Conspiracy Game
Page 6

He curled his arm around her waist, anchoring her, trying to give her some reassurance that they wouldn’t drown or be attacked. It’s all right, baby. He whispered the words in his mind, trying to think of something to do that would indicate he wouldn’t force her to stay under if they ran out of air. He could fight if he had to, although he was in bad shape and he didn’t want to risk gunfire. The sound would carry in the night. He didn’t want to bring the general’s army down on them. I’m not going to let you die here. What did men say to women to ease their fears? Hell, he didn’t know. He was way out of his field of expertise.
Jack became aware of her utter stillness. Her eyes had widened and she stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. There was no faking the shock on her face. Whatever this woman was, she was not a member of the psychic teams he’d trained with. She heard him. She was every bit as strong a telepath as he was. You can hear me. He made it a statement.
One of the soldiers waded into the stream, turning Jack’s attention back to the danger. The situation was critical. Breathing for both of them, he was running out of air, and the soldier was almost on top of the woman. Don’t move. He put as much force into his voice as he could, the command absolute. This time he framed her face with his hands and leaned down to take her mouth, pushing the air into her lungs. You understand?
Damn. He couldn’t control his accelerated heartbeat or the strange flutter in his belly-but it had nothing to do with fear of the soldiers and everything to do with the peculiar woman. She nodded slightly.
Keep your eyes closed until I come back for you.
Her fear nearly took her into panic, he could see it in her eyes, but her mouth firmed and she nodded again, the long lashes coming down, eyes squeezing closed tight. Jack didn’t wait, couldn’t wait. The second soldier was in the water and the first was about to trip over the woman’s leg. He caught both ankles and yanked hard, dragging the man under, burying the knife in his throat, and rising almost at the second soldier’s feet, cutting thighs, belly, jugular, and throat so that he too dropped away, leaving Jack to face the third man. He reversed the knife and threw hard, burying the blade to the hilt in the rebel’s throat.
It took only seconds to retrieve his knife and wipe the blade clean. He left the soldiers’ weapons exactly where they fell and went back for the woman. They couldn’t leave anything for the general’s tracker’s to find.
Come up but keep your eyes closed. I’m getting you out of here. What the hell is your name? I’m Jack.
There was a brief hesitation, but she was desperate for air. She rose, visibly shaking. Jack caught her around the waist, one hand covering her eyes. “Let’s go, but step light, we don’t want any evidence of you being here.”
“My scarf,” she said, “I dropped it. And my name’s Briony Jenkins.”
He knew that name. And he knew of the Flying Five-and this was more of a coincidence than he could swallow. He looked around quickly. The scarf was floating a short distance from them. She’d taken it under water with them, but released it when he brought her up. The fact that she remembered it under the traumatic conditions increased his growing respect for her. Keep your eyes closed. He let go of her and turned to retrieve the scarf.
Briony took off running. All she had to do was get into heavier brush and she could disappear. The soldiers were definitely hunting her captor, and she wasn’t going to lead them-or him-back to her brothers. She heard her heart pounding frantically and the sound of her breath rushing out of her lungs. Her eyes remained on her goal; she didn’t dare turn to see if he was behind her. Every step counted.
He struck from behind, a hard tackle that knocked her to the ground, facedown, trapping her arms before she had a chance to get them out from under her. The wind exploded out of her, and his knee drove hard into the small of her back, one hand fisted tightly in her hair and the other pressing the tip of his knife against her jugular. “Don’t you f**king move,” he hissed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Do it then,” she spat back, her mouth full of dirt and leaves. “I’m not leading you back to my family so get over it.”
“You think this is some kind of game?”
“I don’t care if it is.” She didn’t bother to try to control the violent trembling. What the hell did she care if he knew she was afraid? Let him kill her. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted. And why did his presence disturb her so much?
“Get up.” He dragged her up by her hair, the knife never leaving her neck.
She couldn’t fight him, she realized with a sinking feeling. She had four strong brothers, and, in spite of her diminutive size, she was stronger and faster than all four of them. She was trained in hand-to-hand combat and several forms of marital arts, but he didn’t give her an opening. Not one.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then stop struggling.”
She hadn’t realized she had been. She forced her body back under control. “What do you want?”
“I was in the SEALs with a Jebediah Jenkins. The last I heard, he was the catcher for his family’s act in the circus. He had a sister, Briony, and three brothers.”
“Let go of me.” She wasn’t feeling anything. It didn’t make sense. He had killed the three soldiers, she was certain of it. Violence made her particularly ill; in fact, most of the time, she had nosebleeds, migraines, vomited, and even once, when she’d found her parents dead, she’d gone into convulsions. She no longer had her former headache, not even with being so afraid and him pulling her hair.
“Are you going to run?”
“I don’t particularly want to get slammed to the ground again, thanks,” Briony answered.
Okay. It wasn’t true that she wasn’t feeling anything. Her entire body was in some kind of weird meltdown that had never happened before. She first noticed it in the water, sitting so close to him, looking into his eyes. When his lips touched hers. She jerked her thoughts away from how hard his body was, how strong he was. She had to be sick to even have a reaction to him when he was viciously yanking her head back. “And let go of my hair, you’re hurting me.”
Jack instantly relaxed his hold on the wet strands and then scowled, shocked that he’d done so. What in the hell was wrong with him? She was a potential enemy. There was no doubt in his mind that someone had set him up, and it had to be a conspiracy among several people to place him in the hornet’s nest-and that meant they had used his feelings for his brother against him. Ken had been lured in-captured and tortured for one purpose, and that was to bring Jack to Africa. Someone knew Jack’s triggers and they were using them ruthlessly against him. Briony Jenkins was definitely a GhostWalker, no matter what she said. And how big a coincidence was it that a friend-a fellow SEAL-was in Kinshasa at the same precise time? “Damn it, I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Briony turned her head to look at him, startled that he was thinking the exact same thing she was thinking. Had someone maneuvered her brother into Kinshasa for some purpose other than to play the music festival? “Neither do I.” She studied his ravaged body, horror and compassion creeping in despite her resolve not to be swayed by him.
Jack had been tortured. Deep cuts and burns marred his chest, shoulders, and belly. His eyes were flat and cold and hard as stone, yet no one could have suffered such abuse and not be in terrible pain. And she wasn’t feeling it. She always felt human and even animal suffering if she was in close proximity to it. It was almost a relief to her to be near him. He seemed to provide the necessary filters she didn’t have in order to function around people.
“My God. How can you be walking around? Did the rebels do that?” Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and reached out to touch his muscle just above where the skin was shredded. “You need a doctor. You’re already infected.”
A tremor ran through his body at her touch. So light. A mere drift of the pad of her fingers, but he felt it through his entire body. “We have to keep moving. I pissed off their general.” He watched her face for a reaction, but she was staring in horror at his wounds.
“I can’t feel your pain.” Her dark gaze rose to meet his. “Why is that? You know, don’t you? You know why I’m different, why I can’t function like everyone else. No one else would have known I could stay under water like that, not even my brothers. Why? What am I? What are you?”
CHAPTER 3
Jack’s gaze moved restlessly through the forest. “We have to keep moving. The rebels are searching for me and they aren’t going to stop.”
“Answer me,” Briony insisted. He was swaying on his feet and didn’t even know it. The man was going to collapse, and there was no way she could leave him to die.
“GhostWalkers are enhanced both physically and psychically.”
Her heart began to pound. “How did they get that way?”
Jack took a step and his legs went out from under him. Briony caught him before he hit the ground. He tried to push her away. “Go. Keep moving. Circle back through the forest until you’re on the edge of town. They’ll be watching, so use the trees if you have to, but get out of here.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Amusement crept into his eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me to shut up before.” His arm slid around her shoulders, one finger pushing the wet strands of hair behind her ear.
“I have a lot of brothers, so don’t let it go to your head. Why are men such idiots, anyway?” Like she could leave him now. Her brothers would have told her the exact same thing. She blew her hair out of her eyes and looked around her. Jack was a heavy man. He’d lost too much blood and his skin was fiery hot, indicating fever. “Okay, tough guy, you’re going to lean on me and we’re going to start back toward the city. And don’t waste energy arguing. Just do it.”
Her mind was racing with the possibilities. Could she have been enhanced physically and psychically? It made more sense than being born so different. She could run faster, jump higher, stay under water longer, do things no one else she’d ever met could do. How? When? All the visits to her special doctor, the one she detested, the one her parents insisted she go to, were beginning to make sense.
She slipped her arm around Jack’s waist and took most of his weight. If she wasn’t enhanced, how could she practically carry a man of his size? He was twice her weight. “How were we enhanced?”
“Dr. Whitney.”
Her mouth went dry. She knew that name. Knew he was the one who had put her up for adoption, who had designed her education and provided medical care for her and her family her entire life. Her birth father? Had he even been her father? What was she? Some kind of freak experiment?
Her mind began racing with the possibilities. Why were they both there in Kinshasa? Was it a coincidence that Jack and her brother Jebediah were in the service together? What were the odds that they would all end up in Africa together, especially since someone had paid an exorbitant amount of money to get them there?
Briony risked a brief glance at Jack’s face. Even ravaged by pain and suffering, he was handsome in a masculine, chiseled sort of way. His features seemed carved out of stone, not real, but hard and weathered while remaining good-looking. He kept his gaze focused ahead, walking steadily, but more and more his weight was on her. The slow blood loss, coupled with exhaustion and his terrible wounds, was taking its toll. “Keep walking. One foot in front of the other.” The closer she got him to the city, the less distance she’d have to carry him-and it looked like carrying was going to be involved.
They struggled for about a mile, following the stream. Briony had paused to get a better grip on him, when he suddenly pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his. His skin changed color to match the darker vegetation on the forest floor, and she immediately did her best to match his stripes. Jack had been nearly unconscious, but suddenly he was alert, pulling a handgun and signaling her to silence.