Christine Feehan - Night Game

He flung his arm casually around her neck, drawing her to him, pretending not to see the tears so close, pretending her body didn’t tremble against his. She’d kill him if she cried in front of the others, so he was walking a fine line, using his body to shelter her while taking care that he didn’t trigger a flood of tears. “Let’s go to work,” he said gruffly. “I know where the Comeaux trapper cabin is located.”

Flame walked close to him, allowing the brush of his hard body against her to give her control and focus. She’d never relied on anyone but herself and it was a strange feeling to allow herself to be comforted by a man. A GhostWalker. She tasted the word as she slid into the four-wheel-drive Jeep. Were they all ghosts, just as she was? She glanced around her at the other men. They all looked hard. Battle-scarred. And they all had shadows in their eyes. It didn’t matter that Tucker Addison ate Nonny’s food with gusto and was polite and gentle when he spoke to the older woman. Flame could see those same shadows, the light never quite reaching his eyes. Sharing something in common with them made her feel a little closer to them all.

The men murmured in low tones, developing a plan for making their way to the Comeaux trapper cabin. They would get as close as possible using the Jeep, take a pirogue the second part of the way and then go through the water. Wyatt would stand by with the airboat and when they signaled to him, he’d bring it in to remove Joy quickly.

None of the men protested when Gator said Flame would enter the cabin alone to check if Joy was there. She only half listened to them, knowing they were a team. She was odd man out. They had trained together and worked like a machine, each knowing what the other would do. Kadan was a shielder and he would make certain no one would hear or see them coming. Gator and Flame could silence any noise, adding extra protection.

The pirogue was flat-bottomed and made of cypress. Gator pushed the canoe through a sea of purple water hyacinths. Great egrets fed, walking through the water on stiltlike legs. A few fluttered their wings as the pirogue moved through them, but they didn’t appear too disturbed. The boat passed groves of cypress draped in Spanish moss, tupelo gums and dramatic maples all turning shades of red or russet. It seemed a lost world with the tangle of brilliantly colored flowers on the swamp floor and the prairie grasses swaying gently with the slow flow of water. Flame had never been this far into the bayou and was astonished at the beauty of it all. It seemed obscene to her that somewhere a woman was held captive, drugged and tortured in the midst of so much splendor.

The skies darkened as another storm front moved over them. Gray clouds swept the blue from overhead and a fine drizzle began, turning the horizon into a silvery haze.

Gator pushed the boat through the thick fields of fourchettes , using sheer strength to get through the marigold marsh. Flame silenced the alarms of the birds as the pirogue moved inland to shore.

The men all stepped out of the boat and held the sides, politely waiting for her. Flame took a slow, careful look around, trying to see if there were any telltale bubbles or even the rigid eyeplates of an alligator marring the surface of the water. In the thick field of fourchettes , it was virtually impossible to tell. She hesitated only a second before stepping out of the boat into the knee-high water. Her heart pounded and she had to work at controlling her breathing. Gator glanced at her, obviously able to hear and, to her shame, Kadan did as well.

Automatic rifles were slung over the men’s shoulders and Kadan held out a small revolver. ‘Would you like a gun? We should have asked. I’m armed to the teeth.”

Flame shook her head. “I’m better with a knife.”

Kadan nodded and gestured her to follow Gator, who led the way. The others fell in line, walking single file in the water, sometimes up to their waists as they wound around the shore of the islet. The marsh was thick with flowers, nettles, and stumps and it was slow going as they made the approach toward the Comeaux hunting camp.

Gator held up his hand and the line stopped. He gestured toward land and Ian immediately broke off from the group and waded through the thicker foliage to solid ground. Within minutes, Tucker and Kadan had taken to shore so they could approach the cabin from every direction, spreading out like a giant net to encompass the large area around the hunting camp.

Gator and Flame continued creeping through the water until she could see the rickety planks of wood that served as a deck and walkway to the cabin. Two cypress trees rose up through the deck and several cans of gasoline sat in front of one of them, just a few feet from a generator. A single plank led past the trees to the cabin. A crab pot lay tilted on its side near the trees and an airboat was tied to a pole between the deck and the cabin.

“Vicq Comeaux,” Raoul said, keeping his voice only to her. “It started to rain so he decided to forget fishing.”

“He’s not alone with her,” Flame said, her stomach beginning to knot up. She could hear inside the cabin now. The low cries of a female voice, the slap of something against flesh. The pleading and sobbing that followed. She quickened her pace. “I can hear other voices.”

“Don’ go getting yourself killed, cher . We want them all together. It will be easier that way.” He caught her arm. “Someone’s coming out.”

The door to the cabin opened and Vicq Comeaux shoved James Parsons out. James teetered and nearly fell. “Get the hell out of here before you end up gator bait,” Vicq yelled.

“You wouldn’t even have her if it wasn’t for me,” James snapped.

Gator signaled Flame forward, out of the water and she went in low, allowing the water, even the shallows, to creep up to her neck so she slithered out on her belly. She began to crab crawl up the slope toward the side of the cabin using a slow, steady movement designed not to draw the eye or move the foliage around her too much.

She heard the call of a bird. A second one answered. A bullfrog croaked. The men were in place. It was up to her to get inside and protect Joy.

“You sniveling piece of city boy shit. You wouldn’t have the balls to grab a woman. Carl took her, just like he took the last one. The only reason you were let in on it was to get your pappy offa Saunders’s back. That’s the only thing you’re good for and we already got the tapes, so as far as I’m concerned if you turn up dead, nobody’s gonna care one way or the other.” Vicq took a step to ward him and James backpedaled, misstepped and tumbled into the shallow water.

Gator immediately sank beneath the surface of the water and headed toward James. Vicq burst out laughing, slapping his knee as he watched James trying to regain his footing in the soft muck on the bottom.

Flame crept up to the window. The cracked glass was coated with years of grime, making it nearly impossible to see into the room. An old piece of burlap hung inside, at one time intended perhaps to block the light, hut it was ragged with age and torn almost in half. Moving around to the back of the cabin she discovered a much smaller window. One flimsy strip of board slashed across the open space at the back. There was no glass. It wasn’t going to be easy with a broken arm, but she would endure anything to make it into that cabin and protect Joy.

Looking inside, Flame could see a bed directly under the window. Joy was standing, both hands tied above her head to a hook hanging from the ceiling. Her body was covered in bruises and welts.

“Don’t look up, Joy.” Flame sent her voice directly to the woman. “I’m a friend of Nonny Fontenot. She sent me here to get you out.” She wiggled the board free, and tossed it behind her before jumping up to catch the windowsill with her good arm.