Night Game (23 page)

Nothing’s goin’ to be happening to me.

Flame was silent again.
I could kill him using sound. It’s risky, but better that, than taking a chance…

No!
He forced calm into his voice. She was shrewd. He’d just given away too much to her, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to chance it. He wouldn’t let her chance it.
No. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.

Count off. On every fifth second I’ll use sound to move the reeds off to my right.

Was there relief in her voice? He couldn’t tell.
Damn it, no.

Damn it, yes. Just enough to make him worried I might be on the move. He’ll be concentrating on me and it will give you a chance. I’m not stupid enough to let him get a shot at me.
There was determination in her voice.
You can’t have it both ways. Either we use sound or we take the chance together.

Gator counted to five and propelled his body forward through the mud using his elbows. He silenced the sucking sound as muck dragged at his body in an attempt to hold him in place. He gained two feet. A few more and he could launch himself onto his target. He would have to go from a crouch to a full-on attack, leaping the distance before the sniper could turn and get a clear shot.

The second count he pushed forward only to see the sniper shift ever so slightly, shoulder hunching.

He’s taking his shot.

He sent the warning simultaneously as the gun went off. The sniper rolled to his left, came up on his knee, rifle to his shoulder for the second shot. Gator sprang, more than grateful for the physical enhancement that allowed him to smash into the sniper, driving him facedown into the mud.

The man must have sensed his presence at the last second because he tried to turn, tried to keep the rifle out of the mud. Gator drove his knife into the man’s side just as the sniper slammed the rifle stock against the side of Gator’s head. For a moment, everything faded in and out. The sniper heaved him off, but Gator caught the rifle, hanging on and kicking at the other man’s crotch.

Flame! Are you hit?
He felt frantic, needing reassurance, needing to hear she was alive and well even as he was fighting for his own life. The sniper fought savagely, fear and anger lending him strength as they struggled for possession of the gun. Answer me.

“I’m here,” Flame called out to him as she pushed up out of the muck. The wet ground sucked at her, tried to hold her in place and her leg was throbbing and painful as she tried to stand. Gator had jerked the rifle from the sniper’s hands and it went flying away from them. Both men pulled knives and began to circle.

She dragged herself out of the mud, willing her leg to work when it buckled under her. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered but that she get to the gun. Gator leapt back avoiding the slice of the sniper’s knife by a hair’s breadth, feinted with his right hand, and moved in, going for the kill with his left hand. Flame launched herself into the air, landing hard beside the gun, going down as her leg collapsed under her, but she wrapped her fist around the rifle and brought it to her shoulder. The sniper was already stumbling backward, Gator’s knife in his heart. He toppled over slowly, landing face-up in the rain, eyes wide open, shock on his face.

Gator turned and looked at her. Her gaze clung to his. She looked worn. Beat up. Shocked. Both heard the approach of a four-wheel-drive vehicle, but they didn’t look away from each other. Gator walked over to her and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled, lacking her normal fluid grace and he caught her arms, steadying her, then reached out to wipe the mud from her hair. Streaks of brown and red ran down her pale face as the rain tried to wash her clean.

“Did you plan this?” Her voice was low, barely discernible, but her gaze remained locked with his. Steady. Demanding. There was pain there. Sorrow. Betrayal. All of it mixed together and it tore him up inside that she could think he might have been part of killing Burrell. Her body shook almost uncontrollably despite the heat and warmth of the rain.

Gator sucked in his breath, his fingers curling into two tight fists. “What the hell are you accusing me of doing?”

She shook her head. “I’m asking. Tell me the truth. I need the truth.” Her arms swept out in a semicircle to encompass the swamp. “Did you do this? Set it up?”

The SUV screeched to a halt and Wyatt and Ian jumped out, looked around at the dead men, then to the couple, but they didn’t approach them. Something in the way Gator and Flame stood so close, one body protective, the other fragile, yet both seemingly combative, warned the two men off.

“Damn it, Flame. Are you asking me if I killed Burrell?
Grand-mere’s
friend? My friend? What possible motive could I have?” Gator demanded.

“A field exercise to see if we worked well together. If we did what we were created by Whitney to do. We did, you know. We just performed a perfect combat mission.”

“Get the hell out of here. Go with Wyatt and stay with Nonny until I can get home.” He raked a hand through his hair. “That’s a hell of a thing to accuse me of, Flame, when I just saved your life. You have a real knack for getting under my skin.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Or what? You’re going to shove a knife down my throat? You can’t be here when they come to clean up. I’ve got to take the heat for this. I’m not about to stand here defending myself to you.” He took a step closer, gripping her upper arms before he could stop himself from giving her a little shake. “You’re being completely unreasonable and illogical…“ His voice trailed off. Was she? Could he say with certainty that someone hadn’t set them up to test their skills? The sniper had had exceptional skills.

He dropped his arms, suddenly wary, gaze working the area. “Damn it, now you have me thinking conspiracy theories.”

“At least you’re thinking. I can’t stay with your grandmother. Don’t argue with me, I just can’t. I’ll find somewhere, a motel, a room, it doesn’t matter. I’m not being difficult, I need—space. Downtime. You know what I mean.”

He did. It didn’t sit well with him, but he knew exactly what she meant. “I have a cabin out in the bayou. It’s far away from everyone. I’ll have Wyatt take you there.” She turned away from him but Gator caught her arm. “I expect you to be there.”

“I hear you. It isn’t like I have too many places to go.”

“I didn’t. Set this up I mean. There was no field exercise that I know of. I have no idea who these men are or who sent them, but I’ll find out. I didn’t do this, Flame.”

“Just out of curiosity, who’d you call for help with the cleanup? I’ll bet it wasn’t the local authorities. You called Whitney, didn’t you?”

He almost wished she sounded angry. Instead, she sounded weary, exhausted, defeated even. “Not Whitney. Lily.”

She shrugged. “It’s the same thing, Raoul. If you’re talking to one, you’re talking to the other, you just can’t admit that to yourself.”

He reached out to brush mud from her face, his touch gentle, tender even. Flame stepped back, pushing at his arm, her gaze jumping to first Wyatt and then Ian. “Don’t.” Her whisper barely reached his ears. “You can’t be nice to me right now. I wouldn’t survive it.” Her voice broke and she turned her face away from him.

Pain knifed through his heart. She looked broken, so fragile every protective instinct he possessed rose up to overwhelm him. He needed to hold her, to comfort her. “Flame.” He drew her to him, uncaring of her mud-soaked clothes or her brittle resistance. “I want to go with you, but I can’t. We can’t just leave a bunch of dead bodies out here.” She trembled and he pulled her even closer, trying in vain to warm her body. Not even the heat and humidity of the bayou seemed enough to drive away the icy coolness of her skin.

“Why? They left Burrell to the alligators.” Her voice broke and she ducked her head, resting her brow against his chest.

Gator wrapped his arms around her, uncaring that Wyatt glanced at his watch and then up toward the sky. The helicopter would be arriving momentarily and somebody would be demanding answers to questions. All that really mattered at that moment to Gator was comforting her. “I’m sorry,
bebe. Je vais faire ce droit. Je jure que je ferai ce droit.”

She lifted her head to study his face. “You can’t make it right, Raoul. You can’t bring Burrell back. Nothing can make this right.”

He brushed his lips over her eyebrow, a soft caress meant to comfort. “
Je suis desolé, le miel.
I wish I could make this right. Please go with Wyatt.”

His voice was a drawling sexy tenderness that nearly was her undoing. She blinked up at him, aware of her wet clothes, of the fact that she smelled like the swamp, that she was covered in mud, but most of all that tears shimmered in her eyes. She looked away from him, not knowing what to do or say. She needed desperately to be alone.

His hands covered hers. “You were wearing gloves. Good girl. Ian’s retrieving the knives and we’ll lose them somewhere in the bayou a great distance from here. I don’t want them traced back to you. He’s replacing all sign of your being here with that of his own. These men killed Burrell, we chased them and fought.”

She shook her head. “Forensic people are too good for that.”

“Not if they want to believe what they see. Our people aren’t going to let the locals in on this. I’ll say I wrecked the bike kicking the hell out of the driver. I did kill the sniper and the others are guilty of killing Burrell. I just want your name kept out of it. It’s safer for you.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Don’t ask me that. I don’t know the answer. Just get out of here and go with my brother.” He tipped her head back and brushed her lips with his. He didn’t care that they were both covered in grime. “Don’t make me come looking for you tonight, Flame.”

“Come with me.” Wyatt jerked his thumb toward the swamp. “We don’t want to leave any tracks they can’t cover. You’ve got my Jeep stashed somewhere. We can take that.”

“What about my bike?” She wasn’t certain her leg would stand up to a run through the swamp, but the SUV would be sighted from the air. Ian would say he had driven it to the scene when Gator called him. “If they check it…”

“I stole it, remember?” Gator said. “Don’t worry, I noticed it isn’t registered to Iris Johnson. No one is going to make the connection, Flame.”

“Lily will. Whitney will.”

“Get out of here.” He wasn’t going to argue with her anymore. Hell, she was sounding more and more like she was making sense. He frowned as he watched Wyatt and Flame start into the swamp. She was running, but she seemed to be limping. He almost called her back but Ian cleared his throat.

“This guy burned off his fingerprints. No ID on him at all, Gator. What the hell is going on here?”

Gator let out his breath. What was going on? Was it possible Flame was right and Whitney was still alive? No one had seen the body. Only Lily claimed he was dead. Would she lie to protect her father?

When he was certain Flame was out of earshot, Gator turned to Ian. “There may be something to Flame’s suspicions. I couldn’t even hear him breathe, Ian. You know I can hear just about anything.”

“You think he was one of us? One of the other team?” Ian asked.

Gator shrugged. “I have no idea. Is there the slightest chance Peter Whitney is still alive?”

Ian swallowed his first instinctive answer and thought about it. “How the hell would I know? There was no body. He disappeared and Lily told Rye she connected with him as he was being murdered. I suppose it’s possible.”

“Do you think Lily would help him disappear?”

Ian scratched his head. “No. No way. She’s torn up over the things he did. If he’s alive, she doesn’t know it.”

Gator frowned. “Lily’s psychic, Ian. How could he fool her? She ‘saw’ his death.”

Ian shrugged his massive shoulders. “Whitney was on the cutting edge of experimentation. No one knew more about psychic enhancement than he did. He experimented on children, on us and on at least one other team we know of. What’s to say he didn’t do a few experiments on himself?”

“Why? Why would he just disappear?”

“Higgens wanted him dead. The service was bound to be closing in on him. Most of his experiments were illegal. Even his money wasn’t going to keep him out of harm’s way. What better way to get out of it than to ‘die’? He had more money than he knew what to do with. It wouldn’t have been that difficult to bleed off a few million to a secret account and establish another residence and lab outside the States.”

“Flame thinks he’s alive. She even thinks this might have been some kind of field operation to see how we work together.”

Ian’s eyebrow shot up.

Gator nodded his head. “Flame, Iris, has this idea that Peter Whitney is alive and directing everything from be hind the scenes. I thought she was crazy at first, but now little things are bothering me. For one, I’m so damned attracted to her I can’t think straight. It isn’t just lust or emotional, it’s a powerful combination of both and it borders on obsession. When I’m with her, I would do almost anything to have her, and I feel like killing any man who comes near her. That isn’t me, Ian, and I don’t trust it. She doesn’t trust it. She feels the same way and she thinks Whitney managed to pair us somehow.”

“That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think? How could he do something like that?” Ian stepped away from Gator, putting a small distance between them in an unconscious effort to deny what he was saying.

“Is it? I’m acting out of character. Even more, out of training. I knew she was dangerous, but led her straight back to my house. To my family. Wyatt and Nonny. To you. Why would I do that when every instinct I possess would lead me to do just the opposite? I make illogical decisions around her. Why? Because I have to see her. The need is as strong as any drug. Look at Ryland and Lily and Nico and Dahlia, It’s the same with them. And if that isn’t enough our psychic gifts complement each other. My psychic talent matches hers. I can even amplify her. As a weapon, the two of us are probably unstoppable in an environment where we could destroy a large number of targets with no risk to civilians. Flame thinks Whitney did that on purpose and now he’s sitting back testing us.”