Night Game (17 page)

That brought on another wave of laughter. Gator shook his head as he took them through the reed-choked waterway toward more open, but shallow water. The canal was fairly narrow and easy enough to maneuver. There was something very satisfying in the old ways, the digging of the pole onto the bottom of the canal, the jar that ran up the pole and into his shoulder, and the familiar play of muscle driving the pirogue through the reeds. He could have enjoyed the night a little better if he could pretend he was alone, but his imagination wasn’t good enough to drown out the noisy singing of his brother and friend. He shoved again with the pole.

“Hey, Gator. Just what was the question you asked my buddy Wyatt,” Ian asked.

In the sudden vacuum of silence as both men went quiet, sound poured in. The hum of insects, the murmur of other conversations as men made their way home along the same route, the splash of water as larger reptiles slid into the waterway, and the whisper of something moving along the shore, matching the progress of the pirogue.

Gator turned toward the sound, heard the snap of a branch and crackle of dried moss. Something shiny spun toward him, caught for a split second in the faint light of the small crescent shaped moon. He knocked it away with a quick flip of the pole and it hit the water with a splash, sinking below the dark surface immediately.

Forcing air through his lungs, he waited for the next attack. There was a rustle in the brush, branches in front of him swayed and then the sound of a heavy thud followed by silence. He didn’t move until the insects resumed humming.

“What was that?” Ian asked, sounding more sober than drunk.

“I think someone just tried to kill me,” Gator answered.

“Put us ashore,” Ian definitely didn’t sound drunk.
Gator glanced down at his brother, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol. “I

don’t think so. Not tonight. We’ll come back in the morning.” “Was it the woman?” “Well that would be the question, now wouldn’t it?” Gator replied thoughtfully.

CHAPTER 7

“You didn’t tell Lily you found Flame,” Ian said.

Gator looked up, one eyebrow raised in inquiry from the papers strewn around him in a semicircle.

“At the briefing. You didn’t tell Lily you found Flame.”

“I guess I didn’t. I must have overlooked that bit of in formation.” Gator tapped the pictures of the evidence of both girls’ disappearances. “I don’t see anything here that can help us, do you?”

“No. And we aren’t finished talking about Flame. She might have tried to kill you last night. She was there—I’m sure of it.”

“What did you see that I didn’t see, Ian?” Gator asked, tossing the pictures into a heap. “I searched, the same as you. I didn’t find a single print that might have been hers. I did find several men’s prints. And the same brand of cigarette Vicq Comeaux smokes.”

“She was there and you know she was there. She’s like a GhostWalker. She moves through the shadows and she leaves nothing behind, but we both felt her.”

Gator met Ian’s gaze squarely. “She
is
a GhostWalker. She’s the same as we are, not different, the same.”

“She still may have tried to kill you. I think maybe you’re thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy.”

“She wouldn’t have made noise, Ian. She wouldn’t have snapped twigs and made the branches sway. There was no wind. Someone human did that. And whoever slipped in the mud was large.”

“I’m just saying to watch yourself. She’s beautiful, but she’s not coming in. You won’t be able to bring her in.”

“Don’t sell me short, my friend. I can be persuasive when the situation calls for it.” Gator reached for his coffee cup. “There’s nothing quite like Cajun coffee. I miss it when I’m away from home.”

Ian snorted. “You could take the skin off a skull with that stuff. And she was on that island. I’m not saying she tried to take your head off, but she was there last night.”

Gator swallowed coffee. Yeah. She’d been there. He’d felt Flame’s presence, just the same as Ian. She’d been watching him, but he had no idea why. He’d lain awake most of the night thinking about her—the way her skin felt, the way her mouth was hot with the same carnal lust that he felt raging in his own body. Had it been her mesmerizing voice that had ensnared him? And whoever took Joy Chiasson, had they obsessed about her in the same way he obsessed about Flame—the crawling need under his skin, his body hard and aching no matter how many times he tried to rid himself of her scent and touch? Had they obsessed day and night until looking and fantasizing wasn’t enough and they helped themselves?

“Gator!” Ian raised his voice. “I’m just saying you’ve got to get a handle on this thing. I’m covering you with the captain, but if they call us back about the problem in the Congo…”

Gator shook his head. “I can’t leave right now. Some one else will have to handle this. Our teams have gone to the Congo, Iraq, and Afghanistan eight times in the last ten months for extractions. We’ve completed every mission, but someone else will have to take this one.”

“Ken Norton and his team were sent in to pull out some hotshot scientist and his people. Ken covered them as they ran to the helicopter, but he was wounded and they had no choice but to leave him and get the civilians to safety. GhostWalkers don’t leave their own behind, and not with that particular band of rebels. They’ve tortured and killed every prisoner they’ve ever held. We’re not leaving him there and you know it, Gator.”

“His team got the prisoners out so the rebels are going to be more than pissed,” Gator agreed. “But we’re halfway around the world. They’ll need someone at the ready. Get ahold of Rye and see who they’re sending. Tell him we’ve got trouble here and that I’d rather stay on this if we have a choice.” He glanced at his friend. “And don’t think you have to cover for me.”

“They’ve got a team lined up, but he’s still going to ask what the trouble is.”

“Tell him my gut is saying there’s trouble.” A small grin escaped. “We’re supposed to be psychic aren’t we?”

“Oh, he’ll get a huge kick out of that. And he’ll know we’re not being straight. We’ve never once backed away from a mission.”

“It wasn’t offered to us.”

“No, Jack Norton, Ken’s brother, is leading a rescue team. Nico and Sam and a couple of Jack’s guys are going in,” Ian agreed. “But we were standby.”

“Just give him the message. He’ll handle it for me. If you feel you need to go, believe me, I’ll understand.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

“And I’m not leaving her. Whether you like it, whether she likes it, she’s one of us and I’m not willing to let her go.”

“Is that the GhostWalker in you talking, or the hormones?”

“How the hell would I know?” Gator shoved the pictures away and stood up, pacing across the room to stare out the window. “I don’t know, Ian.”

“Well you’d better figure it out fast, Gator,” Ian advised. “I’ll call Ryland and let him know we’re needed here for a while longer.”

“Are you going to tell him Flame is here?” Gator didn’t turn around, but kept his gaze fixed sightlessly on one of the huge trees out in his grandmother’s yard.

“Not unless he asks me.”

Gator didn’t reply. He didn’t know why he was so reluctant to let the others know Flame was in New Orleans. Had Lily known for certain or had it really been a computer guess? He didn’t know. In the beginning it didn’t matter all that much to him. Like being physically enhanced. It had been cool to run faster and leap over a fence. The feeling was one of power, of exhilaration, but all of a sudden, his future mattered to him.

He wanted to live in the bayou close to his brothers and their families. He wanted his children to play with their children. He wanted his grandmother’s face to light up when he put his son or daughter in her lap. Had he traded his future away and been careless about it? As careless as Flame thought him to be?

And what of Flame? He seemed to know her far better than he should with only a couple of brief meetings between them. They thought alike. It was eerie to
feel
emotion and know it was hers, not his. And she felt his. He knew it without being told. There was a strong connection between them, every bit as strong as the volatile chemistry. How could he ever explain to Ian that it wasn’t that he didn’t
want
to leave her behind, it was that he
couldn’t
leave her behind.

It was scary to think that she might be right, that Whitney had developed her as a weapon first and then somehow developed Gator to complement and amplify her powers. It would make sense, the entire point of psychic engineering and genetic enhancement was amplification of power, but what about the physical—no, it was far more than physical—attraction between them? Had that been deliberate or a by-product of the engineering?

He touched the glass on the window, feeling her close. Feeling her just the way he had in the early morning hours when he and Ian had slipped out of the house and had gone back to the island near the Huracan to examine the tracks left by whoever had stalked him the night before.

Flame had been there. He hadn’t found a single thread from her dress or a track from her high heels, but she’d been there. He and Ian both knew it instantly, in the way all GhostWalkers seemed suddenly aware of each other’s presence, almost as if power called to power. He didn’t want to believe that she had stalked him through the trees attempting to assassinate him-—not that he doubted Flame was capable of killing, but it didn’t seem likely that she would attempt to kill him in that manner.

He rubbed his hand over his face trying to clear his thoughts. Ian was right, that was the worst of it. He couldn’t think clearly when it came to her. He was bringing a very dangerous woman into his grandmother’s home. It had been a small game to him, one he thoroughly enjoyed, but it wasn’t fair to put his family in danger.

“Rye didn’t ask and I didn’t volunteer,” Ian announced. “But I want you to promise me something. If I determine you’re in over your head, we pull back until we both feel comfortable with the situation.”

Gator shot him a brief, hard glance, but finally nodded his head in compliance. He had to trust someone’s judgment if he couldn’t trust his own. The first thing he was going to do was assure himself that Flame’s knife was still in her possession rather than beneath the murky water of the canal.

* * *

Flame pulled on thin leather gloves and glanced at her self in the mirror. She looked pale, her eyes too big. She hated the sunken look she sometimes got when she didn’t get enough sleep. She’d lain awake most of the night thinking about Raoul. Wanting him. Despising him. It was the dumbest thing she could imagine and she felt like an idiot for being so pulled in two directions. He worked for Whitney, her worst enemy, and she just kept fantasizing all kinds of erotic and shocking things about him. She liked being in his company. She liked his idiotic sense of humor. She liked the feel of his hands on her skin and his mouth on hers.

She closed her eyes and gave a small groan. She would never go back. Not to Whitney, and not to Whitney’s daughter. She didn’t trust any of them. She’d spent her entire life being an experiment and she damned well was going to make her own choices for the rest of her life—even if that meant she had to keep moving forever. Raoul, for all his charm and sexy smile and hot mouth and bod, was not going to persuade her, capture her, or otherwise entice her into returning.