"I can't even get them with echolocation, the same as the first sniper. These men have to be enhanced, Raoul."
There was something in her voice he didn't like. Rising suspicion perhaps. She had been beginning to trust him. He couldn't exactly blame her if she suddenly was thinking conspiracy--he was beginning to think it as well. "I'm going to try something."
Gator wasn't the strongest telepath in the GhostWalker squad, but, if necessary, he could reach out to someone who was strong. He either believed in Kadan or he didn't, and the truth was, Kadan was one of the GhostWalkers. He would always be. No one was going to buy him off, blackmail him, or threaten him. Kadan would stand with his own. Flame wouldn't see it that way, but he knew now she wasn't ever going to come around voluntarily to the idea of belonging to the GhostWalkers. And he wasn't going to let her influence him when he knew absolutely his friends were above suspicion.
Kadan. I'm in trouble. We're pinned down and need help.
He waited, drew Flame's shivering body a little closer to him. Her arms slipped around his neck and she leaned more of her weight against him. He turned his head to rub his face against her neck. "It takes patience. Most of the time, whoever moves first, dies first."
"I know. I was just thinking of Burrell. Those three men who came looking were Saunders's men. I know they were. He's definitely involved. And poor Joy, I'm really not any closer to finding her than before. I haven't done very much for anybody and now you're trapped here with me." She pulled her head back and looked into his eyes, a small smile curving her mouth. "Don't worry, baby, I won't let anything happen to you."
He didn't know whether to laugh or to scowl at her. Any other woman would be teasing, but he had the feeling she meant it. "First of all, I'm the man and I do man things, like take care of my woman in a bad situation." He ignored her rolling eyes and continued. "Secondly, there's always the possibility that these men have nothing to do with you and everything to do with me, so don't take any responsibility yet. I've made a few enemies here and there; it comes with the line of work I'm in. Everyone is still searching for Joy. Wyatt, Ian, and I spent the last month combing the bayou for clues to her disappearance and trying to piece together information. I think we're closer than we know, especially after our conversation last night. I want to take a good look at Parsons's son. I think he had more to do with her disappearance than any of us first thought."
I had a bad feeling when I woke up. We're already on our way. The voice came out of nowhere, calm, reassuring, very Kadan.
Gator breathed a sigh of relief. It was an eerie feeling to know they were trapped in the water with a sniper's rifle possibly already targeting their area. One mistake could get them both killed. Burrell's island. Whoever these bastards are, they're enhanced. At least one is like you--has your talents. I can't spot any of them, not even with echolocation and that means he's shielding them in the way you shield us. I couldn't even detect their presence at first.
There was a moment of silence while Kadan digested the information. Well. Well. That's interesting.
Gator felt the tension leave his body. That was so Kadan. Nothing ever ruffled him. He didn't sound surprised or confused and he didn't argue. He was just simply on his way.
"You're the man? What does that mean? I hope you don't mean what I think you did. I'm a soldier and I can fight every bit as well as you."
Flame sounded a little hot under the collar at his remark, but he was pleased to see she kept her awareness, muting her voice so the sound came only to him.
"Now you're finally admittin' to being a soldier. Cher, you keep up that sweet talk and I'm goin' to be gettin' all hot and bothered and hard right here in the battlefield."
"You're so crazy, Raoul. You are getting turned on. We're in danger of getting shot and you're acting like an idiot." He was rubbing his groin over her, back and forth, right there in the water with marksmen scanning for a target. "Do I need to remind you at least one of those men is a sniper? You deserve to get shot."
"We can't move for a few minutes and we may as well make the best of a bad situation. In any case, the contour of the basin is providing us with cover. They can't see us here. They'd have to wade out into the water, into the open to actually sight us. Don' worry, sugah, I've got the rhythm of the waves and my mind tuned for battle."
She hadn't noticed that the water was lapping at the shore. Part of her wanted to laugh and part of her was getting turned on. "You're making me into a perv." Flame pressed closer to him, cautious of not changing the natural, gentle movement of the water around them. "You'd better keep your mind tuned for battle."
"Did I mention you smell so sweet?" He rubbed his face in her neck again, his teeth tugging gently at her skin, enough to send a shiver of excitement through her body.
"I smell like a swamp rat. You're so crazy. Only you would get like this in the middle of rain and mud while we're being hunted."
His hand cupped her breast right through her soaked shirt, his thumb stroking her nipple. "Did I mention I'm partial to your breasts? I want to lie down beside you and just suck and play to my heart's content."
"Not only are you a perv about knives, you have an oral fixation."
"Cher, I have a lot of fixations. Just saying the word oral conjures up that beautiful mouth of yours fixating on my very hard cock." He kissed her ear, his tongue doing a little foray that sent another shiver through her body. "Did I tell you I love your mouth? Hot and velvet soft and very moist. I don' know if I can survive just thinkin' about your mouth and tongue and all that heat."
Flame wrapped her legs around his waist, moving with infinite slowness, very aware he was one hundred percent alert to their danger. His gaze moved ceaselessly along the opposite shore, studying every detail of the cypress grove. She was careful to align her body perfectly with his, her aching mound stretched tight over the bulge in his soaked jeans. He turned her on so easily and she didn't even have his full attention. What would happen when his intensity was strictly tuned to her?
"That's not fair, cher," he chastised softly, his breath hitching just a little. "I'm concentratin' here."
She let her mouth wander down his neck, soft little kisses and teasing nibbles. "You were distracting me so I'd do what you wanted and stay here. I'm not stupid, Raoul, just susceptible to a Cajun's charms."
"Not any Cajun," he corrected, "just me."
"You sound so utterly confident. What makes you so sure?"
"You left the homing device on the airboat and you don' make mistakes like that. Why do you think you did that, sugah?"
"Why'd you lead me to your grandmother's house?" she countered.
You two okay?
Gator started to respond to that faraway voice talking in his head, but stopped, his muscles freezing into position. He tapped Flame on the shoulder and held a finger to his lips. She nodded, puzzlement in her eyes as she slowly unwrapped her legs and allowed them to fall carefully away from his waist. Gator replayed the words in his head, listening to the sound, the choice of words.
That hadn't been Kadan. But it was a direction. Gator tuned to it immediately and sent a blast of low-level notes, enough to make everyone in its path very sick, but hopefully not kill every living thing. He knew there were no other normal humans in the immediate area because he didn't hear their heartbeats, but there were animals.
Obviously their enemy wasn't exactly like Kadan. Kadan would never have opened his mouth and given away his location.
Flame suddenly slammed all her weight against him, taking him underwater. Bullets spit around them, boring through the water like angry bees. The shots had come from above, slanting down, indicating the shooter was in the treetops. She kicked away from the reeds, tugging at his hand to bring him with her. They swam out to deeper water, going against the current in the middle of the waterway as they looked for safer ground. The easiest and most logical thing was to let the current aid them, but the hunters would know and expect that.
The water was murky
and it was nearly impossible to communicate even with hand signals so they used touch as they kicked strongly heading around the length of Burrell's island. They swam for several minutes until their lungs forced them toward the surface. There was no real cover, so both only allowed their mouths and noses above the waterline to suck in the precious air before sliding back down into the depths again.
Twice they came up for air, circling around the island until they were certain they could approach without the hunters' knowledge. As they began to move into the shallower, reed-choked water, Flame felt something grab hold of her arm. It squeezed like a vise, yanking her down, tumbling her into the rotting debris and muck on the bottom. She actually heard the snap of her bone as the force of the spin broke her arm. Alligator. Without conscious thought she pulled the knife from her belt loop and began punching the leathery hide as hard as she could with her free hand, the hilt of the knife tight in her fist as she pounded her way up the head of the animal to the top. She sank the knife as deep as she could, going for the eye, driving it deep with every bit of strength she had.
Gator saw the tail of an alligator rise to the surface and then the water roiled and churned, debris, blood, and muck rising like a boiling volcano. Immediately he pulled his knife and dove below the service, his heart in his throat. The alligator was coming out of its death roll, surfacing, jaws still clamped around Flame's arm, dragging her to the surface with it. She gasped for air, still pounding on the thrashing head. Gator struck from below, slamming his knife repeatedly into the underbelly. The alligator opened its jaws wide and Flame jerked backward away from the bellowing reptile.
Gator caught her around the waist and, kicking hard, took her toward the shore. She was still wildly swinging with her good arm, trying to punch toward the alligator, almost fighting him to go back. "Stop it," he hissed. "You're safe, cher. Safe."
"I'm killing the damned thing. It broke my arm. He can just die for that."
Gator dragged her up the muddy embankment, through the weeds and brush, a safe distance from the water where he could examine her injuries. She jerked away from him, furious, in shock, blood running into the ground, her feet kicking toward the water as if she could attack the alligator.
He trapped her with his legs, holding her still, tearing his shirt with his teeth. "Stop fighting me, Flame. I'm on your side." Damn it, Kadan. Where the hell are you? We're in trouble here. I need a medic now. He tied his shirt around the wound. She was lucky. The alligator had been big enough to have pulled her arm off.
"That hurts. The son of a bitch broke my arm."
"They hunt for food in the early morning. He's a big boy and we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hold still. You're bleeding all over the place. This is going to get infected. You know that. I have to get you to a hospital."
If she could turn any whiter, she managed. "No. Once I'm in their computer system Whitney will find me. No way. I can handle this. Take me to your grandmother's friend."
"There's no way that attack wasn't heard for miles. I didn't mute it and neither did you. We have to move, and we have to move fast. Can you do this?" He used directional sound, throwing voices, the sound of running and heavy breathing to the east of them, trying to buy time.
Flame didn't respond. She swayed against him, looking pale and frightened.
Gator cursed under his breath, spewing Cajun cusswords as fast as he could think of them, expecting a sniper's bullet any moment. She was shaking uncontrollably, in shock and not even realizing it. "Listen to me, Flame." He caught her face and turned it toward him. "Listen to me. We're in trouble here. There are several of these hunters and they aren't just going to let us waltz out of here. I have to find them and take them out so I can get you safely out of here. They've probably rigged the airboat, so we can't use that. I want to move you to a safer place and then I'm going after them."
She blinked rapidly, her body swaying against him, the fight going out of her. "It hurts like a son of a bitch. Do you have a medic kit on you? If I have something for the pain, I can back you up."
"I want you to stay quiet. Kadan and the others are on the way and we'll have help in a few minutes." He could feel her body beginning to stiffen again. Again there was that brief flare of suspicion she couldn't hide from him. He couldn't blame her. Their stalkers were ghosts, unseen, unheard, only felt and that was suspect. He'd called in the others without consulting her and she was extremely vulnerable.
Flame flexed her fingers to see if she could move through the pain. Her arm and hand were useless to her. "Let's go then. I'll feel safer a bit farther from the bank."
Gator hadn't expected cooperation. She'd lost a fair amount of blood and her arm was definitely broken. The teeth had gone through her skin and, between the muddy water and the alligator's diet of rotten meat, there was bound to be major infection. She needed medical attention immediately whether she wanted it or not. He didn't wait for Flame to change her mind, but helped her up. She clenched her teeth, no sound escaping, and it occurred to him she hadn't made a single sound during the attack.
"Come on, cher." His tone was on the husky side, but he couldn't help it. Everything about Flame appealed to him--even her fierce independence and her stubborn streak and her unfailing courage. They moved over the uneven terrain as quickly as possible, her breathing labored and her face twisted with pain, but she didn't say a word. "This looks good." It was a small area, covered in brush. Flame would be hidden and he could go on the attack.
Gator helped her settle onto the ground and crouched beside her. "This won't take long. You goin' to be all right without me?"
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." She waved him off. "Just watch your back." She didn't meet his eyes.
He caught her chin. "I'm coming back for you, Flame."
"I know." Her voice sounded strangled and she leaned forward to press her lips against his. It was no more than a brief touch, very light, but he felt it through his entire body.
Gator stood up and looked around. Watching him, Flame noted his entire demeanor changed. He looked fluid, powerful, and suddenly very much a warrior, not at all her charming Cajun. His expression was hard. Resolute. His eyes were as cold as ice. He turned and ran lightly through the brush--and she didn't hear a sound.
What goes unseen, unheard and unknown. Gator repeated the mantra to himself. He was a Ghost Walker. It mattered little that the hunter was a phantom. So was he. The bayou was his backyard. He'd been born and raised in these waterways; he'd hunted the islands and gone to school in a pirogue. More than anything else, the woman he was falling in love with was injured and needed his help. He wasn't going to play field games anymore. Things had taken a serious and deadly turn.
He worked his way back toward the other side of the island where the hunters had been, stopping several times to listen. Sometimes it was the lack of sound that could betray presence. The rain fell steadily, small animals scurried, and the leaves rustled. He couldn't hear a heartbeat, not even Flame's and that meant she was shielding the sound.
Dropping into the brush, he used deference tones, projecting the murmur of voices coming from the opposite side of the water. The sound was muted as if the slight wind had picked up whispers. Instantly a hail of bullets from several semiautomatic weapons burst out over the water toward the sound. He listened carefully, trying to sort out the various sounds and which direction each came from.
Gator pulsed high-power, very low-frequency sounds straight toward the shooters, keeping the field narrowed toward the locations he thought each of the men were most likely to be. The sound waves could easily produce blunt force trauma or death to anything in its path. He'd seen the results after he'd lost control once and it had sickened him. He'd promised himself he'd never go for a kill using sound again, unless he had no other choice. He'd never gotten over the nightmares and now he'd be sweating the full force of night terrors after using the weapon again.
He heard the sound of repeated retching, even as bullet
s slammed into trees all around him. More vomiting. Coughing. Another spray of bullets. The hunters were shooting blind, but their instincts were good. Several bullets splintered tree branches around his head. Fragments of wood embedded in his skin. Gator dropped to his belly and began to worm his way through the weeds and brush toward the area where the most firing was coming from. He thought maybe there were three men, not more than four and at least two of them had stayed close together.
Sound ceased again. The hunters were back in control of themselves and one of them was shielding, masking the heartbeats of his team members in the way Kadan did for the Ghost Walkers. The game of cat and mouse had begun in earnest. They all knew it was life or death for them. There could be no mistakes. Gator moved with infinite patience and care, uncertain what he was facing in the way of enhancements.
Peter Whitney had bought orphans from various countries and enhanced them first. No one thought he had tried his experiment again until a few years earlier when he was backed by the military--but they found they weren't the only ones. There had been a second military team. There had to be a third. Had Whitney created his own private army? It was beginning to look that way. And if Peter Whitney was dead, who was in command and what was the agenda?
Gator sent another blast of sound, along with a silent prayer Flame had stayed where he'd left her and wasn't in the target zone. He had to keep the hunters off balance, sick, and on the move. He didn't want to give them a chance to surround him and he wanted to push them toward the marsh, out of the interior of the island. The outer edges of the island were far spongier and more treacherous. His familiarity with the bayou gave him a huge advantage over his enemies.
He pulsed sound through the thin layer of ground covering, looking for what he needed. Setting a trap for psychically enhanced soldiers had to be done with precision timing; the slightest shift in the wind could tip them off, anything could. When he found the spot he was looking for, where the ground was thin and just barely covering the high water table, he worked his way out about ten feet and deliberately twisted a leaf and snapped the tip from a weed. He left a very small drag track, no more than his heel sliding in the mud and a splatter of muck on a rock. He found a hollow reed and cut the ends off right before sending out another pulsing call, this time directing it to the water and shore in search of alligators.