She wanted to stay like this forever, feeling a part of him. Sharing his mind and the pleasure he got in just touching her. He loved just being able to slide his fingers over her, slip a hand inside her shirt and cup the weight of her breast, thumb caressing her nipple. The intensity of his enjoyment at simply stroking her skin was amazing to her and she didn't want to go back to the real world, where no one ever laid a hand on her and she never dared to have actual contact.
I'm not going anywhere.
He couldn't promise that. She looked at the ivory figurines. If she touched them, and she couldn't control what happened, if the voices sank into her head, were trapped in her mind, he would have no choice but to abandon her.
Kadan swore and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do. We can't let them keep murdering people, Kadan. They have a taste for it and they won't stop." Tears burned behind her eyes. Usually there was one killer, one depraved mind she was forced to share. This time there were eight, and they were psychic, just as she was.
His lips slid over her ear. "My mind shares yours. If you're determined to go through with this, then know wherever this takes you, you won't be alone, Tansy. I'm strong. I'll find your mind and I'll bring you back."
"Last time I broke into a million pieces."
"I'll find each one."
It was the resolve, that absolute determination, that reassured her that he meant what he said. He wouldn't abandon her no matter how bad it got. It was his nature to be completely focused and implacable. He wouldn't turn back or turn away. His willpower gave her strength. Tansy settled her fingers around the frog, lifting it from the table.
The jolt was hard. The room shifted beneath her feet as the energy rushed at her with greedy claws. She hadn't expected the frog to be so strong. She'd already formed an opinion that he was one of the lesser members of the team, but his psychic energy was intense. She felt the familiar slick oil pouring into her mind, a sludge that indicated perverse sickness. He sought power. Always power. He wanted attention. Wanted his strength known when no one saw him. He was always passed over by everyone. His commanding officers thought themselves superior, but they were nothing to him--nothing.
Each week he took people down into his world. They had no idea he held their lives in the palm of his hand. He enjoyed that feeling, deciding--live or die by his hand. Who would he choose to let live? He wanted them to know, but only the ones who died knew, at last, looking into his eyes while he held them under. See me. Drowning, drowning. See me.
Tansy! Kadan's voice was sharp, filled with menace, with command.
She dared not disobey him. His fingers forced her hand open. She hadn't realized she was sobbing, or that the whispers had grown loud in her mind. Tears poured down her face. The screams were loud now, victims screaming as water poured into their lungs and he stood toe to toe, holding them down, forcing them to stare at his mocking, exultant face.
Revere me. I'm a god. I condemn you to death. See me. Damn you, look at me. You will stay with me and always see me.
Kadan shook her. "Look at me. Look at me now."
Her dazed eyes, shimmering with opaque violet, jumped to his. Kadan dragged her away from the table to the center of the room. He could feel the thick oil clouding her mind, hear the screams and whispers threatening to take over. He refused to allow her to look away from him. Deliberately he filled her mind with emotion, with warmth and tenderness, his hands gentle.
"Are you with me, baby?"
She moistened her dry lips, blinking rapidly. He could feel her mind clinging to his. "I'm all right. He was stronger than I expected." She shivered again, trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Thankfully, Kadan's firm, velvet-soft voice, although low, pushed over the top of the other. Kadan had established his dominance, and his power and control over her was absolute. His voice took over in her mind. We're together, baby, one mind, one skin. They can't touch you.
His voice was a caress, sliding over her, into her, so that she grasped at the feel of him as if he were a life preserver.
"I'm all right. I'm good." It wasn't altogether true; she retained the sludge, but it was easier to break with the voices.
"Tell me what you saw."
She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Bodies in the water. At least six, maybe more; I couldn't make myself look. He drags them down and drowns them. He likes to watch their eyes." She frowned. "He doesn't need scuba gear; he can hold his breath a really long time, or maybe he doesn't even need to do that. He breathes underwater--is that possible? Can one of the GhostWalkers actually breathe underwater? He's killed many times. But his murder in the game wasn't satisfactory to him. Something went wrong. He wants another turn."
She was breathing hard--too hard. Already he could feel the headache beating at her, piercing her skull like an ice pick. He tasted blood in his mouth and knew she was bleeding. His belly churned in response to her pain. He detested her doing this--and they had at least six more game pieces to go through.
Kadan stepped closer to pull her into his arms, but she shook her head, waving him away from her so she could finish. She looked fragile, swaying, her skin pale and beaded with tiny drops of sweat, although there were goose bumps on her arms and she kept shivering.
"He's small and slight, barely able to make the requirements for the military. Everyone underestimates him and that makes him angry. He wants women to notice him, but he can't really perform well because deep down he's insecure. He relates better when he's feeling murderous. His friends tease him a lot. He's the butt of some very ugly jokes, but after he gets over his mad, he convinces himself it's their way of showing him affection."
"And this particular murder?" Kadan began to rub her shoulders. He didn't want to share her mind while it was pounding with pain, and he had to ignore her suffering in order for her to get the rest out. He wanted to stop her, hold her, wipe her mind clean. He felt like a bastard, twisting the knife deeper, looking for more to help him uncover the killers.
She shook her head adamantly. "He was so angry, angry enough that for a moment he thought about killing . . ." She frowned, pressing her fingertips to her eyes. "Who? Someone else, someone supposed to be impartial, fair. How can he be successful at this kind of murder?"
She closed her eyes, took a breath, and let herself drown in the sludge. It wasn't as thick or as bloody, but the impression of "Frog" was strong. He didn't like killing this way. The guys were bastards, helping him plan but laughing behind his back. He knew they were laughing. Hell. He didn't want to do a couple of nerdy high school kids. At least give him jocks. He might want to cut off a few body parts while they watched him. Damn bullies shoving him around just because they could. Now he was going to have to off a couple of skinny nerds who'd been bullied all their lives. Paper-pushing bastard probably rigged the game--did one of his endless psych evals and saw this would make him sick.
Young voices rose into wails. Pleading. Begging.
I'm sorry, man, it's just a game, you know. I gotta do it for my team, but when this is over, I'll find that dickhead paper pusher and watch him die for you. He chose you, not me.
The pleading rose to a crescendo. She could see their eyes. So young. So scared. They'd never even been with a girl and they were going to die. Frog kept talking to them, assuaging his guilt at the expense of his two victims. He wanted them to understand that he had no choice. It was all part of the brotherhood. He needed forgiveness.
Girlish screams of fear. Tears tracking down baby faces. They couldn't be more than fifteen. Two young boys just beginning life. Mom. Dad. I love you. I'm sorry.
What did they have to be sorry about? Only that a killer had trapped them and was about to end their lives. Nothing else. They hadn't lived long enough or screwed up bad enough. Two boys who were intelligent and loved gadgets.
Her entire body shuddered, muscles locking. They were just babies, and Frog was going to kill them and then cut them int
o tiny pieces. At least he was merciful enough to kill them with a single shot to the head, to make certain they didn't suffer. And then he began to slice them into pieces. Thirty each.
Stay cool, baby. I'm here with you. Feel me. Look into my eyes. You're only far away in your head, but if you reach for me, they can't take you. I'm your anchor.
Why thirty? What's the significance of thirty? The number had to mean something. It meant something to Frog. A signal, a message, but to whom?
Kadan slid his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, holding tight, needing the contact more than she did. Her mind was amazing to him, cataloguing data, working fast, discarding theories. He'd never seen anything like it. But it took its toll.
Keep the barrier in place.
It wasn't second nature to her, holding that wall to keep a separation. As a rule she merged herself totally with the killer and victims. Maybe the details were a little blurry, but as far as Kadan was concerned, she was picking up enough through the gloves to destroy her mind.
"What's significant, Tansy?" she murmured to herself. "Thirty pieces of silver is all I can think of. What would that have to do with . . ." She trailed off, her eyes going wide. Blood trickled from her nose.
Pull away, break off completely.
She swallowed. Blinked. Her opaque eyes looked into his. Blood leaked from her mouth and one ear.