Gator glared at them, clearly disgusted as he caught up the long pole and pushed them away from the pier. "You two are a pair of jackasses."
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 information." 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 Ghost Walker. She moves through the shadows and she leaves nothing behind, but we both felt her."
Gator met Ian's gaze squarely. "She is a Ghost Walker. 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. Someone 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 herself 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.
"You goin' somewhere, cher?" Burrell asked as he stuck his head in the open doorway and whistled softly. "Cuz you look mighty good."
She blew him a kiss. "You always cheer me up. I was just thinking I looked pale and uninteresting or worse, pale and zombielike."
He paused. "Flame, did you meet someone last night?" His grin was teasing, but his gaze was worried. "I know all the boys in these parts. Who'd you meet?"
Her heart contracted. He sounded like a worried father. She'd never had a worried father and for a moment, tears were close. "I asked you about him last night. His name is Raoul Fontenot." She couldn't help it. She knew it was part of the fantasy she was acting out, a home, someone who cared, people she could call friends and neighbors, but she wanted his concern, needed to feel like she mattered to somebody.
"I heard he was home visitin' his grandmother. He's a good boy. Rough. He don' be a man you mess around with."
Flame burst out laughing. "What does that mean exactly? Is that some kind of warning that he's a lady's man and he'll break my heart? Or does it mean he's a fighter and likes a good brawl?"
He frowned at her, trying to look severe. "It means Raoul Fontenot is a man who will never turn away from trouble. Don' be rilin' him up, cuz he won't stop comin' after you."
Flash grinned at him. "Should I be scared of him, do you think? Because he seemed sweet and cuddly to me."
He snapped a towel at her. "That's it, girl. You be teasin' me one time too many."
Flame allowed him to chase her around the houseboat, the two of them laughing together. She liked the captain. Burrell had never married; he'd been too much of a river rat, a man who needed to run the perils of the river as often as possible. Now, retired and living alone on his houseboat, he enjoyed Flame and her antics as much as she enjoyed his company and stories. She finally ripped the towel out of his hand and turned the tables on him. He sat in the tiny kitchen catching his breath as she leaned against the sink, her eyes bright with shared amusement.
"You went to the bank this morning, right, Capitaine?"
"Yes, ma'am. I called Saunders and offered to mail the payment. He's always asked for payments in person, but I thought he might want me to save him the trouble. He told me to meet him late, so I'm going to visit Vivienne Chiasson for a couple of hours this afternoon, then I'll meet with Saunders and maybe go see the widow tonight."
Flame sighed. "I'm sorry I'm no closer to finding out what happened to Joy than anyone else. I still don't believe she ran away, Burrell. Don't say anything to the family, but I'll keep looking into it."
"I don' want anything to happen to you, cher. Don' do anything dangerous."
Her slight frown turned into a small mischievous grin. "I'm going to meet Raoul's grandmother this afternoon. That ought to be very safe, don't you think?"
His eyebrow shot up. "Why are you going to see Nonny?"
"Apparently she asked her grandson to invite me and he was rather adamant that I go. He claims she has a heart condition."
"I heard that a while back. All the Fontenot boys be very protective of her." He tilted his head and studied her face. "That's a big thing, having her ask you to visit, Flame. She don' just ask anyone, you know."
"No, I didn't know that. I met her a couple of days ago briefly and I guess she wanted to finish our conversation."
"Nonny Fontenot is a friend of mine."
"Now you're being protective. I'm not stealing from her."
"Don' go trying to break that boy's heart, Flame. You're a nomad, you said so yourself. Raoul don' know it, but he's a family man."
She turned away, unexpectedly hurt although she knew he spoke the truth. "Maybe he'll be breaking my heart, Burrell."
"I have a shotgun. If he messes with your heart you just tell me and I'll pay him a visit."
In spite of herself, she laughed again at the idea of the captain trying to threaten Raoul Fontenot. "I think I can take care of myself. I'll see you this evening." She blew him a kiss and watched him leave before going back to the mirror and her makeup. She didn't like dark circles under her eyes. Raoul would notice and he'd make some comment. And it would hurt.
Flame scowled at her reflection. "He has no power over you. None. He can't hurt you even if he says you look like a zombie." She felt like a zombie lately. Chasing Burrell around the small houseboat had worn her out. "Too many late nights," she scolded and tidied up the houseboat. She waited to be certain Burrell was gone before she began to take care of her other business.
She'd already removed the contents of the four slim briefcases she'd stolen from Saunders. Most held cash, but one held a couple of discs hidden inside a large manila envelope. Everything had been dumped into a plastic bag the night before, and she'd stuffed the wa
terproof bag inside her duffel bag. The four briefcases had been filled with rocks and dropped deep underwater in the middle of one of the canals. Other than the money she'd given to Burrell, there was nothing to connect her to the breakin once she hid the duffel bag.
Sound penetrated the thin walls of the houseboat. A squish followed by a sucking noise as if something was pulled from the mud. The sudden silence of insects. Birds rising fast from tree branches. She had company and it definitely wasn't Burrell returning.
Without haste she went through the houseboat, making certain there was no incriminating evidence and nothing to reveal her real identity. Sliding open a window, Flame emitted a sound pitched far too high for the human ear to hear. The response was immediate. The buzz in the marsh grew loud fast as thousands of mosquitoes blackened the early afternoon sky. The moment she heard the sound of palms slapping at flesh, she slid out a window on the opposite side, landing lightly on the deck, duffel bag in hand. Using the furniture as cover, she made her way to the edge and stepped onto the small island Burrell called his "yard."
Flame slipped into the trees, staying low to keep from being seen as she sped through the marsh away from the sound of mosquitoes and curses. Using the trail leading around the outside edges of the marsh along the waterway, heading back in the direction of the houseboat, Flame stayed close to the foliage in case she needed cover. Several cars, including the Fontenot Jeep she'd commandeered, were parked near a rotting pier on the small strip of land that connected the bridge to the frontage road. Her airboat was tied up there along with two small fishing boats. She was relieved to see Burrell's boat gone. Flame shoved the duffel bag in the back of the Jeep beneath a dirty tarp and a box of tools.
She drew a cap over her hair and emitted a second high-pitched sound to drive the mosquitoes away as she made her way back to the edge of the marsh. She needed to know who was after her. Raoul had admitted he'd slipped a homing device somewhere on her airboat and, although he'd sounded as if he'd been teasing her, she believed him. She certainly would have done it.
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