Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(63)

“How long did he have you, Flame?” He felt the breath catch in her throat. She turned away from him, settling her head on the pillow, stretching her bruised leg with care, her back to him. “You never talk about it. Why is that?”

“What’s there to say? He had you, didn’t he? Do you talk about what he did? What you did? The training he gave you? I probably could have escaped sooner, but there was that terrible need for more knowledge. Until I realized it was what he counted on. How much I was becoming like him. All that rage and all that pain buried so deep I couldn’t find it. The focus was always on the training and the knowledge.”

“How did you escape?”

Instantly, as if he’d thrown a switch, she retreated, physically drawing back, her face carefully blank, her eyes cloudy and unreadable. She let out a small, forced sigh and rubbed at her temples as if they were throbbing, averting her face. “I’m so tired, Raoul. I need to sleep.”

Gator wanted to protest, but he could see it wouldn’t do him any good. She had shut down completely. He kissed the nape of her neck and lay listening to the steady rhythm of the rain. Eventually her body relaxed and he heard her soft breathing indicating she really had fallen asleep. She didn’t want to answer him. She was exhausted, that was true, but she had cut off communication immediately when he’d asked the question. He’d felt her instant withdrawal. He was coming to know her, the slightest nuances, and Flame hadn’t been about to tell him how she’d escaped.

Outside the cabin, frogs set up a chorus and once an alligator bellowed. Inside, he lay awake, wondering how he was going to keep the woman in his arms, the only one he’d ever wanted, for his own.





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CHAPTER 11





“Essayez-vous de vous echapper de moi, ma petite flamme?”

Flame paused in the act of shifting carefully off the bed. She should have known she would disturb him. “I’m not escaping. I’m not your little flame either. I’ve got business this morning.”

Gator groaned and sank his head back onto the pillow, fingers curled around her wrist, anchoring her to him. “Is it morning? It’s still dark.”

“You have your eyes closed. You’re not a morning person, are you?”

“I could be if you snuggled with me,” he said hopefully.

“I don’t snuggle. I don’t even know how.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Thanks for last night. I’m not usually so—pitiful.”

“You were grieving for Burrell. That’s human, Flame. You are human, aren’t you?” His eyes were open now. One kiss, a featherlight brush over his skin at that, and he was wide awake.

She frowned. “How would I know? For all I know I have the DNA of a tiger. Let go. I’ve got work to do and I don’t have much time. It occurred to me that whoever sent those men is going to be wondering what happened to them. The police know all about Burrell and the house boat, but they have no idea all four men were killed too. So someone will be looking for them. And they’ll be hunting for evidence before too many people start stirring.”

“It’s too damned early in the morning to be killing anyone. And you certainly aren’t going off alone.”

“I can handle it.” She twisted her wrist to remind him to loosen his grip. “It’s just recon. I want the person behind this, whether it’s Whitney or someone else. I’ll just follow them and see where they go.”

“We’ll follow them,” he corrected, reluctantly letting go of her. He watched her scoot off the bed, fish around for her jeans, and drag them on. He caught a brief glimpse of soft curves and his body reacted with a rush of need.

“You could have looked away.”

“Yeah. I could have.” He’d be damned if he was repentant. He’d been a saint all night, lying awake in too tight clothes, with her bare skin and silky hair and soft breathing. He’d been as hot and as aching as a man could be without shattering. And then she cried in her sleep. It was enough to make a tough man turn into Jell-O. “But the view was too nice. You have beautiful skin.” Although her leg was worrisome. It was very bruised and for some reason, that raised a red flag in his mind. He wanted to bring her to his grandmother immediately.

“Thanks. Good genes, you know.” Sarcasm dripped.

Gator groaned again and buried his face in the pillow. “I need coffee.”

She gave a small sniff of disdain. “I’m leaving. Right now. If you’re coming, get a move on.” She caught up the duffel bag. “Afterward, I’ve got to go shopping for some clothes.”

“Afterward, I’m taking you to my grandmother so she can have her friend treat your leg,” he called from the bathroom. He glanced at her through the open door. She was strapping knives on. The sight of her working so efficiently, so casually, to arm herself, sent another rush of heat through him. She was someone to contend with, a woman to stand with him in the midst of a crisis. He was grateful he’d thought to provide her with her favorite weapons after she’d sacrificed her own.

“You could close the door.”

“I could, but then you wouldn’t get a good look, would you, cher?”

“Don’t flatter yourself And you’d better not be slowing me down because I’m not waiting for you.”