Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(42)

“No. Someone was nosing around the houseboat. I thought it might be you, or a team sent by Whitney to assassinate me.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened perceptibly. “Who was it?”

She was inexplicably pleased with his reaction but forced herself to give a casual shrug. “You don’t want anyone stepping on your toes?”

“Absolutely not. If anyone gets to do you in, believe me. honey, it’s going to be me after all the grief you’ve given me. Who was it?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure. They didn’t look military or particularly skilled as fighters. Only one of them seemed competent in the bayou. The rest made too much noise. I didn’t recognize any of them.”

“What did they want?”

“I have no idea. I left them to a hot afternoon in the swamp. They’re sitting on

Burrell’s little island and it’s going to be uncomfortably muggy. If they’re looking for me…”

“Is it possible Saunders had homing devices in the briefcases?”

She scowled at him. “I’m not an amateur. That was the first thing I checked for. In any case, the briefcases are at the bottom of the canal.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I didn’t like it much either,” she admitted. “On the other hand, they didn’t seem interested in the houseboat or the cars so more than likely they were trappers and had nothing to do with me.”

“I’m coming home with you after you visit with Grand-mere Nonny to see what these bums are after.”

“No one invited you,” she pointed out.

“So invite me because I’m going home with you.”

“Be still my heart. I feel absolutely faint. Your charm is just overwhelming me.”

“Let me see your knife.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed.”

He was, but not with her knife. “Stop stalling. Put the weapon on the table.”

“Weapon?” Her eyebrow shot up. “Why would you think I only had one? I brought a freakin’ arsenal along just in case you wanted to go a round or two.” She leaned close so her breath was warm against his ear. “Does it turn you on?” She pulled a long knife from her boot and spun it in her hands, smirking a little at him. “Nice balance, but not the best for throwing.” She laid it on the table.

It wasn’t the same blade she’d had the night before, but he was beginning to think he had a kinky streak because something was turning him on. “Just how good are you with that?”

“I only carry it for show.” She reached behind her neck and withdrew a second blade. It was quite a bit smaller. “This is a great throwing knife. One of my favorites.” She placed the knife beside the larger one.

It wasn’t the one she’d had strapped to her thigh the night before either. “Is that all you’ve got, cher?” He quirked an eyebrow at her in challenge.

“Course not. I knew you might have a couple of friends along, you know, just in case things got a little too hot for you to handle. I’m not afraid of you, but you do so hate being alone with me.” She withdrew a thin wire, placed it beside the knives and added three small throwing stars. Her belt yielded a small tool kit that had two lethal-looking instruments beside the pick tools, and she pulled a small metallic round disk, innocent looking until she popped open the curved blades.

“Anything else?” The knife from the night before still wasn’t on the table. He scowled at her, but she simply flashed him her killer smile, totally unrepentant.

“You wouldn’t want me to strip naked, now would you?” She reached for the largest knife. “A girl has to have her secrets.”

“The idea has possibilities.” He pinned her wrist to the table while his other hand slid over her jean-clad bottom to the inside of her thigh. Even without the feel of her skin he found himself getting hard. “Where is it?”

Her gaze turned turbulent, a dark smoldering promise of trouble. “I don’t like being manhandled so I’m going to once, that would be one time, ask you politely to remove your hands. If you don’t, you’re very liable to lose them.”

He removed his hands, but crowded her close. “Don’ be threatening me in my grandmother’s house,” he reprimanded. “Where is it?”

“If you act like an ape in your grandmother’s house you can expect to be threatened a lot. Where is what?”

“The knife. The knife from last night. You were wearing it in a very intriguing place and I’m rather fond of it. Where is it, cher?”

“You really believe that you’re utterly charming, don’t you? I’m not wearing a dress. It’s my dress-up knife. So sorry. Let me know what you want in the way of accessories next time and I’ll try to accommodate you.” She turned her head. “We’re about to have company. I’m putting my toys away now. I don’t share well with others.”

“You don’ do much of anything well with others,” he observed.

A slow, heated smile curved her soft mouth. Her gaze drifted up and down his body in deliberate inspection. “There are a few things I do well with others,” she corrected, “depending on who that other happens to be.”

He groaned softly. “That’s just not right.”