Night Game (GhostWalkers 3)

She turned away before he could see her answering smile. She wanted to think of him as an enemy, but it was becoming more difficult. She actually liked the lunatic. She especially liked how gentle he was with his grandmother. And, God help her, his warped sense of humor. It was one of her worst failings. She enjoyed people. She knew it was because she wanted to fit in somewhere. She wanted to belong.

Raoul Fontenot had the family Flame always wanted. They loved one another and teased and treated each other affectionately. She craved that, needed the feel of a home and family, and he had shared his with her. Flame walked away from him with a lump in her throat and tears burning behind her eyes, away from his smiling grandmother and his perfect home.

"Hey!" Gator came up behind her and slung his arm around her shoulders. "You all right? I thought we were joking around."

She would not cry in front of him. She was going home to Burrell. Maybe it wasn't the same thing, but the river captain needed her company almost as much as she needed his. Flame shrugged Gator off and picked up the pace, practically running to the Jeep. It was a cowardly thing to do and she was ashamed of herself, but what the hell? She didn't owe him an explanation. And she damn well didn't want him being nice to her. Because she felt like a fool, she leaned out of the Jeep to look back at him.

Raoul was watching her, rubbing his shadowed jaw with a perplexed look on his face. He looked sexy in his tight jeans with his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. "Try to keep up," she called to him and started the engine.

He flashed her a boyish, heart-stopping grin and made a run for the house. Flame tore out of the yard, raising a cloud of dust as she sped out the gate. She knew the capabilities of her motorcycle and even with a head start, Raoul was going to catch her, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Racing down the highway, she spotted the open field that would give her a huge advantage. The shortcut would take her along the edge of a marsh, and through a series of small wooded areas, but she'd shave off several miles. She took the narrow dirt road and sped the Jeep across the overgrown field, dodging a couple of trees. The vehicle slid through a bog, slinging up mud behind her as she cut through a narrow patch of the marsh at high speed.

Laughing out loud she spun a doughnut in the next patch of mud, just because it was exhilarating and she knew Gator was roaring down the highway on her bike. She felt him. The connection between them was strong, strong enough that she knew if she reached, whispered, called to him, he would hear her.

She was in the risky area now, the Jeep slipping around turns as she let up just a hair on the gas going into the curve and punching hard, sliding nearly sideways through the turns. The Jeep was decked out for all terrain and she used every bit of skill she possessed to drive at breakneck speed along the faint trail. The Jeep caught air and slammed down, the front end tipping to the left and throwing her forward, only to catch air a second time, this time tilting to the right. She braced herself using the steering wheel, but the seat hit her back several times as she was thrown back and forth. Mud sprayed the air behind her, throwing up a dark trail and covering the Jeep in rich goo.

She didn't dare let up on the gas; in the heavy mud she'd be stuck immediately, so she pushed the Jeep to its limit, powering through the spongy ground and bumping over the nearly invisible road. Twice she dared the lower creek beds. Wyatt had a snorkel on the Jeep, but she didn't want to take a chance using it in deeper water because it would definitely slow her down so she only went for the shallower beds, crossing fast and driving hard up the bank before shooting onto the frontage road that would take her along the canal leading to Burrell's island.

The Jeep was black with mud even with the speed she was going, the wind spraying the dirt behind her. She smirked and waved as a car tried to stay up with her only to back off when mud spattered it. A black town car was heading in the opposite direction, and she recognized it as Parsons's private vehicle. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing mud spray up and over it as she blew past. As she sped along the frontage road, she glanced toward the highway and her heart slammed hard in her chest. Gator was low over the motorcycle, his shirt rippling in the wind as he raced toward the exit to the extensive waterway system.

Flame couldn't believe how excited she got just spotting him. Her stomach did a series of little flips and her heart began to beat wildly. She hadn't had so much fun in a long time. He was just as determined to win as she was, his jaw set, his mind focused. She knew it because he was a competitor through and through, just as she was. They were so alike in so many ways, yet so different where it counted.

She tore up the frontage road along the canal, glancing back to see the motorcycle already exiting. Raoul had to have seen her even with the dust flying. She bent low over the steering wheel, her foot hard on the gas, urging the vehicle to greater speeds. The engine screamed at her, but over the top of it, she could hear the purring of her beloved motorcycle. The bike flew past her, tearing into the small dirt parking lot just moments ahead of the Jeep.

She parked next to her bike, leaping out, laughing, because she couldn't help it. He sat on the motorcycle, swinging one leg, looking lazy and cool despite the humid heat of the swamp.

He pulled off his dark glasses and winked at her, holding out the keys to her bike. "I do believe, Ms. Johnson, I kicked your pretty little ass."

She took the key chain from him and dropped the Jeep keys in his palm. "I do believe there must be at least ten cop cars chasing after you."

"I lost them somewhere near the bridge. If they're coming after me, they're mighty slow. What's my prize?"

"You think you deserve a prize for speeding? You were breaking the law. That was cheating."

"I'm a rule breaker, cher. You'll have to get used to it."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. There were flecks of mud on her clothes and some on her face, but all he could focus on was the laughter in her eyes. Everything male in him responded to her, but when she laughed because of him, he felt almost as if he could fly.

"I can't imagine you as anything but a rule breaker. You were a little outlaw as a child and you're still one as an adult. You get away with too much because you're so charming. It isn't good for you."

His grin widened and he poked her with his finger. "Aha! I knew you found me charmin'. Even the toughest ones fall eventually."

"You're not nearly as charming as you think." She started back toward the Jeep.

Gator trailed after her. "Yes I am," he teased. "You're trying to escape me now, but I'm going to say hello to Burrell and declare my honest intentions so he won't be comin' after me with that shotgun of his."

She stopped so abruptly he ran into her and had to catch her shoulders to keep both of them from landing on the ground. "Your only intention toward me is to get me back to Whitney's little laboratory," she reminded.

"Well now, I wouldn't say that was true," he denied, heat gathering in his eyes.

"Hello, you idiot. I'm not pregnant. We haven't slept together. We're not engaged to be married. You're here to drag my ass back to Whitney."

He tilted his head to inspect the curve of her bottom. "And a nice ass it is too. You've got me wondering again about those pretty little panties of yours."

"Stay on track here, Raoul. I think you have ADD."

His hand slipped from her shoulder to slide the length of her arm, trailed to the curve of her hip. She glared at him. "And keep your wandering hands to yourself."

"You like my hands."

"Not that much." She faced him squarely. "You're making this hard."

"Well, that's fair. You make me hard."

She threw her hands into the air in sheer exasperation. "Go home, Raoul."

"Not a chance, cher. I introduced you to Grand-mere. Why don't you want to introduce me to Burrell?"

"You already know Burrell. And don't give me your puppy-dog look. It isn't going to work. I'm not taking you home to him. If you give him your ridiculous story about pregnancy an

d engagements I'll never hear the end of it."

He grinned at her. "Of course he's going to hear about it, Flame. This is the bayou. We have our own newscasters. Grand-mere has announced to all her friends and they've called all their friends. The news has traveled throughout all the parishes by now."

"Great. Just great." Her eyes met his. Sober. Penetrating. "Why did you insist on me going to see your grandmother? She's a lovely woman and I really enjoyed meeting her, but why would you do that?"

"I told you why."

"That wasn't the reason. I saw you with her. You're very protective of her, of your entire family. Why would you give me ammunition like that?"

There was a small silence. She held his gaze. Gator sighed and shoved a hand through his thick wavy hair. "I wanted you to know who I really am."

She inhaled sharply, lips parting as if to speak. She shook her head. "I have no idea who you are, Raoul. You . . ." Her voice trailed off and she swung around to face in the direction of the swamp. She went very still as if frozen and stiff.

In spite of the distance, he heard it too, the sound of someone running, crashing through reeds and branches. The impact of a bullet, so distinct even with a silencer. The thud of a heavy body falling. The soft cry of pain was muffled, but the reverberation of a second bullet cut off the sound abruptly.

"Burrell." She looked stricken, her eyes wide with shock. "Raoul, that was Burrell." They stared at each other for one heartbeat of time--for an eternity. Her expression changed, became a mask of determination. She sprinted away from him, heading toward the island Burrell owned.

Gator caught up with her, signaling for silence and caution. She held up four fingers indicating four assailants as she ran across the narrow strip connecting the mainland to the island. He split his fingers and made a circle. She nodded and veered off, breaking away from him so they could approach from two directions. Gator increased his speed.

Burrell was probably dead and he didn't want Flame to find the body. The ground turned spongy and dangerous. He had lived in the bayou most of his life, even taking a boat to school, and he knew better than to run haphazardly through a swampy area but he did it anyway. He dodged low-hanging branches and jumped over fallen logs, landing up to his ankles in mud. Cursing, he continued, batting aside the low-hanging moss, slowing enough to stay quiet and watch out for deeper bogs.

He found where Burrell had tied up his boat and walked to the site where he was planning to build. The cabin was laid out with string and Gator could see where Burrell had worked on adding fill to a small area around where he planned to put the house. He had walked over toward a cove where he must have done most of his digging. A wheelbarrow was overturned in the muck and a shovel lay a few yards from it as if it had been flung aside.

Gator knelt beside the wheelbarrow, looking for tracks. In the fresh dirt Burrell had dumped around the area, he could see several footprints of various sizes.

"That's Burrell's track," Flame said softly as she came up beside him and touched one boot mark. "He comes here every day to build up this area because it was too low and flooded every year."

"Did you see anyone?"

Flame shook her head as she examined the ground. "They shot him here and he fell over the wheelbarrow. He tried to crawl away from them." She pointed to the twin furrows in the dirt and one handprint. Blood stained the tracks. "That's where they shot him the second time." There was a much larger pool of blood seeping into the dark water oozing up from just below the surface. "This is the one." She indicated a boot print. "The big guy in charge. He shot him. The others dragged him by his ankles off that way." She didn't look at Gator. Her voice was tight, but rock steady.

They followed the drag marks in the mud. Water was already filling the crevices, but it was impossible to hide the bright splashes of blood on the leaves and vegetation. The trail led around the side of the island to a natural basin. The mud bank had a distinct slide indicating an alligator used the area. Judging by his tracks, the reptile was large and had been there for some time. The four men hadn't tried to hide the evidence, dragging the body through the mud and water to the edge of an alligator hole. There were knee marks where two of the men had dropped down beside the body wrapping a cord around it.

Flame picked her way through the fortress of exposed roots, while Gator circled the dark waters of the basin. He slipped twice on the muddy bank. "Over here, Flame. They must have used something to weigh him down."

"Can you get him out?" She stepped into the murky water, sinking up to her knees. "Can you see him?"

"I can't see anything including the damn alligator. Get the hell out of there. You know damn well he isn't alive. You can't save him, Flame." He waded toward her, gut churning with a mixture of rage and fear for her safety.

"This is my fault. I should have seen this coming. I thought they were after me, and then I just dismissed them. This is my fault." She continued to wade out into the black water, feeling for the body.

Gator went after her, his fingers settling around her arm like a vise, yanking her with him toward the shore. "That's bullshit and you know it. Get the hell out of the water. You think dying is going to help him now?"

Her face remained a stiff mask. She didn't even wince at his harsh question. She'd seen the massive amount of blood. She knew Burrell was dead. It was the thought of Burrell being fed to the alligator that made her crazy enough to try to get his body out of the basin. An acrid scent drifted to them through the trees.

Flame used a low-hanging branch to pull herself onto the shore. She felt sick to her stomach. "Can you find him? Can you get him out of there? Use a branch and see if you can feel him."

"Who were they, Flame?"

"Do you smell smoke?" She turned suddenly toward the canal. "Damn them. They're burning his houseboat." She took off running, more to get away from the reality of Burrell's body in the water with the alligator than to save Burrell's home. There was no way to save anything. Once again the bad guys triumphed and a good man lay dead.

She heard Raoul shout, but his voice was far away, competing with a strange roaring in her head. Her lungs burned for air and her stomach gave a sickening lurch. She stumbled, her vision blurring as the roaring in her head grew to a long wailing scream. For a moment, she thought she'd actually screamed out loud, but the sound only reverberated over and over in her head, so much sorrow, so much rage wanting to get out. Flame fought it back, held it in, all too aware of Raoul's close proximity. She could inadvertently hurt him--kill him. She fought for control, the effort making her head pound and her stomach churn.

She emerged from the trees to stare in horror at the black smoke and orange and red flames leaping into the air. The houseboat was completely engulfed by the fire. Birds rose, shrieking alarm, fleeing the area. In spite of the roar of the conflagration and the noise of the retreating wildlife, she caught the sound of a Jeep and, above that, a triumphant yell.

"Wait, Flame!" Gator commanded.

She glanced back and saw him pulling at his boot where he had stepped through the thin layer of earth and sunk into the mud. Celebratory laughter blended with the noise of the vehicle drawing her attention. She caught a glimpse of an open Jeep, four men bouncing on the seats as they tore down the road.

Without hesitation, Flame switched directions, using every ounce of speed she possessed, hurtling her body through vegetation, splashing through muck and water recklessly. Branches slapped at her, needles caught at her clothing, but she felt nothing as she sprinted back to the parking lot where her motorcycle waited. It fired up immediately, roaring to life as she kicked it over and spun, racing down the road after the killers.

Gator swore as he extracted his boot. Damn the woman. Damn the situation. There was no way he could catch her in his Jeep. And she'd definitely catch the murderers with her rocket of a motorcycle. He stood in silence, listening to the sound of the engine until he was certain of the direction. They weren't heading for the highway; they were going across country, n

ot wanting to be seen, taking one of the old hunting trails. He could hear the whining of the engine and the whooping of the men as they raced inland right into the preserve.

He dragged his satellite phone from his belt and punched in a number. "I've got trouble here, Ian. I'll need a clean-up crew fast so make the call. This one is going to be bad. No time to explain, but track me. Get here like yesterday and bring Wyatt." He slammed the phone back into his belt and took off running through the swamp, heading for the interior. He had to get back on the frontage road, off the island and head across the canal to cut them off inland. He knew exactly what Flame was going to do because he would do the same thing.

He cursed as he ran, setting a punishing pace that was double what a normal man could do. He didn't care if he was spotted, he had to intercept and the only chance he had was racing through swampland cross-country. In any case the only people likely to spot him were hunters and fishermen, people of the bayou who would mind their own business. He was Raoul Fontenot, one of their own and they would never volunteer information about him.

He was well aware of the dangers, the snakes and poisonous plants not to mention the sinkholes, but this was no time to be careful, he couldn't afford the delay. The best he could do was to try to stay on animal trails whenever possible. Moss, branches, vines, and leaves hit him in the face. Brambles tore at his clothing, raked his arms and face until he could feel blood dripping as he ran. Startled birds flew up, raising a ruckus. He didn't bother to try to control them, not wanting to waste his energy.

He barely avoided a snapping turtle sunning itself and had to virtually leap over a small alligator as he skirted the edge of a waterway before heading inland again through bald cypress and tupelo gum trees. As he ran, leaves and petals and twigs settled in his hair and clothing and fell down his back. Sweat coated his body and drew insects to him.

Nothing mattered but that he get to her. The faint animal trail intersected with the Jeep trail at one point and he had to make it to that spot before, or at least at the same time, as the murderers and Flame. They had no chance of making it past that point without her catching them. His pounding footsteps began to slap a harder surface, carrying him deeper into the interior away from the faint whine of the engines. He hadn't realized he'd been unconsciously keeping track of the two separate sounds until he was running alone in the interior of the preserve.