rolling until she was at the door. She crawled out on her stomach. "How'd you know?"
"I just know." He reached down and pulled her around the corner of the doorframe. "We've got to get out of here. You need clothes, shoes, whatever. You have thirty seconds."
"Gee thanks. I appreciate it." She could see he was already in full gear, pack and everything. "Did you throw my things in your pack? My crystal spheres?" Sitting on the floor in the upstairs hall, she dragged on a pair of socks and hastily pulled on the boots he'd brought up from the kitchen.
"I've got them. Hurry up, we have to go to the roof."
"Are you certain?" She didn't bother to ask how he knew. He was a GhostWalker, and they each had their talents. Nicolas knew things. The right things.
"I'm certain." He gave her a hand up, and indicated the window overlooking the courtyard. "We go out that way."
"I'm right behind you."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dahlia pulled on the dark sweatshirt Nicolas tossed to her as she followed him to the window. He opened it silently and swung out, sliding his hands up the wall to find finger-holds. Dahlia couldn't help but admire how smooth, efficient, and silent he was, like a spider going up the side of the building. She followed him, every bit as quiet. This was her specialty, adhering to the side of buildings and moving in secrecy. It was one of the things she felt most comfortable doing. Evidently, Nicolas did as well. His level of energy was so low, she would have sworn he had ice in his veins. They might have been going for a casual stroll. She was very grateful that she couldn't detect any tension from the energy surrounding him.
Dahlia was very small and it enabled her to fit closely against the wall, to become part of the shadows she spent most of her time in. She was also able to blur her image enough to help blend into her surroundings. Nicolas was a big man and carried a heavy pack. He should have been more easily seen, but she could see why he'd earned the title of GhostWalker. Even knowing where he was right above her, she couldn't hear him as he moved, not even the whisper of clothing. She closed her mind to thoughts of him and climbed as if she were alone.
Her fingertips found cracks and her toes found places to dig in as she moved up the building to the roof. She slipped over the side, taking great care to stay low, to keep from being seen. She crawled on her stomach, like a lizard, across the roof, pulling herself along with elbows and hands and knees. She gained the street side and stopped beside Nicolas, staying quiet, waiting for him to signal they could go over the side and head for the street.
He put his hand on her arm, a brief touch, raised his hand, and flattened his palm. She shook her head briefly. She was not willing to wait up on the roof while he took all the risks. If he were going into the streets, she would go with him.
Don't argue with me. I've got rank on you. The words pushed into her mind. She was startled for a moment. She'd forgotten he was a strong telepath.
No one has rank on me. We'll go together.
We can't afford you to be anywhere near violence. Even up here, you'll catch the backwash of it. It makes sense for me to do what I do best.
Dahlia closed her eyes. Why had she ever named him killer? Nicolas. She didn't mean for her heart to be in her voice. In his mind. An intimate connection between them. I'm sorry. Maybe I should have told you everything, after all, your life is just as much at risk as mine is.
He turned his head, his black eyes boring into hers. Arctic cold. And then, without any warning, his gaze smoldered. Went midnight black. Burned with such intensity she gasped. His mouth settled over hers. His lips were soft but firm, pressing into hers, so that her mouth opened for him. So that the taste and texture of him invaded her body and mind, poured into her with the force of concentrated silken heat and hot promises. His mouth moved over hers, his teeth nibbling at her bottom lip, at her chin before sliding away from her. They stared at one another for the beat of eternity while the clouds spun overhead and danger prowled in the street below them.
Stay here.
Dahlia took a deep breath and nodded. She made herself breathe again as he slipped over the edge of the roof. He left his pack and rifle and went in
silence. She strained to keep him in sight, following his progress as he climbed down two stories, his darker shadow blending in with the night. He moved fast, a smooth descent that made her think of a night creature. She watched as he gained the small patch of shrubbery close to one of the three men stealthily waiting outside the windows and doors on the street side of the house. He was much taller than the bushes, yet he seemed to blend, his body nearly indistinguishable from the leafy branches.
She loved watching him move. He came up behind the man nearest him, standing directly behind him, close enough to breathe on him. She caught the glint of metal in his hand and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the violence of the act to swallow her. Her stomach lurched. She detested the act of taking life. She had developed her own philosophy based on the books that had appealed to her. She did believe everything in the universe was connected and that each life had a purpose. While she certainly believed in defending her own life, she had firsthand knowledge of the severe repercussions. Violence, once committed, lingered behind and subtly worked on those sensitive to its ugliness.
She lay still. The waiting was much more difficult than she'd anticipated. She could feel the gathering of energy from the men below, surrounding the house and cutting off escape. They were in various stages of adrenaline high and nervous anxiety. She was no telepath and couldn't read their thoughts, but she was certain Nicolas could.
Dahlia? I think these men are from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, or at least were sent by them. Let's hang back and watch them. If they came to assassinate you, we can still slip away. I don't know why they'd fire a shot through the window, that doesn't make sense, but it doesn't feel right to me. They're too cautious. This feels exploratory, not a hit. We don't want to make any mistakes and kill an innocent.
I don't want to kill anyone, innocent or not. She let her breath out, opened her eyes and blinked. Nicolas was nowhere in sight. She would never find him now, even with her awareness of him. He was a chameleon, blending into his surroundings.
We prefer GhostWalkers. There was a tinge of amusement in his voice. The night belongs to the ghosts.
She rolled her eyes. He actually sounded arrogant. Men were strange, there was no doubt about it. Do you want me to carry your pack and rifle off the roof? It isn't going to be safe up here, no matter who they are.
His hand slipped lightly over her mouth and Dahlia was rolled over to lie on her back staring up at him. He was on his belly beside her, grinning as her eyes widened in shock.
You're lucky I don't kick you off the roof. She took refuge in false annoyance. She couldn't help drinking in the sight of him, nor ignore the relief that swept through her. Which, she decided, was annoying in itself. She loved being independent. It was the best part of who and what she was. He seemed to be destroying her solitary nature.
Nicolas shrugged into his pack and retrieved his rifle. Follow me.
Dahlia bit down on her lip to keep from muttering curses. She lacked social graces, no doubt about it. Following him gave her a great view of his backside so she wasn't going to complain . . . this time. The man certainly enjoyed snapping out orders at every opportunity. Her heart was still pounding from him sneaking up on her. No one had ever managed to get close to her without her knowledge, because the energy always reached her first. It was something she'd always taken for granted. She was beginning to realize she couldn't take anything for granted around Nicolas.
She did her best rendition of a lizard, scooting across the roof to the far side. Nicolas waited by the edge, drawing a rope from his pack. She touched his arm and shook her head, pointing to an inch-thick cable running between the two buildings. Jesse has those placed around any safe houses or buildings we might use.
His eyebrow shot up. You think I'm going to use that to cross over?
Baby. Dahlia took the lead, stepping with confidence onto the thin cable. She wished she weren't wearing boots. Light-soled shoes worked best for cable-walking, but there was little wind to push her around as she made her way across.
The cable stretched between the buildings, two stories off the ground. Nicolas watched, his heart in his throat, as her slight figure covered the distance. This was no slow, arms out for balance, circus walker. She moved with complete poise and assurance. He dared not touch her thoughts, afraid of distracting her, yet he desperately wanted to know what was happening in her brain to allow her such complete control. There was no way he was walking across that thin little cable. His stomach was in knots by the time she reached the other side.
Nicolas took a breath and let it out, relieving the terrible tension that had built up in him. Nothing either of his two grandfathers had taught him had prepared him for meeting Dahlia. He was grateful for the discipline and control of both mind and body. It had, at times, been rigorous, but it was his background and his military training that allowed him to be with Dahlia.
He slung his rifle around his neck, checked to make certain he could move freely without being seen, and slipped off the edge of the roof, going hand over hand to the other side. It was a long way. He was halfway when he felt the first stirring of an awareness of danger. Immediately he stopped moving and scanned the surrounding area. His visual of the street was somewhat impaired by two tall trees. He shifted slightly, moving with more caution.
Do you feel it? Dahlia's voice was a mere whisper in his head. The bridge between them was shaky. He felt more of a push of energy than anything else, almost as if she'd sent it his way to share the feeling of danger within it.
Drop back where you're safe from attack. The second the words left his mind he wished them back. She was not a woman to be idle when there was danger. She'd spent far too much time on her own, and she'd relied heavily on her own judgment. He had to find a way to curb his overwhelming protective instincts.
Dahlia clenched her teeth and didn't respond. In her life, very few people ever tried to give her orders. Even Whitney had given up after a few harrowing accidents. It wasn't just other people's emotions, it was her own she feared most. She had a fiery temper and all the Zen meditation in the world didn't seem to help her when someone tried to boss her around.
She watched as Nicolas made his way hand over hand across the distance, breathing a sigh of relief when he swung silently onto the roof. She dropped back to give him more room. He crawled over to her.
Something is different. The energy is very violent. It feels the same as when we were in the bayou.
Dahlia didn't look at him when she gave him the information, and he took that as a bad sign. She was definitely not happy with him assuming command. I feel it too. My best guess is this: the team entering the house now has a military background and they're looking for you and Jesse. I believe they're NCIS. The team coming up behind them are the ones from the swamp and are most likely here to kill you. Do you agree?
Dahlia watched him crawl to the side of the roof where the gutter ran the two stories to the ground. Yes. And I think the second team is aware of the NCIS men and intends to kill them.
I'd have to agree. Nicolas took a small metal object from his pack and began tapping a rhythm on the gutter. He repeated the rhythm over and over. Long and short, dots and dashes. A warning to the men sent out by the NCIS that they were in for a firefight. Morse code wasn't used much anymore, but many of those in the Navy had learned it. As he tapped out the warning, he sent a subtle "push" for the men to readily hear and recognize the age-old warning.
It was Dahlia who first felt the rising tension from within the house. They know. They got your warning. She didn't know if it was the level of malevolent energy finding her or the continual use of telepathy, but her body was beginning to react. She tried to hide it from Nicolas. He was slithering into position, sliding his weapon forward, fitting the butt of the rifle snugly into his shoulder, and putting his eye to the lens.
Listen to me. Don't get upset until you hear me out. His voice whispered in her mind. Touched her insides with danger all around them. She wante
d to reach out and hang onto him to keep the energy at bay, but he needed complete concentration. I want you to leave now. We can set up a rendezvous point. I'm going to have to kill someone. I can't leave the men in the house defenseless. Those stalking the NCIS team have mortars, and we know they aren't afraid to use them. Your people don't have that kind of firepower. There are civilians in the area. This could turn ugly very fast. If you go, I have only myself to worry about. I know you can make your way through their lines. If you stay, Dahlia, you're going to be too sick to walk out on your own.
He was right, and she hated that he was right. I'll go, but we can't go too far. We can backtrack these people or better yet, follow them back to Jesse. If you do have to kill them, don't kill all of them. She tried to sound grown-up and calm about it. In her line of work, no one died. She went in under cover of darkness and played the same games she played as a child. No one was around to see what she did and no one ever got hurt. In the last few hours she'd seen more death and violence than she ever wished to see in a lifetime.
Nicolas wanted her clear, but not so far away from him that they might get separated. Go to the church in Jackson Square. You can get to the roof. I'll meet you there. If something goes wrong, get to the NCIS. Don't try to find Jesse by yourself.
Dahlia didn't reply. She sensed the movement of the men in the darkness and began to crawl backward, away from Nicolas. The farther she got from him, the more the energy began to mass around her. She felt the familiar signs. The hair on her body standing up. The churning in the pit of her stomach. The pounding in her temples. The last thing he needed was for her to pass out, or worse, have a seizure.