Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(53)

He dropped his arms, suddenly wary, gaze working the area. “Damn it, now you have me thinking conspiracy theories.”

“At least you’re thinking. I can’t stay with your grandmother. Don’t argue with me, I just can’t. I’ll find somewhere, a motel, a room, it doesn’t matter. I’m not being difficult, I need—space. Downtime. You know what I mean.”

He did. It didn’t sit well with him, but he knew exactly what she meant. “I have a cabin out in the bayou. It’s far away from everyone. I’ll have Wyatt take you there.” She turned away from him but Gator caught her arm. “I expect you to be there.”

“I hear you. It isn’t like I have too many places to go.”

“I didn’t. Set this up I mean. There was no field exercise that I know of. I have no idea who these men are or who sent them, but I’ll find out. I didn’t do this, Flame.”

“Just out of curiosity, who’d you call for help with the cleanup? I’ll bet it wasn’t the local authorities. You called Whitney, didn’t you?”

He almost wished she sounded angry. Instead, she sounded weary, exhausted, defeated even. “Not Whitney. Lily.”

She shrugged. “It’s the same thing, Raoul. If you’re talking to one, you’re talking to the other, you just can’t admit that to yourself.”

He reached out to brush mud from her face, his touch gentle, tender even. Flame stepped back, pushing at his arm, her gaze jumping to first Wyatt and then Ian. “Don’t.” Her whisper barely reached his ears. “You can’t be nice to me right now. I wouldn’t survive it.” Her voice broke and she turned her face away from him.

Pain knifed through his heart. She looked broken, so fragile every protective instinct he possessed rose up to overwhelm him. He needed to hold her, to comfort her. “Flame.” He drew her to him, uncaring of her mud-soaked clothes or her brittle resistance. “I want to go with you, but I can’t. We can’t just leave a bunch of dead bodies out here.” She trembled and he pulled her even closer, trying in vain to warm her body. Not even the heat and humidity of the bayou seemed enough to drive away the icy coolness of her skin.

“Why? They left Burrell to the alligators.” Her voice broke and she ducked her head, resting her brow against his chest.

Gator wrapped his arms around her, uncaring that Wyatt glanced at his watch and then up toward the sky. The helicopter would be arriving momentarily and somebody would be demanding answers to questions. All that really mattered at that moment to Gator was comforting her. “I’m sorry, bebe. Je vais faire ce droit. Je jure que je ferai ce droit.”

She lifted her head to study his face. “You can’t make it right, Raoul. You can’t bring Burrell back. Nothing can make this right.”

He brushed his lips over her eyebrow, a soft caress meant to comfort. “Je suis desolé, le miel. I wish I could make this right. Please go with Wyatt.”

His voice was a drawling sexy tenderness that nearly was her undoing. She blinked up at him, aware of her wet clothes, of the fact that she smelled like the swamp, that she was covered in mud, but most of all that tears shimmered in her eyes. She looked away from him, not knowing what to do or say. She needed desperately to be alone.

His hands covered hers. “You were wearing gloves. Good girl. Ian’s retrieving the knives and we’ll lose them somewhere in the bayou a great distance from here. I don’t want them traced back to you. He’s replacing all sign of your being here with that of his own. These men killed Burrell, we chased them and fought.”

She shook her head. “Forensic people are too good for that.”

“Not if they want to believe what they see. Our people aren’t going to let the locals in on this. I’ll say I wrecked the bike kicking the hell out of the driver. I did kill the sniper and the others are guilty of killing Burrell. I just want your name kept out of it. It’s safer for you.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Don’t ask me that. I don’t know the answer. Just get out of here and go with my brother.” He tipped her head back and brushed her lips with his. He didn’t care that they were both covered in grime. “Don’t make me come looking for you tonight, Flame.”

“Come with me.” Wyatt jerked his thumb toward the swamp. “We don’t want to leave any tracks they can’t cover. You’ve got my Jeep stashed somewhere. We can take that.”

“What about my bike?” She wasn’t certain her leg would stand up to a run through the swamp, but the SUV would be sighted from the air. Ian would say he had driven it to the scene when Gator called him. “If they check it…”

“I stole it, remember?” Gator said. “Don’t worry, I noticed it isn’t registered to Iris Johnson. No one is going to make the connection, Flame.”

“Lily will. Whitney will.”

“Get out of here.” He wasn’t going to argue with her anymore. Hell, she was sounding more and more like she was making sense. He frowned as he watched Wyatt and Flame start into the swamp. She was running, but she seemed to be limping. He almost called her back but Ian cleared his throat.

“This guy burned off his fingerprints. No ID on him at all, Gator. What the hell is going on here?”

Gator let out his breath. What was going on? Was it possible Flame was right and Whitney was still alive? No one had seen the body. Only Lily claimed he was dead. Would she lie to protect her father?