I’m coming in now.

Calhoun cried out in pain, a long scream that tore at Nicolas’s gut. He had no idea if Gregson was still in the room torturing Jesse, or if the scream was meant to cover any sound. Regardless, Nicolas took the opportunity to slide the window open and slip into the house. Using his enhanced abilities, Nicolas tripped the sensors throughout the house as he went up the wall to the ceiling, knowing they would come for him. They wouldn’t know which room he was in, and they would have to search each one. To do that would divide their numbers.

He clung to the walls like a spider, pressing with his hands and digging with his toes, moving up in the corner until he loomed over the door. He didn’t have long to wait. The door burst open, and the shadowy figure in the hall let loose with his weapon. Bullets chewed up the walls and floor, knocked out the pane of glass.

The man stepped into the room, sweeping the area with his flashlight. Nicolas sprung onto the floor behind him, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, transferring his knife from his teeth to his hands as he did so. Others were pouring bullets into various other rooms. He loomed up behind the guard, a silent, lethal shadow and was gone just as quickly, rolling down the hall, away from the thud of boots toward the darkened alcove. Just above the window seat was a wide built-in cabinet. Nicolas went up and over the cabinet to lay in the darkness, fitting the familiar grip of the Beretta into his palm.

“It’s her, damn it,” someone snarled. “Get in the room with Calhoun. Put a knife to his throat. If she gets that far, threaten to kill him. She’ll cave.”

The house was eerily silent after the command was issued. Nicolas listened for the heavy tread of boots leading to Calhoun’s room. Two men were coming toward Nicolas, answering Gregson’s order.

He’s coming to put a knife to your throat. Don’t react. I’ll take him out. Nicolas warned Calhoun of the intent.

I’m telling you it isn’t worth it. Get the hell out while you have the chance. Calhoun’s voice was shaky, even in Nicolas’s mind.

Can you take out the one coming for you?

Too weak. Can’t even lift my arms.

Nicolas made out the men moving like shadowy wraiths down the narrow hall. It was a bad position for them and they knew it, moving into the doorways for cover, but wary of the rooms once they found their fallen comrade.

You’re a GhostWalker, Calhoun, same as I am, the same as Dahlia. Turn him away from you. Buy me some time. Nicolas made it a command. Calhoun was a Navy SEAL. No matter who he worked for, once a SEAL, always a SEAL. He knew what an order was, and he would obey it with his last breath.

It was significant to Nicolas that Calhoun didn’t question what a GhostWalker was. He’d heard the term before, and that was a piece of information worth remembering. Only a select few with high-security clearance were familiar with the term. Jesse Calhoun hadn’t been among those trained with Nicolas. Where had he come from?

The lights flickered on. Immediately it was a disadvantage for him. Ghosts walked in the dark. Nicolas concentrated on the circuit breaker, on blowing the circuits. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t have the gift as some of the other GhostWalkers did. Almost immediately lightbulbs throughout the house began to pop. Sparks and glass rained down. Wires melted, plunging the house once again into darkness. Flames licked up the walls and spread across the ceiling, casting orange shadows everywhere. Nicolas couldn’t generate that kind of heat. Dahlia was helping him, focusing energy and aiming it. As always with Dahlia, the results were far more than she’d hoped.

Nicolas waited until two men went past him before sliding silently to the floor, replacing the Beretta with this knife. He made his way along the hall, keeping behind the two men leading the way for him, his footfalls exactly matching theirs. The lead man shoved open a door on the left and instantly Nicolas smelled blood. The scent was overpowering, sickly sweet. Worse was the smell of infection. Like the ghost he was, he moved up directly behind the man closest to him and caught him around the neck with a thick arm, the knife slicing deep.

Nicolas felt the surge of power as Jesse Calhoun tried to keep the first guard’s attention as he came toward the bed. Nicolas lowered the body to the floor and stalked after the lead guard. The man already had his knife out as he approached the wounded NCIS agent. Nicolas was on him before he could reach Jesse, dropping him to the floor without caring too much about the noise.

“Nicolas Trevane,” he greeted, watching Calhoun closely for signs of awareness. The GhostWalker program had been small.

“I know who you are,” Calhoun responded. His voice was a thread of sound. The very act of speaking seemed too much for him. “Get Dahlia clear. They can’t get their hands on her.”

Nicolas waved him to silence. He could feel Dahlia’s presence, although he’d told her to stay as far from the house as she could so that any violence taking place would be dispersed naturally before he ever called her in. He waited in the darkness, afraid for her, wondering if she was ill, while only a few feet from him Jesse Calhoun lay dying. He heard Gregson call out to his men just as a hail of bullets cut through the wall. He threw himself onto the floor and reached up to drag Calhoun off the bed.

The NCIS agent was a dead weight, already unconscious when he hit the floor. Nicolas pulled the mattress down to provide a little more cover for the wounded man as the bullets tore great gouges out of the wall behind him. He retreated to the window. The glass had been broken out by bullets, leaving behind jagged shards hanging in the frame. He broke the remaining glass out with the butt of his gun and slipped out to gain the roof. He found himself directly over Murphy’s head. The guard was leaning down, trying to get a sight into the house.

Nicolas stilled, aware of the seconds ticking by. Seconds Jesse Calhoun didn’t have. He leapt out of the darkness, giving Murphy no time to fire off his weapon, his knife finding the target, and slipping away, back into the shadows to stalk Paulie.

The bullet came out of the night, clipping his shoulder, removing material, skin, and hair as it slid past, burning as it kissed him. He was spun around, but went with the momentum, allowing it to carry him over the roof to the deck below. He landed on his feet in a crouch and rolled across the expanse of flooring to gain the series of planters and the relative cover they provided.

“We’ve got her cornered, Paulie,” Gregson shouted. “She’s on the deck.”

Nicolas crawled backward until his boots touched the railing. GhostWalkers preferred high ground, but he’d take low if it was all that was available to him.

“It isn’t the woman, Gregson,” Paulie informed his boss. “Too big. I think I winged him though. Give me a minute to get into position and we’ll end it.”

Nicolas slid over the railing, coming to ground just below the deck. He traveled the same path the guard had walked, moving around the exterior of the house until he had gained a position close to where Gregson’s voice had come. He waited, counting the seconds, sending a subtle push toward the man to speak again.

It was in Gregson’s nature to control a situation, and the push found contact. “Drive him toward me, Paulie.”

It was all Nicolas needed, that single sentence to give him the exact location. He drew and fired in one smooth motion, going for the kill. He immediately moved, hurrying along the path to the corner.

“I knew he’d open his big mouth,” Paulie’s voice came from a few feet away and down low as if he were lying on the ground. “And I knew you’d nail him.”

Nicolas froze, trying to discern the guard’s precise location. Heat flared all around him, the temperature rising fast. Orange-red fireballs streaked through the sky, arcing along the river and dropping to the earth to blast into the ground. Nicolas threw himself flat, rolling to fire off three shots in Paulie’s direction. The ground shook with the force of the fireballs as they slammed into earth. He heard Paulie grunt, the sound a good distance from where he’d been.

Nicolas closed his eyes and sent his mind seeking until he found the target. Paulie was crawling toward him, wincing away from the fire raining down from the sky. Nicolas tracked him, first with his mind, then with his gun. He took aim and squeezed the trigger.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“He’s dying, Nicolas.” Dahlia staggered toward the man lying unmoving on the floor. “Jesse.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I can’t lose you too. Don’t do this.” Crouching beside him, she caught his hand, held it tightly, and looked up at Nicolas. “Do something.” Dahlia had never seen anything resembling the raw flesh that passed for the lower half of both of Jesse’s legs. She could see bones and muscles and there was so much blood. Too much blood. He had burn marks on his chest and several cuts, but it was the horror of his mangled legs that made her terrified for him.

“I’ve called for an ambulance, Dahlia, and the NCIS has agents coming as well. Lily’s contacted them, and they’ll be here in a few minutes.” Nicolas couldn’t look at her. She was as white as a sheet, her eyes too large for her face. Her body trembled under the strain of the aftermath of so many deaths. She’d already been sick once, and he could see her fighting for breath. She was soaking wet and streaked with mud from traveling along the river’s edge. He had no idea how she managed to get to him, lugging his pack along with her. The pack weighed as she much as she did, but she was there, her eyes filling with tears and tearing out his heart. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it either. “We can’t be here when they come.”

“You can save him, Nicolas,” Dahlia said. “I know you can. I feel the power in the room with us. You have to try. He won’t last until the ambulance gets here. You know he won’t. You told me your grandfather felt it in you a long time ago. He could heal, so can you.”

“I told you I couldn’t heal anyone, Dahlia. I’ve never been able to.” Failing her left him feeling worse than he had felt at any other time in his life. “I’m sorry, I wish I could save him for you, but I can’t.” It wasn’t as if he couldn’t feel the power moving through his body. It was there, a tight coil he could never unfurl. He had tried so hard in his youth to learn the secret, spent time in the mountains on vision quests, had meditated, all to no avail. He couldn’t bring the power out of his body and into another’s no matter how grave the injury or how important the need.

“There’s all this energy bombarding me, surrounding us. It’s violent and ugly, but we’ve mixed it before, we can do it again, this time use it for something good. You have my crystals in your pack. I can aim and focus the energy through the crystals. You kept us joined while you were here alone, you can keep us joined so you can use the energy. I’ve never been able to release energy through crystals but I think you can.”

“I don’t know the first thing about crystals, Dahlia.” He didn’t. His people used herbs and smoke and spirits, not rock and mineral.

“I know about crystals.” The energy was flowing to her from every part of the house, rushing to overtake her like a great tsunami. She rocked back and forth, pressing her teeth together, fighting to stay conscious. “We have to do it now, Nicolas.”

He dropped to his knees beside her. “We can’t stay here, Dahlia. It’s too dangerous, and the cops are going to be trigger-happy when they find the dead bodies outside. I’ll try, but we have no more than a few minutes. Then we go.” He was already pulling her crystal spheres from the pack. “Which ones?”

“The amethyst to focus. The rose quartz for healing.” She reached for the familiar balls, her fingertips gliding over the surfaces. At once the calming affect relieved some of the terrible pressure building throughout her body.

Nicolas put his hands over Jesse Calhoun’s chest. His hands felt icy cold. He felt the power moving inside him, but there was a barrier he couldn’t begin to bridge. For Dahlia’s sake, he began the age-old healing chant his Lakota grandfather had taught him.