Night Game by Christine Feehan

  "Laissez le bon temps rouler!" Wyatt grinned at his oldest brother, and pointed to the ice chest in their boat as he shoved the long pole along the bottom of the canal, driving the pirogue toward the pier. "Of course, Grand-mere may never forgive you if you don' marry that girl and raise a family with her."

  "Oui, tais toi, Wyatt," Gator groused. "Although the idea of taking her to bed does make my heart sing."

  Wyatt toed at him good-naturedly. "And other body parts as well. She was damned fine-looking, even when she had the knife to your throat."

  "I've seen him in action," Ian MacGillicuddy announced, shoving at the lid of the ice chest. "I believe her. He's been frequenting the clubs and I'd be willing to bet he charmed her into his bed."

  Gator threw a beer cap at Ian. "You know I haven't been here long enough to be makin' babies, much as the idea of trying with her may be appealin'."

  "I don' know, bro, they have these tests now that can tell practically overnight. Grand-mere has a royal bee in her bonnet now. She wants a marriage and it ain't gonna be me." Wyatt grinned at his brother. "And that woman, she held that knife like she knew how to use it. She's a wildcat, that one."

  Gator's teeth flashed. "Yeah, she's that, all right. Made me sit up and take notice." He hadn't stopped thinking about her. When he'd thrown his body over hers, her skin had been the softest thing he'd ever touched. He'd wanted her with every cell in his body. The blood had surged hot and greedy through his veins, pouring into his groin so that he still ached just thinking about her. He liked women, loved women, but he didn't lust after any particular one--not like this. He forced his smile wider. "Laissez le bon temps rouler!"

  "What the hell does that mean exactly?" Ian demanded. "That and your tuto comment to your brother. I had the feeling that wasn't very nice."

  "He told me to shut up."

  "Let the good times roll," Gator interpreted for the big Irishman, ignoring Wyatt. "The Huracan Club is owned by Delmar Thibodeaux. And his place is always hoppin'."

  "It's good to have you home, Gator," Wyatt said. "You made Grand-mere happy. I haven't seen her smile like that in a couple of years. Well, until you got that woman pregnant, but I think if you marry her, Grand-mere will forgive all."

  Unfortunately, his grandmother wouldn't listen to him even when he pointed out he'd only been home four weeks. Technically four weeks was plenty of time for a Fontenot to get a woman pregnant. Nonny wanted her grandsons married and settled down, not wild and running free. She wanted another woman close and little babies to hold in her arms. He turned his head away from his brother and Ian, afraid his expression might give him away. He had a sudden longing for those very things--now that they might be out of his reach. Funny how he'd taken it all for granted. The home. The family. A wife and children.

  "Grand-mere says twins run in the family, Gator. She's hoping for two from you right away. You best be finding that woman and ropin' her in fast, bro."

  "Keep talking and I'm going to pin your ears back for you," Gator said, forcing a soft laugh as he turned back toward his brother. The sound carried in the stillness of the swamp, but the smile didn't reach his restless eyes. He searched the bayou, noting every canal, the lay of the land, the birds in flight. Even here at home with his friend and family, he made sure nothing got by him.

  Wyatt leaned on his pole a moment, studying the harsh planes and angles of his brother's face. "You haven't changed much. You still act as easygoing as ever, but there was no one tougher in the bayou." He grinned at Ian. "The boys want to fight every night, but not Gator. They never wanted to get him stirred up."

  Gator grinned but kept his gaze on the people on the pier and in the boats. It was good to be home in spite of the reason for his homecoming. His last trip had been so fast, a hit-and-run through the bayou with trouble on his tail. This time, he could savor being home. The way his grandmother's face lit up when she saw him had been worth the trip alone.

  Well . . . until she got it in her head he needed to take responsibility for his actions. Flame had made quite the impression with her poor-innocent-woman-seduced-by-the-charming-playboy act. It didn't help that he had a certain reputation with the ladies and his grandmother knew it. She'd always been sharp; the boys had been certain when they were growing up she had eyes in the back of her head catching their misdeeds. And now she wanted Flame brought into the family fold. He'd stopped denying he'd slept with her. And he'd even stopped denying she might be carrying his child. What was the use? His grandmother wanted it to be true and nothing he said was going to change that fact.

  "I'm about to die of thirst," Ian said. He pressed the icy bottle of beer Wyatt snagged for him to his brow. "I'm just replacing what I been sweating out."

  Wyatt laughed at him. "You're soft, mon ami, can't take the heat with all that fine living you been doing."

  "Fine living?" A slow grin spread over Ian's face. He shook back his shock of red wavy hair. "Oh, I like that, Gator. We been living fine up there in Miss Lily's big house." He tipped half a bottle of beer down his throat. "You're a good man, Wyatt, but you don't know the half of it."

  Gator snorted derisively. "Don' let the boy fool you, Ian. Wyatt's been up to no good. He's been doin' nothing but partying, fighting, and getting into trouble with the ladies. Grand-mere wrote me 'bout the hell-raising you been up to, Wyatt, and me, I've come home to straighten you out."

  Wyatt winked at Ian. "Oh, I don' think I have much to worry about anymore, big brother. I think Grand-mere has a new bee under her bonnet and it isn't me in trouble this time! I phoned the boys and let them know you were about to tie the knot with some high-stepping voodoo queen. They were pleased for you."

  "You're enjoying the hell out of this, aren't you, Wyatt?" Gator asked.

  "Absolutely I am." He leaned on the pole again, pushing the pirogue closer to the pier. "For once in my life, I'm not the one Grand-mere Nonny is going to slap upside the head and it feels damned good."

  "I'm sure your grandmother will understand when you get around to telling her the truth," Ian soothed.

  Both Wyatt and Gator shook their heads simultaneously. "Once Grand-mere gets a notion, she never lets up," Wyatt explained. "Gator's gonna have to find himself a bride, willin' or not."

  Gator replayed the feel of Flame's soft body against his. She was so damned soft. And her eyes . . . Vivid. Green. A man could drown in her eyes. Maybe he might be more willing than he thought he was. He shook his head as if that might dislodge such an idiotic thought.

  She'd looked at him almost desperately there at the end, when she was under his body, his fingers squeezing her trachea, the two of them head to head, dangerous and angry with each other. "I don't know if I can." He listened to the words replay in his head. There had been fear and honesty mixed together. She'd sounded so damned vulnerable he ached inside. Everything protective in him had risen up and reached out to her. She had been afraid of hurting his family. She hadn't wanted to, but she'd been afraid she might.

  Damn Whitney. Damn both Whitneys. He was home looking for a lost friend. Poor little Joy. Her parents weren't rich and it was easier for the police to believe she'd taken off to the big city rather than to launch a full-scale investigation that might cost the taxpayers money. She was his priority, not Iris "Flame" Johnson. He didn't give a damn what Lily said. He didn't have to bring Flame back to a place that must have been hell for her. A place that would only have bad memories and . . .

  "What the hell!" Wyatt crouched low and gripped the sides of the pirogue as it rocked unexpectedly.

  Gator glanced up quickly, saw the churning water and met Ian's gaze over the top of his brother's head. He drew in a long, slow breath and let it out to calm his mounting temper. Ian raised an eyebrow at him and Gator shrugged it off. He needed to find his balance and maintain it at all times. He reached out and snagged another cold bottle of beer from the ice chest and downed a third of it, the liquid giving him a measure of coolness in the heat.

  "Any news on Joy, Wyatt?" he
asked, suddenly.

  Wyatt sighed. "Nothing. No one seems to have heard or seen a damn thing."

  Gator glanced up sharply at his tone, noting the shadows in Wyatt's eyes, the somber face.

  "You said you were putting out feelers about the boy she was seein', talking to some of your friends."

  "James Parsons. About twenty-four, good-looking, at least all the girls say so. His daddy hobnobs with the politicians and knows just about anyone who is anyone. Rumor is, James brought Joy home for dinner and Daddy and Mommy objected. Said she wasn't quite good enough for their circle of friends and he could sow his wild oats, but forget about anything permanent. From what her sister told me, it was said right in front of her and James didn't put up a word of protest."

  "What an ass," Ian said as he exchanged a quick glance with Gator. They both knew of the elder Parsons. He was head investigator in the DEA and was presently scrutinizing a local businessman for money laundering. They also knew he had a reputation for being a first-class snob.

  "Joy's brothers expressed their opinion in much harsher terms," Wyatt said.

  "After that kind of humiliation, maybe she did want to leave," Gator ventured. "I'll bet she didn't date Parsons again."

  "No, but he kept comin' 'round," Wyatt said. "Her oldest brother, Rene, beat the hell out of him, but it did no good."

  "Lily said the police questioned him and he appeared to be genuinely upset over Joy's disappearance."

  "Her brothers and uncles think he had something to do with her disappearance. I don't. I think he's just afraid to stand up to his daddy. I think he was working up the courage to run off with her. Joy wasn't the runaway kind. She wasn't ashamed of her family and she wasn't ashamed of the bayou. She's smart and talented and when James Parsons didn't stick up for her she told him to go to hell." The edge to Wyatt's voice became sharper.

  "You know her long?" Ian asked Wyatt.

  "I went to school with her. She was way out of my league." Wyatt cast a sly glance at his brother. "Kinda like the little she-devil you played jump the broom with. A real looker and sassy as hell."

  "I didn't think any girl was outa your league, Wyatt." Gator paused in the act of taking another pull on his beer to eye his younger brother. "You like this girl?"

  Wyatt shrugged. "She was nice. Always had a friendly smile in school. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years other than at a distance, but, yeah, I liked her."

  "Did you ask Grand-mere Nonny to have me come home?" Gator asked shrewdly.

  Wyatt shrugged a second time and busied himself tying up the pirogue to the dock, absently waving to several people as he did so. "I might have mentioned you could help. You always were like a bloodhound. You know things other people don't. And you have connections, people who might get involved. There was a better chance that she could be found if you came home."

  "You pick up any information at the clubs?"

  "Not really. Not of any use. I thought you might hear things I can't." It was the first time Wyatt had ever acknowledged he knew his older brother was different. When Gator continued to stare at him he finally nodded. "I watch you. I'm not nearly as dumb as I look."

  Gator unfolded his legs and stretched, toeing Ian's cowboy boots. "You're really going to stand out there, Irishman."

  "I stand out everywhere," Ian replied with pride. He chugged another beer. "Hotter than hell here. Kind of makes me wish for the cool of Ireland. All emerald carpets and rain."

  "We have emerald." Wyatt pointed his pole toward several plants. "And it rains every other hour. Just wait and we'll get a shower soon enough."

  "Aw, laddie, that's not what I mean by the cool of Ireland," Ian protested.

  "Don't let him fool you, Wyatt," Gator said. "He's never been to Ireland in his life. He thinks the ladies will like him with that brogue he affects."

  "Pathetic," Wyatt stated. "Everyone knows ladies love Cajuns. It's in our blood, and our language is the language of romance."

  "Your language is the language of bullshit," Ian corrected. "You're a couple of good ole boys with pretty faces. Women just ought to know better. They should be looking for a real man."

  "You have red hair, Ian," Wyatt said with feigned sadness, his hand over his heart. "It's never going to happen for you."

  "There's always dye," Gator pointed out, eyeing Ian's wild hair judiciously. "We could dye it black and help him learn to speak without that funny little accent."

  Ian reached for him, shockingly fast for a big man, whipping his arm around Gator's throat and rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. "I'll show you a funny accent," he threatened. "It's a brogue. And a good Irish brogue at that."

  The pirogue tilted dangerously and the ice chest skittered toward Wyatt, who dropped the pole in the bottom of the boat and made a grab for the all-important beer. "Save the fightin' for inside, you'll need it," he cautioned.

  Ian grinned at him. "No one fights like an Irishman."

  Wyatt tied up to the dock and stepped out onto the pier, holding the boat steady while the Ghost Walker leapt from the pirogue. Gator climbed out and stretched, rolling his shoulders and eyeing the club. The Huracan was one of the wildest and most popular clubs in the bayou. Accessible only by the waterway, mostly only the locals frequented the place. Once in a while some of the more astute music lovers in the business district discovered it, but for the most part, the Huracan belonged to those living in the bayou and they danced and drank and played hard there.

  Music blasted out the windows and through the thin walls. The crowd sounded like thunder as individual conversations rose over the music. Ian leaned in close to Gator. "Are you going to be able to hear what you need to hear in that place?"

  Gator nodded. "I can hear conversations through walls, Ian. It's just a matter of sorting them out. If someone is talking about Joy, I'll hear them."

  "It hurts though, doesn't it?" Ian's voice was pitched even lower to prevent Wyatt from hearing. "I've seen your face when you're working with sound and it hurts like hell."

  "It's difficult to filter everything out. I can hear a great distance, but I have to concentrate on separating and identifying all the sounds. It's a lot of work and you know, when we open ourselves up for assault, we get slammed pretty hard." He drew in a breath as he looked at the club. "I've trained for this. Lily's exercises really helped. I noticed a difference right away, but I'll come away with a whopper of a headache."

  "Lily's exercises are to raise shields, not bring them down like you have to for something like this," Ian pointed out. "The trail is cold on this girl. I don't know that putting yourself in harm's way is very smart, Gator. I know you want to do this for your family but . . ."

  "I want to do this because there's no one else looking out for that girl. She didn't leave for the big city. She loves her family and she wouldn't cause them worry. Something happened to her--something bad and someone has to care about her."

  Ian nodded. "I'm with you then, Gator. You pick up the information, any at all, and we'll be all over it."

  Shades of blue cast eerie shadows over the long strands of moss sweeping the water below the trees. The moon shed light across the bayou and the sound of authentic Cajun music traveled for miles. Flame stepped out onto the deck of the houseboat and flashed the old man sitting there a quick grin as she did a small pirouette. "What do you think, Monsieur le Capitaine?" She held out her arms.

  The faded blue eyes took in her form-fitting sheath of green with its kerchief hem, exposing one shapely thigh and hiding the other coyly. The dress clung to every curve, emphasizing her lush figure. The wide black velvet choker around her throat drew attention to her neck and the straight fall of silky red hair. Her eyes were enormous, a vivid green surrounded by long thick lashes. Most of all it was difficult to miss her sexy, pouting mouth.

  The old man removed his pipe and cap, giving her a low bow. "Cher, you are too beautiful for words."

  She gave him a small curtsey. "Bien merci!" She did a small two-step across t
he deck to lean down and kiss his temple. "I brought you a surprise." She handed him a white pillowcase.

  Burrell Gaudet glanced at her face and then pulled open the bag slowly. His eyes widened as he took in the cash. "What is this?"

  "You know very well what it is. Kurt Saunders stole your money. You had a legitimate business deal with the slimeball and he sent his men here to take your last payment so he could foreclose on your land."

  Flame had returned to the houseboat a week earlier, just after the place had been robbed. The captain was sitting with his head in his hands, his furniture smashed and his mattress torn apart. He'd blurted the truth out to her, that Kurt Saunders had sent his men over to steal the last of his payments for his land. Saunders was going to foreclose and he'd lose everything. "I'm just returning what belongs to you."

  "Where did you get this?" he repeated, dazed, eyeing the bundles of cash.

  She shrugged. "I suggest you go to the bank and put it in an account immediately and get a cashier's check for Mr. Saunders. Otherwise, that money will be stolen just like your last payment."

  The captain sucked in his breath and peered around them, lowering his voice because sound traveled on the waterway. "I told you to stay away from Saunders, Flame. He hurts people on the river. I told you before, I would find a better way to get the money."

  She winked at him. "There is no better way. I'm good at what I do, Capitaine. He's been ripping you and your friends off for years. It was time someone taught him how it feels. Don't worry. No one saw me." That wasn't exactly true, but she couldn't see Gator ratting her out. Whatever his agenda was, he would carry it out himself, not bring in Saunders. "I didn't get caught and he'd never suspect me even if he sees us together eventually. I look too sweet and innocent."

  Burrell Gaudet shook his head. Flame looked anything but sweet and innocent. She looked a seductress, sultry and sinful, all curves and satin skin. Her mouth alone could provide a lifetime of fantasies. More than anything--the way she looked, the way she moved--it was her voice that turned heads. Sultry and velvet, pouring over a man's body until he remembered nothing else but that he was all man. Even at his age he wasn't entirely immune to her charm.