Christine Feehan - Night Game

Ian nudged Wyatt. “He was bragging about what he’d do with a little hot thing like Flame.”

“He wouldn’t know what hit him,” Gator sneered. “She’d slice him up his middle before he made the first move. I saved his worthless hide tonight.”

Both Wyatt and Ian blinked up at him drunkenly. “That’s right, man, she’s got a knife.”

Wyatt pushed himself unsteadily up the wall. “She had the biggest damn knife I ever saw and she actually had it against Gator’s throat.”

“You don’t have to sound like you admire the fact she put a knife to your brother’s throat,” Gator objected. “She nearly killed me. Did you ever think about that?”

“It was awesome.” Wyatt staggered forward and turned back to politely extend his hand toward Ian. “Plain awesome.”

“Wish I’d seen it,” Ian said plaintively.

“The two of you need to get in the pirogue before I decide to leave you here. Fat lot of good the two of you are to me.”

Ian exchanged another long look with Wyatt, both looking as if they might erupt into another round of laughter. “He forgot you defended his claim on the woman, but I’ve got a long memory, lad, and I’ll be reminding him.”

“He’s just really pissed at me right now,” Wyatt explained, rubbing his jaw again. “I gave him the wrong answer to his question. Between Gator and Vicq, I got me a sore jaw. Vicq sure had a mad on for everyone tonight. He got himself into a heated argument with that city boy Parsons and then his bodyguards. I thought he was going to take all of them on.”

“Yeah, until the driver said something to him and he backed off.” Ian grinned. “I thought maybe he offered to drive him around New Orleans in that big fancy car.”

The two staggered across the long wooden pier to the small pirogue, snickering together. Gator helped his brother into the boat and into the seat before turning back toward the larger Irishman They all nearly ended up in the canal when he stepped off the pier into the middle of the pirogue, slipped, and crashed down onto Wyatt. The two men sat on the bottom of the boat howling with laughter.

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.

“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 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.”