Deep in the depths of her eyes, when he met her gaze, he caught a glimpse of scars, terrible wounds that had never quite healed, but were still raw and painful and hidden from the rest of the world. But he saw those wounds when no one else could, and he knew he was born for her. He was born to heal her. He had been told, assured over and over, that he had the talent buried within him, yet when he looked at her, when he touched her, there was no lessening of her pain from her past. If anything, he seemed to add to that silent burden.

Nicolas found the small shed behind another, larger workshop. He stripped off his filthy shirt but didn’t bother changing his trousers. He and Dahlia would be in the water part of the time and he didn’t want all of his clothes wet. He washed up carefully, even rinsing his hair. For the first time it mattered to him what he looked like to someone.

She wore the same determined smile as before when he returned. “Come and eat, Nicolas. You can’t go after Jesse until it’s dark so you may as well take a short nap.”

Dahlia waited for him to settle onto the sheet she’d “borrowed” from a clothesline. He looked so good she was afraid she might blurt out something all too revealing, so she kept quiet and just watched him as he devoured the chicken and rice and beans she’d acquired from a small deli a few miles up the road. It had been a hike, and she’d had to be in a small crowd while she sorted out what Nicolas might want to eat, but it was well worth it when he was so obviously enjoying the meal. She felt proud of herself and maybe even a little bit wifely, which was really silly and annoyed the hell out of her. But she couldn’t stop smiling like a goofball. The sleep had done her good, and she felt much better and able to cope once again. She was ashamed of her anger earlier and hoped her gesture made up for it.

“I didn’t see any sign of Calhoun,” Nicolas admitted as he mopped the last of the beans off the plate. “But they had the place heavily guarded, and they wouldn’t need to do that if he were dead or if they were holding him somewhere else. I think we have a good chance of finding him alive, Dahlia.”

“Do you think any of those men are like us? GhostWalkers?” She used his definition deliberately to try it on. To see if it fit her. To be part of something when she had nothing. “Because Jesse is telepathic. I can’t reach him, but maybe you can.”

Nicolas had thought of attempting to reach out many times during the long hours of lying in the sun trying to see into the house. He was wary of a trap. He was certain Jesse Calhoun’s kidnappers had wanted Dahlia to follow them. It had just been too easy. They were expecting her to try to rescue her handler. Nicolas couldn’t imagine the man taking the kind of abuse and torture he’d witnessed just to set the stage. He doubted if Calhoun was in on whatever was going on, but the men were too well trained and too heavily armed not to be part of something very well funded and dirty.

“I don’t know. I can reach a specific person if I have established a link with them, but unfortunately, Calhoun and I didn’t have time to do that. If anyone in the house was telepathic, they might pick up on the communication. I don’t want to risk tipping them off. They might kill Calhoun before we have a chance to get him out of there.”

“I can slip past them, Nicolas.”

His head went up alertly, black eyes going ice-cold. “I’m sure you can, Dahlia, but that isn’t how we’re going to handle this one.”

Dahlia tried not to bristle at the hard authority in his voice. “Don’t get military on me. This is my mess, remember? I’m thinking I can slip inside and make certain he’s there before you come in. Why risk it, if Jesse isn’t even there? It would be silly.”

His fingers itched to shake her. She sat across from him looking cool and calm and determined. No, stubborn. She looked stubborn. There was no other word for it. “You look stubborn, Dahlia, not reasonable. Cut it out. This isn’t a democracy.”

“Exactly. I’m so glad you agree with me. You can hang back and do what you do. Put your eye to the scope and protect me, and I’ll just slip in under cover of dark and take a look around. They can’t have a crack security system in so short a time, and in any case, I’ve dealt with hundreds of security systems.”

“I’ll bet you have. So you think I should let you walk in there all alone with at least four men trained in military tactics.” He held up his hand before she could reply. “Because it doesn’t make a bit of sense to me to send you in there when we expect to find Calhoun tortured and in pain. We both know he was shot. What kind of energy is he putting out, do you think? What kinds of energy do those four men combined put out? I’d have to say it would be poor planning to send in a woman of your size, incapable of hauling him out, with your kinds of problems. I’d find you on the floor having seizures, and I’d have to haul both of you out.”

He hurt her. He saw it in her eyes before her lashes came down. A glimpse was enough to cause his gut to tie itself into knots. “Damn it, Dahlia, I’m telling you the truth, and you know it. It would be suicide sending you in there alone. Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.”

She steepled her fingers, pressed them tightly together. “It could happen. I’m not going to deny that it could happen. On the other hand, I’ve refused to live my life being afraid. What else are we going to do? I can blur my image and slip into small places. Believe me, they won’t see me. The other choice is . . .” She trailed off, looking up at him, spreading her hands out in front of her.

“I’ll go in. I’m a GhostWalker, Dahlia. I do have a few talents of my own.”

“But you can protect me with a weapon. I’m not certain I can do the same for you. I’ve been taught to fire a gun and I can hit a target, but I doubt if I could actually hit a human being. I’d try, Nicolas, but the repercussions would be so bad I’d get hit with the energy of just the intention of trying to kill someone. You’ve seen how bad it is.”

“I’ve felt it as well,” he agreed grimly. He never wanted to experience it again.

“Back at the house, I wanted to help Jesse, to keep someone from hurting him. I didn’t mean to set anyone on fire, just scare everyone, when they were taking Jesse. I don’t have any control when the energy is severe like that. I could burn down the house with you and Jesse in it.”

Dahlia tried to keep her voice even. She had never felt so worthless in her life. Nicolas had managed to reduce her to a burden. She looked away from him into the trees, breathing deeply to keep her rising emotions under control. She needed to be away from everyone, to return to the sanctuary of the bayou. It was the only place she knew. The only one she called home.

“Dahlia.” Nicolas reached out and brushed tears from her face. “I can’t change who I am, not even for you.”

She jerked her head away from the caress of his fingers. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It means I always go in first. It means I have to take the hot mission. I live by a strict code, and it’s a matter of honor with me.”

She sat in silence for few minutes before scooting back toward the broad trunk of the nearest tree, giving him plenty of room to lie down. “It doesn’t negate what you said. I would be a burden to you if I went in. To both of you.”

Nicolas sighed as he stretched out on the sheet, lying with his head in her lap. She didn’t protest, and her hand immediately nestled in his hair. She began rubbing strands of his hair between her thumb and finger. “I didn’t say burden, Dahlia. You could never be a burden. I have to do this my way. The way I was trained. You have something you’re very good at doing. This is what I do.”

She leaned back against the tree trunk. “What am I supposed to be doing while you’re in the house alone?”

“Waiting. We’re going to need to get him out fast if he’s alive. He’ll need medical care immediately. We’ll have to contact your people and get him to a hospital.”

His voice was drowsy. Dahlia looked down at his perfectly sculpted face. Her fingertips traced his strong jaw. “I don’t have any people. I do work for them, but I’m not one of them. It isn’t the same thing. Jesse’s NCIS; I’m nobody.”

He tried to analyze her voice. Was the ache of loneliness in her words or her tone? Or maybe it struck a cord in him. Even in training he had felt apart, until he had made an attempt to learn to utilize the healing skills both grandfathers said were strong in him. He had volunteered to be enhanced, mainly in the hopes of opening his mind to the healing arts. He had gained many psychic talents, and for the first time he had felt a part of something bigger, yet he still, to his shame, could not tap into the strong resource his grandfathers had been so certain was within him.

He reached up and took her hand, settling his fingers around hers. “You aren’t nobody, Dahlia, you’re a GhostWalker. They hired you because you’re exceptional at what you do. We don’t do too bad together for a couple of people that are used to being alone, do we?”

A faint smile curved her mouth. “At least I’ve learned not to singe fingers.”

A night breeze came up off the river, helping to ease the heat of the day. “I enjoy being with you Dahlia. Singed fingers or not.”

Dahlia looked down at Nicolas. His eyes were closed, his voice sleepy, drifting into no more than a murmur. There was a quality about him that she found restful. She had worked at finding peace in her life, a sanctuary, but it had always been alone, her home, the bayou, never with a person. She had been unable to spend more than half an hour at a time with Milly or Bernadette or Jesse. Yet she was with Nicolas almost continually, and the more physical contact she had with him, the easier it seemed to be.

She remained quiet, willing him to sleep. He never seemed tired, yet she could see the lines of strain on his face. She smoothed the lines gently with her fingertips, went back to combing his hair with her fingers. She needed to touch him. She wanted to touch him. He slept lightly. She was very aware on some level he would know the liberties she took, but it didn’t matter. Let him sleep and dream of her.

Dahlia’s fingers slid over his chest, beautiful fingers with more strength than he expected. More magic. Her fingertips played a sultry rhythm on his skin, tightening every muscle, heightening his pleasure. She seemed small and fragile to him, but there was purpose in her touch. Demand even. The night breeze fanned his skin, cooling the rising heat and adding to his sensitivity.

Nicolas knew he was between sleep and awake, somewhere in the twilight in between the two stages. He might have been dream-walking. He was capable. It didn’t matter to him, and he refused to analyze it. He wanted her touch more than he wanted to know what was reality.

He heard her whisper, as soft as any breeze, the warmth of her breath sliding over his face. A brush of her lips against his. Soft, teasing—little feathery kisses tantalizing him. Her teeth nibbled at his lower lip. Her tongue traced the outline of his mouth. His heart thudded in his chest, the echo in his head like thunder.

He shaped the back of her head with the palm of his hand, crushing her silky hair in his fingers, and held her to him so she couldn’t escape. Why did he always feel as if she were on the verge of slipping away from him? He was dreaming. It was his dream, and he wanted to kiss her. His mouth took possession of hers. He was lost there in the silken heat. He gave up all pretense of sleeping, wanting it to be reality, losing himself in her taste and texture. “Dahlia,” he whispered her name against her skin. Inhaling her scent, taking her deep into his lungs. “What are you doing?”

“Losing my mind,” she whispered back, her mouth on fire, pouring molten lava into his bloodstream. “Just this once I wanted to feel like a real woman. You were lying there so beautiful, so peaceful, and the night is so perfect, I almost forgot what I am.” She lifted her head, resisting his firm grip, her black eyes liquid with sorrow. “It’s time to wake up.”