Night Game

CHAPTER 4

The sun sank deep in the bayou, raining fire and pouring gold into the dark waters. Several great blue herons silhouetted against the horizon appeared like enormous stick figures cut from black paper as they crept slowly through the shallower edges of the canal. Long ropes of moss dangled from cypress trees and swept the water creating a red and gold jungle of feathery arms dipping into the shimmering surface. With humidity so high, even the night creatures moved slowly and easily. Snakes plopped into the water from the low-slung branches and snapping turtles slid much more silently into the murky depths.

The cloying perfume of gardenia and jasmine hung heavy in the air adding to the oppressive heat. A small expanse of grass and several stumps of trees covered a small area between a large cabin and the rickety pier. One alligator stretched along the pier, much like a guard dog, eyes half closed, mouth wide open exposing sharp teeth, watching the boats chugging toward the cabin with lazy disinterest. Two other alligators snoozed on the grass in between the stumps and flowers quite close to the stairs leading to the porch. Neither looked up as several noisy people tied off pirogues and small fishing boats and clambered along the pier. The crowd made wide berths around the guard alligator with small salutes. Friday nights brought the boisterous throng and the loud, up beat music.

“Laissez le bon temps rouler!” Wyatt grinned at his oldest brother, and pointed to the ice chest in their boat as he shoved the long pole along the bottom of the canal, driving the pirogue toward the pier. “Of course, Grand-mere may never forgive you if you don’ marry that girl and raise a family with her.”

“Oui, tais toi, Wyatt,” Gator groused. “Although the idea of taking her to bed does make my heart sing.”

Wyatt toed at him good-naturedly. “And other body parts as well. She was damned fine-looking, even when she had the knife to your throat.”

“I’ve seen him in action,” Ian MacGillicuddy announced, shoving at the lid of the ice chest. “I believe her. He’s been frequenting the clubs and I’d be willing to bet he charmed her into his bed.”

Gator threw a beer cap at Ian. “You know I haven’t been here long enough to be makin’ babies, much as the idea of trying with her may be appealin’.”

“I don’ know, bro, they have these tests now that can tell practically overnight. Grand-mere has a royal bee in her bonnet now. She wants a marriage and it ain’t gonna be me.” Wyatt grinned at his brother. “And that woman, she held that knife like she knew how to use it. She’s a wildcat, that one.”

Gator’s teeth flashed. “Yeah, she’s that, all right. Made me sit up and take notice.” He hadn’t stopped thinking about her. When he’d thrown his body over hers, her skin had been the softest thing he’d ever touched. He’d wanted her with every cell in his body. The blood had surged hot and greedy through his veins, pouring into his groin so that he still ached just thinking about her. He liked women, loved women, but he didn’t lust after any particular one-not like this. He forced his smile wider. “Laissez le bon temps rouler!”

“What the hell does that mean exactly?” Ian demanded. “That and your tuto comment to your brother. I had the feeling that wasn’t very nice.”

“He told me to shut up.”

“Let the good times roll,” Gator interpreted for the big Irishman, ignoring Wyatt. “The Huracan Club is owned by Delmar Thibodeaux. And his place is always hoppin’.”

“It’s good to have you home, Gator,” Wyatt said. “You made Grand-mere happy. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a couple of years. Well, until you got that woman pregnant, but I think if you marry her, Grand- mere will forgive all.”

Unfortunately, his grandmother wouldn’t listen to him even when he pointed out he’d only been home four weeks. Technically four weeks was plenty of time for a Fontenot to get a woman pregnant. Nonny wanted her grandsons married and settled down, not wild and running free. She wanted another woman close and little babies to hold in her arms. He turned his head away from his brother and Ian, afraid his expression might give him away. He had a sudden longing for those very things- now that they might be out of his reach. Funny how he’d taken it all for granted. The home. The family. A wife and children.

“Grand-mere says twins run in the family, Gator. She’s hoping for two from you right away. You best be finding that woman and ropin’ her in fast, bro.”

“Keep talking and I’m going to pin your ears back for you,” Gator said, forcing a soft laugh as he turned back toward his brother. The sound carried in the stillness of the swamp, but the smile didn’t reach his restless eyes. He searched the bayou, noting every canal, the lay of the land, the birds in flight. Even here at home with his friend and family, he made sure nothing got by him.

Wyatt leaned on his pole a moment, studying the harsh planes and angles of his brother’s face. “You haven’t changed much. You still act as easygoing as ever, but there was no one tougher in the bayou.” He grinned at Ian. “The boys want to fight every night, but not Gator. They never wanted to get him stirred up.”

Gator grinned but kept his gaze on the people on the pier and in the boats. It was good to be home in spite of the reason for his homecoming. His last trip had been so fast, a hit-and-run through the bayou with trouble on his tail. This time, he could savor being home. The way his grandmother’s face lit up when she saw him had been worth the trip alone.

Well… until she got it in her head he needed to take responsibility for his actions. Flame had made quite the impression with her poor-innocent-woman-seduced-by- the-charming-playboy act. It didn’t help that he had a certain reputation with the ladies and his grandmother knew it. She’d always been sharp; the boys had been certain when they were growing up she had eyes in the back of her head catching their misdeeds. And now she wanted Flame brought into the family fold. He’d stopped denying he’d slept with her.

And he’d even stopped denying she might be carrying his child. What was the use? His grandmother wanted it to be true and nothing he said was going to change that fact.

“I’m about to die of thirst,” Ian said. He pressed the icy bottle of beer Wyatt snagged for him to his brow. “I’m just replacing what I been sweating out.”

Wyatt laughed at him. “You’re soft, mon ami, can’t take the heat with all that fine living you been doing.”

“Fine living?” A slow grin spread over Ian’s face. He shook back his shock of red wavy hair. “Oh, I like that, Gator. We been living fine up there in Miss Lily’s big house.” He tipped half a bottle of beer down his throat. “You’re a good man, Wyatt, but you don’t know the half of it.”

Gator snorted derisively. “Don’ let the boy fool you, Ian. Wyatt’s been up to no good. He’s been doin’ noth but partying, fighting, and getting into trouble with the ladies. Grand-mere wrote me ‘bout the hell-raising you been up to, Wyatt, and me, I’ve come home to straighten you out.”

Wyatt winked at Ian. “Oh, I don’ think I have much to worry about anymore, big brother. I think Grand-mere has a new bee under her bonnet and it isn’t me in trouble this time! I phoned the boys and let them know you were about to tie the knot with some high-stepping voodoo queen. They were pleased for you.”

“You’re enjoying the hell out of this, aren’t you, Wyatt?” Gator asked.

“Absolutely I am,” He leaned on the pole again, pushing the pirogue closer to the pier. “For once in my life, I’m not the one Grand-mere Nonny is going to slap upside the head and it feels damned good.”

“I’m sure your grandmother will understand when you get around to telling her the truth,” Ian soothed.

Both Wyatt and Gator shook their heads simultaneously. “Once Grand-mere gets a notion, she never lets up,” Wyatt explained. “Gator’s gonna have to find him self a bride, willin’ or not.”

Gator replayed the feel of Flame’s soft body against his. She was so damned soft. And her eyes… Vivid. Green. A man could drown in her eyes. Maybe he might be more willing than he thought he was. He shook his head as if that might dislodge such an idiotic thought.

She’d looked at him almost desperately there at the end, when she was under his body, his fingers squeezing her trachea, the two of them head to head, dangerous and angry with each other. “I don’t know if I can.” He listened to the words replay in his head. There had been fear and honesty mixed together. She’d sounded so damned vulnerable he ached inside. Everything protective in him had risen up and reached out to her. She had been afraid of hurting his family. She hadn’t wanted to, but she’d been afraid she might.

Damn Whitney. Damn both Whitneys. He was home looking for a lost friend. Poor little Joy. Her parents weren’t rich and it was easier for the police to believe she’d taken off to the big city rather than to launch a full-scale investigation that might cost the taxpayers money. She was his priority, not Iris “Flame” Johnson. He didn’t give a damn what Lily said. He didn’t have to bring Flame back to a place that must have been hell for her. A place that would only have bad memories and…

“What the hell!” Wyatt crouched low and gripped the sides of the pirogue as it rocked unexpectedly.

Gator glanced up quickly, saw the churning water and met Ian’s gaze over the top of his brother’s head. He drew in a long, slow breath and let it out to calm his mounting temper. Ian raised an eyebrow at him and Gator shrugged it off. He needed to find his balance and maintain it at all times. He reached out and snagged an other cold bottle of beer from the ice chest and downed a third of it, the liquid giving him a measure of coolness in the heat.

“Any news on Joy, Wyatt?” he asked, suddenly.

Wyatt sighed. “Nothing. No one seems to have heard or seen a damn thing.”

Gator glanced up sharply at his tone, noting the shadows in Wyatt’s eyes, the somber face.

“You said you were putting out feelers about the boy she was seem’, talking to some of your friends.”

“James Parsons. About twenty-four, good-looking, at least all the girls say so. His daddy hobnobs with the politicians and knows just about anyone who is anyone. Rumor is, James brought Joy home for dinner and Daddy and Mommy objected. Said she wasn’t quite good enough for their circle of friends and he could sow his wild oats, but forget about anything permanent. From what her sister told me, it was said right in front of her and James didn’t put up a word of protest.”

“What an ass,” Ian said as he exchanged a quick glance with Gator. They both knew of the elder Parsons. He was head investigator in the DEA and was presently scrutinizing a local businessman for money laundering. They also knew he had a reputation for being a first-class snob.

“Joy’s brothers expressed their opinion in much harsher terms,” Wyatt said.

“After that kind of humiliation, maybe she did want to leave,” Gator ventured. “I’ll bet she didn’t date Parsons again.”

“No, but he kept comin’ ‘round,” Wyatt said. “Her oldest brother, Rene, beat the hell out of him, but it did no good.”

“Lily said the police questioned him and he appeared to be genuinely upset over Joy’s disappearance.”

“Her brothers and uncles think he had something to do with her disappearance. I don’t. I think he’s just afraid to stand up to his daddy. I think he was working up the courage to run off with her. Joy wasn’t the runaway kind. She wasn’t ashamed of her family and she wasn’t ashamed of the bayou. She’s smart and talented and when James Parsons didn’t stick up for her she told him to go to hell.” The edge to Wyatt’s voice became sharper.

“You know her long?” Ian asked Wyatt.

“I went to school with her. She was way out of my league.” Wyatt cast a sly glance at his brother. “Kinda like the little she-devil you played jump the broom with. A real looker and sassy as hell.”

“I didn’t think any girl was outa your league, Wyatt.” Gator paused in the act of taking another pull on his beer to eye his younger brother. “You like this girl?”

Wyatt shrugged. “She was nice. Always had a friendly smile in school. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years other than at a distance, but, yeah, I liked her.”

“Did you ask Grand-mere Nonny to have me come home?” Gator asked shrewdly.

Wyatt shrugged a second time and busied himself tying up the pirogue to the dock, absently waving to several people as he did so. “I might have mentioned you could help. You always were like a bloodhound. You know things other people don’t. And you have connections, people who might get involved. There was a better chance that she could be found if you came home.”

“You pick up any information at the clubs?”

“Not really. Not of any use. I thought you might hear things I can’t.” It was the first time Wyatt had ever acknowledged he knew his older brother was different. When Gator continued to stare at him he finally nodded. “I watch you. I’m not nearly as dumb as I look.”

Gator unfolded his legs and stretched, toeing Ian’s cowboy boots. “You’re really going to stand out there, Irishman.”

“I stand out everywhere,” Ian replied with pride. He chugged another beer. “Hotter than hell here. Kind of makes me wish for the cool of Ireland. All emerald carpets and rain.”

“We have emerald.” Wyatt pointed his pole toward several plants. “And it rains every other hour. Just wait and we’ll get a shower soon enough.”

“Aw, laddie, that’s not what I mean by the cool of Ireland,” Ian protested.

“Don’t let him fool you, Wyatt,” Gator said. “He’s never been to Ireland in his life. He thinks the ladies will like him with that brogue he affects.”

“Pathetic,” Wyatt stated. “Everyone knows ladies love Cajuns. It’s in our blood, and our language is the language of romance.”

“Your language is the language of bullshit,” Ian corrected. “You’re a couple of good ole boys with pretty faces. Women just ought to know better. They should be looking for a real man.”

“You have red hair, Ian,” Wyatt said with feigned sadness, his hand over his heart. “It’s never going to happen for you.”

“There’s always dye,” Gator pointed out, eyeing Ian’s wild hair judiciously. “We could dye it black and help him learn to speak without that funny little accent.”

Ian reached for him, shockingly fast for a big man, whipping his arm around Gator’s throat and rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. “I’ll show you a funny accent,” he threatened. “It’s a brogue. And a good Irish brogue at that.”

The pirogue tilted dangerously and the ice chest skittered toward Wyatt, who dropped the pole in the bottom of the boat and made a grab for the all-important beer. “Save the fightin’ for inside, you’ll need it,” he cautioned.

Ian grinned at him. “No one fights like an Irishman.”

Wyatt tied up to the dock and stepped out onto the pier, holding the boat steady while the GhostWalker leapt from the pirogue. Gator climbed out and stretched, rolling his shoulders and eyeing the club. The Huracan was one of the wildest and most popular clubs in the bayou. Accessible only by the waterway, mostly only the locals frequented the place. Once in a while some of the more astute music lovers in the business district discovered it, but for the most part, the Huracan belonged to those living in the bayou and they danced and drank and played hard there.

Music blasted out the windows and through the thin walls. The crowd sounded like thunder as individual conversations rose over the music. Ian leaned in close to Gator. “Are you going to be able to hear what you need to hear in that place?”

Gator nodded. “I can hear conversations through walls, Ian. It’s just a matter of sorting them out. If someone is talking about Joy, I’ll hear them.”

“It hurts though, doesn’t it?” Ian’s voice was pitched even lower to prevent Wyatt from hearing. “I’ve seen your face when you’re working with sound and it hurts like hell.”

“It’s difficult to filter everything out. I can hear a great distance, but I have to concentrate on separating and identifying all the sounds. It’s a lot of work and you know, when we open ourselves up for assault, we get slammed pretty hard.” He drew in a breath as he looked at the club. “I’ve trained for this. Lily’s exercises really helped. I noticed a difference right away, but I’ll come away with a whopper of a headache.”

“Lily’s exercises are to raise shields, not bring them down like you have to for something like this,” Ian pointed out. “The trail is cold on this girl. I don’t know that putting yourself in harm’s way is very smart, Gator. I know you want to do this for your family but…”

“I want to do this because there’s no one else looking out for that girl. She didn’t leave for the big city. She loves her family and she wouldn’t cause them worry. Something happened to her-something bad and some one has to care about her.”

Ian nodded. “I’m with you then, Gator. You pick up the information, any at all, and we’ll be all over it.”

Shades of blue cast eerie shadows over the long strands of moss sweeping the water below the trees. The moon shed light across the bayou and the sound of authentic Cajun music traveled for miles. Flame stepped out onto the deck of the houseboat and flashed the old man sitting there a quick grin as she did a small pirouette. “What do you think, Monsieur le Capitaine?” She held out her arms. The faded blue eyes took in her form-fitting sheath of green with its kerchief hem, exposing one shapely thigh and hiding the other coyly. The dress clung to every curve, emphasizing her lush figure. The wide black velvet choker around her throat drew attention to her neck and the straight fall of silky red hair. Her eyes were enormous, a vivid green surrounded by long thick lashes. Most of all it was difficult to miss her sexy, pouting mouth.

The old man removed his pipe and cap, giving her a j bow. “Cher, you are too beautiful for words.”

She gave him a small curtsey. “Bien merci!” She did a small two-step across the deck to lean down and kiss his temple. “I brought you a surprise.” She handed him a white pillowcase.

Burrell Gaudet glanced at her face and then pulled n the bag slowly. His eyes widened as he took in the cash. “What is this?”

You know very well what it is. Kurt Saunders stole your money. You had a legitimate business deal with the slimeball and he sent his men here to take your last payment so he could foreclose on your land.”

Flame had returned to the houseboat a week earlier, just after the place had been robbed. The captain was sitting with his head in his hands, his furniture smashed and mattress torn apart. He’d blurted the truth out to her, that Kurt Saunders had sent his men over to steal the last of his payments for his land. Saunders was going to foreclose and he’d lose everything. “I’m just returning what belongs to you.”

“Where did you get this?” he repeated, dazed, eyeing the bundles of cash.

She shrugged. “I suggest you go to the bank and put it in an account immediately and get a cashier’s check for Mr. Saunders. Otherwise, that money will be stolen just like your last payment.”

The captain sucked in his breath and peered around them, lowering his voice because sound traveled on the waterway. “I told you to stay away from Saunders, Flame. He hurts people on the river. I told you before, I would find a better way to get the money.”

She winked at him. “There is no better way. I’m good at what I do, Capitaine. He’s been ripping you and your friends off for years. It was time someone taught him how it feels. Don’t worry. No one saw me.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she couldn’t see Gator ratting her out. Whatever his agenda was, he would carry it out himself, not bring in Saunders. “I didn’t get caught and he’d never suspect me even if he sees us together eventually. I look too sweet and innocent.”

Burrell Gaudet shook his head. Flame looked anything but sweet and innocent. She looked a seductress, sultry and sinful, all curves and satin skin. Her mouth alone could provide a lifetime of fantasies. More than anything-the way she looked, the way she moved-it was her voice that turned heads. Sultry and velvet, pouring over a man’s body until he remembered nothing else but that he was all man. Even at his age he wasn’t entirely immune to her charm.

He closed his eyes briefly on the thought. He was an old man, but she had a way of moving, of talking, even smiling that was sheer come-on. The strange part was, now that he’d gotten to know her, she wasn’t that way at all. She looked pure temptation, wild and untamed, made for the long slow nights on the bayou, but he hadn’t seen her take up with anyone. He didn’t know what was wrong with the boys in the parish, but if they didn’t stand up when they saw her, he rated them fools.

“I told you not to be getting into trouble on my account, Flame. I won’t have it.”

“I did it for the fun of it, Monsieur le Capitaine, no other reason. I like to stir the pot every now and then and see what floats to the surface.”

“Sometime, cher, it be best to leave the sludge on the bottom of the river.” Burrell looked down at his gnarled hands. There wasn’t much left to him in the way of pleasure. He sat on the houseboat and listened to the music of the bayou, smoked his pipe, and played boure with his friends while telling old stories. The days of taking a ship up and down the Mississippi were long gone.

Flame had brought joy back into his life. Their meeting had been accidental. A young thief had stolen his wallet and his old knees wouldn’t hold up to chasing the punk down. She had come out of nowhere, slamming a booted foot into the stomach of the fleeing pickpocket, taking the thief down in seconds and returning his property. They’d gone to the Café Du Monde and over beignets and cafe au lait he’d offered her a place to stay on his houseboat. He owned a small island, no more than swamp, mostly unusable, but it was his and it was going to stay that way. Unfortunately he’d purchased the land from Kurt Saunders and the man was determined to get the island back.

“Kurt Saunders has made a good living out of selling property and then taking it back when the balloon payment mysteriously disappears. We all know he steals the money, we just don’ know how to catch him at it. I was warned not to buy from him, but I wanted my own land cher, and I couldn’t resist. He isn’t going to take kindly to havin’ the tables turned on him.”

“I saw the money, Burrell, you had the entire payment. And I followed them straight back to Saunders’s private mansion in the Garden District. No wonder he lives like a king. He steals from everyone.”

“Should have kept the money in a bank. Thas why he sells to the river rats. He knows we don’ trust the banks. I’m not the first he’s swindled. ‘Course none of us knew for certain it was him doin’ the stealin’. We suspected, but none of us could prove it.”

“I told you before not to keep your money in the mattress with all that moss.” Flame rubbed his head affectionately. “Some modern technology is really a good thing. And you don’t fool me, Burrell. You had to be an educated man to captain a ship all those years on the Mississippi.”

“I was born and raised here, little missy, and I choose to fit in with my neighbors. It’s the life I love, the one I want to finish out my days living.”

She grinned at him, unrepentant and pressing her point. “If you’re going to keep large amounts of money on your houseboat and you deal with sleazebags like Saunders, you should at least have some security on board. I can figure something out for you if you’d like.”

“No security system on my houseboat is going to keep the likes of Saunders and his men from takin’ what they want here on the river. You know that, girl.”

Her smile widened until she was smirking. “Maybe not. But then he just got a good dose of his own medicine, now didn’t he? He’d never suspect you, not in a million years. He’ll just think his men missed one of your stashes and he’ll be mad as hell at them, but he won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

He took a long slow draw of his pipe, regarding her laughing face. The laughter never quite reached her eyes. There was something there, a hint of sorrow, a splash of wariness, whatever it was, that look was as addicting as the sultry heat of her voice. “Kurt Saunders is a mean man, Flame. If he ever comes to suspect that you stole his money-”

“Your money,” she emphasized. “I stole your money back.” A faint grin crept over her face. “Of course, I grabbed everything in the safe and there might be a bit more than he took from you. Quite a bit more, but I have a few expenses of my own. And he had several disks in one of the briefcases, but no papers, nothing that should make him too upset. It was mostly cash and a lot of cash at that.”

“Loss of money will make him upset,” he pointed out. “I should have known when you said you were thinking about taking the money back, that you’d do it. You shouldn’t have, cher, but I’m going to take it to the bank and explain I’ve been holding it in my mattress all these years. Now that you’ve retrieved it, I might as well use it.”

“I thought you’d see it my way.”

“You can never tell anyone, Flame. Not ever. He’ll come after you,” the captain cautioned.

She shrugged. “Who would I tell? I’m not into bragging, Capitaine, just getting a little justice once in a while. Throw a bit of moss in the bag and mix it up a bit so it looks and smells authentic.” She glanced at her watch. “I told Thibodeaux I’d be at his club tonight to do a little singing.”

“I don’ like you going to the Huracan. That Thibodeaux, he runs a mean place. They’re good people but they like to drink, dance, and fight. Or fight, drink, and dance, depending on how the day went. Looking like you do, Flame, you could be in big trouble with those boys.”

“I’m just going to do a little singing, Burrell, nothing else. There’s no need for worry. I had a talk with Thibodeaux and he said he’d watch out for me.”

Burrell shook his head. “This has something to do with Vivienne Chiasson telling you about her daughter’s disappearance, doesn’t it? I was watching your face when she told you about Joy and I didn’t like what I saw.”

Flame sank into one of the tattered chairs beside him. “Here’s the thing, Burrell. I heard talk of a girl disappearing in another parish a couple of years ago. A couple of the men at one of the clubs mentioned it when they were talking about Joy. The cops said she left to find a better life, but her family and friends said she wouldn’t do that. Isn’t that what they said about Joy too? You told me yourself you didn’t think she ran off.”

Burrell held up his hand. “Everyone in the bayou, up and down the river, knows the story. The police don’t believe the two disappearances are connected. Even most the families don’ believe it. Joy was seeing a boy from the city. He was real sweet on her. His family has money and they think Joy isn’t good enough. She broke it off, but he keep comin’ around. I think he got mad when she say no to him one too many times.”

“A lot of the families around here think the same thing, but what if they’re wrong? What if Joy’s disappearance and the other girl from a couple of years ago are related?”

“Why would you think so? They didn’t know each other. They didn’t look the same. There’s no connection between them at all.”

“Yes there is.” She leaned closer to him, giving him a faint whiff of the fresh scent of peaches. “They both had really distinctive voices. Like warm butter. Sexy. Sultry. Velvet. Smoky. Those words were all words used to describe their voices. All a sleazebag needs is a trigger to set him off, Burrell. Maybe these girls share that trigger.” She sat up straight and gripped the armrest of the chair tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. “And maybe I have that same voice.”

“No! I forbid you doing this, Flame.” Burrell nearly dropped his pipe in his agitation. “Those girls are gone. Some say dead, some say they ran, but I’m not going to let you risk your life to find out which it is.”

She shrugged. “You’re a dear to worry, Capitaine, but truthfully, I have a tiny problem with orders. I’ve never been good at following them.”

“You could get yourself into a bad situation,” he cautioned.

“Joy doesn’t have anyone looking out for her. The cops buried the case and that means, wherever she is, whatever happened to her-she’s alone. I have to find out for myself that this girl is off somewhere safe in a city, not dead… or being caged like a rat by some monster.”

He glanced at her sharply when her voice cracked. The boat creaked and rocked a bit with the lazy movement of the water. She held herself too still, her face without expression, and her eyes defied him to ask. He didn’t. Whatever had happened to her went too deep, was there in the dark places of her mind and swirling for just a moment in her eyes. There was horror there-and knowledge of things he had never experienced and never wanted to. He reached out and patted her hand. “Be careful.”

Flame forced a smile. “I’m always careful. It’s my middle name.” She turned her head to stare out over the water. The gentle waves lapped at the sides of the houseboat, creating a motion she found soothing. She was inexplicably tired lately. Instead of singing in a club with the crush of a crowd surrounding her, she wanted to lie in her bunk and pretend she had a home. Or maybe, even better, she’d go back to Gator’s home and have tea with his grandmother.

“Why are you looking so sad, Flame?” Burrell asked.

“Was I?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Why the hell was she so melancholy? Raoul Fontenot didn’t matter. Nothing he said or did mattered.

“You never told me why a beautiful girl like you is all alone in this place,” the captain said, choosing his words arefu1ly. “Where’s your family?”

“I don’t have any family.” She was horrified to hear the words slip out aloud. She was gifted at making up stories, making them believable, and she never forgot her own lies. She could come up with a line of bullshit faster than anyone she knew, but she hadn’t done that. She couldn’t look at the captain. She didn’t want to see pity in his eyes. Worse, in some ways, she’d compromised her own safety by telling the truth. She was a ghost, a chameleon, blending in with the local populace briefly and then simply vanishing. It was one of her greatest and most useful talents-and it was what kept her safe. She rubbed her temples to relieve a sudden ache.

“I don’ have family either, cher. Maybe thas why we get along so well. You always have a place here with me, you know that don’ you?”

She flinched at the compassion in his voice. It made her all too aware of what she was. Thrown away by a mother who didn’t want her. Sold by an orphanage with too many children. Caged and treated more like an animal than as a human being. It never mattered how much she worked to educate herself, to improve herself, somewhere deep inside, in a place she protected and defended, she still felt like that unwanted child.

She forced a lighter note into her voice. “Thanks, Monsieur le Capitaine.” Deliberately she looked at him, blew him a kiss. “I’m a wanderer. I love to see new places. I can’t imagine staying in the same place all the time. It’s a good trait to have. If I didn’t, I’d never have had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“You’re good for an old man’s soul, Flame.” His gaze narrowed on her choker. “What’s that on your neck? It looks like bruises.”

“Does it?” She fingered the choker, drawing it up closer around her trachea. “How odd. I hope the dye isn’t rubbing off. I’d better go check.” Before he could look again, Flame was already halfway across the deck to jerk open the door.

She inspected her neck beneath the choker. The bruises were darkening and spreading. Swearing softly, she tossed the choker aside and grabbed a scarf that nearly matched the color of her dress and wrapped it artfully around her neck. As long as she avoided Raoul Fontenot she’d be fine. Otherwise, he might very well take advantage and strangle her after what she’d said and implied to his grandmother.

Laughing aloud, she rejoined Burrell on the deck. “It was the choker. Does this look okay?”

“Beautiful,” he replied, once more puffing on his pipe.

“You don’t happen to know the Fontenot family, do you? They live in this parish.”

The captain burst out laughing. “Fontenot is a very common name in this part of the country, cher. I need a little more information.”

“I think the boys were raised by their grandmother. One of the boys is named Raoul and another Wyatt.”

Burrell sat back in his chair nodding. “Good family. Oldest boy, Raoul took off to join the service but always sent his money to his grandmother to help care for the other boys. They’re wild and Raoul had a certain reputation for fightin’.” He winked at her. “All those boys have a way with the ladies, so you look out for them. Don’ you go off with any of them and don’ you believe their sweet talk.”

“No worries, Capitaine. I have no intention of ever getting that close to any of the Fontenot men.” She glanced again at her watch. “I’ve got to go.” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You guard that money. Don’t say a word about it until you have a cashier’s check to give to Saunders. I’ll go with you when you pay him off. You’ll want a witness with you. And behave when I’m gone. I saw you giving old Mrs. Michaud that cute little come-on smile of yours.” She waved as she stepped off the houseboat into the airboat tied up beside it. He waved her off with a dismissing hand and a pleased grin. The last she saw of him, he was happily puffing away on his pipe.