Night Game

CHAPTER 7

“You didn’t tell Lily you found Flame,” Ian said.

Gator looked up, one eyebrow raised in inquiry from the papers strewn around him in a semicircle.

“At the briefing. You didn’t tell Lily you found Flame.”

“I guess I didn’t. I must have overlooked that bit of information.” Gator tapped the pictures of the evidence of both girls’ disappearances. “I don’t see anything here that can help us, do you?”

“No. And we aren’t finished talking about Flame. She might have tried to kill you last night. She was there-I’m sure of it.”

“What did you see that I didn’t see, Ian?” Gator asked, tossing the pictures into a heap. “I searched, the same as you. I didn’t find a single print that might have been hers. I did find several men’s prints. And the same brand of cigarette Vicq Comeaux smokes.”

“She was there and you know she was there. She’s like a GhostWalker. She moves through the shadows and she leaves nothing behind, but we both felt her.”

Gator met Ian’s gaze squarely. “She is a GhostWalker. She’s the same as we are, not different, the same.”

“She still may have tried to kill you. I think maybe you’re thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy.”

“She wouldn’t have made noise, Ian. She wouldn’t have snapped twigs and made the branches sway. There was no wind. Someone human did that. And whoever slipped in the mud was large.”

“I’m just saying to watch yourself. She’s beautiful, but she’s not coming in. You won’t be able to bring her in.”

“Don’t sell me short, my friend. I can be persuasive when the situation calls for it.” Gator reached for his coffee cup. “There’s nothing quite like Cajun coffee. I miss it when I’m away from home.”

Ian snorted. “You could take the skin off a skull with that stuff. And she was on that island. I’m not saying she tried to take your head off, but she was there last night.”

Gator swallowed coffee. Yeah. She’d been there. He’d felt Flame’s presence, just the same as Ian. She’d been watching him, but he had no idea why. He’d lain awake most of the night thinking about her-the way her skin felt, the way her mouth was hot with the same carnal lust that he felt raging in his own body. Had it been her mesmerizing voice that had ensnared him? And whoever took Joy Chiasson, had they obsessed about her in the same way he obsessed about Flame-the crawling need under his skin, his body hard and aching no matter how many times he tried to rid himself of her scent and touch? Had they obsessed day and night until looking and fantasizing wasn’t enough and they helped themselves?

“Gator!” Ian raised his voice. “I’m just saying you’ve got to get a handle on this thing. I’m covering you with the captain, but if they call us back about the problem in the Congo…”

Gator shook his head. “I can’t leave right now. Some one else will have to handle this. Our teams have gone to the Congo, Iraq, and Afghanistan eight times in the last ten months for extractions. We’ve completed every mission, but someone else will have to take this one.”

“Ken Norton and his team were sent in to pull out some hotshot scientist and his people. Ken covered them as they ran to the helicopter, but he was wounded and they had no choice but to leave him and get the civilians to safety. GhostWalkers don’t leave their own behind, and not with that particular band of rebels. They’ve tortured and killed every prisoner they’ve ever held. We’re not leaving him there and you know it, Gator.”

“His team got the prisoners out so the rebels are going to be more than pissed,” Gator agreed. “But we’re halfway around the world. They’ll need someone at the ready. Get ahold of Rye and see who they’re sending. Tell him we’ve got trouble here and that I’d rather stay on this if we have a choice.” He glanced at his friend. “And don’t think you have to cover for me.”

“They’ve got a team lined up, but he’s still going to ask what the trouble is.”

“Tell him my gut is saying there’s trouble.” A small grin escaped. “We’re supposed to be psychic aren’t we?”

“Oh, he’ll get a huge kick out of that. And he’ll know we’re not being straight. We’ve never once backed away from a mission.”

“It wasn’t offered to us.”

“No, Jack Norton, Ken’s brother, is leading a rescue team. Nico and Sam and a couple of Jack’s guys are going in,” Ian agreed. “But we were standby.”

“Just give him the message. He’ll handle it for me. If you feel you need to go, believe me, I’ll understand.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

“And I’m not leaving her. Whether you like it, whether she likes it, she’s one of us and I’m not willing to let her go.”

“Is that the GhostWalker in you talking, or the hormones?”

“How the hell would I know?” Gator shoved the pictures away and stood up, pacing across the room to stare out the window. “I don’t know, Ian.”

“Well you’d better figure it out fast, Gator,” Ian advised. “I’ll call Ryland and let him know we’re needed here for a while longer.”

“Are you going to tell him Flame is here?” Gator didn’t turn around, but kept his gaze fixed sightlessly on one of the huge trees out in his grandmother’s yard.

“Not unless he asks me.”

Gator didn’t reply. He didn’t know why he was so reluctant to let the others know Flame was in New Orleans. Had Lily known for certain or had it really been a computer guess? He didn’t know. In the beginning it didn’t matter all that much to him. Like being physically enhanced. It had been cool to run faster and leap over a fence. The feeling was one of power, of exhilaration, but all of a sudden, his future mattered to him.

He wanted to live in the bayou close to his brothers and their families. He wanted his children to play with their children. He wanted his grandmother’s face to light up when he put his son or daughter in her lap. Had he traded his future away and been careless about it? As careless as Flame thought him to be?

And what of Flame? He seemed to know her far better than he should with only a couple of brief meetings between them. They thought alike. It was eerie to feel emotion and know it was hers, not his. And she felt his. He knew it without being told. There was a strong connection between them, every bit as strong as the volatile chemistry. How could he ever explain to Ian that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to leave her behind, it was that he couldn’t leave her behind.

It was scary to think that she might be right, that Whitney had developed her as a weapon first and then somehow developed Gator to complement and amplify her powers. It would make sense, the entire point of psychic engineering and genetic enhancement was amplification of power, but what about the physical-no, it was far more than physical-attraction between them? Had that been deliberate or a by-product of the engineering?

He touched the glass on the window, feeling her close. Feeling her just the way he had in the early morning hours when he and Ian had slipped out of the house and had gone back to the island near the Huracan to examine the tracks left by whoever had stalked him the night before.

Flame had been there. He hadn’t found a single thread from her dress or a track from her high heels, but she’d been there. He and Ian both knew it instantly, in the way all GhostWalkers seemed suddenly aware of each other’s presence, almost as if power called to power. He didn’t want to believe that she had stalked him through the trees attempting to assassinate him-not that he doubted Flame was capable of killing, but it didn’t seem likely that she would attempt to kill him in that manner.

He rubbed his hand over his face trying to clear his thoughts. Ian was right, that was the worst of it. He couldn’t think clearly when it came to her. He was bringing a very dangerous woman into his grandmother’s home. It had been a small game to him, one he thoroughly enjoyed, but it wasn’t fair to put his family in danger.

“Rye didn’t ask and I didn’t volunteer,” Ian announced. “But I want you to promise me something. If I determine you’re in over your head, we pull back until we both feel comfortable with the situation.”

Gator shot him a brief, hard glance, but finally nodded his head in compliance. He had to trust someone’s judgment if he couldn’t trust his own. The first thing he was going to do was assure himself that Flame’s knife was still in her possession rather than beneath the murky water of the canal.

Flame pulled on thin leather gloves and glanced at her self in the mirror. She looked pale, her eyes too big. She hated the sunken look she sometimes got when she didn’t get enough sleep. She’d lain awake most of the night thinking about Raoul. Wanting him. Despising him. It was the dumbest thing she could imagine and she felt like an idiot for being so pulled in two directions. He worked for Whitney, her worst enemy, and she just kept fantasizing all kinds of erotic and shocking things about him. She liked being in his company. She liked his idiotic sense of humor. She liked the feel of his hands on her skin and his mouth on hers.

She closed her eyes and gave a small groan. She would never go back. Not to Whitney, and not to Whitney’s daughter. She didn’t trust any of them. She’d spent her entire life being an experiment and she damned well was going to make her own choices for the rest of her life- even if that meant she had to keep moving forever. Raoul, for all his charm and sexy smile and hot mouth and bod, was not going to persuade her, capture her, or otherwise entice her into returning.

“You goin’ somewhere, cher?” Burrell asked as he stuck his head in the open doorway and whistled softly. “Cuz you look mighty good.”

She blew him a kiss. “You always cheer me up. I was just thinking I looked pale and uninteresting or worse, pale and zombielike.”

He paused. “Flame, did you meet someone last night?” His grin was teasing, but his gaze was worried. “I know all the boys in these parts. Who’d you meet?”

Her heart contracted. He sounded like a worried father. She’d never had a worried father and for a moment, tears were close. “I asked you about him last night. His name is Raoul Fontenot.” She couldn’t help it. She knew it was part of the fantasy she was acting out, a home, someone who cared, people she could call friends and neighbors, but she wanted his concern, needed to feel like she mattered to somebody.

“I heard he was home visitin’ his grandmother. He’s a good boy. Rough. He don’ be a man you mess around with.”

Flame burst out laughing. “What does that mean exactly? Is that some kind of warning that he’s a lady’s man and he’ll break my heart? Or does it mean he’s a fighter and likes a good brawl?”

He frowned at her, trying to look severe. “It means Raoul Fontenot is a man who will never turn away from trouble. Don’ be rilin’ him up, cuz he won’t stop comin’ after you.”

Flash grinned at him. “Should I be scared of him, do you think? Because he seemed sweet and cuddly to me.”

He snapped a towel at her. “That’s it, girl. You be teasin’ me one time too many.”

Flame allowed him to chase her around the houseboat, the two of them laughing together. She liked the captain. Burrell had never married; he’d been too much of a river rat, a man who needed to run the perils of the river as often as possible. Now, retired and living alone on his houseboat, he enjoyed Flame and her antics as much as she enjoyed his company and stories. She finally ripped the towel out of his hand and turned the tables on him. He sat in the tiny kitchen catching his breath as she leaned against the sink, her eyes bright with shared amusement.

“You went to the bank this morning, right, Capitaine?”

“Yes, ma’am. I called Saunders and offered to mail the payment. He’s always asked for payments in person, but I thought he might want me to save him the trouble. He told me to meet him late, so I’m going to visit Vivienne Chiasson for a couple of hours this afternoon, then I’ll meet with Saunders and maybe go see the widow tonight.”

Flame sighed. “I’m sorry I’m no closer to finding out what happened to Joy than anyone else. I still don’t believe she ran away, Burrell. Don’t say anything to the family. but I’ll keep looking into it.”

“I don’ want anything to happen to you, cher. Don’ do anything dangerous.”

Her slight frown turned into a small mischievous grin. “I’m going to meet Raoul’s grandmother this afternoon. That ought to be very safe, don’t you think?”

His eyebrow shot up. “Why are you going to see Nonny?”

“Apparently she asked her grandson to invite me and he was rather adamant that I go. He claims she has a heart condition.”

“I heard that a while back. All the Fontenot boys be very protective of her.” He tilted his head and studied her face. “That’s a big thing, having her ask you to visit, Flame She don’ just ask anyone, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that. I met her a couple of days ago briefly and I guess she wanted to finish our conversation.”

“Nonny Fontenot is a friend of mine.”

“Now you’re being protective. I’m not stealing from her.”

“Don’ go trying to break that boy’s heart, Flame, You’re a nomad, you said so yourself. Raoul don’ know it, but he’s a family man.”

She turned away, unexpectedly hurt although she knew he spoke the truth. “Maybe he’ll be breaking my heart, Burrell.”

“I have a shotgun. If he messes with your heart you just tell me and I’ll pay him a visit.”

In spite of herself, she laughed again at the idea of the captain trying to threaten Raoul Fontenot. “I think I can take care of myself. I’ll see you this evening.” She blew him a kiss and watched him leave before going back to the mirror and her makeup. She didn’t like dark circles under her eyes. Raoul would notice and he’d make some comment. And it would hurt.

Flame scowled at her reflection. “He has no power over you. None. He can’t hurt you even if he says you look like a zombie.” She felt like a zombie lately. Chasing Burrell around the small houseboat had worn her out. “Too many late nights,” she scolded and tidied up the houseboat. She waited to he certain Burrell was gone before she began to take care of her other business.

She’d already removed the contents of the four slim briefcases she’d stolen from Saunders. Most held cash, but one held a couple of discs hidden inside a large manila envelope. Everything had been dumped into a plastic bag the night before, and she’d stuffed the water proof bag inside her duffel bag. The four briefcases had been filled with rocks and dropped deep underwater in the middle of one of the canals. Other than the money she’d given to Burrell, there was nothing to connect her to the break-in once she hid the duffel bag.

Sound penetrated the thin walls of the houseboat. A squish followed by a sucking noise as if something was pulled from the mud. The sudden silence of insects. Birds rising fast from tree branches. She had company and it definitely wasn’t Burrell returning.

Without haste she went through the houseboat, making certain there was no incriminating evidence and nothing to reveal her real identity. Sliding open a window, Flame emitted a sound pitched far too high for the human ear to hear. The response was immediate. The buzz in the marsh grew loud fast as thousands of mosquitoes blackened the early afternoon sky. The moment she heard the sound of palms slapping at flesh, she slid out a window on the opposite side, landing lightly on the deck, duffel bag in hand. Using the furniture as cover, she made her way to the edge and stepped onto the small is and Burrell called his “yard.”

Flame slipped into the trees, staving low to keep from being seen as she sped through the marsh away from the sound of mosquitoes and curses. Using the trail leading around the outside edges of the marsh along the water way, heading back in the direction of the houseboat, Flame stayed close to the foliage in case she needed cover.

Several cars, including the Fontenot Jeep she’d commandeered, were parked near a rotting pier on the small strip of land that connected the bridge to the frontage road. Her airboat was tied up there along with two small fishing boats. She was relieved to see Burrell’s boat gone. Flame shoved the duffel bag in the back of the Jeep beneath a dirty tarp and a box of tools.

She drew a cap over her hair and emitted a second high-pitched sound to drive the mosquitoes away as she made her way back to the edge of the marsh. She needed to know who was after her. Raoul had admitted he’d slipped a homing device somewhere on her airboat and, although he’d sounded as if he’d been teasing her, she believed him. She certainly would have done it.

Flame skirted the edge of the cypress trees until she could hear the men shuffling back and forth, talking in whispers, crunching cans and muttering curses as insects bit and stung. One man scanned the canal continually with high-powered glasses while two others checked the interior of the swamp and the outer edges. None of them were very thorough, which led her to believe they weren’t military. She couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing or why they were there.

She had no choice but to head inland using the cover of brush and trees to get close enough to see them. With each step she sank into the mud nearly to her ankles. Behind her the dark water filled her tracks so it was impossible to see which direction she’d come from. She muted the sounds of her feet going through water and mud so there was no chance of giving away her presence to the intruders.

There were four men. Two shifted position continually, obviously uncomfortable in the humidity and spongelike surface of the marsh. Each time they moved, the mud made a squishing sound around them. The man with the binoculars would glare at them occasionally, annoyed by their constant motion. He objected when the fourth man lit a cigarette and it was put out instantly when he snapped the command to do so.

The men never approached the houseboat, simply observed the comings and goings on the water. They hadn’t staked out her airboat or the Jeep. In fact none of them checked on the vehicles in the parking area, or the boats tied to the pier. She watched them for a long time, unable to as certain what they were doing. After about a half an hour, the group of men entered the swamp, carrying what looked like supplies. They didn’t look like trappers or hunters, but it was possible they were scientists. She knew several studies of the marsh were being conducted. “It’s possible, Flame, even probable, that you are becoming paranoid.”

She scooted backward until it was safe enough to stand in the concealment of the trees. As she made her way back to the Jeep, she tried to rub some of the mud from her clothes and kick it out of her shoes, but it was impossible. Swearing under her breath, she drove along the frontage road until she saw an older woman walking along with her groceries. She offered her a ride and quickly accepted the offer of a shower and a change of: clothes. She drove very quickly to Gator’s house. She was fifteen minutes late and he jerked open the door before she could even knock.

“About time you showed up,” Gator greeted, stepping back to allow her into the house. “I was getting worried about you.”

“I had to take care of a little business. I’m not normally late.” Why had she said that? Flame nearly groaned aloud. She didn’t need to explain or apologize.

She followed him into the kitchen. The room smelled of corn bread and jambalaya. A large pot on the stove simmered and a tea towel covered a plate of cookies. She couldn’t help inhaling the scent of freshly baked bread and cookies she couldn’t identify, but her mouth watered.

Only then did she notice the house was strangely silent. Her muscles tensed with sudden suspicion. “Where is everyone?”

Gator didn’t answer. His gaze drifted over her, almost as if he were drinking her in. The intensity of his perusal caused a strange reaction in her body, her heart doing funny little flips and her womb clenching tightly. Up close, in broad daylight, she found him unbelievably attractive. There was a quirk to his mouth and a hint of laughter she found as sexy as all get out. His fingertips brushed her face, feather-light, his touch so gentle she was nearly disarmed on the spot.

“You’ve been doing recon.” She stood very still, holding her breath as he brushed at another spot on her chin. “You didn’t get this near my house.”

“No. Someone was nosing around the houseboat. I thought it might be you, or a team sent by Whitney to assassinate me.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened perceptibly. “Who was it?”

She was inexplicably pleased with his reaction but forced herself to give a casual shrug. “You don’t want anyone stepping on your toes?”

“Absolutely not. If anyone gets to do you in, believe me. honey, it’s going to be me after all the grief you’ve given me. Who was it?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure. They didn’t look military or particularly skilled as fighters. Only one of them seemed competent in the bayou. The rest made too much noise. I didn’t recognize any of them.”

“What did they want?”

“I have no idea. I left them to a hot afternoon in the swamp. They’re sitting on

Burrell’s little island and it’s going to be uncomfortably muggy. If they’re looking for me…”

“Is it possible Saunders had homing devices in the briefcases?”

She scowled at him. “I’m not an amateur. That was the first thing I checked for. In any case, the briefcases are at the bottom of the canal.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I didn’t like it much either,” she admitted. “On the other hand, they didn’t seem interested in the houseboat or the cars so more than likely they were trappers and had nothing to do with me.”

“I’m coming home with you after you visit with Grand-mere Nonny to see what these bums are after.”

“No one invited you,” she pointed out.

“So invite me because I’m going home with you.”

“Be still my heart. I feel absolutely faint. Your charm is just overwhelming me.”

“Let me see your knife.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed.”

He was, but not with her knife. “Stop stalling. Put the weapon on the table.”

“Weapon?” Her eyebrow shot up. “Why would you think I only had one? I brought a freakin’ arsenal along just in case you wanted to go a round or two.” She leaned close so her breath was warm against his ear. “Does it turn you on?” She pulled a long knife from her boot and spun it in her hands, smirking a little at him. “Nice balance, but not the best for throwing.” She laid it on the table.

It wasn’t the same blade she’d had the night before, but he was beginning to think he had a kinky streak because something was turning him on. “Just how good are you with that?”

“I only carry it for show.” She reached behind her neck and withdrew a second blade. It was quite a bit smaller. “This is a great throwing knife. One of my favorites.” She placed the knife beside the larger one.

It wasn’t the one she’d had strapped to her thigh the night before either. “Is that all you’ve got, cher?” He quirked an eyebrow at her in challenge.

“Course not. I knew you might have a couple of friends along, you know, just in case things got a little too hot for you to handle. I’m not afraid of you, but you do so hate being alone with me.” She withdrew a thin wire, placed it beside the knives and added three small throwing stars. Her belt yielded a small tool kit that had two lethal-looking instruments beside the pick tools, and she pulled a small metallic round disk, innocent looking until she popped open the curved blades.

“Anything else?” The knife from the night before still wasn’t on the table. He scowled at her, but she simply flashed him her killer smile, totally unrepentant.

“You wouldn’t want me to strip naked, now would you?” She reached for the largest knife. “A girl has to have her secrets.”

“The idea has possibilities.” He pinned her wrist to the table while his other hand slid over her jean-clad bottom to the inside of her thigh. Even without the feel of her skin he found himself getting hard. “Where is it?”

Her gaze turned turbulent, a dark smoldering promise of trouble. “I don’t like being manhandled so I’m going to once, that would be one time, ask you politely to remove your hands. If you don’t, you’re very liable to lose them.”

He removed his hands, but crowded her close. “Don’ be threatening me in my grandmother’s house,” he reprimanded. “Where is it?”

“If you act like an ape in your grandmother’s house you can expect to be threatened a lot. Where is what?”

“The knife. The knife from last night. You were wearing it in a very intriguing place and I’m rather fond of it. Where is it, cher?”

“You really believe that you’re utterly charming, don’t you? I’m not wearing a dress. It’s my dress-up knife. So sorry. Let me know what you want in the way of accessories next time and I’ll try to accommodate you.” She turned her head. “We’re about to have company. I’m putting my toys away now. I don’t share well with others.”

“You don’ do much of anything well with others,” he observed.

A slow, heated smile curved her soft mouth. Her gaze drifted up and down his body in deliberate inspection. “There are a few things I do well with others,” she corrected, “depending on who that other happens to be.”

He groaned softly. “That’s just not right.”

She bent over to shove the long blade down into her boot scabbard. The action sent his heart racing. He found himself staring at the smooth line of her jeans curving over her bottom, As she straightened, she caught him staring and shook her head. “You need help.”

“Don’ I know it, sugah.”

She lowered her voice to a mere wisp of sound. “Does your grandmother know she raised such a perv?”

Knives were the least of her weapons. She was a fighter, well-versed in martial arts and more than that, her voice alone was a devastating weapon should all else fail. Gator stayed close to her. “I’m only a perv when I’m around you.” He swept his hand down her back, more to touch her than to frisk for additional weapons, but he felt the thin scabbard between her shoulder blades.

She merely raised an eyebrow. “Find what you were looking for?”

His hand continued the sweep, molding the curve of her bottom almost lovingly. “You’re wearing one of those sexy little thongs, aren’t you?” He whispered the question as his grandmother, Wyatt, and Ian entered the house and started down the long hall toward the kitchen.

She leaned into his shoulder and turned her face up to his until their lips were a breath apart. “Am I?”

Heat shot through his body, blood pounded in his veins straight to his aching, thickening groin. He had to stop touching her. The alternative was unthinkable, not with his grandmother coming through the doorway with a welcoming smile on her face. He nearly groaned, catching the back of Flame’s shirt to hold her in front of him.

“That’s just so not fair,” he said.

Her soft laughter taunted him, teased his senses as she deliberately moved back until her bottom rubbed up against him, a mere brush, but it was enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“How wonderful to see you again,” Nonny greeted. She reached out and tucked her hand in the crook of Flame’s arm. “Let’s sit in the parlor, cher, and get to know one another. Raoul, you can bring the tea in.”

“I’m sorry I was so late getting here, Mrs. Fontenot,” Flame apologized. “It was unavoidable.”

Nonny patted her hand. “Thas’ just fine, no worries,” she assured. “I understand you’re staying with Burrell on his houseboat. He’s a good friend of mine, child.”

“That’s what he said.” Flame cast Gator a smoldering look over her shoulder promising retaliation. She knew he’d really put a homing device on the airboat, that he’d already checked up on her. “He’s a wonderful man.”

Gator sent her his quick, easy grin, balancing the tea tray easily in one hand as he trailed after them.

Nonny sank down onto the couch and patted the seat beside her. “Sit here, cher, and tell me all about your family.”

“My family?” Flame echoed, a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to lie to this old lady the way she lied to everyone else. Why hadn’t she considered that it would be the first thing the woman asked her? Nonny Fontenot was all about family. She was concerned for her grandson and wanting Flame to be the mother of his future children.

Gator watched the color fade from Flame’s cheeks. She glanced up at him almost helplessly and his heart turned over. She actually pressed backward into the pillows of the couch as if to get away from the question. “Flame’s an orphan, Grand-mere. No blood relatives.”

Nonny clucked her sympathy. “That don’ matter, cher. When you marry Gator, you’ll have all kinds of family. More family than you know what to do with.” She patted Flame’s hand again, more of a stroking than a pat.

Flame had a foolish desire to cover the back of her hand with her palm, to hold that small gesture against her skin and take it out later to feel it all over again when she was alone. She flashed Gator a look of anger. How could he have betrayed his family for Whitney? She wanted to slap his face. Wake him up. Shake him. This wonderful, sincere woman loved him and surrounded herself with his pictures and drawings. She’d probably fixed him chicken soup and read him stories when he was sick.

“How long have you known Burrell?” She needed a food, safe topic.

Nonny gestured to her to pour the tea. “Oh, a lifetime. We both grew up in this parish. He was so handsome and smart, but the river claimed him. All he wanted to do was travel the Mississippi. Of course he came to every fais do-do when he wasn’t on the river and all the ladies wanted to daance with him.”

Gator made a sound of pure shock. Nonny quelled him with a stem look. “I’m not dead, Raoul, just old. Of course I noticed how handsome Burrell was. He brought me flowers every couple of months after Rene died. Sometimes he’d come over and we’d sit a spell on the porch and smoke his pipe. He’s the only man I ever smoked a pipe with.”

“I love the smell of his pipe,” Flame admitted. “I tell him smoking is bad for him, but I do inhale a lot when I’m around his pipe.”

“In your delicate condition,” Gator said, “do you mink you should be inhalin’ cher?”

The teacup rattled on the saucer as Flame handed the cup to Nonny. She gave Gator a swift, scowling reprimand, but he simply grinned at her. “I do hope you have pictures of Raoul when he was a boy. I’d love to see what he was like. I imagine he was curly-headed and strong-willed.”

Nonny nearly clapped her hands. “He still has that wonderful head of hair.” She raised her voice. “Wyatt. bring me the family album.”

“No. Grand-mere,” Gator groaned “Don’t do that to me.”

“Great idea, Grand-mere,” Wyatt said cheerfully. He went to a large antique sideboard and pulled open a drawer. The album was wrapped in a hand-crocheted shawl. Wyatt carried it over to his grandmother with obvious care.

Gator sank down onto the couch beside Flame, deliberately crowding her, his thigh tight against hers as he leaned forward to grab a handful of cookies off a hand- painted plate. “I was a cute kid,” he admitted. “Everyone said so.”

“There’s a naked picture of him in there,” Wyatt pointed out with glee as his grandmother opened the album cover, her hand smoothing over the pages with near reverence.

Flame leaned toward Nonny, away from Gator to peer at the picture of the baby happily throwing water into the air. He sat in an old cooking pot with two handles, looking joyfully at the camera in the first picture. In the second he stood waving chubby arms, hair dripping water into his face, laughing while giving a full frontal view. He looked about eighteen months to Flame.

Gator nudged her. “Even as I child I was well- endowed,” he teased, feigning pride. He shifted his weight so he was wedged tight against her again.

Flame peered at the pages, listening to the pride in his grandmother’s voice as she told stories of his childhood. Wyatt leaned over her shoulder and pointed to a black- and-white picture. There was five-year-old Gator with a torn shirt and ragged knees. He’d been protecting one of his younger brothers from a neighbor. The seven-year- old Gator had a black eye and a big grin. Nine-year-old Gator had tape over his nose and two little girls staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. Eleven-year-old Gator had two black eves and a grin as wide as the Mississippi as he swept off his straw hat and bowed toward three little girls sitting on a pier.

“There seems to be a pattern emerging here,” Flame said. “Was he always in fights? And was there always a female audience around?”

Nonny laughed. “Oh my, yes. He was a fighter, that boy. And a charmer.”

“I still am,” Gator said and lifted Flame’s knuckles to his mouth.

She snatched her hand away, shocked that she was holding his hand and didn’t even realize it.