Christine Feehan: Ruthless Game

For Mike and Margo Anthony

Be sure to go to http://www.christinefeehan.com/members/ to sign up for my private book announcement list and download the free e-book of Dark Desserts . Join my community and get firsthand news, enter the book discussions, ask your questions, and chat with me. Please feel free to email me at Christine@christine feehan.com. I would love to hear from you.

As always when writing a book, I have several people to thank: Morey Sparks, for information on weapons; Jack, for answering questions regarding weapons; and of course, Brian Feehan, who always drops everything to work out tough fight scenes. Manda, thank you for going above and beyond, working late nights and weekends when I needed you to get the book finished. Domini, as always, you make the book so much better! I appreciate you all so much!

SIGNIFIES shadow

SIGNIFIES protection against evil forces

SIGNIFIES the Greek letter psi, which is used by parapsychology researchers to signify ESP or other psychic abilities

SIGNIFIES qualities of a knight—loyalty, generosity, courage, and honor

SIGNIFIES shadow knights who protect against evil forces using psychic powers, courage, and honor

We are the GhostWalkers, we live in the shadows

The sea, the earth, and the air are our domain

No fallen comrade will be left behind

We are loyalty and honor bound

We are invisible to our enemies

and we destroy them where we find them

We believe in justice and we protect our country

and those unable to protect themselves

What goes unseen, unheard, and unknown

are GhostWalkers

There is honor in the shadows and it is us

We move in complete silence whether

in jungle or desert

We walk among our enemy unseen and unheard

Striking without sound and scatter to the winds

before they have knowledge of our existence

We gather information and wait with endless patience

for that perfect moment to deliver swift justice

We are both merciful and merciless

We are relentless and implacable in our resolve

We are the GhostWalkers and the night is ours

The lone coyote trotted across the desert on the outskirts of the city. Bold, he nosed close to the trash scattered along the edges of the sand. The night air was cool, but the sand was still warm from the hot day’s sun. He padded along, nose to the ground, sniffing around the back of a long structure until he came to an alleyway. Someone coughed, and a bottle smashed against the side of the building. The coyote whirled and ran. He’d been shot at many times coming in too close to these particular buildings, but the food was unusually plentiful. Still, he didn’t want to take a chance, not when there were so many men walking around so late at night.

The coyote reluctantly slunk away from the banquet, edged out to a pile of boulders, and hunched down, waiting for things to settle a little more before he made another try. In the distant desert, he heard a muffled sound, like the beating of large wings, and he turned his head toward the sky, cowering closer to the rock.

The helicopter came in fast and low, running without lights and in eerie silence. Ropes dropped from the open doors, and five men descended fast and, in one smooth, coordinated motion, began sprinting across the desert with unprecedented speed. Seconds later the helicopter was gone, and the coyote surged to his feet, ready to run as the men, nothing more than shadows, raced toward him. There was no sound, not even the thud of boots on sand. The wind carried their scents, and as they approached, their bodies were more defined, appearing as a single dark entity with ten glowing eyes.

The coyote took a few steps one way and then, as the men split apart, running no more than two feet from one another in perfect unison, he stepped in the other direction, whirled, tail down, and then stopped, confused. The men rushed by like the wind, not so much as hesitating, yet those strange eyes flashed over the animal as he cowered, obviously seeing him, although he was in the darker shadow of the rocks.

Javier, you’re on. Just take a look. Hear what I’m saying? A look. No one dies yet. Mack McKinley, leader of GhostWalker Team Three, sent his first man into the hot zone. The unique GhostWalker unit he led had no need of radios. They were all telepathic.

I’m hurt, boss. Laughter spilled into Mack’s mind. Why would you ever think someone might die?

Mack sent Javier Enderman a stern warning look. Javier could see easily in the darkness, even when he chose not to. He looked like a kid with his dark black eyes and innocent, boyish face—one of his greatest assets. Everyone always underestimated him, if they ever actually saw him.

Urban warfare was a unique art. Every citizen in a hot zone could potentially be innocent—or an enemy. It took special men and women with nerves of steel to be able to function in such a high-stress situation. His GhostWalker unit was comprised of such individuals, all highly trained and with very special, unique psychic gifts.

Mack and the others dropped to their bellies, disappearing into the sand just feet from the first building at the edge of the city. Javier jogged with absolute confidence right up to the structure and into the alley. As he got closer to the buildings, his solid form simply disappeared, blending completely with his surroundings.

I think our informant is on to something. We’ve got a major force here, Mack, Javier reported. Guns on the roof, stairways, tucked in the alleys. I see several at the windows in the building across the street. Big op here.

Can you find a way to blend in without having to kill anyone? We aren’t supposed to be here. Get in, get out with the package, and no one the wiser.

Javier sighed heavily. You know, boss, you’re maligning my character. Of course I can find a way to blend. No faith.

Mack’s gut tightened. Javier was an accomplished assassin despite his youthful, innocent appearance. He was highly skilled with explosives and a maniac when it came to computers. Highly intelligent, he followed one person, and that was Mack. Javier could usually find a group of teens and simply join them, but the kids in this part of the city were most likely paid to report strangers. He refrained from telling Javier to be careful, knowing the man wouldn’t appreciate his caution, but they’d been raised on the streets together. Javier was more than a teammate—he was family, and Mack looked after family.