Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

“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