Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(38)

“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.”