Murder Game by Christine Feehan Page A

pressed her fingers hard against her eyes. “You have to go. You have to go now.”
    They were on the edge of her camp, her space, her sanctuary. He couldn’t come here, couldn’t be allowed to take it away from her.
    “I want to go,” he said quietly. “I would if I could, but too many people will die if I do.”
    Tansy shook her head in despair, glanced at the radio and then away. She could call her father and he might be able to put a stop to this. If he had known the military was sending someone with a request, he would have warned her—or would he have? In one revelation, this stranger had changed her entire world all over again.
    She drank from a bottle of water, keeping her back to him, trying to sort out the things he’d told her. “Does my father know you’re here?”
    “Only the general. This mission is classified.”
    “I’m not in the military.” Tansy sank down into the one lawn chair she’d brought and forced her gaze to meet his.
    He spread his hands out. “Do you think I want to come here and upset you like this? People are dying . . .”
    She sighed. “People are always dying, Mr. Montague.”
    “Kadan,” he corrected. “And not like this.”
    She closed her eyes. “I can’t do it anymore. Yes, I do have some special gifts. I can leap high and I have fast reflexes, I can feel violent or threatening energy, but I fried my talent, or short-circuited it, or something, when I fell while I was climbing. Maybe it happened when I went to the hospital. I honestly don’t know, but when I touch things, nothing happens. And I’m grateful for that. I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”
    Kadan shrugged out of his pack and stretched, loosening his muscles as he surveyed the campsite. She knew what she was doing; sheltered from prying eyes even from above, the camp was comfortable, protected, but could catch the breezes coming in.
    “I have a gift for sound, Tansy, and you’re lying. I can hear it in your voice.”
    She shrugged. “You can think whatever you like, but I can’t help you. There are a few others I’ve heard of, psychics that can track killers. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You need me to go after a killer.”
    “Not just an ordinary killer, a GhostWalker. I’ve got an enhanced Special Forces-trained killer on the loose, and I need to track him down and eliminate him immediately.” Kadan reached for the coffeepot, dumped out the old liquid, and began filling the pot with water.
    Tansy flicked him a glance from under long lashes. He moved with fluid grace, at home in the wilderness, completely confident in his abilities. He scanned the surrounding area several times, and she knew that if she asked he could tell her where everything in the camp was positioned and the best escape route available to them should they need one. She’d worked with men like him, cool under fire, dangerous as hell, yet he had something different, something even more. Power clung to him.
    “I can’t help you.”
    “The GhostWalkers are like you, Tansy. Their lives have been changed forever. They have the same headaches, the nosebleeds, the seizures. They’re good men and women and they are under fire every minute of the day. They carry out missions no one else could touch. They put their lives on the line every day. You’re one of us.”
    She shook her head, keeping her voice calm and firm. “I wish I could help you, I really do, but I lost the one talent you need.”
    He sighed softly. “I swear to you, Tansy, I don’t want to do this the hard way. I want you to understand how important it is so that you at least comprehend why I had to come up here to get you. The GhostWalkers are considered too dangerous to be under suspicion like this. I’m under orders not to trust any of them. I can’t confide in them or ask for help or even tell them that their lives are in jeopardy just because of what they can do. These are my friends, my teammates. Men I’ve trained with and gone into