Night Game

CHAPTER 13

Flame sat in the mud with her back against the tree, breathing through the pain shooting down her arm. “Rat bastard alligator. I don’t care if you were just looking for a meal. I should have made a purse out of you.” She glanced down at her muddy boots. “And shoes. Real alligator leather shoes too.”

Her arm hurt like a son of a bitch, but that wasn’t the reason tears burned behind her eyes and her throat felt clogged. She was leaving New Orleans and Raoul Fontenot. It wasn’t safe for her to stay. She wouldn’t be able to find poor Joy Chiasson or avenge Burrell’s murder. And there would be no making love to Raoul Fontenot. She closed her eyes briefly, regret pouring through her. She’d never wanted a man the way she wanted him. Just the simple sound of his Cajun drawl made her body hot. She even liked his swearing.

Flame groaned. She was a lost cause. Raoul was a dream, a life out of her reach and she wasn’t going to die for something she knew she couldn’t have. Whitney was too close. She could smell him. He had locked on to her presence and he was sending in the troops to retrieve her.

Raoul had never been her enemy and he would try to protect her. After spending time with him she felt she could only do the right thing for both of them. As long as she was around he would be torn between the people he loved and her. He believed in the GhostWalkers – and maybe he even had reason to-but she would never be comfortable with them.

Gator wanted and deserved a home and family, a woman to take home to his grandmother, one who would produce babies he could put in her arms. That woman could never be Flame. If she stayed he would need to defend her and no matter what his dreams of family, he would never leave her. That was the kind of man he was. Flame gritted her teeth and forced herself into a standing position, holding on to a tree trunk to steady herself. Waves of dizziness washed over her. She fought back the feeling and looked around her, trying to get her bearings and pick the safest way back to the frontage road. She couldn’t get in Raoul’s path. He was bound to use low frequency sound waves and they would affect her in the same way they would their enemies.

“You can do anything for a short period of time. Control. Discipline. Patience.” How many times as a child had she recited the same familiar mantra when Whitney had made her so ill? How many times had she knelt on the cold bathroom floor near the toilet, rocking back and forth to ease the nausea brought on by the chemotherapy treatments?

She’d slept on the bathroom floor, a thick blanket under her with Dahlia and Tansy pressed tight against her on either side. She hadn’t thought of those days in years, hadn’t allowed herself to think about the other girls. It hurt to remember them. Their voices and laughter. The sound of their sobbing when the pain of working with their psychic talents became too much.

Tansy had brushed her hair for her when they were allowed to be together and when it all fell out, she’d cried with Flame. Who else had been there? Dahlia. She’d been fairly good friends with Dahlia, the other “bad” girl. And Lily. Flame sucked in her breath sharply. She remembered laying her head in Lily’s lap while she stroked Flame’s bald head, rocking gently and whispering that everything would be all right.

Back then, she’d believed Lily. And maybe that was why her betrayal went so deep. Flame worked for months on her first escape plan, hoarding the secret closely, confiding in no one. Until that one moment of weakness. She’d been up all night retching from the aftereffects of chemotherapy, helplessly weeping over the loss of her hair, and the other girls had sat with her, holding her hands, washing her face, and sharing her tears. Stupidly, foolishly Flame had confided in the other girls. Lily protested vigorously, claiming she feared Flame would die without treatment-but Flame didn’t care. She’d figured Whitney was going to kill her anyway.

Lily hadn’t allowed Flame that freedom. She’d gone to her father and told him of Flame’s plan. Whitney’s men were waiting for her when she escaped. She’d been punished, kept locked up for weeks without seeing the other girls. She’d been so sick and Whitney forced her to take the medicine, even giving her shots while strong men held her down. Lily had crept in once to admit what she’d done and whisper she was sorry, but Flame turned her face away and never spoke another word to her.

Pain shot through her head momentarily taking away the pain in her arm. It robbed her of breath and she bent over, dragging air into her lungs to keep from fainting. It was odd, but she always associated pain with her memories of the other girls. She tried never to think of them, not as children, not when they were with her.

Flash wiped her mind blank, pretending it was a chalkboard and she could just simply erase all thoughts. She wouldn’t think of her past. She wouldn’t think of Raoul and her bleak future, and she wouldn’t feel the broken bones in her arm or the raw flesh where the alligator had taken hold of her. She would concentrate only on walking.

The rain seemed endless, as if the storm had stalled right over the island. She was soaked and muddy, blood running down her arm, hair plastered to her face. She stumbled again and stopped, the jarring pain making her sick. She looked around carefully, frowning as she did so, all senses going on alert.

All she really wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. The kick came out from behind a tree, slamming into her hard, driving her back and down so that she landed on her butt, cradling her arm protectively. She actually saw white stars as she fought to keep from fainting. When she could control the pain she forced her head up to look at her assailant. A man dressed in military- issue camouflage clothes stood over her pointing his rifle at her face.

She started to laugh, the sound slightly hysterical. “You know, this hurts like a son of a bitch. You’d be doing me a favor. Go ahead and shoot.”

“Get up.” He glanced right and left and then reached down, grasping her good arm and yanking her to her feet.

She went boneless, turning into a helpless rag doll. The barrel of his rifle dipped low as he used his strength to drag the dead weight of her body up. Blood dripped steadily down her useless arm and hit the reeds with small splatters. She concentrated on the pattern of the drops, focusing to keep from feeling the pain pumping through her, making her sick as he jarred her broken bones. The moment her feet were under her, she lashed out, kicking the rifle from his hands with enough force to send it spinning into the water.

He swore at her, circling a safe distance from her feet. “You’re losing a lot of blood. Eventually you’re going to go down and then I’ll just drag your ass through the swamp.”

“You can’t wait. They’re hunting you and this time there’s a pack after you. You don’t stand a chance and you know it.” She reached back between her shoulder blades and slid a knife out. The hilt was familiar and oddly comforting in her palm.

“I think I have more time than you do. You’re going to pass out.”

She drew in air, slow and even, watching him, turning in a slow circle to stay facing him, using the minimum amount of energy. “Men always underestimate women.” She watched the middle of his chest, able to see arms and legs, his entire body as he continued his slow stalking cir de. “You shouldn’t have come after me. You can walk away from this right now. Whitney will never know. If you don’t, I’ll have to kill you.”

He spat on the ground. “So you’re a tough chick.”

“Oh, you have no idea how tough.”

He moved with blurring speed, kicking out at her bro ken arm in an attempt to quickly end the standoff.

She stepped aside, just barely, just enough to allow the booted foot to miss her by a hair’s breadth. As she stepped she slashed his calf with the knife, slicing through his heavy clothes to cut deep.

“You bitch!”

“That was me being nice,” she contradicted.

He rushed her, fists clenched, the promise of death in his eyes.

She stood her ground, let him come, the knife held low and close to her body. She knew he expected her to try to bring it up when he was in close, but he was far too big and she was in bad shape. She didn’t dare let him get his hands on her. When he was two feet from her, she threw the blade straight and hard, using every bit of enhancement Whitney had given her. She stood unmoving when he clutched at the knife, blood bubbling around the shaft, a shocked look on his face. His legs crumpled and he went down hard, face in the muck.

“That was me being a bitch,” she said. She swayed, wanting to retrieve the knife, but knowing she didn’t have the strength to turn him over and pull it out of his chest.

She had to get off the island before Raoul found her gone. She couldn’t go into the hospital. She’d thrown Whitney’s name out to the hunter and he hadn’t even flinched, hadn’t questioned her. He knew Whitney and he definitely was part of the doctor’s experiments. “I’m sorry, Raoul,” she whispered. “But I’m never going back there. Never. Not even for you.”

She began walking toward the small strip of land that connected to the frontage road. If she could find one of the bayou people, someone older, someone maybe versed in treating injuries, she’d hole up there until she could make it out of New Orleans. It was a temptation to go to her airboat. She had everything she needed on it, but if anyone was watching, or it was rigged to blow, she wouldn’t have the strength-or time-to find out. She’d have to rely on the bayou courtesy to help her escape.

Most of Burrell’s friends knew her and they would treat her injuries and give her a place to stay, but unfortunately Raoul was part of their community-she doubted if they would hide her presence from his grandmother or him. She would have to find a way to keep the gossip from getting out until she could leave.

Light-headed, she stumbled over several rocks and plants before finding the small narrow trail leading to the strip of land. She’d lost too much blood. Flame recognized the signs. She had to hurry to get onto the road where someone might stop for her before Raoul came out of the marshland.

She threw up twice as she made her way toward the frontage road. She just kept moving, one foot in front of the other until she was on the road. She walked toward the bridge, swaying, making a great effort to keep her feet under her and praying for a car to come by.

It wasn’t a beat-up old pickup truck, or one of the older cars that passed her, but a shiny new town car complete with a chauffeur. The black car slammed on its brakes and backed up until it was beside her. The driver’s door burst open simultaneously with the passenger’s door. James Parsons and his driver both rushed to her side. James caught her good arm to steady her and the driver circled her waist to keep her from falling.

“Let me help you into the car,” the driver said. “I’m Carl. Carl Raines, Mr. Parsons’s chauffeur. You remember me. My God. What happened to you?”

Flame heard his voice as if in the distance trying to soothe her. She shook her head. She couldn’t go to the hospital. There was no way she could protect herself if they took her there. She was too weak to stop the two men from putting her in the car. James Parsons slid in be side her and slammed the door closed.

Out of energy and unable to turn her head, Flame just stared at the closed door. All around her was rich leather and mahogany. She slipped farther down on the seat unable to hold herself upright. Her line of sight was below the seat. It took a moment or two before she noticed small details. Leather ties anchored to the seat. The scratches in the leather. There were three of them, one deep and two much more shallow. Her hand fell heavily to the floor between the seat and the door. Her eyes followed. There was a small distinct earring, one she was certain she’d seen before. It was a gold hoop with silver footprints on it. The same earrings Joy Chiasson wore in the picture her mother had given Flame. She’d told Flame all about giving the earrings to her daughter.

Flame managed to bring her head up, her movements slow and uncoordinated. Across the leather seat her eyes met James Parsons’s. He was smiling. She became aware of the musty scent of sex. Both James and the driver wore evening clothes, as if they were returning from a party.

She smiled back, sliding deeper into the seat. Her gaze shifted around the car, taking in the neat bar and the plasma screen. The player was tiny, a mini DVD player. Beside it was a disc much like a CD but smaller. “Thanks for helping me.” Her gaze drifted toward the front. A small red eye blinked back at her.

“James, get her something to drink.”

The order came from the driver and there was a distinct command to the voice. James reddened as he leaned forward to pour amber liquid over ice in a small Waterford tumbler. “I know what to do,” James snapped under his breath. He thrust the glass into her hand. “Drink this.”

Flame swirled the liquid over the ice. She’d bet her last dollar that the drink was doped. “I’m dripping blood all over your seat. Do you have a towel?” No matter how hard she reached for her voice, it wasn’t there. She sounded thin and reedy.

James’s smile stretched wider, but didn’t reach his eyes. His expression remained flat and cold and empty.

Flame glanced away from him to the front where the driver sat. His eyes stared back at her from the rearview mirror. Not cold. Not flat. Not even empty. There was cruelty there-worse-evil. And there was a carnal lust she’d never encountered. Not normal, not even kinky. Just raw depravity.

James leaned into her, pushing the drink toward her mouth. Still staring into her eyes, he yanked at the front of her plaid shirt, ripping it away to expose her bare breasts.

She threw the contents of the drink in his face, followed the liquid up with a hard slam of the Waterford crystal tumbler to the side of his head. “Back off you slime bucket.” She tried the door, found it locked and slammed the tumbler against James’s head a second time when he lunged at her. “I’m not sweet little drugged Joy, am I?”

She might not be drugged and she might not be Joy, but she was definitely going to get sick again. The bones in her arm grated together, this time taking her breath away.

“What the hell!” Carl exclaimed.

Flame glanced at him and her eyes widened as she saw the GhostWalkers materializing out of the gray rain.

They stood in a line across the frontage road, semiautomatic rifles to their shoulders, muddy, wet, barely discernible in the driving rain. Behind them, a helicopter set down making it impossible to get past them. Carl slammed on the brakes instantly.

He shoved open his door. “I’ve got a woman hurt here. I’m trying to get her to the hospital.”

Gator and Kadan split off from their group, walking up from either side of the car, the rifles rock steady. “Where is she?” Gator asked.

“In the back,” the driver said. “She’s bleeding all over the place.”

“Did you call an ambulance to meet you?” Kadan asked. “Unlock the back door,” he added when Gator stepped back as if he might drive the butt of his gun through the window.

“I just picked her up. I was calling when I saw you.”

“We’ll take her from here. We’ll airlift her to the hospital.” Kadan never once lowered the barrel of his rifle.

Gator yanked open the door and stared at Flame. She was covered in blood and mud. Her shirt was torn open, her breasts exposed. She was so pale he thought she might have already bled out. “God, baby,” he whispered.

She turned her head, the movement obviously painful. “I’m okay. You ought to see the other guy.”

“I did.” He reached in and drew her out to him, careful of her broken arm. It was only when he was settling her against him that he realized the man in the backseat was James Parsons and his face was split open above his eye. Flame still clutched the bloodied crystal tumbler in her hand. “You son of a bitch. What did you do?”

‘Nothing.” James put his hands up. “I swear. She was hysterical. Her clothes were ripped, she was bleeding. We it her in the car and were taking her to the nearest hospital. I tried to get her something to drink, but she went crazy on me.”

“The thing is, James,” Gator said, “I know where you live.” He kicked the door closed and carried Flame to the helicopter.

Kadan stayed at his back, rifle trained on the driver of the car. The other GhostWalkers were motionless until Gator was safely in the helicopter and then they folowed, one by one, rifles still trained on the black town car’s occupants.

Gator covered Flame with a blanket, his throat tight, his heart squeezed hard in his chest. “I’m really pissed at you cher. You should have stayed where I put you.”

Her hand twisted weakly in his shirt. “Whitney will come after me in the hospital, Raoul. I won’t be able to protect myself. Swear to me you won’t let him take me. Swear it.”

He looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Beads of sweat formed on her face under the mud. There was still strength in the hand gripping his shirt. Gator leaned close, pressed his lips against her ear. “You have my word, Flame. I swear it.”

Her fist relaxed slowly and she turned her head into his chest, giving up the fight against unconsciousness.

Flame smelled the stench of the hospital first. She could hear the murmur of the nurses talking. Someone leaned over her and adjusted the IV in her arm. Fear choked her and she tried to struggle awake. She heard groaning and again there was a soft murmur, this time a man’s voice soothing her. She wanted to open her eyes, but the command between her brain and her eyes didn’t seem to be working.

“Flame? Can you hear me, cher? They operated on your arm, set it, and are pumping you full of antibiotics. Everything looks good.” That was definitely Raoul’s drawling voice. “You’re in the recovery room.” He leaned closer. “You were never alone. We were in the operating room with you.”

“She won’t remember anything you say,” the nurse advised, “but it’s good to talk to her. It will help bring her out from under the anesthesia.”

Flame felt his hands on her and a part of her relaxed. Raoul was there with her, just as he promised. “You sure she won’t remember?” he asked.

The nurse must have shaken her head because Raoul leaned closer to her and pressed a kiss against her ear. “Can you hear me?”

Flame nodded her head.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Flame stayed very still. She almost held her breath as his soft drawling voice went straight to her heart. It wasn’t commanding, or cajoling, it was a voice filled with fear and wonder.

“You sure she won’t remember anything I say?” Gator raised his voice again.

“They never do.”

She waited, her heart beating hard in anticipation. She felt the warmth of his breath against her ear. His lips touched her. “You scared the hell out of me, cher. If you ever do something like this again, I’m goin’ to turn you over my knee and beat your pretty little ass until you can’t sit down and you beg me for mercy.”

Laughter bubbled up out of nowhere. She was smiling as she succumbed to the drugs in her body.

The second time she woke she knew she was in a hospital room. There was that same choking fear, amounting almost to terror. She smelled Whitney, his drugs and his experiments. They were all around her. She wanted out. She needed to be out.

“Raoul?” She whispered his name. Her guardian angel. He’d slipped past her guard somehow and she’d let him in. When had she gone from thinking him her enemy to believing in him so strongly?

“It’s all right, you’re safe.” That was definitely Raoul. She tried to pry her eyes open. She frowned. Nothing made sense. She could swear the male nurse was Wyatt. She seemed to be drifting so maybe she was caught in a dream.

The nurse leaned over her talking overloud. “Did you say Wyatt? Cuz you can’t be whispering my name with my brother in the room.”

There was no doubt in her mind that the voice was Wyatt’s. She focused on him. “What are you doing dressed like a nurse?” Maybe she really was dreaming. He was in green scrubs.

He winked at her, reminding her all too much of Raoul. His dark curls fell into the middle of his forehead. “I’m undercover.”

“Well you look ridiculous.”

“I look fetchin’. I’ve got Gator all hot and bothered worrying you’re goin’ wake up and fall in love with me.”

“You look ridiculous,” she repeated.

“All my patients think I’m cute,” he argued.

Gator snickered. “You don’t have any other patients.”

Flame kept her focus on Wyatt. Nothing made any sense. “You’re giving me a headache. What exactly is your job?”

“I’m guardin’ you, babe.”

Flame turned away from him to find herself looking into Gator’s eyes. He was sitting beside her, both hands holding hers, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her skin in a long caress. His eyes were shadowed and dark. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever do it again.” He stroked back strands of hair from her face. “I mean it, cher, never do that to me again.”

“Take me out of here, Raoul. Anywhere else. The cabin. Take me out of here.”

“Don’ be breakin’ my heart, Flame. You need more antibiotics. And they’re giving you strong painkillers. Believe me, cher, you need them. The team is here and we’re covering you. No one’s goin’ to be takin’ you away from me. Go back to sleep now.”

She tried to be reassured, but the idea of Whitney finding her was terrifying. “He’ll know I’m here. The computers…”

“Have been taken care of. Go to sleep and let me handle this. You’re a ghost, honey, just like the rest of us.”

She dreamt of the other girls. Young girls rocking back and forth in pain. Girls laughing together, stolen moments of happiness. She dreamt of a room with no windows and no comfort and being so alone. She dreamt of betrayal- and Lily.

It was dark the next time she opened her eyes. She looked around the room. A small woman with dark hair was adjusting the IV. “I don’t like the look of all the bruises, Ryland. I should be getting the blood tests back soon. She looks so worn down.”

A man moved into her view, his fingers going to the nape of the other woman’s neck. “She’ll be okay. Gator isn’t going to let anything happen to her, Lily.”

Flame’s breath caught in her throat. Her gaze darted around the room until she found him. He was sitting close to the bed, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He looked tired, and his five o’clock shadow was getting unruly. “I don’t like you being here, Lily. You shouldn’t have come.”

Ryland turned at the edge in Gator’s voice. “There’s no need to talk like that. Lily had to come. Flame is her sister, just as Dahlia and the other girls are. Of course she had to come.”

“Flame doesn’t trust her.”

“She has no reason not to trust her,” Ryland snapped.

“Shh,” Lily cautioned. “Don’t wake her. And she does have reason not to trust me.” She moved closer to the side of the bed to touch Flame’s arm. “She was going through chemotherapy and she planned to escape. I told him. She would have died without treatment.”

Flame opened her eyes to stare up at her, wondering why she was all grown up instead of Lily the child. “I wanted to die. I wanted to get away from him that much.”

Lily drew in her breath. Her gaze met Flame’s. “I knew you wanted to die, but I couldn’t let you. You were my family. I loved you, Flame. I know you felt it was a betrayal to tell him, but I had to save your life.”

Flame closed her eyes. “I can’t remember those days. They’re too painful and I’ve wiped them from my memory.”

“No, Flame. You didn’t. He did. He didn’t want us to be close. He didn’t want us to have memories of one another. That’s why it hurts to look at our pasts or try to remember one another. It’s why we don’t. He even took that away from us.” There was a sob in Lily’s voice. “I didn’t realize until I tried to remember why you never liked me. I knew there was something between us, but I couldn’t remember. It hurt to remember.”

“I’m not going back.” Flame sounded tired even to her own ears. Maybe she really was dreaming, otherwise she’d be telling Lily what she really thought of her. “How could you side with him when you knew what he was doing to us? Did you tell him I was here?”

“He’s dead, Flame,” Lily assured in her most soothing voice. “You’re perfectly safe now.”

Flame turned her head away from Lily to find Raoul. He was her only hope, even if she was caught in a dream. “He’s not dead,” she whispered.

Raoul caught her hand and held it to him. “I know, baby. I know. Everything’s in place. He can’t get to you.”

“You can’t possibly think Peter Whitney is alive, Gator,” Lily gasped. She threw out her hand to Ryland, who immediately took it. “He’s dead. I felt him die. I saw it. even though I wasn’t there. He disappeared, no one has found a trace of him.”

“I don’t think he is dead, Lily,” Gator said. “I’m sorry, I would have told you differently, but something’s not right. The men who attacked us are trained, just as we are. They’re all enhanced both genetically as well as psychically. I think Whitney has a private army and we either got in his way when he was trying to reacquire Flame, or he was running a little field operation to see how his boys stacked up against us.”

Pressing a hand protectively to her stomach, Lily felt behind her for a chair. “This can’t be happening. I feel like he’s taken everything from me. Everything.”

She had to be dreaming, Flame decided. Lily wept so quietly, so hopelessly it nearly broke Flame’s heart. And she didn’t feel for Lily. She would never trust her again, never be her friend, never call her sister. But if she didn’t stop crying, Flame was going to have to find a way to drag her butt out of bed and comfort her. “Men are so freakin’ useless,” she muttered.

“I’m pregnant, Ryland. It’s too late to stop trying. I’m already pregnant. What if he is alive? This is a nightmare.”

Ryland crouched beside his wife’s chair. “Listen to me, honey. This doesn’t change anything. We have a mission. We’re going to find the other girls and protect them. We’ll find them.”

“But what if this is all about the next generation? What if…” She trailed off, weeping again, this time into her hands.

Flame felt the choking terror rise. ‘Whitney was just monster enough to have created such an experiment. It would explain why she was so attracted to Raoul. Why he was in her thoughts every moment, why she dreamt about him at night. Why her body burned for his. She couldn’t have children, since the treatments had left her sterile, but all the others would have to be protected.

“Raoul?” She slipped her hand under her pillow, needing to feel as if she could defend herself. Her fingers found the smooth edge of the hilt of her knife encased in a leather sheath. She looked at him and smiled, some of the tension leaving her body. “Thanks.” She looked through the open doorway of her room and saw a man mopping the floor. He looked familiar. She was certain it was Ian, Raoul’s friend, but why would he be a janitor in the hospital? She had to be dreaming.

Gator eased his body onto the bed, stretching out be side her, careful of her broken arm as he wrapped his arm around her waist. “You’re welcome. I like you with knives.”

“You’re such a perv.” She snuggled closer to him, already drifting, uncaring anymore if she was dreaming or if Lily was real. She only cared about the warmth of Raoul’s arms.

The sound of whistling woke her. It was off-key and hurting her ears. She opened one eye cautiously. Raoul was asleep beside her; although how he could sleep through the noise she didn’t know. It was morning and there was no Lily or Ryland in the room.

“Wyatt, what are you doing now?” Raoul asked, his voice grumpy. “You’re hurting my ears.”

“I was warning you. We’ve got company coming. You don’t want everyone seein’ you lookin’ like a jack ass, do you?”

“I look like a jackass?” Raoul sat up slowly, careful not to jar Flame.

“You’re besotted. Whipped. Had. You can’t leave the woman alone even after she’s had surgery.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Grand-mere.” Wyatt straightened his scrubs. “She went shoppin’ for Flame, got her all kinds of clothes. And Kadan went over the airboat, retrieved the duffel bag and put it in the cabin. Everything’s locked down the way you asked. Are we movin’ her tonight?”

“I am awake,” Flame declared. “Someone could ask me. And I have to go to the bathroom before your grand mother comes in. Does someone have a toothbrush?”

“I’ll help you,” Gator said.

“I’m her nurse,” Wyatt said. “There’s no need for you to be doin’ my job.”

“Go away, Wyatt,” Flame said. “I have to ask your brother something and I may have to shove a knife through his heart when he answers me. I don’t want any witnesses.”

“You take all the fun out of my job,” Wyatt said and winked at his brother as he went out.

Flame sat up slowly, feeling a little dizzy. “They’re giving me pain medicine, aren’t they? You have to stop them. I have to be able to function.”

Gator slipped his arm around her. “Just sit for a minute on the side of the bed.”

“Was Lily here last night? Lily Whitney?” She turned her head and looked him directly in the eyes.

Gator glanced down at her hand, making certain she didn’t have the knife and wasn’t about to pull it out from under the pillow. “I couldn’t keep her away. She wanted to see you and Ryland brought her. I told her how you felt, but she came anyway.”

“Was it necessary to tell her I was here in the first place? Couldn’t you have waited?”

“Ryland is my commanding officer as well as my friend. I was using Lily’s private equipment and he asked Kadan what the hell was going on. I wasn’t going to put Kadan in the position of having to lie for me. We told the truth, but we took precautions. You were never, at any time alone. I was in the operating and the recovery rooms. The others guarded the doors. Once you were moved to a private room, we took over all care. And you aren’t in their computers.”

“She took my blood.”

She’s worried the cancer has returned.” He hesitated. “So am I, Flame.”

“You should have just asked me. Of course it came back. It was meant to come back, remember?” She slid the bed, trying to wrap the flimsy hospital gown closer around her. “Don’t look. I may be weak, but I can still kick your ass. This is humiliating and I’m already irritated with you. She had no right to come into my room when I was so out of it.”

He was still reeling from her casual affirmative answer the cancer question as he watched her walk to the bathroom. “Flame.” He couldn’t quite catch his breath.

She paused by the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything important here.”

“We are going to talk about this.”

“I love it when you get all alpha male on me, Raoul.” She flashed a smile at him. “A lesser woman might be intimidated.” She disappeared into the small room, closing the door behind her. “Did you beat that nasty little weasel James Parsons into a bloody pulp for me?”

“Not yet. but he’s on the list. What the hell was going on in that car?” Gator looked down at his hands. He wanted to smash something. James Parsons would do.

“I think he was trying to drug me, as if I wasn’t already a mess, but it’s all a little hazy.”

“You smashed his head in with a glass.” Gator leapt off the bed as his grandmother entered the room.

“Did I? Good.” Flame’s voice purred with satisfaction. “He’s such a slimy little bastard.” She opened the door and came waltzing out, at least until she caught sight of Nonny. Color washed immediately through her face. “Nonny. I didn’t know you were here.” She sent Gator an I’m-going-to-strangle-you-with-my-bare-hands look before flashing a tentative smile. “Sorry about the language.”

“No bother. I raised me four boys and I’ve heard it all. Which slimy bastard were you talking about?”