Night Game (12 page)

“I don’ have family either,
cher
. Maybe thas why we get along so well. You always have a place here with me, you know that don’ you?”

She flinched at the compassion in his voice. It made her all too aware of what she was. Thrown away by a mother who didn’t want her. Sold by an orphanage with too many children. Caged and treated more like an animal than as a human being. It never mattered how much she worked to educate herself, to improve herself, somewhere deep inside, in a place she protected and defended, she still felt like that unwanted child.

She forced a lighter note into her voice. “Thanks,
Monsieur le Capitaine
.” Deliberately she looked at him, blew him a kiss. “I’m a wanderer. I love to see new places. I can’t imagine staying in the same place all the time. It’s a good trait to have. If I didn’t, I’d never have had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“You’re good for an old man’s soul, Flame.” His gaze narrowed on her choker. “What’s that on your neck? It looks like bruises.”

“Does it?” She fingered the choker, drawing it up closer around her trachea. “How odd. I hope the dye isn’t rubbing off. I’d better go check.” Before he could look again, Flame was already halfway across the deck to jerk open the door.

She inspected her neck beneath the choker. The bruises were darkening and spreading. Swearing softly, she tossed the choker aside and grabbed a scarf that nearly matched the color of her dress and wrapped it artfully around her neck. As long as she avoided Raoul Fontenot she’d be fine. Otherwise, he might very well take advantage and strangle her after what she’d said and implied to his grandmother.

Laughing aloud, she rejoined Burrell on the deck. “It was the choker. Does this look okay?”

“Beautiful,” he replied, once more puffing on his pipe.

“You don’t happen to know the Fontenot family, do you? They live in this parish.”

The captain burst out laughing. “Fontenot is a very common name in this part of the country,
cher
. I need a little more information.”

“I think the boys were raised by their grandmother. One of the boys is named Raoul and another Wyatt.”

Burrell sat back in his chair nodding. “Good family. Oldest boy, Raoul took off to join the service but always sent his money to his grandmother to help care for the other boys. They’re wild and Raoul had a certain reputation for fightin’.” He winked at her. “All those boys have a way with the ladies, so you look out for them. Don’ you go off with any of them and don’ you believe their sweet talk.”

“No worries,
Capitaine
. I have no intention of ever getting that close to any of the Fontenot men.” She glanced again at her watch. “I’ve got to go.” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You guard that money. Don’t say a word about it until you have a cashier’s check to give to Saunders. I’ll go with you when you pay him off. You’ll want a witness with you. And behave when I’m gone. I saw you giving old Mrs. Michaud that cute little come-on smile of yours.” She waved as she stepped off the houseboat into the airboat tied up beside it. He waved her off with a dismissing hand and a pleased grin. The last she saw of him, he was happily puffing away on his pipe.

CHAPTER 5

Gator sat back in his chair, legs sprawled lazily in front of him, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the tabletop in beat to the music. The tapping allowed him to stay focused when each beat of the crashing instruments and the strands of conversations felt like nails pounding into his skull. He couldn’t take much more. And it wasn’t doing him a whole hell of a lot of good. He’d managed to hear two conversations regarding Joy. The first took place out side the walls of the cabin, whispered words of anger and conspiracy—brothers and friends wanting vengeance. In the second conversation two women had mentioned her in passing as they reminded each other to watch their drinks at all times.

He rubbed his temples, felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. Even his hair was slightly damp from the strain of sorting through the cacophony. Lily had been correct when she said the trick of listening to conversations at a great distance, even through walls, was to be able to sort out the multitude of noise. His head was about to explode. Even his teeth hurt. He needed to go somewhere quiet and peaceful, somewhere he could be alone to listen to the stillness of the night. He tried to suppress the sounds crowding in around him, but nothing worked. He reached inside of himself in an attempt to silence the myriad voices around him, to find the stillness in his mind that was his haven, but nothing could stop the noise from beating at his brain.

His stomach lurched. He was on serious overload. A stupid mistake, One he hadn’t made since he’d first been psychically enhanced. He was going to have to get out of the club as fast as possible. He glanced at his brother, already talking up a pretty woman over at the bar. Beside him, Ian tossed peanut shells onto the floor along with everyone else, laughing as he did so. Neither seemed at all aware of Gator’s predicament. Just as he pushed himself out of the chair, the door opened and Flame Johnson walked into the room.

Not walked. He couldn’t say walked. She swayed. Gator lowered himself back into the chair, sliding farther into the corner, into the shadows, his gaze drinking her in. She was beautiful, sexy. Too sexy. Instantly he became aware of the other men, the way their hot gazes rested on her body and slid over her soft curves. She moved across the room, her dress molding to her soft skin and as far as he could tell, it didn’t look like she was wearing panties.

Gator tried to drag air into his lungs, but there didn’t seem to be a sufficient supply. Her head turned abruptly, as if she had radar, and her eyes met his right through the crowd. For a moment they were the only two people in the room. She frowned, her gaze moving very slowly over him, taking in the fine sheen on his skin and the dampness of his curling hair. She saw way beyond his easy smile. At once the noise receded and he became aware of a soft, soothing note humming through his mind. The pounding in his head eased along with his churning stomach. She turned away, talking with animation to Thibodeaux.

Gator sat very still, feeling the first astonishing wash of utter jealousy. He had never experienced the emotion, but recognized it for what it was. His attention narrowed until there was only Flame. He could see the smallest details there in the dim lighting and smell her scent in the midst of the crush of bodies. His every sense was acute, so sharp, he could almost inhale her. It was an experience he’d never forget, and he sat there, sprawled in his chair, unable to control his body’s fierce reaction any more than he could his mind—and for a man like Gator, that was very dangerous.

His headache was gone, thanks to Flame. Why would she help him? Did she feel, in spite of herself, the same pull toward him that he felt toward her? He hoped so. He hoped he wasn’t alone in his need to see her.

Flame stepped up the one stair to the stage. Thibodeaux considered the Hurican an upscale blues club because of the perfectly tuned piano he owned. The instrument sat in the midst of chaos and peanut shells, gleaming like black obsidian, highly polished, with white ivory keys, his shrine to the music he loved so much. No patron ever touched the piano, only the musicians. It was an unspoken rule, but they all understood Thibodeaux carried the baseball bat for a reason, and it wasn’t because of the numerous fights that broke out. It was to keep the piano safe.

Flame went right up to the piano as though she owned it. She looked an elegant, classy lady as she seated herself on the bench, fingers poised over the keys, the uneven hem of her dress draped over her shapely legs. Thibodeaux hovered anxiously, bat wrapped in his meaty hands, his gaze on Flame as the first notes poured into the room.

Her voice was low and haunting, stealing into Gator’s mind and holding him in some kind of thrall. The first words of her song sank into his heart and soul, wrapping him up tightly, squeezing his insides so that her song was personal to him, only to him. Everyone else had dropped away. There was no other man in existence. Even the room dropped away so that they were wherever his imagination took them.

He could almost feel the softness of her skin as her voice beckoned to him, summoned him, trapped him in a web of sexual need and sensual stimulation. One song blended smoothly into the next, smoky notes transporting him into fantasies and making him weep inside for lost love and missed chances. It took effort to make his brain work when all he wanted to do was carry her off to a place where they could be alone.

His mind seemed sluggish, working at slow speed, and that bothered him. It made no sense why he couldn’t turn his head and look at his brother to observe his reaction to her, he could only stare, transfixed at the woman playing the piano. He saw the silk of her red hair, individual strands begging to be touched. Her skin gleamed, impossibly soft and inviting. Her neck was slender, bare when she turned her head, driving him to the brink of in sanity. All he could think about was pressing his mouth there and wandering, exploring, losing himself in the lushness of her body.

One song led into another while he struggled to control himself. His jeans were so tight he was afraid he’d burst, his aching, throbbing body hardened to the breaking point. In the end, he resorted to his old trick, tapping his fingertip on the table, establishing a counter beat, one he could concentrate on. Almost at once he realized how much power her voice wielded. Flame wasn’t simply mesmerizing with her incredible, sultry voice, she was hypnotizing her audience with her music and he had fallen into the trap right along with everyone else.

He took a cautious look around. No one moved. No one drank. Every eye was on her, everyone entranced by the seduction of her smoky, sultry voice. She didn’t look at them, didn’t catch anyone’s eye and flirt, she simply bent over the piano and allowed the music and song to carry her away. Her audience was transported right along with her into a world of satin sheets and steamy nights. He felt her under his skin, fingers stroking and teasing, her mouth hot satin…

Gator shook his head hard to clear his brain. She had an amazing gift, far too powerful for anyone, even Whitney, to conceive of. What would the doctor have done had he known she could captivate an audience the way she did? He was aware of the hypnotic effect of her voice, yet he still had to fight it. He tapped his finger harder on the table, counting out a rhythm in his mind to keep from losing himself in her voice. Lily would want to know. She maintained several contracts with the government along with a high-security clearance, and the government would definitely want to know what Flame could or couldn’t do with her talent. It was no wonder there was a flag on a computer somewhere trying to monitor where she was and whom she associated with.

Where would that leave him? He rubbed his temples and hummed to himself to keep from drowning in her voice. He had the same gifts, the same talents. Once it was known, how much of a guinea pig would he become? And if his past experiments ever came out, if the government—or Lily—figured it out, what would they do to him? He’d probably be sitting right alongside Flame in a cage somewhere.