Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

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