Ghost Dance Read Online Free Page B

late. The man grabbed a fistful of her hair, bending her head back and resting his blade against the vulnerable skin of her throat. The knife looked like ordinary steel and leather, but where it touched her skin Morgan saw a wisp of smoke curl into the air. He imaged he could hear the sizzle of burning flesh.
    Her mouth moved, still soundless, but Morgan knew she was begging the man to let her go. Morgan's jaw clenched as he forced himself not to move.
    The man pressed the knife harder against the woman's throat, using the flat of the blade to cause maximum pain with minimal risk of accidental death. His face remained dispassionate. There was no hint that he enjoyed hurting the woman. There was no pleasure in it for him, it was purely about getting results.
    White blisters bloomed on her neck, ichor leaking into the hollow of her clavicle. Her lips moved again and Morgan could read them now, "Oh god, oh god, oh god," over and over again. Saliva sprayed from her mouth, droplets speckling and blurring the mirror's surface.
    There were flecks of her spittle in the man's eyelashes until he blinked them away. The movements of his mouth were smaller and more controlled, but Morgan could read them too. "Where is it?" he said. "Have you found it?"
    She spoke for longer this time, gabbling so Morgan couldn't follow what she was saying. The man cocked his head as he listened, probably assessing her honesty. But the woman was too terrified to lie and her attacker seemed to realise that. He smiled a little. Then he looked back at the woman and the smile died. Morgan closed his eyes as the knife slashed and the woman's mouth stretched wide in its final, silent scream.
    When he opened them again the woman's body had slumped out of sight and only the man remained. He was frowning, one deep upright groove in the centre of his forehead as he stared at the mirror. And Morgan knew it could only be a trick of perspective, but in the instant before his image disappeared from the glass, the man seemed to be staring right at him.

CHAPTER TWO
     
    PD was waiting for Alex outside the School of Native American Studies, and for a second she flashed back to their very first meeting. In the seven years since he'd changed very little, only the first hint of crow's feet seaming the skin around his eyes. He must have been a young man new to the Agency when she'd first seen him, but to her 16-year-old eyes he'd seemed ancient.
    He nodded a greeting and she raised a lazy hand in response. The classmate walking beside her shot her a questioning look. "Old family friend," she told him, her stock answer. "He and I are going away for a few days - road trip. I'll catch you when I get back."
    "Hey, kid," PD said. "Looking for some action?"
    She suppressed a smile. "Kid? Really?"
    His gaze raked her quickly up and down, frankly appreciative. But when he met her eyes again there was something odd in his. "No, I guess not."
    PD didn't speak again till they were in the car together, the latest in a long string of black Impalas. "I hear you got the lowest score ever recorded on the shooting range last month."
    She shrugged, hiding her half smile behind her long blonde hair. "I guess I'm just not cut out for life in the CIA. Must be why I keep failing my finals. Shame you don't want me to start work for you till I graduate."
    "Isn't it," he said. She'd grown accustomed to him in all the years he'd been dropping in and out of her life, but she still hadn't learnt to read him. She thought he seemed tense, though, and his tension gradually transmitted itself to her until she realised her hands were balled into tight fists.
    "So what's the plan for this little outing?" she asked. "LSD? Prescription pain-killers? Crystal meth? It's kind of ironic, if you think about it. I've taken more drugs since I've been working for the government than I ever consumed as a private citizen. "
    "And yet you've never seen anything worth telling us." He kept his eyes on the road as he took a