“Shut up, Malichai,” Rubin said distinctly. “Conserve your strength. You’re not going to die. You do that and Ezekiel’s most likely gonna shoot my ass.”
That was true. Zeke could be like that. Malichai peered up at Rubin. He was there, rifle slung over his shoulder, his image wavering in and out as if he were more of a mirage. Malichai poked at him with a finger. “You real?”
“Real enough.”
“You getting me out of here?”
“Something like that. You weigh a ton, Malichai. I’m going to tell Nonny not to feed you so much.”
Rubin hoisted him on his back and rushed toward the helicopter already set down in the snow and rocks, stowing the wounded inside as fast as possible.
2
What the hell do people do on vacation?” Malichai asked aloud.
He shook his head and turned away from the mirror. Staring at himself didn’t improve his looks any.
He was a big man, with obvious, defined muscles running through his body. What wasn’t so obvious was the fact that even as muscular as he was, those muscles were loose and he could move fast and use the speed and strength of them, and that his reflexes were astonishing. He had strangely colored eyes, always had them, even as a child, but the enhancements done on him in the service had further changed them so that they looked gold. Old gold. Florentine gold.
His lifestyle was beginning to take a toll on him. There was no getting around it. He went out on missions as often as possible. Mostly, they rescued soldiers shot up and needing immediate transport out of a hot zone. He was fast, he was strong and he was very adept at fieldwork. There were few better at triaging a wounded soldier or finding a vein and getting a needle in fast before the vein collapsed. He was dedicated to bringing his soldiers home alive if possible. So, he volunteered every single time they had to go in with guns blazing.
So, yeah, he’d been shot a few times. He’d seen more than his share of hand-to-hand combat. He’d taken on the drug cartels a few times. What else was he supposed to do? He wasn’t the kind of man women looked at and wanted for themselves. He didn’t know if a woman could live with him—he could barely live with himself. So, a home and family were out for him. He understood that, but he didn’t have to like it.
He’d grown up on the streets of Chicago with his two brothers, Ezekiel and Mordichai. Later, Ezekiel had discovered Rubin and Diego Campo fending for themselves as well, and they’d banded together. Schooling had been intermittent, just what Ezekiel could provide for them. Mostly they looked for food and kept the predators off one another. Malichai had grown up fierce, using his fists, learning every form of underhanded street-fighting known to man, and he’d learned it was life or death. He’d chosen life.
He sighed and walked to the door of his rented room. It was small and he covered the distance quickly, too quickly. Once he opened the door, he was expected to actually do something. Go somewhere. Enjoy himself. He’d forgotten how to do that.
He lived in the Louisiana swamps and he’d learned he loved it. He liked his “family” there, particularly his teammate Wyatt Fontenot’s grandmother. She insisted on the entire team of GhostWalkers calling her Nonny, which they did. Eventually, he had begun to feel as if he had a grandmother for the first time. She cooked amazing meals for them. There was always food on the table. He was always hungry. He was now.
Satisfaction, now that he had an actual purpose for leaving his room, settled in his gut and he stood by the door, automatically listening for anyone on the other side. There were at least three people in the hallway, but that was okay, he had already identified them. Like him, they were staying at the little bed-and-breakfast.
He went into the hallway and, without more than glancing at the others who were huddled together arguing about which direction they would go, he continued toward the staircase. The two men and one woman always seemed to be arguing, so much so, that he had deliberately tuned them out. They spoke in what they considered hushed tones, but a man with his enhanced hearing had no problem listening to their ridiculous arguments if he wanted to—which he didn’t.
Malichai made his way to the dining room. A prickle of awareness crept down his spine and his gaze swept the nearly empty room. One other person sat by herself at a table in the corner. She was reading a book—a romance—and he smirked when he saw it. She was a gorgeous woman and he tried not to stare at her. She was a blonde, but her hair was so thick, he doubted if the color could be natural. Most blondes had finer or thinner hair than that. He must have been looking too closely because she glanced up. He could tell that first glance was simple idle curiosity but then she stiffened, and her gaze wholly focused on him.
Her eyes were gorgeous, a startling blue, like jewels. So deep blue they were almost certainly contacts. She glanced back down at her book, but he could tell she wasn’t reading it anymore. He’d probably scared her. He wasn’t like some of his fellow GhostWalkers, who seemed to walk into a room and have half the female population enthralled—and that had nothing to do with their enhancements and everything to do with their good looks, charisma or both, none of which he had.
The breakfast was set up buffet style with a long row of warmers laid out on a table. He would have his back to the room when he served himself food, but he seemed to be the last man to breakfast. The moment he’d walked in he’d become uneasy, but no one was there but the two of them—the blonde and him. Was the threat coming from her? Was it even a threat? He was on vacation. Didn’t that mean there was no threat? Hell if he knew.
He dished himself food, standing sideways to keep her in sight. Her gaze jumped to him and she lowered the book partway, both feet coming to the floor, when she’d been relaxed, one leg curled up under her. He sent her a cocky grin.
“See you’re readin’ my favorite book.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have no idea what I’m reading.”
He was an enhanced GhostWalker with the very sharp eyes of an eagle. “It’s a romance titled Toxic Game.” He hoped he didn’t have to describe what the book was about because he didn’t have a clue.
She glanced down at the book as if she couldn’t believe he knew the title. When she looked back up at him, his heart went a little crazy. The sun hit her just right, turning her blond hair into a waterfall of ice and gold sparkles. The strands actually dazzled his eyes for a moment, so that he lost sight of her. Her image blurred. He could only see that amazing, overpowering shine.
He blinked to bring her into focus. When he managed to get her back in his sight, he found himself staring into her vivid jeweled eyes, eyes blazing blue flames at him.
“You do not read romance books.” Her chin went up. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to read about men who believe in monogamy. I doubt you’d know anything about that.”
He took a chair facing her and drank his coffee slowly, studying her furious little face. She was beautiful all riled up. His heart was going a little crazy and all at once he felt very much alive. Maybe this vacation thing wasn’t going to be so bad.
“What makes you think that? If I read romances, clearly I like happy endings and prefer books where men and women are faithful to one another.” It was all about thinking fast on one’s feet. Any GhostWalker should be excellent at that.