Night Game

CHAPTER 6

Flame sucked in her breath sharply. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care if you believe me. She’s married to another GhostWalker, Nicolas Trevane.” Gator raked a hand through his hair in agitation until waves spilled across his forehead. “Okay. That was a lie. I do care that you believe me. Why would I lie?”

“To get me to go back with you. I’m never going back with you, not for any reason. You’re a smart man. Do you think the government and Whitney are going to sink millions of dollars into experimental weapons and then just let them run around loose? You aren’t that stupid. You’re either up to your neck swimming in their cesspool or you’ve been brainwashed.”

“You could be wrong, you know,” Gator pointed out. “You might consider that.”

“You might consider that Lily wasn’t the only one of us with an enormous IQ. If

I’m wrong, why do we have this thing between us?” She stuck her chin in the air and fiddled with the edges of her scarf, but her gaze was steady on his, almost a challenge.

“Which thing? The knife? The bike? The baby? Or the sexual attraction that, quite frankly, might be off the Richter scale?”

“The sexual attraction. That’s what’s really making you so angry, isn’t it? You don’t trust it any more than I do. And you’re angry with me for making you feel the way you do.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But I’m not the only one royally pissed about it,” he pointed out.

“You’re right, I don’t like it. I don’t trust you. Why the hell would I feel attracted to you?”

“My charm and good looks.”

“You aren’t that charming. And you have the despicable reputation of being a hound dog. I know because I asked around and your grandmother told me.”

“No doubt to endear me further to you.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You’re a breaker of hearts. A rake and a playboy.” She made a face. “A disgusting playboy who isn’t even concerned with safety issues.”

“Grand-mere didn’t say that, did she?”

She smirked at him. “Well, you got me pregnant, didn’t you?”

A faint smile stole over his face. “I guess I did. I’m potent. Even from a distance.”

“That’s a scary thought. Do you really know Joy Chiasson?”

“Yes. You can ask Grand-mere Nonny all about her tomorrow when you show up for tea. Our families have been friends for years.”

Flame spread her hands out. “So what are we doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“We’re talking truce, cher.” His slow smile matched the warm molasses in his drawl.

“Don’t you think before we talk truce it would be a gesture of good faith to give me back my motorcycle?”

“Have you shoved my brother’s Jeep into the Mississippi yet?”

“That was on the schedule for tonight.”

“It’s my brother’s Jeep,” he reminded her, fingertips tracing the smudges on her throat. “Not mine. I just borrowed it.”

“Bad decision on his part to lend it to you.”

His eyes darkened as his gaze drifted over her throat. “I’m sorry about this, cher. I could kiss it better for you.”

She remained absolutely still beneath his touch, her heart beginning to hammer in time to the blood roaring through her veins. The heat of the bayou enveloped them in the perfume of the night and the rich rhythm of life. “You aren’t going to seduce me into cooperating with you and, if you try, the Jeep definitely goes into the Mississippi.”

“It was a bad decision on his part to lend it to me.” Gator murmured the words against her soft throat, his body pressed against hers, although he didn’t wrap his arms around her. He simply stood leaning into her, the warmth of his breath touching her skin.

She swallowed hard when his lips pressed against her throat, feather-light, velvet soft. “So you’re willing to sacrifice the Jeep.”

“Damn straight, mon petite enflamme. No sacrifice is too great.” His tongue swirled over the dark smudges as if to soothe them.

Her breath left her body in a little concentrated rush. “Well then, you’d better do a very thorough job.”

He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over her face. “When I kiss you, what exactly are you planning to do?” Raw huskiness mixed with suspicion in his voice.

She could barely breathe. She had an unfamiliar urge to circle his neck with her arms and press her body tightly against his. “You said no sacrifice was too great,” she reminded.

“That’s when I thought the sacrifice was going to be my brother’s Jeep. Now, I think you have something else in mind. What are you planning to do?”

“Retrieve my knife, of course,” she answered honestly.

His head bent an inch lower until she could feel the velvet of his lips brushing hers. “You don’t think I can distract you?”

“You’ve been distracting me all evening, but no, if you kiss me, the knife is definitely back in my possession.”

He ached to kiss her. The temptation was overwhelming, but he wasn’t nearly as stupid as she thought him. Reluctantly he stepped back away from her, a faint smile on his face. “Cher, we’ve got us a problem.”

Her gaze brushed the front of his jeans. “You more than me.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, I don’ think so, mon amour, and if you want me to prove it to you, just come closer and let me touch you.”

“Try it and I’ll definitely slap your face.”

His grin widened. “You are wet for me, aren’t you, cher?”

She ran her tongue along her lower lip, her gaze hot. “More than you’ll ever know. Too bad you’re such a chicken.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Flame,” he said.

“You’re the one with my knife and motorcycle.”

“That’s not why. You think this is all part of another experiment, don’t you?”

“Isn’t it?” She moved into the heat of his body, her hips pressed close. “When you’re with other women, is it this intense? Do the women you meet make you feel like tearing off their clothes right there, right that moment, and the hell with everything you’ve ever believed and valued?”

“If you know I feel that way, why the hell are you tempting me out here in the middle of nowhere when we’re alone? What you did in that club was wrong and what you’re doing to me right now is wrong and with another man, you could be in trouble.” Something dark and burned briefly in the shadows of his eyes and gone almost immediately.

Flame shook her head, her expression defeated. “That’s just it, Raoul, I’m not the one doing it. You are. We are. Don’t you get it?” She pushed a hand through her hair, scattering pins so that strands of red hair fell in all directions. “You do get it. You knew what I was thinking, because you were thinking the same thing. It’s all part of Whitney’s experiments. Take me back. It’s been a long day and I want to go home.”

She did look tired. And sad. And very alone. Gator turned her accusations over and over in his mind. “It would be impossible to manipulate the sexual chemistry between two people wouldn’t it?”

“Why would it be? He manipulated everything else, didn’t he? He was building the perfect army. The perfect weapons. The perfect agents.” She sank down, looking up at him from the seat. “Whitney had years to work things out. And somebody knew he was doing it. Somebody helped him. He wasn’t alone in this, he couldn’t have been.”

Her twisted logic was beginning to make sense to him and that was alarming. “I go out on missions all the time with the GhostWalkers. Of the missing girls, only Lily and Dahlia have been found. And now you.”

“What a shocker that is. Maybe we’re all his little puppets and he’s playing us. You don’t want to consider that could be what’s happening because that would bruise your ego. You think you chose what happened to you so that somehow makes me the poor victim and you the hero in charge of your life. If what I’m saying is this truth, that makes you a victim right along with me and you just can’t stand the thought.”

Gator turned over the words in his mind. The logic of her argument. If she was right he was no more than a programmed robot, a marionette and Whitney was pulling his strings. Worse than that, she was right. On some level he had thought of her as a victim, hell, all of the GhostWalkers thought that way. The women had been bought and experimented on. The men had chosen to be heroes, to save the world. He erupted into another long passionate string of inventive and crude curses.

“I’m sorry to rock your world. But if you’re in with Whitney, and you’re doing what he wants you to do by coming here and trying to take me back with you, at least consider that he’s playing you. Whitney never does any thing that doesn’t benefit Whitney.”

“Damn it, the man is dead.”

“Do you realize you didn’t answer a single question tonight, Raoul?”

“Just don’t talk anymore. Damn it anyway.” He was silent as the boat sped through the canal, his features etched in stone.

Flame couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She felt sad for him. Sad for her. She didn’t even know why.

There was a small silence as the airboat moved up the canal. As the pier came into view, Gator glanced at her, his gaze moving over her dress, her legs, the curve of her bottom. “I don’t want you doing it anymore.”

“It?” Her eyebrow shot up.

“Don’ give me trouble. You know what I’m talking about. Don’ go tryin’ to lure Joy’s fate to you. If someone took her, or killed her, the same thing could happen to you. You don’t even have backup. You don’t have anyone to watch out for you.”

Flame shrugged. “That’s something I’m used to, Raoul. I’m not a team player.”

“I’ve searched for Joy for four weeks. My brother, Ian, and I have been all up and down the bayou. We’ve questioned everyone. We’ve even looked in shacks and investigated every tip we were given. Joy’s disappeared and I’m not having the same thing happen to you.”

“I’m not Joy. I can take care of myself.”

His dark gaze flickered over her face and there it was again, that something undefined she couldn’t quite catch, but that made her shiver. “You couldn’t have stopped me if I was a different sort of man.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Think what you like. Men always do.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this. And be at my house tomorrow by two for tea. Grand-mere expects you.”

“Why in the world would I show up?”

“Two reasons.” He jumped onto the pier and tied up the boat, reaching back to offer her his hand. “You want your motorcycle and any woman who would risk her life to find out what happened to a stranger is not going to disappoint an old woman with a heart condition.”

“Does she really have a heart condition or are you making that up?”

“I don’ lie about my grandmother. Don’t be getting the men riled up again and don’t be setting yourself up as bait, or you and I are going to have a fight you aren’t going to win.”

She looked him in the eye, waiting for him to release his hold on her. “I don’t like you very much.”

“That’s too bad. When you sleep with me, you’ll just have to pretend.” His fingers reluctantly slid from her wrist.

“Who says I’m sleeping with you?”

Deliberately he crowded her body, aggression in every line of his much larger frame. “Let’s put it this way, you won’t be sleeping with anyone else, so if you want to get rid of all that heat, you’d better be thinking of me, cher.”

She didn’t back up an inch. “Go fuck yourself.”

Palming her knife, he moved closer still, his hand traveling over the curve of her bottom, sliding beneath the hem of her dress to shove the knife back into the scabbard. All the while his knuckles brushed bare skin, the back of his hand massaging the damp heat between her legs. His breath was warm against her ear. “I’d much rather fuck you and judging by your panties, I’d say you feel the same way.”

“I ought to make you eat that knife.” She didn’t move away from him or his probing hand. She stood face-to- face, eye-to-eye, staring him down, a quiet fury burning in her eyes. She hated that her body burned for him. She hated that she might actually enjoy his stupid sense of humor. Most of all she hated that he was a puppet for a man who played God with people and moved them around like pieces on a chessboard.

“I’m going to kiss you. If you stick me with that thing, make it somewhere not important to me.” He gathered her to him, his arms locking around her, hands sliding up her back. His body was hard and hot and thick with need and he rubbed against her, massaging the terrible ache as he bent his head to hers.

Flame lifted her mouth to his, meeting him halfway, the slow burn igniting instantly when her lips touched his. His tongue swept into the moist heat of her mouth, the craving for her so strong it shook him. He felt an answering tremor run through her body as she melted into him, all soft flesh and lush curves. He tasted sex and sweetness and fury mixed together in a powerful concoction.

She was addicting, potent, the chemistry between them highly volatile. He wasn’t simply kissing her, he was devouring her, feasting on her, long, hard kisses over and over because it wasn’t enough. Her breasts were soft temptations against his chest and when she rubbed her leg over his thigh, aligning their bodies more closely, the breath left his body in a mad rush.

It was torment, his body so tight and hard he thought his skin might burst. His blood pounded and thunder roared in his ears. “Come to my cabin with me.” He bit her lip, sucked it into his mouth and teased with his tongue. “Right now. Forget everything else and come home with me.”

Flame fought her every instinct to climb on top of his body. “I didn’t know you had your own cabin. You’re staying with your grandmother.” The temptation of being alone with him in a cabin with a bed was more than she could think about. Her brain was on total meltdown.

“When I visit, I stay with her. The cabin is small, a hunting cabin but it has a bed.” He kissed her again, long, ferociously, a wicked combination of command and coaxing, his hands sliding down to her bottom to lift her closer.

Flame became aware of her leg wrapped around his waist, of her hands under his shirt caressing his bare chest, of the heaviness of her breasts and the terrible throbbing between her legs. She had never wanted any one the way she wanted him. Her need seemed beyond lust, beyond attraction, bordering on obsession. She tore herself out of his arms, stumbling backward toward the edge of the pier.

It was more reflex than thought that allowed Gator to reach out and steady her, preventing her from falling into the reed-choked water. They stared at each other, both fighting for control.

“Let’s not do that again,” Flame said, shaken.

“I was thinking we should do that all the time,” he countered. “You have the right name. I thought for a minute there I might go up in smoke.” His grin flashed at her, a quick teasing smile that made her heart do some silly flip.

Flame wiped her swollen lips with the back of her hand. She could still taste him in her mouth and feel him imprinted on her body, pressed deep into her bones like a brand. “In case you aren’t paying attention, they’re fighting inside.” Her voice was so low, so husky she hardly recognized it. She couldn’t look away from his gaze, held captive there like a hostage.

“I hear them. Ian and Wyatt can hold their own. They’re fighting with Louis and Vicq, which isn’t surprising. Our two families have been fighting since we were about five years old.”

The door behind them opened and Raoul spun around to watch as the crowd poured out of the Huracan Club. He took two steps to place his body between Flame and the throng of men, many still fighting as they spilled out into the yard and onto the pier. Several large men surrounded Emanuel Parsons and his son James as they pushed their way toward the relative safety of the end of the pier.

The older Parsons wore a long trench coat and with his silver hair and cane looked very out of place in the midst of the fighting crowd of men. His son, sporting a darkening eye and a swollen lip, shook off his bodyguard’s hand as the group neared Gator and Flame.

“Raoul Fontenot,” Emanuel Parsons offered his hand. “I met you at a fund-raiser a few years back.”

“I remember,” Gator said. “This is my fiancée, Flame Johnson.”

Parsons’s eyes flicked over her. “You’re quite lovely, my dear. I’ve heard you sing a few times. Have you considered singing professionally? I can make a few phone calls if you’re interested.”

Flame flashed a perky smile, eyes wide with awe, her gaze flicking toward the bodyguards and the shadowy driver always in the background. “Really? Do you think my voice is that good?” She took Gator’s outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to his side. He curved his arm around her waist rather possessively, but she let it stay there while she observed Parsons’s son. This was the man who had been engaged to the missing Joy. The man who swore he didn’t know what happened to her. Joy’s brothers had obviously taken a couple of shots at him in the middle of the brawl.

James Parsons stood slightly behind and to the side of his father, avoiding the stare of the bodyguards, uncomfortable in his role as the son of a powerful man. He stole hot licentious glances at Flame, but didn’t speak to her and his father didn’t bother with introductions. James was a handsome man, but to Flame looked spoiled and petulant, bored with his father talking to the locals and irritated that he didn’t get an introduction when he so obviously wanted one.

No doubt he got that spoiled, bored look from his father. The older man had worn the same expression the night she’d spotted him in the club in New Orleans when several businessmen sat at his table with him drinking, making certain he had picked up the tab. James didn’t want to step forward on his own and introduce himself; it would lessen his importance in his own eyes. She wasn’t going to pander to his ego by noticing him. Behind him, the driver, who obviously observed James’s sulky behavior, winked at her.

The crowd behind them fought ferociously, slamming one another to the ground and into the sides of the cabin. The porch creaked ominously as bodies hit the supports, and the sound of bottles breaking was loud in the night.

“Yes, I do believe your voice is that good and I have an ear for talent.” The elder Parsons ignored the raging fight around them as if it didn’t exist. He snapped his fingers and his driver stepped forward to pull a card out of a slim silver case. Emanuel Parsons took the card and handed it to her. “This is my private line. If you really want to see if you can make a go of it, give me a call and I’ll see what I can do to make it happen.”

Flame smiled up at him, all white teeth and wide innocence, properly awed that he could have connections in the music industry. Gator’s fingers dug into her wrist as she reached out and took the card, clutching it to her chest as if the man had given her a priceless gift. A large man slammed into the driver, was pushed off, and fell into the water with a loud splash.

The tallest bodyguard leaned in close to Emanuel Parsons to whisper in his ear. “Sir, we should leave,” he advised. “This is getting out of hand and there’s a lot of resentiment against your son.”

Emanuel Parsons quelled the man easily with one look. The bodyguard retreated and James smirked, obviously enjoying that his father had reprimanded him publicly.

“What brings you back to the bayou, Raoul?” Parsons asked. “I’d heard you were in the service. Are you out? I always have work for a good man.”

“No, sir.” Gator shook his head. “Home visiting kin. My grandmother lives here and I have three brothers in the area.”

A large body flew past them to land hard against the post with a thud. Parsons smiled and shook his head. “I remember the good old days whenever I came out to the Huracan. It’s always a breath of fresh air. It was a pleasure to meet you, Flame.” He reached for her hand, carried it to his lips, dropping it just as quickly and turning away before she could reply.

Flame scowled after them, rubbing her knuckles against Gator’s shirt. “Ew. He tongued me.”

“Anyone would tongue you given the chance.” He took her hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. “I’ll kick his ass for you if you want me to.”

“I’ll kick his ass if I want it kicked. What did you think of his son?”

“If that was Joy’s former fiancé,” Gator said, “he didn’t look all that broken up to me. He was eyeing you like you were whiskey and he had a long thirst.”

“Lovely way to put it, but I think you’re right. He probably dated Joy to put his daddy’s nose out of joint. There’s definitely an elitist syndrome buried deep in that family.” She glanced down at the card in her hand. It didn’t even have Parsons’s name, only a telephone number in a raised black font on a pale linen background. ‘Very elite.”

“I saw the videotape of James’s interrogation when the police questioned him about Joy’s disappearance. He appeared very broken up. I think our boy has acting skills.”

“Maybe he actually took acting classes,” Flame said. “It would be easy enough to find out. Quite frankly he gave me the creeps. I don’t know what Joy saw in him.”

“Flash. Money. He’s smooth enough and if he has the acting skills to pull it off, he probably convinced her he was in love with her.”

“Until Daddy objected and humiliated her in front of his entire family,” Flame said, an edge to her voice. “He did it on purpose. Her mother told me all about it.” She whirled out of the way as one of the Comeaux brothers staggered backward and nearly bumped into her.

“Maybe James needs his father to object to his choices to make himself feel more important or to enjoy her humiliation.”

“And prove to himself that he was above everyone else. He’s a rat bastard,” Flame declared.

“We don’t know for certain,” Gator pointed out. “And for the record, have you ever referred to me as a rat bastard?”

“Yes, several times, but in a different way. He’s a slimeball rat bastard. You’re just a plain old garden variety man-type rat bastard.”

“Thanks for clarifying.”

“Anytime.” She smirked at him.

“Flame?”

“I’m going now.”

“Put the knife away.”

She glanced down at her hand. She’d pulled the knife without even being aware of it when Comeaux had nearly plowed into her. She held it low, blade up, close to her body, already in a fighting stance, light on the balls of her feet, “You don’t like it?”

“It’s sexy as hell, cher, but I don’ want these men to get the idea you’re a wild woman. I’d be in a fight every night. Go home where I don’t have to worry about you.”

She turned her back to the club and slipped the knife away, glancing over her shoulder at him. “You mean they’d like it if they knew I carried a knife.”

“They’d be lining up to marry you.”

She flashed him a tentative smile, the first time she looked less than assured. “You’re a little bit crazy, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Keep that in mind before making any decisions to cheat on me after we’re married with several children and you think life is too tame.” The moment the teasing words slipped out, he knew he’d blown it. A man named Whitney had taken her past from her and as far as he knew, the man had probably taken her future as well.

Her smile faltered for all of a microsecond and then it was back in place as she stepped aboard the airboat. Have fun, Raoul.” She waved toward the brawling men. Ian stood taller than most of them and stood out easily fighting at Wyatt’s back. “I know you’re dying to join in.”

“You want me to escort you home, cher?” He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to hold her, keep her safe somehow. Change her life. Change her mind about him.

She shook her head regretfully. “I’m not falling for the gentlemanly act. You just want to know where I live.”

“Where do you live?” He watched her start the boat, his heart beating too hard and the urge to stop her so strong he was afraid to move, afraid he might actually try to stop her. She was heartbreaking and she was lethal.

She froze, turning her head so that her gaze met his squarely. “Did you plant a homing device on the airboat?”

“Of course.” He flashed her a cocky grin and forced his body to move away from her, back toward the fighters. Behind him he heard her mutter something rude that sounded suspiciously like “rat bastard,” but he didn’t turn around. As he waded through the combatants, he heard the airboat retreating down the canal.

“Bout time you showed up,” Wyatt called, grinning unrepentantly at him. He took a solid punch on the jaw that made Gator wince.

Gator spun around the man who’d hit his brother and landed a one-two punch combination that dropped him to the ground. Ducking a wild fist he shoved someone hard and managed to make it across the last couple of feet to Wyatt.

“So if you had to choose between being slimeball rat bastard”-he jerked his head aside to escape another fist and lashed out with his foot, dropping his opponent- “or a common garden variety man-type rat bastard, which would you choose, Wyatt?”

Catching one of the two men driving his brother backward, he tossed him aside and went after the second man. Wyatt bent over, catching his breath, grinning as Gator easily dropped his adversary. “Watching you fight is a thing of beauty, Gator.” He rubbed his sore jaw. “I’d be the slimeball, bro. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was common, you know?”

Gator hit him square on the jaw, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Wyatt crawled over to the wall and fished around until he found the beer he’d brought out with him. Sitting on the ground he leaned his head back and grinned. “Guess that was the wrong answer. You didn’t score, did you, bro?”

“Shut up before I break that bottle over your head.” Gator shoved another victim out of his way and stomped inside.

The club was in a bit of disarray and he righted a couple of chairs on the way to the bar. “Great night, Delmar,” Gator said. “I could use another drink. Most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“The boys needed to release a little frustration. You got yourself a beautiful woman there, but she goin’ to bring you trouble. Lots of trouble, that one.”

Gator grinned at him. “She’s got a knife. A great big knife. I make her mad enough she shows me that knife.”

Delmar whistled softly. “You’re one lucky man, Gator. Don’ go blowin’ this one. I never understood why all the women find you so purty.”

Gator tossed back his drink and put the glass on the bar, winking at the owner. “I’m charmin’, that’s why. Catch you later.”

Delmar snorted his derision. Gator stepped away from the bar, hesitated and turned back “Answer me this, Del mar. If you had to choose between being a slimeball rat bastard, or a common garden variety man-type rat bastard, which would you be?”

Delmar cocked his head to one side while he mulled it over.

“It isn’t a trick question, Del,” Gator said. “Just pick one.”

“Well then, that’s easy enough. I don’ want to be a common garden variety of anything. I’ll be the slimeball rat bastard.”

“That’s just plain stupid.” Gator threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “You want people thinking you’re a slimeball?”

Delmar gave one of his slow nods. “Yep.”

Disgusted, Gator stomped out, tipping over the two chairs he’d righted. “Come on, you two,” he called to his brother and Ian. “Get up.”

They were side by side sitting with their backs to the wall, legs out in front of them, beer bottles in hand. They exchanged a long look and both burst out laughing. “Could be a problem, bro,” Wyatt said. “I’m not sure we can get up.”

Gator scowled at the two of them. “Well you’ve had yourselves a time. Did you start it?” He glared at his brother.

Wyatt took a long pull on his beer, contemplating the answer. “I just might have, now that you ask.”

Ian nudged him. “You threw the first punch and it sure was purty,” he praised. “Vicq claimed your woman, Gator, and Wyatt here stood up for you.”

Gator felt the rush of black temper seething and boiling in the pit of his stomach. It came out of nowhere; just like every intense emotion he seemed to feel when Flame was involved. “He has no claim on her. Hell, she’s carrying my baby. He say he slept with her?”

Wyatt and Ian both took another drink from their respective beers. Gator observed their frowning faces with disgust. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember. It’s an important detail don’t you think? If she’s runnin’ around on me, I should know about it.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed. “The baby might not be yours.”

“Damn it, Ian. The baby’s mine. She didn’t sleep with Vicq Comeaux. I don’t care what he said.”

Ian and Wyatt looked at each other again and burst out with fresh laughter. “Thought you said there wasn’t a baby,” Ian said.

“Oh shut up. Did he say he slept with her?”

“I can’t shut up and answer you at the same time,” Ian pointed out pragmatically.

“Not that I recall,” Wyatt said. “Vicq’s been following her from club to club. Bet he didn’t work up the courage to ask her for a date. He’s long on running his mouth but doesn’t do much when it comes to the ladies.”

Ian nudged Wyatt. “He was bragging about what he’d do with a little hot thing like Flame.”

“He wouldn’t know what hit him,” Gator sneered. “She’d slice him up his middle before he made the first move. I saved his worthless hide tonight.”

Both Wyatt and Ian blinked up at him drunkenly. “That’s right, man, she’s got a knife.”

Wyatt pushed himself unsteadily up the wall. “She had the biggest damn knife I ever saw and she actually had it against Gator’s throat.”

“You don’t have to sound like you admire the fact she put a knife to your brother’s throat,” Gator objected. “She nearly killed me. Did you ever think about that?”

“It was awesome.” Wyatt staggered forward and turned back to politely extend his hand toward Ian. “Plain awesome.”

“Wish I’d seen it,” Ian said plaintively.

“The two of you need to get in the pirogue before I decide to leave you here. Fat lot of good the two of you are to me.”

Ian exchanged another long look with Wyatt, both looking as if they might erupt into another round of laughter. “He forgot you defended his claim on the woman, but I’ve got a long memory, lad, and I’ll be reminding him.”

“He’s just really pissed at me right now,” Wyatt explained, rubbing his jaw again. “I gave him the wrong answer to his question. Between Gator and Vicq, I got me a sore jaw. Vicq sure had a mad on for everyone tonight. He got himself into a heated argument with that city boy Parsons and then his bodyguards. I thought he was going to take all of them on.”

“Yeah, until the driver said something to him and he backed off.” Ian grinned. “I thought maybe he offered to drive him around New Orleans in that big fancy car.”

The two staggered across the long wooden pier to the small pirogue, snickering together. Gator helped his brother into the boat and into the seat before turning back toward the larger Irishman They all nearly ended up in the canal when he stepped off the pier into the middle of the pirogue, slipped, and crashed down onto Wyatt. The two men sat on the bottom of the boat howling with laughter.

Gator glared at them, clearly disgusted as he caught up the long pole and pushed them away from the pier. “You two are a pair of jackasses.”

That brought on another wave of laughter. Gator shook his head as he took them through the reed-choked waterway toward more open, but shallow water. The canal was fairly narrow and easy enough to maneuver. There was something very satisfying in the old ways, the digging of the pole onto the bottom of the canal, the jar that ran up the pole and into his shoulder, and the familiar play of muscle driving the pirogue through the reeds. He could have enjoyed the night a little better if he could pretend he was alone, but his imagination wasn’t good enough to drown out the noisy singing of his brother and friend. He shoved again with the pole.

“Hey, Gator. Just what was the question you asked my buddy Wyatt,” Ian asked.

In the sudden vacuum of silence as both men went quiet, sound poured in. The hum of insects, the murmur of other conversations as men made their way home along the same route, the splash of water as larger reptiles slid into the waterway, and the whisper of something moving along the shore, matching the progress of the pirogue.

Gator turned toward the sound, heard the snap of a branch and crackle of dried moss. Something shiny spun toward him, caught for a split second in the faint light of the small crescent shaped moon. He knocked it away with a quick flip of the pole and it hit the water with a splash, sinking below the dark surface immediately.

Forcing air through his lungs, he waited for the next attack. There was a rustle in the brush, branches in front of him swayed and then the sound of a heavy thud followed by silence. He didn’t move until the insects resumed humming.

“What was that?” Ian asked, sounding more sober than drunk.

“I think someone just tried to kill me,” Gator answered.

“Put us ashore,” Ian definitely didn’t sound drunk.

Gator glanced down at his brother, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol. “I don’t think so. Not tonight. We’ll come back in the morning.”

“Was it the woman?”

“Well that would be the question, now wouldn’t it?” Gator replied thoughtfully.