Samurai Game
Page 15
“Sam.” She caught his shoulders and put her mouth next to his, so that she felt every warm breath that he took. His skin felt cool, all that wonderful heat slowly dissipating.
His eyes focused on her. “Kiss me.”
The whisper was so soft she might not have heard it, but she felt the words formed against her own lips. She crossed those scant inches, settling her mouth on his, opening her mind to his, allowing him to slip into her. She refused to get lost in his kiss, pushing for him to open his mind more fully. The moment the barrier slipped, she poured in fast, afraid even as consciousness slipped away, he would close his mind to her. He was very disciplined, very trained, and she doubted he was a man who would give in to torture, yet his mind was unguarded when he kissed her.
She found that elusive thread to his leader. Captain Ryland Miller—Lily Whitney’s husband. She was ashamed of herself for hesitating. Would she allow Sam to die because of her mission? There had to be a line one didn’t cross. Letting them know of her abilities would complicate things, but Sam already suspected too much about her. She couldn’t live honorably if she allowed him to die just to keep her secrets.
I am Azami Yoshiie. I am with Sam Johnson. He’s wounded and needs a medic immediately. He’s lost a tremendous amount of blood. You’ll need several units. To stop the bleeding and keep him on his feet I administered two second-generation Zenith patches. The surge has worn off and he’s crashed from blood loss. His pulse is weak, his skin cooling fast. He hasn’t completely lost consciousness.
Her heart pounded in her chest. The small silence seemed like hours when it wasn’t more than a few seconds before a deep voice filled her mind.
We’ll have a helicopter in the air in three minutes. ETA to you, ten. Medic and blood on board.
She should have been disturbed that he didn’t ask her questions about how she had managed to tap into his mind—that meant he was a pro all the way. He didn’t even ask her about the Zenith and they had to be both outraged and shocked that not only did she know about it, she actually had some in her possession.
Medic wants to know if there’s arterial bleeding.
Not that I can see. I think there might be internal bleeding.
Roger that.
There was another short silence. She realized he was communicating with someone else.
Keep him talking, try to make him stay with you. Has he responded to you verbally?
No. Thorn felt frantic. She could feel him slipping further from her. She knew the pathway to Ryland Miller, so she didn’t need to include Sam, but as long as she was in his mind, she could monitor his brain function. He’s slipping in and out.
He’s strong. The voice was utterly calm. He’s a soldier. He’ll respond to commands. Talk to him. Force him to stay with you.
Thorn framed Sam’s face with her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “Sam, listen to me. They’re coming for us and we won’t have much time. I will not show affection to you in public, in the way Westerners do. In my family, courtship means nothing.”
His lashes fluttered and she found herself looking into his dark eyes. She was fairly certain Ryland had meant she was supposed to bark commands at Sam to keep him alert, but their connection was far more elemental, far more primal, and he responded to her instinctively—or she liked to think so. In any case, she had his attention.
“Only a proposal of marriage is treated with the utmost respect. If my brother doesn’t cut off your head and accepts such an outrageous suggestion, you will be considered family and must treat my brothers in the same manner. Such an arrangement is not taken lightly in our family. You mustn’t mention courtship when we are back with the others.”
She pressed her mouth against his. “And no more kissing.”
For one moment, her heart nearly stood still when she swore his lips curved beneath hers, the lightest of movements, but then he was fading again. Panic welled up. “Don’t you dare die on me, soldier,” she snapped, forcing a crisp, sharp command into her voice. “Open your eyes and look at me, Sam.”
His eyelashes fluttered and he gave a wheezing gasp. She was losing him. The helicopter and medic were going to be too late. Thorn swore under her breath and once again leaned into him.
“Don’t leave me. I need you.” She choked the words out, horrified that they might be true. She barely knew this man and yet she knew him far more intimately than anyone else in the world. She’d been inside his mind. They fit, like two pieces of a puzzle. He accepted who she was, that elusive woman who stood quietly inside the warrior. He treated her with respect—as an equal. He hadn’t hesitated to go into battle with her and he hadn’t checked to make certain she was doing her part. The world couldn’t lose this man. He was something very special.
He’s crashing. He’s crashing now. She kept the edge of panic from her voice, sending the message with utter calm while inside she felt herself shattering.
There was that small silence and then the voice came—every bit as steady as hers. Use another Zenith patch if you have it. Just one.
Her breath caught in her throat and for the first time she hesitated. That could make him bleed out faster if he’s bleeding internally.
It will force the blood to his brain and keep him from brain damage and buy us the time. Lily will operate when she gets there. Just do it.
Lily Whitney—Peter Whitney’s daughter. Did she dare trust her as Sam did? Lily had been the one to develop the second-generation Zenith drug. Was she experimenting with her new drug on Sam? Was she like her father? Did she consider Sam expendable, or was she really trying to save his life?
She ran one caressing finger down his face, took a breath, and made her decision.
CHAPTER 6
Thorn held Sam’s hand and brushed the hair from his face as the helicopter approached. She ached inside, the tension growing as the helicopter landed and the occupants spilled out. Several men raced to set up a tent, while two more and a woman approached her. She let go of Sam, slowly getting to her feet, aware of every weapon she carried, most concealed now. One man carried a litter while the other paced alongside of him, hands free, his eyes not on Sam, but on her.
Her stomach fluttered, but her nerves held steady. This man was her guard. Tall, red hair, solidly built, it was nearly impossible to ignore him. First had come Sam’s warning and then Ryland Miller, no doubt, had told them all to watch her carefully. She knew the drill. There would be politeness, warm smiles, cold watchful eyes, and guards watching her every move. Every one of these men was a GhostWalker and they recognized one another. She had known, when she’d made the decision to enter their camp, that she’d be at risk, but the end result—to improve her chances of finding Whitney’s location—was well worth it. Her brief trip into fantasy—pretending she could actually have Sam—was gone and her very familiar reality was back.
Lily Miller rushed to Sam’s side, nodded at her with a polite murmur, but her entire focus was on Sam. Thorn kept a hand close to her dagger. If Sam Johnson died from Lily’s attentions, Lily would follow right after him and damn the consequences. Thorn played out each step in her mind. She would kill Lily swiftly, use teleportation to get into the clearing she and Sam had first jumped to, and then disappear. The GhostWalker team would have home field advantage, but she had confidence, not only in herself but in Daiki and Eiji. They might not be enhanced or have psychic abilities, but they had unbelievable skills, and they would never panic.
Thorn kept her eyes on Lily while the redheaded guard kept his eyes on her. Lily assessed Sam’s condition quickly. She handed Thorn a bag of fluids with the briefest of nods.
“Come on, Sam,” Lily murmured softly. “Hang in there for me. Give me two more minutes. Just two. That’s all I need.” Even as she whispered cajolingly, she inserted a needle into his arm, frowning in concentration as she tried for a vein that seemed elusive.
The big soldier kneeling on the other side of the cot steadied Sam’s arm for Lily, his face a mask of concern. He was all muscle, and yet the look on his face revealed hints of genuine affection and love—the sort of emotion a man like him would show only when fear ate at the edges of his mind. He sent her a quick reassuring smile in spite of the fact that he was anxious.
“Tucker Addison, ma’am. Sorry about the circumstances.” He was deeply afraid for Sam—they all were. That frightened Thorn even more. She should have known something was wrong much earlier.
She inclined her head. “Azami Yoshiie.” Sam had used far too much energy teleporting, again and again. She knew from experience how difficult it was on the body, yet he’d done so wounded and unflinching. Was it possible using teleportation had aggravated the wound in his body?
Lily was much easier to read than the man. She was so apprehensive over Sam’s condition, she had no time for anything or anyone else—not even a potential enemy or an honored guest. Sam was her only concern. Thorn felt the tight coiling in her body ease just a little. There was no way to fake the kind of anxiety Lily was displaying.
Lily found the vein in Sam’s arm. With a rapid efficiency Thorn couldn’t help but admire, she hooked up an IV and then a second one. Blood and fluids pumped into Sam nearly before Thorn could take a second breath.
“Is he going to make it, Doc?”
Thorn narrowed her gaze to center on the speaker, the man standing at Sam’s head.
Lily frowned. “Of course, Kyle. I refuse to allow any other option. It’s safe to move him to the tent now.”
She glanced at Thorn, as if really seeing her for the first time. Thorn realized that, until now, Lily had viewed her as little more than an inanimate object on which to drape supplies while she saw to her patient.
“Ms. Yoshiie.” Lily inclined her head in a slight nod of respect. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under such extreme circumstances. We have to move Sam into the tent. Would you mind carrying these?” She held out the bags of fluids. “I need to keep my hands free.”
Thorn shook her head and immediately stepped up to take the bags from Lily. Another man hurried to help Tucker lift Sam into the litter. They moved fast toward the tent, Lily running along beside them. Thorn’s sense of urgency revived with a vengeance. Lily had declared Sam safe to move, but if they were running, he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Thorn’s mouth went dry and her heart began to pound. The scars on her chest throbbed and burned. Blood thundered in her ears. She moistened her lips. “Are you going to operate right here?”
In a tent? Outdoors? Without anesthesia? For one horrible moment she was six years old again and out of her mind with pain and fear. She ran along beside the litter, her gaze refusing to focus on the ground or anything else around her. She could hear a child screaming so loud she couldn’t focus, the sound high and animalistic. Reality retreated until she could only hear that softly pitched, modulated voice with its perfect elocution that sent chills through her at night and kept her afraid to close her eyes.
Think of the contribution you’re making to science, Thorn. Whitney spoke as if she should be grateful that he was operating on her without anesthesia, and because she was a child and one with a rather low IQ, he thought, he felt he needed to speak very distinctly and slowly for her to understand. When we’re finished here, I will be so much closer to knowing how much pain a GhostWalker can sustain without succumbing to death. You should be grateful you can help so many others.
Whitney stood above her, poised, unflappable, his expression perfectly reasonable and interested as he stood over her writhing body with a scalpel.
Please. The child’s pleading voice. Sweat beading on her forehead, dotting her body, the terrible fear permeating the room. You did this already.
Of course, Thorn. That same soft, reasonable voice. We have to repeat the experiment again and again to make certain of our facts. I’ve explained that to you. You’re old enough to understand what’s expected of you. Lie still and this time, I want you to concentrate on not allowing your heart to stop. You can do that, can’t you?
His eyes focused on her. “Kiss me.”
The whisper was so soft she might not have heard it, but she felt the words formed against her own lips. She crossed those scant inches, settling her mouth on his, opening her mind to his, allowing him to slip into her. She refused to get lost in his kiss, pushing for him to open his mind more fully. The moment the barrier slipped, she poured in fast, afraid even as consciousness slipped away, he would close his mind to her. He was very disciplined, very trained, and she doubted he was a man who would give in to torture, yet his mind was unguarded when he kissed her.
She found that elusive thread to his leader. Captain Ryland Miller—Lily Whitney’s husband. She was ashamed of herself for hesitating. Would she allow Sam to die because of her mission? There had to be a line one didn’t cross. Letting them know of her abilities would complicate things, but Sam already suspected too much about her. She couldn’t live honorably if she allowed him to die just to keep her secrets.
I am Azami Yoshiie. I am with Sam Johnson. He’s wounded and needs a medic immediately. He’s lost a tremendous amount of blood. You’ll need several units. To stop the bleeding and keep him on his feet I administered two second-generation Zenith patches. The surge has worn off and he’s crashed from blood loss. His pulse is weak, his skin cooling fast. He hasn’t completely lost consciousness.
Her heart pounded in her chest. The small silence seemed like hours when it wasn’t more than a few seconds before a deep voice filled her mind.
We’ll have a helicopter in the air in three minutes. ETA to you, ten. Medic and blood on board.
She should have been disturbed that he didn’t ask her questions about how she had managed to tap into his mind—that meant he was a pro all the way. He didn’t even ask her about the Zenith and they had to be both outraged and shocked that not only did she know about it, she actually had some in her possession.
Medic wants to know if there’s arterial bleeding.
Not that I can see. I think there might be internal bleeding.
Roger that.
There was another short silence. She realized he was communicating with someone else.
Keep him talking, try to make him stay with you. Has he responded to you verbally?
No. Thorn felt frantic. She could feel him slipping further from her. She knew the pathway to Ryland Miller, so she didn’t need to include Sam, but as long as she was in his mind, she could monitor his brain function. He’s slipping in and out.
He’s strong. The voice was utterly calm. He’s a soldier. He’ll respond to commands. Talk to him. Force him to stay with you.
Thorn framed Sam’s face with her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “Sam, listen to me. They’re coming for us and we won’t have much time. I will not show affection to you in public, in the way Westerners do. In my family, courtship means nothing.”
His lashes fluttered and she found herself looking into his dark eyes. She was fairly certain Ryland had meant she was supposed to bark commands at Sam to keep him alert, but their connection was far more elemental, far more primal, and he responded to her instinctively—or she liked to think so. In any case, she had his attention.
“Only a proposal of marriage is treated with the utmost respect. If my brother doesn’t cut off your head and accepts such an outrageous suggestion, you will be considered family and must treat my brothers in the same manner. Such an arrangement is not taken lightly in our family. You mustn’t mention courtship when we are back with the others.”
She pressed her mouth against his. “And no more kissing.”
For one moment, her heart nearly stood still when she swore his lips curved beneath hers, the lightest of movements, but then he was fading again. Panic welled up. “Don’t you dare die on me, soldier,” she snapped, forcing a crisp, sharp command into her voice. “Open your eyes and look at me, Sam.”
His eyelashes fluttered and he gave a wheezing gasp. She was losing him. The helicopter and medic were going to be too late. Thorn swore under her breath and once again leaned into him.
“Don’t leave me. I need you.” She choked the words out, horrified that they might be true. She barely knew this man and yet she knew him far more intimately than anyone else in the world. She’d been inside his mind. They fit, like two pieces of a puzzle. He accepted who she was, that elusive woman who stood quietly inside the warrior. He treated her with respect—as an equal. He hadn’t hesitated to go into battle with her and he hadn’t checked to make certain she was doing her part. The world couldn’t lose this man. He was something very special.
He’s crashing. He’s crashing now. She kept the edge of panic from her voice, sending the message with utter calm while inside she felt herself shattering.
There was that small silence and then the voice came—every bit as steady as hers. Use another Zenith patch if you have it. Just one.
Her breath caught in her throat and for the first time she hesitated. That could make him bleed out faster if he’s bleeding internally.
It will force the blood to his brain and keep him from brain damage and buy us the time. Lily will operate when she gets there. Just do it.
Lily Whitney—Peter Whitney’s daughter. Did she dare trust her as Sam did? Lily had been the one to develop the second-generation Zenith drug. Was she experimenting with her new drug on Sam? Was she like her father? Did she consider Sam expendable, or was she really trying to save his life?
She ran one caressing finger down his face, took a breath, and made her decision.
CHAPTER 6
Thorn held Sam’s hand and brushed the hair from his face as the helicopter approached. She ached inside, the tension growing as the helicopter landed and the occupants spilled out. Several men raced to set up a tent, while two more and a woman approached her. She let go of Sam, slowly getting to her feet, aware of every weapon she carried, most concealed now. One man carried a litter while the other paced alongside of him, hands free, his eyes not on Sam, but on her.
Her stomach fluttered, but her nerves held steady. This man was her guard. Tall, red hair, solidly built, it was nearly impossible to ignore him. First had come Sam’s warning and then Ryland Miller, no doubt, had told them all to watch her carefully. She knew the drill. There would be politeness, warm smiles, cold watchful eyes, and guards watching her every move. Every one of these men was a GhostWalker and they recognized one another. She had known, when she’d made the decision to enter their camp, that she’d be at risk, but the end result—to improve her chances of finding Whitney’s location—was well worth it. Her brief trip into fantasy—pretending she could actually have Sam—was gone and her very familiar reality was back.
Lily Miller rushed to Sam’s side, nodded at her with a polite murmur, but her entire focus was on Sam. Thorn kept a hand close to her dagger. If Sam Johnson died from Lily’s attentions, Lily would follow right after him and damn the consequences. Thorn played out each step in her mind. She would kill Lily swiftly, use teleportation to get into the clearing she and Sam had first jumped to, and then disappear. The GhostWalker team would have home field advantage, but she had confidence, not only in herself but in Daiki and Eiji. They might not be enhanced or have psychic abilities, but they had unbelievable skills, and they would never panic.
Thorn kept her eyes on Lily while the redheaded guard kept his eyes on her. Lily assessed Sam’s condition quickly. She handed Thorn a bag of fluids with the briefest of nods.
“Come on, Sam,” Lily murmured softly. “Hang in there for me. Give me two more minutes. Just two. That’s all I need.” Even as she whispered cajolingly, she inserted a needle into his arm, frowning in concentration as she tried for a vein that seemed elusive.
The big soldier kneeling on the other side of the cot steadied Sam’s arm for Lily, his face a mask of concern. He was all muscle, and yet the look on his face revealed hints of genuine affection and love—the sort of emotion a man like him would show only when fear ate at the edges of his mind. He sent her a quick reassuring smile in spite of the fact that he was anxious.
“Tucker Addison, ma’am. Sorry about the circumstances.” He was deeply afraid for Sam—they all were. That frightened Thorn even more. She should have known something was wrong much earlier.
She inclined her head. “Azami Yoshiie.” Sam had used far too much energy teleporting, again and again. She knew from experience how difficult it was on the body, yet he’d done so wounded and unflinching. Was it possible using teleportation had aggravated the wound in his body?
Lily was much easier to read than the man. She was so apprehensive over Sam’s condition, she had no time for anything or anyone else—not even a potential enemy or an honored guest. Sam was her only concern. Thorn felt the tight coiling in her body ease just a little. There was no way to fake the kind of anxiety Lily was displaying.
Lily found the vein in Sam’s arm. With a rapid efficiency Thorn couldn’t help but admire, she hooked up an IV and then a second one. Blood and fluids pumped into Sam nearly before Thorn could take a second breath.
“Is he going to make it, Doc?”
Thorn narrowed her gaze to center on the speaker, the man standing at Sam’s head.
Lily frowned. “Of course, Kyle. I refuse to allow any other option. It’s safe to move him to the tent now.”
She glanced at Thorn, as if really seeing her for the first time. Thorn realized that, until now, Lily had viewed her as little more than an inanimate object on which to drape supplies while she saw to her patient.
“Ms. Yoshiie.” Lily inclined her head in a slight nod of respect. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under such extreme circumstances. We have to move Sam into the tent. Would you mind carrying these?” She held out the bags of fluids. “I need to keep my hands free.”
Thorn shook her head and immediately stepped up to take the bags from Lily. Another man hurried to help Tucker lift Sam into the litter. They moved fast toward the tent, Lily running along beside them. Thorn’s sense of urgency revived with a vengeance. Lily had declared Sam safe to move, but if they were running, he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Thorn’s mouth went dry and her heart began to pound. The scars on her chest throbbed and burned. Blood thundered in her ears. She moistened her lips. “Are you going to operate right here?”
In a tent? Outdoors? Without anesthesia? For one horrible moment she was six years old again and out of her mind with pain and fear. She ran along beside the litter, her gaze refusing to focus on the ground or anything else around her. She could hear a child screaming so loud she couldn’t focus, the sound high and animalistic. Reality retreated until she could only hear that softly pitched, modulated voice with its perfect elocution that sent chills through her at night and kept her afraid to close her eyes.
Think of the contribution you’re making to science, Thorn. Whitney spoke as if she should be grateful that he was operating on her without anesthesia, and because she was a child and one with a rather low IQ, he thought, he felt he needed to speak very distinctly and slowly for her to understand. When we’re finished here, I will be so much closer to knowing how much pain a GhostWalker can sustain without succumbing to death. You should be grateful you can help so many others.
Whitney stood above her, poised, unflappable, his expression perfectly reasonable and interested as he stood over her writhing body with a scalpel.
Please. The child’s pleading voice. Sweat beading on her forehead, dotting her body, the terrible fear permeating the room. You did this already.
Of course, Thorn. That same soft, reasonable voice. We have to repeat the experiment again and again to make certain of our facts. I’ve explained that to you. You’re old enough to understand what’s expected of you. Lie still and this time, I want you to concentrate on not allowing your heart to stop. You can do that, can’t you?
