Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(116)

She sent a single note through the grate, a low pulsing wave that raced through the ducts. She kept it nonlethal, not knowing who else might accidentally be in the way of the sound wave. Stepping back against the opposite wall, she waited, knife in hand. Gator had provided her with an array of throwing knives, and she was grateful. She was accurate with them and trusted them much more than she did a gun.

Nausea came in waves, cramping her stomach. She broke out in a sweat, weak and sick. Chemo had a very bad effect on her; it always had. It didn’t make sense to go through it all again if the cancer was going to return.

Maybe she’d have to talk to Lily and ask a few hard questions.

The sounds coming from the air duct were getting louder. Whoever was in there seemed pretty sick and disoriented, thrashing wildly at one point. She held the gun against her thigh with her broken arm and the throwing knife clear of her body with her good arm. Maybe she’d get lucky and not have to kill him, and they’d have a chance to find out where Whitney was hiding out.

The grate was pulled off from the inside and the muzzle of a gun appeared, a small red dot shining around the room, searching the corners, the door, dwelling on the bathroom door. Flame willed Nonny to stay very still. Finally the red dot went to the bed and the stranger slipped into the room, gun held steady.

For the first time, Flame was unsure of herself. She thought there were three men in the ducts, but she couldn’t be certain. She was too sick to be able to concentrate properly. She was fighting the dry heaves and even her vision blurred. She felt behind her for the wall and the hilt of her knife scraped against it.

The man spun back, the red dot centered on her chest. “Drop it.”

She swayed. She wasn’t going to be able to do this. She couldn’t bring up the gun or the knife, She didn’t drop either weapon. Two men wiggled out of the duct behind the first one. They trained their weapons on her as well.

“Put it down,” the first man repeated. He held up one hand, softening his voice. “No one wants to hurt you, ma’am. Just put down the weapons and come with us.”

The other men had spread out and were beginning to go through the room. One neared the bathroom. Flame shook her head and pointed the gun at the one closest to Nonny. “I’ll go with you, but I’m keeping my weapons.” She tried to push off the wall and the movement caused her stomach to cramp. There was no way to stop from getting sick. She turned away from them, resting her head on the wall, her finger on the trigger of her gun, hand up to her head.

Even in her misery, she heard the whisper of a body in the air duct followed by the impact of a knife hitting a target. She managed to turn her head to see Raoul, arm around one of the enemy’s neck, holding the body in front of him like a shield, gun trained on the man near the bathroom. The body of the third man lay on the floor practically at her feet.

Instantly a red dot appeared over her heart. “Put it down or I’ll shoot her.” The stranger backed up toward the cover of the bathroom.

Nonny. Flame sent the warning to Raoul.

Hit the floor. Gator squeezed the trigger three times, rapid fire. One bullet in the head, two in the heart.

The stranger fired from reflex, but Flame had dropped down and the bullet went into the wall where she’d been standing.

The man Gator had in a headlock stabbed down with a knife, driving it into Gator’s thigh. He fell backward, stumbling, tracking with his gun a heartbeat too late.

Flame threw the knife from a prone position and the sound of a single gunshot echoed through the room. The enemy went down, knife in his kidney, bullet in the back of his neck. She turned her head to see Nonny lowering the semiautomatic.

Flame crawled to Gator, shouting to Nonny to bring something to tie around the wound. She pressed hard with both hands, ignoring his orders to get the hell out of his way. Nonny returned with towels and her rifle. She put the gun in her grandson’s hands and took over. Flame slid back until her head was in Raoul’s lap. She closed her eyes, feeling his hand in her hair and she gave in, allowing the blackness to take her.



* * *





CHAPTER 20





Two months later

Flame sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, her knees drawn up, head down, resting before the next wave of nausea struck. She kept the overhead light off. Her eyes were too sensitive to bother.

“I had dreams the other night. Nightmares, really.” The woman sitting next to her shifted closer and rubbed Flame’s back. “I’m beginning to remember sitting on the floor of the bathroom with you. We did it a lot, didn’t we?” Dahlia Trevane said.

Flame nodded without lifting her head. She never thought she’d see Dahlia again. Whitney had hated her almost as much as he had Flame. “The one good thing about this is that I got to see you again,” Flame said. “I thought you were dead when I read about the sanitarium in the bayou burning down. I knew it belonged to the Whitney Trust and I was pretty sure you were locked in.”

“It was my home for a lot of years.”

“I know it’s hard for you to be around so many people, Dahlia. I really appreciate you coming, but you don’t have to stay with me.”

“I want to be with you. I missed you. I missed all the girls. I thought for the longest time you all were figments of my imagination. Lily said Whitney tried to erase our memories.”