Conspiracy Game by Christine Feehan

death. He used his fists and then a baseball bat.”
    “Jack.” She wanted to put her arms around him. She felt his emotions now—black rage—ice cold. “I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing. Who would do such a thing?”
    “Her husband.” He glanced around the room. “You have a hat in here? Maybe a backpack?”
    Why had she thought he didn’t have emotions? The room was shaking, the walls undulating. “Jack.” She reached out to touch him.
    Jack knocked her hand away, clearly a reflex action. He was strong, and she felt the impact right through her body. Their eyes met. Held. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
    “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He stepped close to her, almost protectively. “I don’t know why I did that.”
    “I’m fine.” She pulled a backpack out of the tiny closet to avoid looking at him. She had to blink back tears—not because he’d hurt her, but because his pain was so raw and his rage so deep, she needed to weep for him, because he hadn’t—wouldn’t.
    “Damn it. I don’t usually talk this much.”
    She handed him the backpack and rummaged through the drawers for a hat.
    “You actually put your clothes in the closet?”
    She glanced at him, knowing he needed to change the subject. He would never be comfortable with personal revelations. “Of course. What do you do with your clothes?”
    He looked around the small room. “I don’t actually stay in hotels much. I’m usually outdoors. But maybe a duffel bag.”
    Briony pushed a hat into his hands. “That should do it. Let’s go.” The close confines of the room were really getting to her. Jack seemed to be everywhere. She’d never been so aware of a man.
    Jack stopped her before she could open the door. “Wait. Always check. Always .” He set her to one side and stood to the other, his gun in his hand, held flat across his body. “Open it slowly, just a crack.” He crouched low, sweeping the hallway before signaling to her. “You have to think security at all times, Briony. You’re a GhostWalker whether you like it or not, and you’ve got the training.”
    “I’m not going to be hunting people in the jungle,” she objected. “I perform in a circus. I fly.”
    “Walk on my left side. Stay up with me. If we run into trouble, drop behind me and take off, using my body as a shield while I cover you. Stay away from my gun hand and walk in step.”
    She sighed. “Do you have any more rules?”
    Again that very faint trace of amusement touched his mouth and faded just as quickly. “You have no idea.”
    “I can only imagine.”
    “Soldier at seven o’clock. Don’t look at him, look up at me. Stay under my shoulder and put one hand on my waist. Just rest it there. Keep walking and talk to me, smile and laugh the way you would with one of your brothers.”
    “I’d be kicking my brother for ordering me around,” Briony said, flashing him a quick smile. “You do know what century you’re living in, don’t you?”
    “Doesn’t matter. I know how to stay alive, and when you’re with me, I’m going to make certain you do too.”
    “That’s so comforting; thank you, Jack.” She slowed and nodded toward a warehouse. “They set us up to use this building because it’s so tall. Hot as hell, but definitely roomy.”
    Jack held open the door and glanced back to see the soldier walking around the corner. He followed Briony inside and stopped, looking up at the trapeze and high wire. “You perform up there?”
    She nodded. “I dive through rings of fire and run across the wire without a balance pole. It’s a unique act. I can do a quadruple somersault because I can generate a lot of speed when I fly. Quads just aren’t done.”
    He studied her face. “Do you like it?”
    She blinked up at him and then kicked the toe of her shoe against the rigging as if testing it. “My family’s been in the circus for generations.”
    Jack continued to look at her averted face. “That’s interesting information, but not what