Samurai Game
Page 17

He had operated without anesthesia many times to judge the body’s ability to withstand pain before it gave out. He’d stopped and restarted her heart just as many times. Her heart had grown so weak Dr. Whitney had believed she would die anyway, so he’d finally thrown her away—into the alley of one of the worst streets where human trafficking and sex traders plied their slaves.
Sam knew too much. He knew who she was. If she could hear Whitney’s voice echoing through her mind, so could Sam. He was sharing her mind, her memories, every horrid detail. She swallowed hard, sweat beading on her skin. It never once had occurred to her, when assessing all the risks to her coming to the GhostWalker compound, that someone would share her mind and uncover her childhood shame. Those terrible years of torment and vulnerability.
“You’ll have to give him more. I’m going to lose him.” This time there was desperation in Lily’s voice.
“He’s turning his head, Lily, trying to look . . .” The voice trailed off.
Thorn looked up to see both Lily and the other man looking toward her, following that slow head turn Sam made even in his barely conscious state. They knew he was looking at her. To warn them? They’d probably think that, but he was trying to reach out—to help her. He was every bit as selfless as her father had been.
Mamoru Yoshiie simply appeared from the darkness, a small, almost thin man in a gray kimono and wide leg trousers, split-toed socks, and sandals. Behind him were two young boys, one thirteen, the other ten. Yoshiie had stood over her, shaking his head at the small group of thugs who had begun to gather close to see what he would do to her. Later, she learned, the thugs were the feared yakuza, who ran the sex and drugs in this part of the city. They bowed slightly to Yoshiie and slowly gave way as he bent to lift her into his arms.
Thorn had been so frightened. She was tiny, her weight no more than a feather to the older man. He stared into her eyes and peace descended. She had never felt like that again with anyone—until Sam.
She closed her eyes. She should let Sam go. She should be glad he was slipping away. Her heart slammed hard in her chest. The scars burned like fire. The little girl wouldn’t stop screaming. Even her fingernails hurt where she’d torn them off trying to get out of the small box they’d stuffed her into on the trip back to Japan.
She forced air through her lungs. There was no letting Sam go, not even to save her own life. There might be no chance for them, but Sam Johnson needed to be in the world. She rejected Dr. Whitney’s assessment that he wasn’t worth anything. She wouldn’t throw him away, not when she’d been inside of him and knew he was worth all the gold in the world. Her father would never have thrown him away. Just as he’d saved Daiki and Eiji and his beloved daughter, Azami, he would have plucked Sam from any danger and raised him to know how to take care of himself.
Don’t, Sam. Not for me. It was a long time ago. Let them work on you. Just go to sleep.
I can feel such pain in you.
She took a breath and deep inside, she stilled.
His voice swamped her. Brought her warmth, but she felt that terrible loneliness that echoed through his tone. Sadly she knew how he felt. He’d been in her, all that heat and strength, and when he was gone, she’d been aware of just how alone she’d been for too many years. She didn’t know how it would ever be possible to have him in her life—not when she had no choice but to complete what she’d set out to do—but with him alive there was always a chance. In any case, the world needed a man of compassion and strength and duty such as Sam Johnson.
Don’t leave me. Please just let the doc take care of you. She couldn’t quite stop that small pleading in her voice. He shook her. Crawled inside of her. Moved her when few things—or people—did. She had just left herself raw and exposed and more vulnerable than she’d been in years. She guarded her emotions far more than she did her body. She trusted few people. It had taken years to fully trust her father and brothers and yet she’d just given herself to Sam.
Don’t leave me. To a woman like Thorn, that was the epitome of weakness. She ducked her head and kept her expression perfectly blank.
Warmth slipped into her mind, filling the cold spaces, and shoved hard at the heavy open door of her childhood memories. He was saving her sanity even as he was slipping away. She kept breathing, in and out, stilling the terrible inner trembling. Whitney was gone. His voice. His eyes staring at her. She was alive and she was whole.
Sam. She whispered his name in her mind. Thankful for him. Afraid for him.
“Put him out,” Lily called, fear edging her voice. She sounded almost desperate.
They knew. They all knew about her now. Her gaze jumped to Tucker’s. She forced another calming breath. They knew she was telepathic, but that didn’t mean they knew about her childhood.
Could she put Sam out? She moved into his mind. He was definitely fighting the anesthesia—for her. Because she was upset and he was worried for her. She soothed him, assured him, and pushed him subtly toward acceptance. She knew the exact moment he succumbed, going out, drifting away from her so that she felt a wrenching separation and once again, she was utterly alone.
“Thank you,” Lily called, her voice muffled.
“Just save him,” Thorn said, loud enough for the doctor to hear. She forced air to continue breathing. Breathing in. Breathing out. Presenting that absolutely serene countenance to anyone watching her—and they were watching—even more closely now.
This time she initiated leaving the surgical tent. She couldn’t breathe in there. Tucker and the redheaded man followed her out. She got as far as the trees on shaking legs and stopped, leaning against a solid trunk and drawing in breath.
“Are you armed?” Tucker asked.
Her eyebrow shot up. “Of course I’m armed. I’m Daiki Yoshiie’s bodyguard. He’s had more threats against him than your president. I have permits to carry weapons, even in your country.” She spoke with great dignity, pitching her voice low, as if his question was totally ludicrous. She wasn’t altogether certain what she would do if he commanded her to surrender her weapons. And no way was she going to submit to a search.
“You brought down the helicopter.”
Tucker made it more of a statement than a question. She supposed he knew because Sam didn’t carry a bow and arrows and he must have received a report from whoever was cleaning up the bodies.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t show emotion. “It was necessary for our survival.”
Tucker pulled a water bottle from his pack. “You must be thirsty.”
She regarded the proffered bottle carefully. They were still treating her as a guest, yet her guard, the redheaded soldier, was definitely on alert. His gaze hadn’t left her no matter what was going on around him.
“Thank you.” She took the bottle and indicated the soldier. “Is he assigned to make certain I don’t go crazy and kill everyone here?” She injected a faint note of humor into her voice.
Tucker gave her an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This was a very coordinated and well-planned attack on your brother and perhaps you as well. Sam was assigned to keep you safe. Ian McGillicuddy has that honor now.”
She turned and smiled at McGillicuddy. He was a big man, his red hair spilling across his forehead and his green eyes piercing and intelligent. He was guarding her all right, but it wasn’t necessarily to keep her safe. She saluted him with the water bottle and took a long, cooling drink.
McGillicuddy nodded, but he didn’t smile and he didn’t take his eyes from her.
“Sam said my brothers are safe. I hope they’re under a tight guard.”
“Yes, of course. Kadan and Nico have them inside the compound. It’s a fortress. No one can get to them there,” Tucker said.
The concentrated smell of blood made her stomach lurch—an unusual reaction, so it had to be the aftermath of her memories bombarding her. She hoped that door was firmly closed. Glancing toward the tent, she didn’t try to keep the worry from her face.
“I thought it was a through and through and that he’d be fine.”
“You couldn’t have known. Sam’s tough,” Tucker added. “Once he went back twice for wounded and no one realized he’d been shot twice himself. We didn’t know until he was in the helicopter heading home and he just sort of passed out. That’s Sam.”
She liked Tucker all the more for the genuine respect and affection in his voice. “He was extremely efficient in the firefight. We were greatly outnumbered. The enemy spoke in English, Spanish, and Farsi. Two of the soldiers were murdered by their own people, presumably to keep them from talking.”
“The bullets were concentrated in the mouth, destroying teeth and faces. Soldiers must have mopped up after your kills, making certain to slow down identification. Have there been specific threats against your family?” Tucker asked.
“There are always threats.” Thorn looked around for a place to sit. Her legs were beginning to get a little strength in them, but she knew she needed recovery time. “I’d like to sit down if you don’t mind.” She said it more for McGillicuddy’s benefit than for Tucker’s. She didn’t want to make any sudden moves and have the man shoot her. She forced her legs to work—to glide soundlessly through the vegetation until she found a suitable spot to sink onto the ground gracefully.
“I’m sorry,” Tucker said immediately, looking remorseful. “I should have found you somewhere comfortable right away.”
“I think we both had other things on our minds,” Thorn said truthfully. “The adrenaline’s wearing off.”
“We can get you back up to the compound if you’re anxious to see your brothers.” Tucker sounded reluctant but willing.
Thorn didn’t blame him. Clearly he wanted to make certain Sam remained alive. She shook her head, sending him a quick smile. “I think I’ll stick around. You know how it is. When you’re in combat with someone, you get close fast. He was pretty amazing. I want to know firsthand that he’s going to make it.”
“Are you telepathic?”
The question was so casual, the tone equally so, that for a moment it almost didn’t register. Tucker Addison was very smooth at interrogation without seeming to be. He acted as if he was making innocent conversation. Thorn took her time, fussing with the pins in her hair, restoring a semblance of order as she looked up toward the blue sky. Night was still a few hours off, but the wind was picking up, blowing a few clouds overhead.
“Yes. I haven’t spoken to another telepath since my childhood.” That was strictly honest. “I found it exhilarating, shocking, and a little frightening that Sam had such a strong ability. I could hear him when he spoke to me.” She flashed a small smile and reached for a leaf, examining the thin veins running through it. “The gift came in quite handy during the battle.”
“Why wouldn’t Sam let Lily put him under?” Tucker crouched down opposite her, his gaze intent on her face.
Thorn shrugged. It was always better to stick as close to the truth as possible. “He was worried about me. We fought together, and I think he believed I was his responsibility—at least that’s what it felt like to me. He stepped between me and the soldiers several different times. I told him I was fine and that I’d stay close. That seemed to satisfy him.”
She was back to the game of wits, and her confidence was coming back. She knew how to be Azami Yoshiie, inside and out. She was samurai through and through. Her father’s daughter. That eight-year-old child, with all of her insecurities and terrible memories, was locked behind the door. Azami just had to keep her there.
So far, Tucker was making polite conversation, slipping in a clever question every now and then, but he hadn’t asked the significant question—where had she gotten second-generation Zenith. It wasn’t on the market as of yet. No one should know about it. So how had she? And how had she acquired it? Good questions that would require real answers. She knew he would wait until she was inside the compound where the GhostWalker teams would easily have the upper hand.