Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

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