Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

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.

CHAPTER 7
    C:\DOCUME~1\Owner\LOCALS~1\Temp\Feehan, Christine - %5bGhost Walkers 3%5d
    - Night Game (v1.5).html - chapter_6#chapter_6

    “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 in formation.” 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