"Why does it matter so much to you what I was doing?" Flame regarded him uneasily.
"It just does. You were deliberately stirring the men up. You wanted them obsessed with you. Why?"
"I don't trust you."
"You don't have to trust me. We're out here all alone. Search me if you think I'm recording this. If I wanted you dead, you'd be buried in the swamp." He swung away from her, an abrupt, angry movement, unlike his usual grace.
"Why are you so angry with me?" It shouldn't have bothered her. She didn't care if he was upset with her--he was nothing to her--but it did. She could tell his inclination was to shake her. The sexual web between them was strong. She'd never experienced such a thing before and their antagonism toward each other only seemed to add fuel to the fire.
"What the hell were you doing in the club tonight?"
Flame waited until he turned back toward her, until his dark, angry, turbulent gaze met hers. He was smoldering with temper, his fist opening and closing, his easy charm obviously wearing thin.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened to you in there? Do you want men to be so obsessed they can't control themselves?" He took an aggressive step toward her.
She stood her ground, one hand steadying herself on the seat of the boat, refusing to be intimidated. She was never intimidated. She could easily protect herself, whether he had her knife or not. His eyes glittered at her with a kind of fury she found intriguing rather than terrifying. Raoul Fontenot was a man who liked to portray himself as easygoing but beneath the veneer was a man of intense passions, of dark secrets, a man he kept hidden from the rest of the world.
"I absolutely did not expect that to happen. Obviously you were affected and it's upset you. Did you think you'd be exempt from the effects? Have you checked out the weapons they have now or are in the process of developing? They actually have everything now, from acoustic beams and blast waves to my personal favorite, the acoustic bullet, high-powered, very low-frequency waves emitted from one to two meter antenna dishes that result in blunt-force trauma, affecting anything from discomfort to death. Surprise, Raoul, even the shooters can be affected if they aren't behind the device used to produce the sound. You and I, we're basically human acoustic bullets. We can get into and out of places fast and without being seen and we don't need an antenna." Her eyes widened. "You were created after me, weren't you? And you amplify my talent, don't you?"
"Don't you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you suspect me of some conspiracy." He swore in Cajun, a blast of words so fast she was hard put to keep up with him.
Flame remained silent, intrigued by the way he looked when his ancestry came out. He was a good-looking man, rough around the edges with his blue-shadowed jaw, but the thick black wavy hair and ready smile provided the killer charm. "It simply occurred to me that Whitney wanted to see what would happen if we were together."
"Whitney is dead."
"You keep telling yourself that."
"Tell me what you were doing at the club tonight."
Flame sighed. "You're like a bear with a sore tooth. I was trying to lure a particular person to me. A girl disappeared a few weeks ago. She was a singer, had a beautiful sultry voice. The cops think she picked up and left the area because it's convenient for them to think that. But her family and everyone who knew her think something happened to her. And I do too." Her voice was pitched low, not in the least remorseful or defiant.
There was a long silence. Too long. It stretched out between them until she could feel the full weight of his disapproval. "You're telling me, you set yourself up as bait for what could be a killer because a girl you don't even know disappeared? Have you lost your mind or do you just have a death wish?"
"I don't have to justify my actions to you."
"You don't have backup. I don't go on a mission without backup. That's just plain stupidity." He stepped closer, his fingers settling around her upper arms.
Flame felt the tremor running through him. "Let go of me before I push your butt into the bayou. Talk about stupidity! You had everything and you threw it away. At least I have a good reason for the things I choose to do."
"Like stealing from Saunders, who, by the way, I had investigated and he's about as mean as they come. He's suspected of having ties to the underworld--"
She jerked away from him. "Like I didn't know that already? I do my homework." Red hair went in all directions as she shook her head. "I'm not exactly a team player. I make decisions based on percentages and the percentages were in my favor this time. The girl . . ."
"Joy Chiasson," he supplied, his gaze on her throat. When she'd turned her head, the scarf she wore slipped. He moved even closer, crowding her, his body brushing hers. "Our two families have known one another for years. I came here to find out what happened to her." He broke off, his attention diverted. His fingertip brushed the dark marks on her throat. His fingerprints. "Did I do this?"
She lifted a hand to hide the marks, but he stopped her, this time much more gently. "I'm sorry, Flame. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I had a knife to your throat. I think the situation was a little tense." Her voice was suddenly husky, a little too intimate. "Did you really come to New Orleans to look for Joy?" Why hadn't she moved away from him? He was so close she felt his heart beat. And why was she whispering?
"Yes. My grandmother asked me to come. When she told me Joy was missing, I remembered another woman, a singer from another parish who disappeared a couple of years ago. I thought the fact that they both had incredible voices was worth checking into. And I don' like Grand-mere to be upset."
"Because of her heart."
"Because I love her and she rarely asks me for anything. But I'm not going to lie to you. Lily asked me to find you, if possible, and persuade you to join us."
Flame stepped away from him, her eyes suddenly hard and sparkling with temper. "And just how would Miss Lily know I was in New Orleans?"
"She ran the probabilities of you coming here through a computer."
"She knew the fire at the sanitarium would draw me out. They made a hit on Dahlia, didn't they?" She turned completely away from him, but not before he caught the glitter of tears in her eyes. "I didn't find her in time."
"The GhostWalkers found her in time," Gator said. "Dahlia's alive and well and very safe. In fact she's married to a buddy of mine."
CHAPTER 6
Flame sucked in her breath sharply. "I don't believe you."
"I don't care if you believe me. She's married to another GhostWalker, Nicolas Trevane." Gator raked a hand through his hair in agitation until waves spilled across his forehead. "Okay. That was a lie. I do care that you believe me. Why would I lie?"
"To get me to go back with you. I'm never going back with you, not for any reason. You're a smart man. Do you think the government and Whitney are going to sink millions of dollars into experimental weapons and then just let them run around loose? You aren't that stupid. You're either up to your neck swimming in their cesspool or you've been brainwashed."
"You could be wrong, you know," Gator pointed out. "You might consider that."
"You might consider that Lily wasn't the only one of us with an enormous IQ. If I'm wrong, why do we have this thing between us?" She stuck her chin in the air and fiddled with the edges of her scarf, but her gaze was steady on his, almost a challenge.
"Which thing? The knife? The bike? The baby? Or the sexual attraction that, quite frankly, might be off the Richter scale?"
"The sexual attraction. That's what's really making you so angry, isn't it? You don't trust it any more than I do. And you're angry with me for making you feel the way you do."
"Yeah. Maybe. But I'm not the only one royally pissed about it," he pointed out.
"You're right, I don't like it. I don't trust you. Why the hell would I feel attracted to you?"
"My charm and good looks."
"You aren't that charming. And you have the despic
able reputation of being a hound dog. I know because I asked around and your grandmother told me."
"No doubt to endear me further to you."
She narrowed her gaze. "You're a breaker of hearts. A rake and a playboy." She made a face. "A disgusting playboy who isn't even concerned with safety issues."
"Grand-mere didn't say that, did she?"
She smirked at him. "Well, you got me pregnant, didn't you?"
A faint smile stole over his face. "I guess I did. I'm potent. Even from a distance."
"That's a scary thought. Do you really know Joy Chiasson?"
"Yes. You can ask Grand-mere Nonny all about her tomorrow when you show up for tea. Our families have been friends for years."
Flame spread her hands out. "So what are we doing out here in the middle of the night?"
"We're talking truce, cher." His slow smile matched the warm molasses in his drawl.
"Don't you think before we talk truce it would be a gesture of good faith to give me back my motorcycle?"
"Have you shoved my brother's Jeep into the Mississippi yet?"
"That was on the schedule for tonight."
"It's my brother's Jeep," he reminded her, fingertips tracing the smudges on her throat. "Not mine. I just borrowed it."
"Bad decision on his part to lend it to you."
His eyes darkened as his gaze drifted over her throat. "I'm sorry about this, cher. I could kiss it better for you."
She remained absolutely still beneath his touch, her heart beginning to hammer in time to the blood roaring through her veins. The heat of the bayou enveloped them in the perfume of the night and the rich rhythm of life. "You aren't going to seduce me into cooperating with you and, if you try, the Jeep definitely goes into the Mississippi."
"It was a bad decision on his part to lend it to me." Gator murmured the words against her soft throat, his body pressed against hers, although he didn't wrap his arms around her. He simply stood leaning into her, the warmth of his breath touching her skin.
She swallowed hard when his lips pressed against her throat, feather-light, velvet soft. "So you're willing to sacrifice the Jeep."
"Damn straight, mon petite enflamme. No sacrifice is too great." His tongue swirled over the dark smudges as if to soothe them.
Her breath left her body in a little concentrated rush. "Well then, you'd better do a very thorough job."
He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over her face. "When I kiss you, what exactly are you planning to do?" Raw huskiness mixed with suspicion in his voice.
She could barely breathe. She had an unfamiliar urge to circle his neck with her arms and press her body tightly against his. "You said no sacrifice was too great," she reminded.
"That's when I thought the sacrifice was going to be my brother's Jeep. Now, I think you have something else in mind. What are you planning to do?"
"Retrieve my knife, of course," she answered honestly.
His head bent an inch lower until she could feel the velvet of his lips brushing hers. "You don't think I can distract you?"
"You've been distracting me all evening, but no, if you kiss me, the knife is definitely back in my possession."
He ached to kiss her. The temptation was overwhelming, but he wasn't nearly as stupid as she thought him. Reluctantly he stepped back away from her, a faint smile on his face. "Cher, we've got us a problem."
Her gaze brushed the front of his jeans. "You more than me."
His eyes darkened. "Oh, I don' think so, mon amour, and if you want me to prove it to you, just come closer and let me touch you."
"Try it and I'll definitely slap your face."
His grin widened. "You are wet for me, aren't you, cher?"
She ran her tongue along her lower lip, her gaze hot. "More than you'll ever know. Too bad you're such a chicken."
"You're playing a very dangerous game, Flame," he said.
"You're the one with my knife and motorcycle."
"That's not why. You think this is all part of another experiment, don't you?"
"Isn't it?" She moved into the heat of his body, her hips pressed close. "When you're with other women, is it this intense? Do the women you meet make you feel like tearing off their clothes right there, right that moment, and the hell with everything you've ever believed and valued?"
"If you know I feel that way, why the hell are you tempting me out here in the middle of nowhere when we're alone? What you did in that club was wrong and what you're doing to me right now is wrong and with another man, you could be in trouble." Something dark and frightening burned briefly in the shadows of his eyes and was gone almost immediately.
Flame shook her head, her expression defeated. "That's just it, Raoul, I'm not the one doing it. You are. We are. Don't you get it?" She pushed a hand through her hair, scattering pins so that strands of red hair fell in all directions. "You do get it. You knew what I was thinking, because you were thinking the same thing. It's all part of Whitney's experiments. Take me back. It's been a long day and I want to go home."
She did look tired. And sad. And very alone. Gator turned her accusations over and over in his mind. "It would be impossible to manipulate the sexual chemistry between two people wouldn't it?"
"Why would it be? He manipulated everything else, didn't he? He was building the perfect army. The perfect weapons. The perfect agents." She sank down, looking up at him from the seat. "Whitney had years to work things out. And somebody knew he was doing it. Somebody helped him. He wasn't alone in this, he couldn't have been."
Her twisted logic was beginning to make sense to him and that was alarming. "I go out on missions all the time with the GhostWalkers. Of the missing girls, only Lily and Dahlia have been found. And now you."
"What a shocker that is. Maybe we're all his little puppets and he's playing us. You don't want to consider that could be what's happening because that would bruise your ego. You think you chose what happened to you so that somehow makes me the poor victim and you the hero in charge of your life. If what I'm saying is this truth, that makes you a victim right along with me and you just can't stand the thought."
Gator turned over the words in his mind. The logic of her argument. If she was right he was no more than a programmed robot, a marionette and Whitney was pulling his strings. Worse than that, she was right. On some level he had thought of her as a victim, hell, all of the GhostWalkers thought that way. The women had been bought and experimented on. The men had chosen to be heroes, to save the world. He erupted into another long passionate string of inventive and crude curses.
"I'm sorry to rock your world. But if you're in with Whitney, and you're doing what he wants you to do by coming here and trying to take me back with you, at least consider that he's playing you. Whitney never does anything that doesn't benefit Whitney."
"Damn it, the man is dead."
"Do you realize you didn't answer a single question tonight, Raoul?"
"Just don't talk anymore. Damn it anyway." He was silent as the boat sped through the canal, his features etched in stone.
Flame couldn't take her eyes off of him. She felt sad for him. Sad for her. She didn't even know why.
There was a small silence as the airboat moved up the canal. As the pier came into view, Gator glanced at her, his gaze moving over her dress, her legs, the curve of her bottom. "I don't want you doing it anymore."
"It?" Her eyebrow shot up.
"Don' give me trouble. You know what I'm talking about. Don' go tryin' to lure Joy's fate to you. If someone took her, or killed her, the same thing could happen to you. You don't even have backup. You don't have anyone to watch out for you."
Flame shrugged. "That's something I'm used to, Raoul. I'm not a team player."
"I've searched for Joy for four weeks. My brother, Ian, and I have been all up and down the bayou. We've questioned everyone. We've even looked in shacks and investigated every tip we were given. Joy's disappeared and I'm not having the same thing happen to you."
"I
'm not Joy. I can take care of myself."
His dark gaze flickered over her face and there it was again, that something undefined she couldn't quite catch, but that made her shiver. "You couldn't have stopped me if I was a different sort of man."
She shrugged her shoulders. "Think what you like. Men always do."
"I'm not arguing with you about this. And be at my house tomorrow by two for tea. Grand-mere expects you."
"Why in the world would I show up?"
"Two reasons." He jumped onto the pier and tied up the boat, reaching back to offer her his hand. "You want your motorcycle and any woman who would risk her life to find out what happened to a stranger is not going to disappoint an old woman with a heart condition."
"Does she really have a heart condition or are you making that up?"
"I don' lie about my grandmother. Don't be getting the men riled up again and don't be setting yourself up as bait, or you and I are going to have a fight you aren't going to win."
She looked him in the eye, waiting for him to release his hold on her. "I don't like you very much."
"That's too bad. When you sleep with me, you'll just have to pretend." His fingers reluctantly slid from her wrist.
"Who says I'm sleeping with you?"
Deliberately he crowded her body, aggression in every line of his much larger frame. "Let's put it this way, you won't be sleeping with anyone else, so if you want to get rid of all that heat, you'd better be thinking of me, cher."
She didn't back up an inch. "Go fuck yourself."
Palming her knife, he moved closer still, his hand traveling over the curve of her bottom, sliding beneath the hem of her dress to shove the knife back into the scabbard. All the while his knuckles brushed bare skin, the back of his hand massaging the damp heat between her legs. His breath was warm against her ear. "I'd much rather fuck you and judging by your panties, I'd say you feel the same way."
"I ought to make you eat that knife." She didn't move away from him or his probing hand. She stood face-to-face, eye-to-eye, staring him down, a quiet fury burning in her eyes. She hated that her body burned for him. She hated that she might actually enjoy his stupid sense of humor. Most of all she hated that he was a puppet for a man who played God with people and moved them around like pieces on a chessboard.