Christine Feehan - Murder Game

She'd been adopted at the age of five by Don and Sharon Meadows, a wealthy couple who'd made a name for themselves in the research, design, and assembly of aircraft, specifically attack helicopters. Don and Sharon Meadows were major players in politics and frequently received government contracts for military research and design. The couple was well connected politically, but did that mean they had the clout to keep their daughter's photograph from appearing anywhere in the news? It was possible, but doubtful. It would take far more power and influence, and for what possible gain?

The first time Kadan had heard rumors of a teenager who could track serial killers was when he'd trained at Quantico. Controversy had raged over whether there was such a thing as psychic ability, and if one had it, whether could it really be channeled to track a killer. He had never entered into the discussions, because he knew absolutely that psychic ability existed, but to harness it and be able to use it were difficult things. The police Tansy had worked with swore by her, but no one mentioned her training, which had seemed odd to him.

He continued upward, his gut telling him he was on the right path. There were no tracks yet, nothing to indicate the presence of another human being, but he was certain he was heading in the right direction. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, yet he knew he would find her. Every instinct he had told him she was somewhere close. And he would bet his last dollar that she was lying her ass off claiming she'd lost her psychic abilities. If she had worked over and over with the police tracking serial killers successfully, he doubted if a climbing accident had suddenly snuffed out her talent as she claimed when she came out of the hospital, refusing to even meet with police or FBI agents again.

His gaze scanned the ground as he moved at a steady pace along the narrow trail. The path was no more than a worn deer trail, zigzagging up and down the slope, but he spotted two places where the grass was crushed and several leaves appeared bruised. Something had moved through the brush recently. He stooped to examine the ground and saw a faint track. It was nearly four inches wide and the two front toes were not lined up, with one toe farther forward, almost pointing, and four toes all together. There were no claw marks, and the top part of the heel pad had two distinct curvatures while the bottom had three separate lobes. There was no question in his mind the track belonged to a cougar. He'd found the cat; now he just needed to find the woman.

The rangers had assured him the mountain lions were up here somewhere, and that meant that Tansy Meadows would be also. His mission was to find her and bring her back to aid him in clearing the GhostWalker name. She had the reputation with the FBI of being the real deal, and the general needed Kadan to do damage control as soon as possible, and to do that, Kadan needed Tansy Meadows. He had never failed in a mission yet, and this one was too important.

He continued hiking, using the winding ribbon of a trail. Occasionally he could see a partial track in the damp soil, and once he found a few tufts of fur in some brush where the cat had been rubbing. He decided she must be female; her tracks weren't deep enough to indicate much weight, and he hadn't come across any of the signs indicating a male's territory. This was one of the few times he had gone into the mountains without someone trying to kill him, and he found he enjoyed the peaceful solitude in spite of the urgency of his mission.

He took a couple of steps and then he saw it. His heart jumped in spite of his training, breath hitching in his lungs. The print of a small hiking boot was outlined in the dust of the trail and superimposed right over the top of it was the mountain lions print. All along the cat had been stalking the woman-and he was certain it was a woman by the size of the shoe-probably walking parallel to her trail for some distance before dropping in behind her.

He swore under his breath as he cast around for more tracks. There were older tracks, indicating the woman used this trail often, and that the mountain lion often stalked her. He took a breath and let it out, forcing down a feeling of urgency. If the cougar often trailed her, that didn't mean this would be the day the cat attacked. He picked up his pace, following the pair back up the granite slope toward the cliffs.

The mountain lion continued her steady pacing, staying in the woman's track, but not moving faster to overtake her. If she was hunting, she wasn't in a hurry to catch her prey. As the sun grew hotter overhead, he continued his climb, taking another long, slow pull from his camel pack, allowing the cool water to trickle down his throat so he could savor it, feeling a little exposed in the open of the granite with giant boulders towering around him.

At night it was piercingly cold. By day it could be unexpectedly hot, or without warning, a storm could move in with alarming force. He had no wish to be caught out in the open with lightning striking everywhere.

Kadan made it to the top of the rise and looked out over the spectacular view. In spite of the high altitude, he had no problem with breathing, his training standing him in good stead. He paused for a moment to take stock of his surroundings. The deep timber had given way to high ridges of granite and tall castle-like formations. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Even he had to admit it, as much as he detested wasting precious time on such things.

Above him, a long fall of frothy water spilled down, far below, into a pool of deep emerald green. The natural basin was made of granite, large boulders worn smooth from the constant assault of water. Something moved in the deepest end of the pool. He fixed his sight on the water's surface and the intriguing ripple came again. Without taking his eyes from the ever widening circle, Kadan pulled his high-powered field glasses from the case at his belt and quickly adjusted them. Instantly the emerald green of the water shimmered within touching distance. He found himself waiting in anticipation.

Closer to the water's edge, to his left and near the lowest wall of granite, the water ringed, and something silvery gold appeared to break the surface for a moment. Kadan unconsciously held his breath. An otter? Were there otters up here? Were otters silver and gold?

She rose up out of the water, long wet hair streaming, gleaming, and shimmering like skeins of wet silk. The droplets of water ran off the curves of her breasts, down her narrow rib cage, dipped in at her small waist to stream down her flat belly to the triangle of blond curls at the junction of her legs. She was naked, skin glowing in the sunlight, her tan so deep it emphasized the white gold of her hair. She tilted her head to one side and brought her long hair over one shoulder in an unconsciously provocative gesture.

The wind shifted and carried her scent to him. Kadan's body tightened savagely in response. His body knew her instantly. She looked like some wild, pagan offering. Untamed, seductive. For him . He went very still, his breath catching in his lungs. Instant awareness shook him. He'd certainly had his share of women, but he never reacted like this-a vicious, brutal response of his body and mind, everything in him reaching toward her.

"Whitney, you bastard," he whispered aloud. Not for one moment would he ever believe his reaction to be natural. It was too strong, too obsessive. Too unlike him.

He crouched down for a moment, feeling sucker punched. He'd joined the military, gone through Special Forces training, continued with water, arctic, desert, and even urban training, and then he'd read the call for testing of psychic ability and he had gone immediately, tested high, as he'd known he would, and been accepted into the military GhostWalker program. He'd agreed to be psychically enhanced. He hadn't agreed to be genetically altered, nor had he ever been told that they would match him chemically to a female.