Samurai Game

CHAPTER 6

Thorn held Sam’s hand and brushed the hair from his face as the helicopter approached. She ached inside, the tension growing as the helicopter landed and the occupants spilled out. Several men raced to set up a tent, while two more and a woman approached her. She let go of Sam, slowly getting to her feet, aware of every weapon she carried, most concealed now. One man carried a litter while the other paced alongside of him, hands free, his eyes not on Sam, but on her.

Her stomach fluttered, but her nerves held steady. This man was her guard. Tall, red hair, solidly built, it was nearly impossible to ignore him. First had come Sam’s warning and then Ryland Miller, no doubt, had told them all to watch her carefully. She knew the drill. There would be politeness, warm smiles, cold watchful eyes, and guards watching her every move. Every one of these men was a GhostWalker and they recognized one another. She had known, when she’d made the decision to enter their camp, that she’d be at risk, but the end result-to improve her chances of finding Whitney’s location-was well worth it. Her brief trip into fantasy-pretending she could actually have Sam-was gone and her very familiar reality was back.

Lily Miller rushed to Sam’s side, nodded at her with a polite murmur, but her entire focus was on Sam. Thorn kept a hand close to her dagger. If Sam Johnson died from Lily’s attentions, Lily would follow right after him and damn the consequences. Thorn played out each step in her mind. She would kill Lily swiftly, use teleportation to get into the clearing she and Sam had first jumped to, and then disappear. The GhostWalker team would have home field advantage, but she had confidence, not only in herself but in Daiki and Eiji. They might not be enhanced or have psychic abilities, but they had unbelievable skills, and they would never panic.

Thorn kept her eyes on Lily while the redheaded guard kept his eyes on her. Lily assessed Sam’s condition quickly. She handed Thorn a bag of fluids with the briefest of nods.

“Come on, Sam,” Lily murmured softly. “Hang in there for me. Give me two more minutes. Just two. That’s all I need.” Even as she whispered cajolingly, she inserted a needle into his arm, frowning in concentration as she tried for a vein that seemed elusive.

The big soldier kneeling on the other side of the cot steadied Sam’s arm for Lily, his face a mask of concern. He was all muscle, and yet the look on his face revealed hints of genuine affection and love-the sort of emotion a man like him would show only when fear ate at the edges of his mind. He sent her a quick reassuring smile in spite of the fact that he was anxious.

“Tucker Addison, ma’am. Sorry about the circumstances.” He was deeply afraid for Sam-they all were. That frightened Thorn even more. She should have known something was wrong much earlier.

She inclined her head. “Azami Yoshiie.” Sam had used far too much energy teleporting, again and again. She knew from experience how difficult it was on the body, yet he’d done so wounded and unflinching. Was it possible using teleportation had aggravated the wound in his body?

Lily was much easier to read than the man. She was so apprehensive over Sam’s condition, she had no time for anything or anyone else-not even a potential enemy or an honored guest. Sam was her only concern. Thorn felt the tight coiling in her body ease just a little. There was no way to fake the kind of anxiety Lily was displaying.

Lily found the vein in Sam’s arm. With a rapid efficiency Thorn couldn’t help but admire, she hooked up an IV and then a second one. Blood and fluids pumped into Sam nearly before Thorn could take a second breath.

“Is he going to make it, Doc?”

Thorn narrowed her gaze to center on the speaker, the man standing at Sam’s head.

Lily frowned. “Of course, Kyle. I refuse to allow any other option. It’s safe to move him to the tent now.”

She glanced at Thorn, as if really seeing her for the first time. Thorn realized that, until now, Lily had viewed her as little more than an inanimate object on which to drape supplies while she saw to her patient.

“Ms. Yoshiie.” Lily inclined her head in a slight nod of respect. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under such extreme circumstances. We have to move Sam into the tent. Would you mind carrying these?” She held out the bags of fluids. “I need to keep my hands free.”

Thorn shook her head and immediately stepped up to take the bags from Lily. Another man hurried to help Tucker lift Sam into the litter. They moved fast toward the tent, Lily running along beside them. Thorn’s sense of urgency revived with a vengeance. Lily had declared Sam safe to move, but if they were running, he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Thorn’s mouth went dry and her heart began to pound. The scars on her chest throbbed and burned. Blood thundered in her ears. She moistened her lips. “Are you going to operate right here?”

In a tent? Outdoors? Without anesthesia? For one horrible moment she was six years old again and out of her mind with pain and fear. She ran along beside the litter, her gaze refusing to focus on the ground or anything else around her. She could hear a child screaming so loud she couldn’t focus, the sound high and animalistic. Reality retreated until she could only hear that softly pitched, modulated voice with its perfect elocution that sent chills through her at night and kept her afraid to close her eyes.

Think of the contribution you’re making to science, Thorn. Whitney spoke as if she should be grateful that he was operating on her without anesthesia, and because she was a child and one with a rather low IQ, he thought, he felt he needed to speak very distinctly and slowly for her to understand. When we’re finished here, I will be so much closer to knowing how much pain a GhostWalker can sustain without succumbing to death. You should be grateful you can help so many others.

Whitney stood above her, poised, unflappable, his expression perfectly reasonable and interested as he stood over her writhing body with a scalpel.

Please. The child’s pleading voice. Sweat beading on her forehead, dotting her body, the terrible fear permeating the room. You did this already.

Of course, Thorn. That same soft, reasonable voice. We have to repeat the experiment again and again to make certain of our facts. I’ve explained that to you. You’re old enough to understand what’s expected of you. Lie still and this time, I want you to concentrate on not allowing your heart to stop. You can do that, can’t you?

Thorn pressed her hand over her wildly pounding heart. She felt bruised, her chest so sore she couldn’t breathe, the aftermath of Whitney bringing her back to life again and again. Sometimes she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of her heart flatlining and the echo of the burst of shock pulsing through her body.

Her hand slipped to her dagger and she increased her stride to catch up with Lily, moving in behind her, close enough to kill her and slide away right under the watchful eyes of her guard-and he was watching her. Deliberately she brushed back strands of her hair, allowing concern to show on her face as she looked down at Sam. Her moment would come when she entered the tent. Her guard would be outside. She would have to slip the blade deep, twist, and teleport through the narrow opening back to the clearing she’d used before.

Thorn risked a glance into the tent. It was much larger than she’d first thought. They all stopped abruptly in the first section. Behind a net, she could see two men hastily setting up covered, sterile trays of instruments. Her stomach lurched. She couldn’t catch her breath, her lungs raw and burning for air, her vision clouding until… Eyes stared down at that small child, masks covering the lower half of their face. Him. Whitney. So perfectly calm, shaking his head at how unreasonable and stubborn she was.

Take a deep breath, Thorn. Just like the pool. It isn’t any different. You need to beat your last time. You can do so much better if you just try. That unshakable, reasonable voice, so completely unflappable, the eyes always so bright with dispassionate interest. Very slowly they lowered the transparent plastic wrap that would deprive her of all air. Her heart thundered through the cold, sterile room. She could feel her heart pounding so hard, her chest hurt from the inside out, bruised and battered. Her head had been shaved because Whitney felt it would get in the way of his experiment and he needed to stick electrodes on her scalp.

She was so close to Lily she felt the very rhythm of her breathing as they entered the first small area not netted off as an operating room. This section was all for preparation. She swallowed hard and forced sound to come out of her suddenly blocked throat. “You have anesthesia here?”

“I’m not taking chances on losing him. We’ll operate right here. If he has a nicked artery, he’s in trouble. We’ve got everything we need in the tent.” Lily sounded distracted again. “Of course we have anesthesia.”

Both men inside the netting wore scrubs and even their shoes were covered. Tucker and his companion passed the litter through the net to the other two men. Lily took the bags of fluid from Thorn and placed them on the litter at Sam’s side. Immediately he was whisked away-taken to the sterile operating table inside the larger section of the tent. Thorn allowed her fingers to slip away from her dagger, fearing, with memories so close, she might make a mistake.

Lily scrubbed her hands and arms with some kind of solution out of a bottle and held out her arms, and Tucker disinfected his own hands before helping Lily into surgical gloves and a full set of scrubs.

It was obvious the surgical field setup had been practiced often. Tucker, Lily, and the others were too efficient and fast for this to have been a one-time thing: the tent going up, everything in sterile packs ready to use, even the smooth way Tucker had gotten Lily into her scrubs. He covered her hair with a netted cap.

The ground shifted beneath Thorn’s feet, the memories pouring out so fast she couldn’t stop them. Whitney approaching the table and that small child knew-knew-what was coming next. You’re seven now. Not a baby, so stop acting like one. I’m tiring of your endless tantrums. Saber stopped your heart multiple times and you were just fine. This is the same thing.

It isn’t. It isn’t. This hurts. Electric shock. The terrible pain flashing through her body, making her teeth clamp down so that sometimes she bit herself. She tried to tell him, but nothing fazed Whitney. He never lost control. And he never stopped.

Science matters, Thorn. It is necessary to make certain every experiment is reliable.

Thorn could hear the child screaming, her mind nearly gone, her body and heart so weak now, she knew there would come that day when he couldn’t revive her-and she wanted it to come soon. This had to stop. She’d overheard him tell one of his assistants that her heart was weakening fast and the damage would be too great to continue and soon she’d be of no use to them.

“Ms. Yoshiie?” Tucker indicated outside the tent. “Please accompany me.”

Thorn found she didn’t want to leave Sam, which made no sense. His life was in Lily’s hands, and Thorn’s presence would have no impact on whether he lived or died. Yet, still, she didn’t want to leave. Her reluctance bothered her because it was so deep, almost elemental. She pressed her lips together, grateful for her father’s teachings. Her face was composed, even serene. Her hands weren’t even shaking, although deep inside, her mind was crumbling into pieces and her body felt shattered. Her childhood was far too close. She shook her head, uncaring what he thought. She wasn’t leaving, not yet. Her legs were rubber anyway, so she wasn’t at all positive she could leave.

Father. The child called to the one man who had steadied her, thought her worthy enough to save. Help me. I’m lost again. Help me. But he was no longer alive to hear her call even if she yelled at the top of her lungs. She was alone and left with no protection in place.

Her eight-year-old heart still echoed in her ears, that shuddering thud that had lost its rhythm as she lay in the box, her nails digging into the lid, breaking off in an effort to get out. Had she been buried alive? No, she could hear voices. She was so cold-ice cold-for so long and finding it nearly impossible to breathe. She was suffocating in that tiny box, curled up on her side, desperate to know if she would ever get out.

Darkness. A car ride through a strange city with strangers. The car had slowed, her door opened, and she’d been shoved out, hitting the ground so hard she was certain every bone was smashed. She was afraid to lift her head, to look around. The scent of garbage and urine was strong. Small red eyes glowed at her from the darkness. She had never been out of the compound where Whitney conducted his experiments, and this place was almost more frightening.

She heard heavy footsteps, smelled a sweet, overpowering odor, increasing her terror. She closed her eyes tightly. Someone toed her with a boot. Hard hands moved over her body, and the man said something in a language she didn’t understand. A man laughed. She smelled the other-the man she would come to know as her father. The man who saved her. She would always recognize that wonderful scent.

He arrived with no sound, like an avenging angel, complete with sword and fierce eyes, so alive, so warm, and he made her feel safe and warm and worth something. And now he was gone. Father. I’m lost in this nightmare. I can’t close the door. Where are you?

The danger in this mission had always been those nightmare memories that often were more vivid than reality. Daiki had warned her that her memories would surface and try to consume her, but she hadn’t considered that they would be so strong that mere memories could affect her physically. She wanted to wrap her arms around her middle and hold herself very still until the earthquake passed.

Azami?

Thorn stepped back, looking wildly around. Her name had sounded soft, and slurred, but very distinct in her mind. Her father? Back from the dead? She tried to fit the sound with her father’s distinct voice. The accent was off. No matter how hard she tried to make her name sound as if her father reached out to comfort her-she couldn’t make the accent right.

The soldier named Tucker stood a few feet from her, watching her closely, the curiosity in his eyes telling her she was not keeping her countenance as serene as she should. Just to her right lounged the silent redheaded soldier she was certain had been appointed to guard her. She was about to lose reality right in front of these people. She would disgrace herself-live in shame for all time. Her father had taught her to overcome such things. Her mind and body could be divided if need be. She would dishonor her father if she couldn’t pull herself back together.

“Ms. Yoshiie?” Tucker stepped closer.

The scent of blood was overpowering. It was so difficult to breathe, but she made herself stay still. “Please call me Azami.” Thank God her voice didn’t shake as her insides were. She could feel sweat trickling down the valley between her breasts. “My brothers and I have adopted a more Western approach than some of our fellow countrymen. It doesn’t offend me to have you use my given name.”

“I’m Tucker then, ma’am,” the large man replied.

Like Sam, he was dark-skinned and brown-eyed. He looked like the kind of man you wanted at your back in a fight. He flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Although he didn’t appear to be watchful or suspicious, she knew that he was every bit as alert as the soldier in the background. Every bit as alert and on guard as she was.

Thorn needed a few minutes of solitude to push back the memories of a child’s terror. She glanced into the tent and knew the moment she’d done so that it was a mistake. Bright lights shone down on Sam. She could smell blood. She could see a bloody scalpel in Lily’s blood-covered glove. The lights blinded her eyes until all she saw was that terrible sharp blade coming toward her chest, slicing through her skin, muscle, and tissue, digging for her heart.

She was cold. So cold. Ice had invaded her veins. Everywhere she looked the lights stung her eyes and exaggerated the monstrous features of the masked figures bending over her. The doctor, with his reptilian-cold eyes, reached for a shiny metal instrument with two handles connected by a bar in the middle.

It is nothing to fear, Thorn. Simply an instrument to spread your bones to get to your weakened heart. Surely you want me to fix it for you.

He moved the paddles closer together and leaned over her. She bit back a scream, sweat pouring from her body, her heart hammering so loud it echoed through that cold, sterile room.

Azami. The voice was more slurred than ever. Male. Brushing over the memories of a terrified child. Soothing. Warmth pouring through all that terrible ice-cold.

Thorn stiffened, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. Father? Oh, God, she was truly losing her mind. She couldn’t pull back and there was nowhere to run and hide, to be alone in order to gather herself and push those memories back behind that steel door she kept closed in her mind.

“What’s wrong with you, Kyle?” Lily’s voice snapped out. Imperious. Demanding. “Keep him under. Do you think I can do this when he’s awake? We’re going to lose him to shock if he doesn’t die from blood loss.”

“He’s fighting it,” a man answered. “I swear, I’m afraid to give him more. He might not come back. He won’t go under. I’ve never had a patient react like this before.”

Through the netting, Thorn saw Lily bend over Sam. “Don’t fight it, Sam. Go to sleep and let me take care of you. Don’t fight me.”

Azami.

There it was again. Her name. But it was Sam, not her father calling to her. It was Sam, still connected to her mind, reading her memories of childhood. That child who had been used for experiment after evil, bloody, torturous experiment. Her body sliced open-usually without anesthesia so the doctor could gauge her ability to withstand pain. So many experiments from depriving her oxygen, forcing her underwater into a cold pool to see how long she could hold out and if they could bring her back. The enhancements that Whitney believed were complete failures. Her DNA tampered with. Forcing the other girls to use their gifts on her to perfect their abilities.

I will not have you destroying my record, Thorn. You are such a disappointment to me and I’ve given you every opportunity-far more than anyone else.

She knew even if she clapped her hands over her ears, she would never stop that voice from telling her that her brain was useless to him, but at least he could dissect her body and examine her so he could avoid inadvertently creating other useless subjects like her again. If she would only behave and cooperate, he could test new medicines and procedures before trying them on his more valuable subjects.

He had operated without anesthesia many times to judge the body’s ability to withstand pain before it gave out. He’d stopped and restarted her heart just as many times. Her heart had grown so weak Dr. Whitney had believed she would die anyway, so he’d finally thrown her away-into the alley of one of the worst streets where human trafficking and sex traders plied their slaves.

Sam knew too much. He knew who she was. If she could hear Whitney’s voice echoing through her mind, so could Sam. He was sharing her mind, her memories, every horrid detail. She swallowed hard, sweat beading on her skin. It never once had occurred to her, when assessing all the risks to her coming to the GhostWalker compound, that someone would share her mind and uncover her childhood shame. Those terrible years of torment and vulnerability.

“You’ll have to give him more. I’m going to lose him.” This time there was desperation in Lily’s voice.

“He’s turning his head, Lily, trying to look…” The voice trailed off.

Thorn looked up to see both Lily and the other man looking toward her, following that slow head turn Sam made even in his barely conscious state. They knew he was looking at her. To warn them? They’d probably think that, but he was trying to reach out-to help her. He was every bit as selfless as her father had been.

Mamoru Yoshiie simply appeared from the darkness, a small, almost thin man in a gray kimono and wide leg trousers, split-toed socks, and sandals. Behind him were two young boys, one thirteen, the other ten. Yoshiie had stood over her, shaking his head at the small group of thugs who had begun to gather close to see what he would do to her. Later, she learned, the thugs were the feared yakuza, who ran the sex and drugs in this part of the city. They bowed slightly to Yoshiie and slowly gave way as he bent to lift her into his arms.

Thorn had been so frightened. She was tiny, her weight no more than a feather to the older man. He stared into her eyes and peace descended. She had never felt like that again with anyone-until Sam.

She closed her eyes. She should let Sam go. She should be glad he was slipping away. Her heart slammed hard in her chest. The scars burned like fire. The little girl wouldn’t stop screaming. Even her fingernails hurt where she’d torn them off trying to get out of the small box they’d stuffed her into on the trip back to Japan.

She forced air through her lungs. There was no letting Sam go, not even to save her own life. There might be no chance for them, but Sam Johnson needed to be in the world. She rejected Dr. Whitney’s assessment that he wasn’t worth anything. She wouldn’t throw him away, not when she’d been inside of him and knew he was worth all the gold in the world. Her father would never have thrown him away. Just as he’d saved Daiki and Eiji and his beloved daughter, Azami, he would have plucked Sam from any danger and raised him to know how to take care of himself.

Don’t, Sam. Not for me. It was a long time ago. Let them work on you. Just go to sleep.

I can feel such pain in you.

She took a breath and deep inside, she stilled.

His voice swamped her. Brought her warmth, but she felt that terrible loneliness that echoed through his tone. Sadly she knew how he felt. He’d been in her, all that heat and strength, and when he was gone, she’d been aware of just how alone she’d been for too many years. She didn’t know how it would ever be possible to have him in her life-not when she had no choice but to complete what she’d set out to do-but with him alive there was always a chance. In any case, the world needed a man of compassion and strength and duty such as Sam Johnson.

Don’t leave me. Please just let the doc take care of you. She couldn’t quite stop that small pleading in her voice. He shook her. Crawled inside of her. Moved her when few things-or people-did. She had just left herself raw and exposed and more vulnerable than she’d been in years. She guarded her emotions far more than she did her body. She trusted few people. It had taken years to fully trust her father and brothers and yet she’d just given herself to Sam.

Don’t leave me. To a woman like Thorn, that was the epitome of weakness. She ducked her head and kept her expression perfectly blank.

Warmth slipped into her mind, filling the cold spaces, and shoved hard at the heavy open door of her childhood memories. He was saving her sanity even as he was slipping away. She kept breathing, in and out, stilling the terrible inner trembling. Whitney was gone. His voice. His eyes staring at her. She was alive and she was whole.

Sam. She whispered his name in her mind. Thankful for him. Afraid for him.

“Put him out,” Lily called, fear edging her voice. She sounded almost desperate.

They knew. They all knew about her now. Her gaze jumped to Tucker’s. She forced another calming breath. They knew she was telepathic, but that didn’t mean they knew about her childhood.

Could she put Sam out? She moved into his mind. He was definitely fighting the anesthesia-for her. Because she was upset and he was worried for her. She soothed him, assured him, and pushed him subtly toward acceptance. She knew the exact moment he succumbed, going out, drifting away from her so that she felt a wrenching separation and once again, she was utterly alone.

“Thank you,” Lily called, her voice muffled.

“Just save him,” Thorn said, loud enough for the doctor to hear. She forced air to continue breathing. Breathing in. Breathing out. Presenting that absolutely serene countenance to anyone watching her-and they were watching-even more closely now.

This time she initiated leaving the surgical tent. She couldn’t breathe in there. Tucker and the redheaded man followed her out. She got as far as the trees on shaking legs and stopped, leaning against a solid trunk and drawing in breath.

“Are you armed?” Tucker asked.

Her eyebrow shot up. “Of course I’m armed. I’m Daiki Yoshiie’s bodyguard. He’s had more threats against him than your president. I have permits to carry weapons, even in your country.” She spoke with great dignity, pitching her voice low, as if his question was totally ludicrous. She wasn’t altogether certain what she would do if he commanded her to surrender her weapons. And no way was she going to submit to a search.

“You brought down the helicopter.”

Tucker made it more of a statement than a question. She supposed he knew because Sam didn’t carry a bow and arrows and he must have received a report from whoever was cleaning up the bodies.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t show emotion. “It was necessary for our survival.”

Tucker pulled a water bottle from his pack. “You must be thirsty.”

She regarded the proffered bottle carefully. They were still treating her as a guest, yet her guard, the redheaded soldier, was definitely on alert. His gaze hadn’t left her no matter what was going on around him.

“Thank you.” She took the bottle and indicated the soldier. “Is he assigned to make certain I don’t go crazy and kill everyone here?” She injected a faint note of humor into her voice.

Tucker gave her an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This was a very coordinated and well-planned attack on your brother and perhaps you as well. Sam was assigned to keep you safe. Ian McGillicuddy has that honor now.”

She turned and smiled at McGillicuddy. He was a big man, his red hair spilling across his forehead and his green eyes piercing and intelligent. He was guarding her all right, but it wasn’t necessarily to keep her safe. She saluted him with the water bottle and took a long, cooling drink.

McGillicuddy nodded, but he didn’t smile and he didn’t take his eyes from her.

“Sam said my brothers are safe. I hope they’re under a tight guard.”

“Yes, of course. Kadan and Nico have them inside the compound. It’s a fortress. No one can get to them there,” Tucker said.

The concentrated smell of blood made her stomach lurch-an unusual reaction, so it had to be the aftermath of her memories bombarding her. She hoped that door was firmly closed. Glancing toward the tent, she didn’t try to keep the worry from her face.

“I thought it was a through and through and that he’d be fine.”

“You couldn’t have known. Sam’s tough,” Tucker added. “Once he went back twice for wounded and no one realized he’d been shot twice himself. We didn’t know until he was in the helicopter heading home and he just sort of passed out. That’s Sam.”

She liked Tucker all the more for the genuine respect and affection in his voice. “He was extremely efficient in the firefight. We were greatly outnumbered. The enemy spoke in English, Spanish, and Farsi. Two of the soldiers were murdered by their own people, presumably to keep them from talking.”

“The bullets were concentrated in the mouth, destroying teeth and faces. Soldiers must have mopped up after your kills, making certain to slow down identification. Have there been specific threats against your family?” Tucker asked.

“There are always threats.” Thorn looked around for a place to sit. Her legs were beginning to get a little strength in them, but she knew she needed recovery time. “I’d like to sit down if you don’t mind.” She said it more for McGillicuddy’s benefit than for Tucker’s. She didn’t want to make any sudden moves and have the man shoot her. She forced her legs to work-to glide soundlessly through the vegetation until she found a suitable spot to sink onto the ground gracefully.

“I’m sorry,” Tucker said immediately, looking remorseful. “I should have found you somewhere comfortable right away.”

“I think we both had other things on our minds,” Thorn said truthfully. “The adrenaline’s wearing off.”

“We can get you back up to the compound if you’re anxious to see your brothers.” Tucker sounded reluctant but willing.

Thorn didn’t blame him. Clearly he wanted to make certain Sam remained alive. She shook her head, sending him a quick smile. “I think I’ll stick around. You know how it is. When you’re in combat with someone, you get close fast. He was pretty amazing. I want to know firsthand that he’s going to make it.”

“Are you telepathic?”

The question was so casual, the tone equally so, that for a moment it almost didn’t register. Tucker Addison was very smooth at interrogation without seeming to be. He acted as if he was making innocent conversation. Thorn took her time, fussing with the pins in her hair, restoring a semblance of order as she looked up toward the blue sky. Night was still a few hours off, but the wind was picking up, blowing a few clouds overhead.

“Yes. I haven’t spoken to another telepath since my childhood.” That was strictly honest. “I found it exhilarating, shocking, and a little frightening that Sam had such a strong ability. I could hear him when he spoke to me.” She flashed a small smile and reached for a leaf, examining the thin veins running through it. “The gift came in quite handy during the battle.”

“Why wouldn’t Sam let Lily put him under?” Tucker crouched down opposite her, his gaze intent on her face.

Thorn shrugged. It was always better to stick as close to the truth as possible. “He was worried about me. We fought together, and I think he believed I was his responsibility-at least that’s what it felt like to me. He stepped between me and the soldiers several different times. I told him I was fine and that I’d stay close. That seemed to satisfy him.”

She was back to the game of wits, and her confidence was coming back. She knew how to be Azami Yoshiie, inside and out. She was samurai through and through. Her father’s daughter. That eight-year-old child, with all of her insecurities and terrible memories, was locked behind the door. Azami just had to keep her there.

So far, Tucker was making polite conversation, slipping in a clever question every now and then, but he hadn’t asked the significant question-where had she gotten second-generation Zenith. It wasn’t on the market as of yet. No one should know about it. So how had she? And how had she acquired it? Good questions that would require real answers. She knew he would wait until she was inside the compound where the GhostWalker teams would easily have the upper hand.

“I think a good cup of tea would be excellent right now,” Thorn said. She loved the tea ritual her father had often used to calm her when, as a child, she was unable to find her center. Just the thought of her father comforted her and continued to infuse her with confidence.

Tucker’s white teeth flashed at her. “You’re the second woman to suggest tea in a situation like this. I have to admit, I drank it with her, but I’m a coffee man myself.”

“The tea ritual is always comforting,” she said. “It’s always nice after a battle.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Do you often go into battle?”

“I was trained from the time I was a child in the way of the samurai by my father. It is a way of life, and the use of weapons as well as hand-to-hand combat is part of the lifestyle. Of course along with traditional weapons and fighting technique, we were required to master the modern arts of warfare as well as weapons. So, I guess you can say, I often go into battle. We keep up our skills. Our company provides this training for our employees. My brothers and I often instruct as well as train in order to stay sharp.”

“Your father must have been an unusual man.”

Thorn nodded. “Most unusual and wonderful. I miss him every day.” Her soft voice was infused with the warmth of a million memories.

The thought of her father brought her even more confidence and completely settled the last of the nerves in her stomach. Daiki and Eiji were both men of honor, like her father. She had never thought to meet a man who might live up to what her father and brothers were-until she met Sam. She knew his mind intimately. He would sacrifice his own happiness for the good of his team. He would sacrifice willingly his life for theirs. He knew what duty and honor were and stood for both.

Thorn found it strange that when she had finally set into motion her plan to track down Whitney and serve him justice or at the very least cut off his supporters and put him on the run, she found a man she could believe in-one she could trust.

“Life is very strange,” she murmured aloud.

“That it is,” Tucker agreed. “We had no idea we’d be cleaning up a full-scale assault on our guests. We don’t always use this road. It’s a private one we put in ourselves. In the winter it’s completely impassable. We use snowmobiles or winter vehicles on the public road. It’s odd that they would set up an ambush here. How could they possibly know we would use this route to bring you and your brothers up to the compound?”

Thorn turned the question over in her mind. “There are two routes and you never choose one ahead of time?”

Tucker shook his head. “We deliberately set no pattern when we’re traveling.”

“Maybe that’s why they had the second helicopter and it came late to the party,” she speculated. “They might have had a welcoming committee on both roads. A helicopter and two vehicles per road. Once they knew the route they could call for the others to back them up. They weren’t that far away. A Jeep could cut through the forest and a helicopter just had to fly like a bird in a straight line.”

Tucker nodded. “Not bad.”

She sent him a small smile. “A test? Or not bad for a girl? You already knew that, didn’t you?”

He grinned at her. “Our women are on the feisty side, just like you. You sit there very demure and look sweet, but you’re a tiger in sheep’s clothing. If Sam’s all worried about you, he’s worried about the wrong woman.”

Thorn inclined her head. “You might tell him that when he wakes up.”