Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(41)

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 is and Burrell called his “yard.”

Flame slipped into the trees, staving 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 water way, 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.

Flame skirted the edge of the cypress trees until she could hear the men shuffling back and forth, talking in whispers, crunching cans and muttering curses as insects bit and stung. One man scanned the canal continually with high-powered glasses while two others checked the interior of the swamp and the outer edges. None of them were very thorough, which led her to believe they weren’t military. She couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing or why they were there.

She had no choice but to head inland using the cover of brush and trees to get close enough to see them. With each step she sank into the mud nearly to her ankles. Behind her the dark water filled her tracks so it was impossible to see which direction she’d come from. She muted the sounds of her feet going through water and mud so there was no chance of giving away her presence to the intruders.

There were four men. Two shifted position continually, obviously uncomfortable in the humidity and spongelike surface of the marsh. Each time they moved, the mud made a squishing sound around them. The man with the binoculars would glare at them occasionally, annoyed by their constant motion. He objected when the fourth man lit a cigarette and it was put out instantly when he snapped the command to do so.

The men never approached the houseboat, simply observed the comings and goings on the water. They hadn’t staked out her airboat or the Jeep. In fact none of them checked on the vehicles in the parking area, or the boats tied to the pier. She watched them for a long time, unable to as certain what they were doing. After about a half an hour, the group of men entered the swamp, carrying what looked like supplies. They didn’t look like trappers or hunters, but it was possible they were scientists. She knew several studies of the marsh were being conducted. “It’s possible, Flame, even probable, that you are becoming paranoid.”

She scooted backward until it was safe enough to stand in the concealment of the trees. As she made her way back to the Jeep, she tried to rub some of the mud from her clothes and kick it out of her shoes, but it was impossible. Swearing under her breath, she drove along the frontage road until she saw an older woman walking along with her groceries. She offered her a ride and quickly accepted the offer of a shower and a change of : clothes. She drove very quickly to Gator’s house. She was fifteen minutes late and he jerked open the door before she could even knock.

“About time you showed up,” Gator greeted, stepping back to allow her into the house. “I was getting worried about you.”

“I had to take care of a little business. I’m not normally late.” Why had she said that? Flame nearly groaned aloud. She didn’t need to explain or apologize.

She followed him into the kitchen. The room smelled of corn bread and jambalaya. A large pot on the stove simmered and a tea towel covered a plate of cookies. She couldn’t help inhaling the scent of freshly baked bread and cookies she couldn’t identify, but her mouth watered.

Only then did she notice the house was strangely silent. Her muscles tensed with sudden suspicion. “Where is everyone?”

Gator didn’t answer. His gaze drifted over her, almost as if he were drinking her in. The intensity of his perusal caused a strange reaction in her body, her heart doing funny little flips and her womb clenching tightly. Up close, in broad daylight, she found him unbelievably attractive. There was a quirk to his mouth and a hint of laughter she found as sexy as all get out. His fingertips brushed her face, feather-light, his touch so gentle she was nearly disarmed on the spot.

“You’ve been doing recon.” She stood very still, holding her breath as he brushed at another spot on her chin. “You didn’t get this near my house.”