Max kept the stare going but raised his voice. “Dahlia? You all right?”

In spite of having cleaned up and dressed in the clothes Nicolas brought her, Dahlia was still pale and wan from the seizure. Her headache was a killer. She just wanted to lie down and sleep as she always did after such an event. The men had her cut off from the pilot, separated by their bodies and guns. She forced a casual shrug. “I’m fine, Max.

They’re all just a little overprotective after what happened to Jesse,” Dahlia answered. “They insist on coming along.”

Max refused to break eye contact with Nicolas. “Not if you don’t want them to come. Say the word.”

“You think you can take us all?” Sam asked, amusement in his voice.

“You never know,” Max answered.

Dahlia sighed. “I can’t take it when you all act like this. It’s embarrassing. I’m tired, my head aches, and I’m sick of all of this. I’m getting on the plane.”

“Not yet,” Nicolas said and signaled Tucker and Sam to enter first. “Stay close to me, Dahlia.” He didn’t look at her when he gave the order, didn’t take his eyes from the pilot, but he was very aware of her. How fragile she seemed. How far away from him, although they were close enough he felt the brush of her skin against his.

“There’s no one on the plane,” Max said. “She always flies alone with just me.”

“Not anymore she doesn’t,” Nicolas answered, his obsidian eyes as hard and as unflinching as rock. “Not since someone in the NCIS sold her out.”

Max stood very still, and then he slowly holstered his gun. “Dahlia, have you spoken with the director, told him about this?”

“No, but he has to be thinking the same thing. It wasn’t all that hard to figure it out. Someone killed my family and burned down my home, Max. No one knew about me other than a few people at NCIS.”

“Including me,” Max said quietly.

Dahlia shrugged, hating to voice the suspicion out loud. She had very few friends, if one could call them that. They were acquaintances really, but she didn’t have enough to throw them away. And she’d always liked Max.

“Her last mission was a setup,” Nicolas supplied, his black gaze unswerving.

A muscle jumped in Max’s jaw. He swore under his breath. “Jesse Calhoun is my friend, Dahlia. I’ve always felt responsible for you. You should have called for backup. Once I fly you somewhere, my orders are to stand by to fly you back, which is exactly what I did. You never said a word.”

“I was late.” She said it softly. “Two hours late.”

Max swore again.

“Get in the plane, Dahlia. I don’t like how exposed you are out here,” Nicolas ordered. “We can sort it out in the air.” Although he was grateful she obeyed him quickly, it was unlike her to do so without a comment on his arrogance, and that bothered him. Dahlia beaten down was too much for his heart to take. He stayed very close to her, almost pushing her with his body in an attempt to get a response from her, but she kept her head down.

The men moved in the same tight formation, Dahlia locked in the center while they escorted her to the waiting plane. Max followed her into the small compartment. “You should have said something, Dahlia. You should have at least reported it to the director. Henderson would have had me bring you in to protect you.”

“No one was supposed to know about me, Max,” Dahlia pointed out. She sounded weary, sad. Already moving away from them all. “What does that tell you? And how did they know where I lived?”

“You can’t think someone at the NCIS is involved.”

“When they sent a team in to find me at the safe house in the Quarter, someone took a shot at me. They knew right where to find my home in the bayou, Max. It isn’t that easy to find.” She didn’t look at him but kept her face averted.

Nicolas put his arm around her and drew her close, the grief in her voice twisting at his guts. “You can see why we’re not taking any chances.” He had already done his best to probe Logan Maxwell’s mind, but the man had strong barriers up. The same kind of barriers Lily Whitney had taught the GhostWalkers through mental exercises. He recognized the mark of Special Forces, a warrior trained and honed by battle. Maxwell wasn’t the type of man to back down easily, and Nicolas doubted if he could be bought.

They settled in the plane with Max behind the controls. “Jesse know about these men, Dahlia?”

“Nicolas is the one who pulled him out of the fire, Max,” Dahlia said quietly. “And if Jesse lives, it was Nicolas who saved him.”

Max glanced at Nicolas, noting the proprietary way he held Dahlia, the protective body language. “Then I owe you. Jesse’s a good friend of mine. You all better strap yourselves in for takeoff. I’m not hanging around just in case. I heard Jesse was in bad shape. The admiral went to see him, but wouldn’t disclose where he was, not even to us. And he wouldn’t say what happened to him or what kind of shape he’s in.”

“And that should tell you something,” Nicolas pointed out.

Dahlia looked from one man to the other. Nicolas could be terribly intimidating when he chose, and right now, he had his stone face on. His eyes were hard obsidian and his mouth was a merciless slash. He pinned Maxwell with his icy cold gaze and refused to let up.

“I suppose it does,” Max agreed with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to believe it, but I’m afraid the evidence points that way.” The engine was already on and the plane began to vibrate as he went through his checklist automatically before taxiing down the runway.

Nicolas waited until they were in the air. “Jesse Calhoun is a GhostWalker, psychically enhanced. I’m guessing you are as well. How did Whitney get ahold of you? And do any of you have the physical and mental repercussions associated with the experiment?”

Max’s cool gaze swept over both Dahlia and Nicolas. “You know I can’t talk about that.”

“But you know Dahlia’s a GhostWalker.” Nicolas made it a statement. “It’s why they used both you and Calhoun. You’re anchors. She could travel with you without too many repercussions.” Just the mere fact that Maxwell knew the term GhostWalker spoke volumes.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter,” Max intoned, staring straight ahead.

“You don’t have to. Calhoun recognized my name, and he knew what I was. He’s a strong telepath and there’s no way he was born that way. We also are aware Dr. Peter Whitney enhanced several men using his own private laboratory when complications began to arise from his military experiment. He didn’t want all his eggs in one basket, so to speak, and if we were all murdered, he had a few for backup, just in case.”

Dahlia made a soft sound of distress and turned her head away, reluctant to allow them to see her expression. Whitney had been the monster of her childhood, but as a child, she’d believed his experiments had been done only to her. She’d even been told the other girls were a figment of her imagination and at times believed it. “What was wrong with him?” she murmured aloud. “How could he experiment on human beings? He knew what was happening to us when we were children, but he repeated the experiment, not once, but twice. It’s horrifying.” She didn’t realize her fingers had curled into tight fists until Nicolas put his hand gently over hers. She looked at Max. “I trusted you. Both you and Jesse. You knew I felt isolated and alone, yet neither of you said anything or even mentioned you knew Whitney. Damn you both for that.”

“Dahlia, I take orders just the same as you,” Max pointed out. “You had to have known about Jesse. He was too strong of a telepath for you not to have known.”

She turned her head to look at him, her gaze bleak and flat. “I was supposed to guess that Whitney had destroyed more lives? That you and Jesse would conceal it from me?” She pulled her hand away from Nicolas, suddenly unable to bear his touch. Any touch. Her chest ached and her throat burned. “I don’t buy the excuse, Max. I have a high-security clearance, and I certainly could know about others like me.”

Dahlia pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, rocking back and forth for comfort. She made herself smaller, wanting to disappear, wishing for the sanctuary of the bayou. Why was she doing all of this? She’d never done anything she didn’t want to do, and she damned well didn’t want to be sitting in a plane with Maxwell, surrounded by the GhostWalkers. She knew if she looked at them, she would see pity in their eyes, on their faces. She’d never accepted pity, not even from herself. She owed Rear Admiral Henderson nothing after this. She’d always done good work, always made the recovery no matter the circumstances. Damn them all, and Jesse and Max most of all.

Nicolas wanted to smash something—or someone, preferably Logan Maxwell. How could he blame Dahlia for wanting to withdraw when it seemed that everyone she came into contact with betrayed her on some level? What could he say to prove his own feelings for her were real? How could she believe anything was real when the very people she worked with, worked for, had helped to keep her isolated? They had to have known her life was hell, yet they hadn’t reached out to her, hadn’t made any effort to let her know she wasn’t alone. He could feel her slipping through his fingers once again, and this time, he couldn’t blame her. How did one instill trust when all she’d ever known was betrayal?

He studied her profile. Her eyes were liquid, but she didn’t shed tears. He almost wished she would. Instead, she was gathering up her grief over the loss of Milly, Bernadette, and her home and belongings and the betrayal of Jesse and Max, cementing them deep inside. She was building the necessary barriers to protect herself and others. He could feel the energy gathering around her, swarming to her as her emotions deepened. The temperature in the cabin rose. He wondered if Max knew just how close she was to losing her control and just how dangerous it would be if she did. “Dahlia.” He said her name softly to bring her complete attention to him.

Dahlia swallowed the hard lump burning in her throat and shifted her gaze to Nicolas. He was holding out his hand to her. She stared down at it. “Are you worried about me blowing up the plane with all your men on board?”

Nicolas felt, more than saw, Max stiffen at the controls.

Dahlia had spoken softly, but even over the noise of the engine he heard. Had she meant him to? Was it a threat? Nicolas doubted it. Dahlia was upset and she had a temper, but she would never risk the lives of the other GhostWalkers because she felt betrayed. It wasn’t in her character.

“I thought if you held my hand, it would be more comfortable for you,” Nicolas answered truthfully. “I’ve reached the point where I can feel the energy as it is drawn to you. It’s massing fairly quickly in such a confined space.”

“I appreciate that you and Kaden are working so hard to allow me to be in such close proximity to others.” Dahlia slipped her hand into his.

Nicolas tightened his fingers around hers and held on. She sounded like a little girl politely thanking him for a Christmas present. Not at all like Dahlia. He felt almost desperate to get her alone. She had slept for a half hour while he had shopped for clothes for her, but even after a shower and clean clothes, he could see she wasn’t back to herself. She was withdrawing more and more into a place where he couldn’t follow her.

“Is Jesse safe?” Max asked.

“Yes,” Nicolas answered. “They have him stashed in a good hospital with the best surgeons and he’s well guarded.”

“How can I help find the traitor? You must be going after him if you’re heading to DC. I can help.”

“It’s good to hear you say that, Maxwell,” Nicolas said complacently. “We were hoping you’d be cooperative.”