She glanced at her shoulders and jerked the shirt over her skin. "It's nothing."
"It isn't nothing. How did you get those bruises?"
"I told you, I bruise easily. I got a little beat up driving the Jeep over rough terrain." Flame buttoned up her shirt, wincing as the material brushed against her tight, sensitive nipples. His gaze dropped to her breasts, clearly seeing the outline. He licked his lips and turned away from her to start the airboat.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Flame refused to look at him as the boat skimmed over the water toward Burrell's island. She would not be used as an experiment, not ever again. Certainly not for some perverted sexual experiment. She'd never responded to anyone like she had Raoul. She'd never wanted or needed anyone the way she did him. The ache in her body refused to subside and she simply didn't trust the intensity of her craving for him.
Raoul didn't believe Whitney was alive. He certainly didn't believe he'd somehow found a way to make them addicted to one another. But she knew what the doctor was capable of doing.
She stared at the passing landscapes. The bayou was a beautiful place. She didn't even mind the humidity so much. She loved the wildlife and the way it sat there, right out among the midst of civilization as all around it the city built up. Normally she didn't care to be in cities, people crowding in where she couldn't stop the continual assault of noise, but she liked New Orleans and the French Quarter. She thought the aboveground cemeteries looked like miniature cities, beautiful and different and perfect for New Orleans. Mostly, she liked the people with their smiling faces and their various accents and ready laughter. She didn't want to leave any of it, and she especially didn't want to leave Raoul.
As if reading her mind, Gator's fingers brushed her arm, slid down to tangle with hers until he was holding her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You had all this. How could you think whatever Whitney did was worth the trade?" She nearly choked on the question. She wanted his life. His grandmother and brothers and his wonderful home.
"At the time, I didn't think I was trading it away. I had some psychic talent and a huge sense of responsibility. I thought by getting more training I could save more lives. I'd already had so much special training in so many areas, Flame, it just felt like one more. Then it all went to hell." He shrugged his broad shoulders, his gaze watching the waterway.
With his foot standing on the gas and one hand on the stick controlling the rudder he had to be alert. The trail was narrow and the plants slick as they skimmed the surface of the marsh. He didn't dare let up on the gas going over the mud because he didn't want to get stuck. When navigating an airboat, he looked out for everything from other boats, to alligators and the knees of cypress trees, anything that could damage the bottom of the boat. The airboats were top heavy and could flip rather easily and he was very aware Flame was riding with him. He didn't want anything to happen to her.
Gator kept his fingers tangled tightly with Flame's as they raced over the waterway and marsh to reach the small island Burrell had loved so much.
"Do you regret your decision?"
He glanced at her. "Not anymore. No."
Flame sucked in her breath. He just accepted what was between them. He didn't care if Whitney manipulated them or not. He had no idea how protective he could look, how possessive and how intense the desire that shadowed his eyes was when he looked at her. She detested Peter Whitney and everything he stood for. Whitney believed the end justified the means and that humans were small sacrifices to make for the greater good of knowledge. She had seen so much pain inflicted on the other girls he'd bought from the orphanages as well as experienced it herself.
Throwaways he'd called them. She still flinched inwardly every time she thought of it, every time she recalled the contempt in his tone. Joy Chiasson was not a throwaway. Neither was Burrell. Flame could stand up for the ones like her, the ones no one else would stand up for. Whitney with his billions might get away with his monstrous experiments, but she would bring down the ones she could.
"Flame."
She shook her head. "Don't, Raoul. I have to think about this. Give me time to think things through. Something is going on here and I have to figure it out."
"Why? What does it matter if he manipulated us sexually or emotionally or whether we're just attracted because we know each other like no one else could? We have a chance at something few people ever have."
"What? Great sex? He'll put us in a cage and watch us."
His fingers tightened around hers. He'd been in a cage, waiting to be murdered. "I'm not going to let that happen. We're worth millions of dollars to the military. I go out on missions when they send me and I come back and report and take my leave. That's my life. It has nothing to do with Whitney. No one is going to lock us up when they need to use us. What would be the point of that?"
"You keep telling yourself that."
They were nearing the island and Gator throttled down, taking the airboat right up onto the island into dense reeds. "This is where we get off. You're going to get muddy."
"I have to buy new clothes anyway." Flame jumped onto a small patch of what looked like solid ground, but sank up to her ankles. "Ugh. Why is it every single time we recon, it's always in the mud or in water?"
"It's going to rain too."
"I didn't need you to tell me that." She worked her way carefully through the sludge until she was on more solid ground, then began to make her way across the island toward the small basin where Burrell had always kept his houseboat.
There was little left of it, mostly the smell of burnt wood and the blackened remains of one part of the deck. She could see Burrell's favorite chair partially burnt lying in the reeds near land. She stumbled, pressing her hand to her mouth.
"I can do this, Flame," Gator offered. "There's no need for both of us to be here. We don't even know if anyone's going to show up."
She lifted her chin. "Burrell was mine. I didn't have him very long, but he was mine. He didn't deserve to get chased out into the swamp, shot, and thrown to the alligators. I'll take these people down, and if I'm a little uncomfortable so be it."
Gator kept his face completely expressionless. She did things to him, to both his body and mind when she talked like a warrior. He respected her, wanted her, admired her courage. Her leg had to hurt like hell, but she was barely limping. He had the sinking notion he was beginning to fall in love. Judging by the look on her face, she wouldn't welcome the admission so he simply stayed silent.
Wanting a clean sweep of the surrounding area, Gator chose the high ground. They didn't have long to wait. A car slowly made its way along the narrow ribbon of road leading to Burrell's island. The driver parked in the small widened area where Burrell's old truck still remained. Three men pushed the doors open, all the time looking around them warily.
Flame's fingers closed around Gator's wrist. "I've seen the man in the plaid shirt before. He works security for Saunders." Could Saunders have had Burrell killed? He couldn't have known she'd taken his money. There was nothing to trace the robbery back to her. What had Burrell said that morning? He was meeting Saunders later in the afternoon to pay him with a bank draft rather than cash.
She sank down, uncaring that she was sitting in muddy water. Her legs wouldn't hold her. She never considered Saunders might kill Burrell if the riverboat captain made his last payment and took possession of the island. She looked around her. "Look at this, Raoul. This is a tiny piece of land, mostly uninhabitable. The ground is spongy, the water table is high. It's worthless. There isn't even enough wildlife to hunt for a living here, or trees to harvest. Saunders can't want it badly enough to kill for it."
Gator stroked a caress through her hair. "I have a feeling Saunders doesn't like to lose. He's a high-stakes player. Parsons has been trying to get something on him for a long time and from what I understand, they know Saunders is dirty, they just can't nail him. And it isn't because he's that careful. His people are too afraid of him to ever
testify against him and everyone who's ever tried to go up against him has ended up dead."
"What about Parsons? Is his cover really that good? I found out he was DEA. If I could, why couldn't Saunders? A good computer hacker can find most anything."
"Parsons resides here. He doesn't really hide what he does. He's a businessman and he lives in the same area as Saunders. They struck up a friendship and go to the same clubs. Saunders likes to rub elbows with the politicians and the hotshots in town. Parsons is only one of them. Saunders knows the mayor and even the governor."
"But why would Parsons investigate here, in New Orleans, a man who would kill not only him, but his entire family?" She rubbed her forehead, a little frown on her face. "If he's pretending to be friends, he's playing a very dangerous and stupid game. And if they are friends, then he's dirty right along with Saunders."
"Who else did the agency have? They couldn't get anyone near Saunders and Parsons was already here and he knew Saunders socially. He had no choice." His hand dropped to the nape of her neck, easing the tension out with his strong fingers. He kept his gaze on the three men as they tried without much success to read signs. The rain had been heavy all through the night and it was already beginning to drizzle again. It was obvious from the way they moved in the mud, the sweat on their clothes, and the way they slapped at all the insects, that the men weren't used to the heat and mud of the bayou. They wouldn't last long.
"You got all that information from Lily, didn't you?"
He glanced up at the recrimination in her voice. "We're just goin' to have to agree to disagree about Lily, sugah. Peter Whitney can burn in hell for what he did to you, but Lily is as much a victim as you are, maybe more. She believed he loved her. She even thought he was her biological father."
Flame turned her face away from him. The rain came down harder, drenching them in spite of the canopy of trees. The three men jumped back into their vehicle, obviously consulting with one another before driving up the frontage road a short distance, past the remains of the burnt-out houseboat. The men looked at the blackened ruins and then pulled a U-turn and proceeded back toward the freeway.
Flame started to rise. Gator's fingers tapped her wrist and he shook his head, holding up his hand for silence. He held up two fingers and pointed back toward the interior of the swamp.
Flame remained crouched in the mud, listening. She'd been so focused on the three men she hadn't paid much attention to anything else. The familiar rhythm of the swamp was off-key. There was the hum of insects and the croak of frogs, even the scurrying of lizards through the brush, but something was slightly off-kilter. She closed her eyes and heard the soft whisper of material against bark. Someone was stealthily climbing down from a tree. It took a few minutes to pick up the steady heartbeat.
"Now who do you suppose has come looking for us?" she asked softly.
"Don' jump to conclusions, cher. I'm going to circle around and see if I can spot him. I don't want you killin' anyone before breakfast."
"You know he's probably enhanced, Raoul. He's here looking to find out what happened to his buddy. We can follow him when he leaves. Don't go giving him a target. And don't tip him off that we know he's here."
Gator laid a hand over his heart. "You think so little of my abilities. I may be charmin', cher, but I know my stuff. He isn't going to see me."
The tightness in her chest increased tenfold. She grabbed his arm to keep him with her. She couldn't, wouldn't lose him. "You can't go, Raoul."
The little catch in her voice was his undoing. He ran missions all the time, most of them in the deadliest hot spots of the world, but here she was, looking up at him with fear in her eyes, fear for him, and he couldn't move. "Kiss me."
"What?" She scowled at him. "Are you crazy?"
"Right here. Right now. You kiss me."
"Or what? You're going to go play hide-and-seek with more killers? Don't be ridiculous."
Gator caught her arms and pulled her to him, his mouth coming down on hers. "He's spotted us and he's coming toward us. For God's sake, don't kill him. Can you get a good jump off your leg?" He whispered the words into her mouth, breathing into her, his tongue teasing even as he issued the warning.
"I'll go left," she said.
"We need him to escape and lead us back to whoever sent him," he reminded, tightening his grip on her.
She kissed him back, leaning into him, pretending to be oblivious to the approaching man. She couldn't help enjoying Raoul's mouth or the subtle way his body moved against hers. All the while she listened for the approach of the man stalking them.
He was right on them when she felt rather than heard Gator say "now" against her lips. Simultaneously they crouched and leapt, pushing off each other, springing up into the air and backward, Flame to the left, Gator to the right, somersaulting in perfect synchronization to land behind their enemy. Flame saw the gun in his hand and he instinctively turned toward Gator, thinking him the bigger threat. She launched herself in the air again, this time wrapping her legs around the man's neck in a scissors hold.
They both went down hard. He lost his grip on his rifle, reaching back to try to break her hold before she strangled him. Flame locked her legs together, exerting more pressure in an effort to subdue him fast. He pounded on her leg with his fist, three short, hard punches that took her breath away. Her leg was already damaged from the day before and she couldn't focus away from the pain enough to keep the pressure on him.
Gator kicked their assailant in the head hard as he reached down and jerked her to her feet. "He's got partners. Get out of here. There are more of them." He shoved her toward the canal. "Run, damn it."
She didn't hear anything, but she felt the telltale rush of her senses, a heavy dread that signaled far more danger. Flame ran, but her leg was throbbing, every step jarring her. She tried to hide it, jumping over the fallen logs in their way and racing toward safety. Gator dropped behind her, covering her back as they zigzagged through the trees and brush to leap into the reed-choked canal. He shoved her underwater as bullets spit into the water around them. Keeping contact, they dove as deep as possible, using the rotting logs and plants on the bottom to pull them away from the island and out toward more open water.
With the enhancement of their bodies, both could stay underwater far longer than normal so they swam away from the island and the debris of the houseboat. Gator directed her with hand signals on her body and she followed him until her lungs were burning. She tapped his shoulder to signal she needed to go up for air. They were in much deeper water. He signaled that they needed to make it a few more feet ahead.
Flame knew Raoul had a specific spot in mind, somewhere safe, but her body was wearing out. She'd noticed that lately she didn't have the stamina she usually had. She caught his belt loop, afraid she'd try to surface before they were safe and she'd get him killed. She'd always worked alone and having someone else to worry about was frightening--especially when she liked him so much. Too much.
She gasped as they came up, gulping for air, dragging it into her burning lungs. Gator came up behind her, his arm circling her waist. They were screened from the island by both a rise in the contour of the island as well as plants growing along the edge of the basin they were in.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded, controlling her heartbeat and the adrenaline charging through her system. "Why the hell didn't we hear them? We should have known they were there. What's going on?" She hadn't been afraid of the first hunter, but something about the eerie stillness, the complete silence of the others had given her the willies. It hadn't even been the same feeling as with the sniper the day before. She'd known he was there. The swamp had known it. But these men had been able to hide their presence not only from Raoul and her, but also from the swamp itself.
Gator studied the shore surrounding the island. There was only one man he knew of that could be that silent. That scary. That much of a ghost. Kadan Montague could move through the world almost as if he w
ere invisible. No one really knew how he did it--not even the other GhostWalkers. He was quiet and dangerous, a strong telepath and a man few argued with. He had gifts none of them really understood and even Lily wasn't talking much about them. One of Kadan's strongest talents was his ability to shield the entire team from detection. Had that talent been duplicated in another man? Gator had the sinking feeling it could be so.
"Do you know them?" Flame asked.
She was shivering in the water. The rain had begun again, a relentless downpour that added to their misery.
"I don't know. I didn't catch a glimpse of any of them. Did you?"
She shook her head. "The big one is heading back toward the road. I can hear him. He's limping." There was satisfaction in her voice.
It couldn't be Kadan. Gator was almost certain of that, but the fact remained, whoever was in the swamp was trained in Special Forces, and they were enhanced.
CHAPTER 12
"Come on, Raoul. He'll get away from us. Let's get to the airboat."
His arm clamped her to his side. "He's bait. The others haven't left with him. They're out there, watching the surface of the water for one small change, one shift in the way the reeds wave. The only thing we have going for us is the rain."
"I can make my way to the airboat and follow the other one to see where he goes. I'll swim underwater. I'm not losing my chance at finding out who's behind killing Burrell. You stay and fight the ghost, I'm out of here."
His arm pressed hard into her side. "You already know that Saunders had Burrell killed. You just want to see who this one reports back to, and we both know it won't be Saunders. I'm telling you it's too dangerous to move until we get a direction on his partners."
For a moment she stiffened against him, then slowly relaxed, letting her breath hiss through her teeth. "Now do you believe Whitney's alive?"
"Maybe. Something's going on here and it isn't connected to Burrell or Joy. We've stumbled into something on . . ." Gator trailed off. Maybe it wasn't about any of them, not even Flame. He glanced at her. She didn't look intimidated, she looked determined--and as mad as hell. "If I knew where they were, I could use sound to draw them out, but I have no idea of their direction." He said it more as a warning to her than as an option.