Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(78)
Author: Christine Feehan

Wyatt nudged his brother, winking. “Grand-mere wants you to take her back to bed.”

“Thas no way for a gentleman to talk, Wyatt,” Nonny reprimanded.

Wyatt grinned at her, clearly unrepentant.

Flame let out her breath in a long hiss promising retaliation. It had to be Wyatt who provided her night attire and the sex toys. She’d find a way to get even, but at least it enabled her to relax a little around Nonny.

“The kitchen is a mite crowded. The boys have been eating since they got here, Raoul. I don’ think those boys have had a good home-cooked meal in a long while.”

Flame stiffened. This was getting worse and worse. She had a feeling the “boys” weren’t Gator’s other two brothers.

“Grand-mere,” Gator said, kissing his grandmother on the forehead, “those boys have never had cookin’ like yours. You’re the best of the best and everyone in the bayou knows it. I can’t blame them for eating so much.”

“They’re good, polite boys,” Nonny said. “I don’ mind cookin’ for them.”

“That’s a good thing, Nonny, because Tucker never gets filled up,” Gator said.

Kadan and Tucker stood up as the women entered room, Tucker grinning at Nonny a little sheepishly.

“I finished up the gumbo, ma’am. I’ve never had anything so good.”

Kadan nodded his agreement. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“No need for that, boys,” Nonny said, looking pleased. Flame felt the impact of the two GhostWalkers’s gazes. Hard. Penetrating. As if they were looking straight through her to see inside of her. She became aware of Raoul’s hand then, his fingers stroking hers, covering her fist curled around the hilt of her knife. He was very close to her again, his body deliberately crowding hers so it would be difficult to draw the knife and throw in one smooth motion.

“They’re my family, cher,” he reminded, his lips close to her ear.

Flame felt the stirring of his warm breath, heard the reassurance in his voice, but her gaze immediately covered the room, noting all exits, windows, and every single item she could use as a weapon should she need it.

“Flame, this is Kadan Montague and Tucker Addison. Both are my friends and work with me,” Gator said.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Tucker greeted.

Kadan registered the fact that she hadn’t loosened ha grip on her knife and Gator’s hand held hers stationary. “I hope you’re feeling better. Gator told us you won a fight with an alligator.”

She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and made a conscious effort to open her fingers and let go of her lifeline. “Well, I don’t know about that. He lost an eye and I nearly lost an arm, so I’d say it was a draw.”

“Rye called this morning and said the man you identified as Rick Fielding died four years ago running an ops in Columbia,” Kadan announced.

“That’s impossible. He took the psychic test the same time I did. I’m not mistaken,” Gator protested. “It was the same man.”

“You probably aren’t mistaken,” Flame said. “If I had access to a good computer I’d run a list of names of soldiers who took that test, supposedly didn’t make it in but were listed as dead or missing a few months later. My guess would be they’ve become part of another team and someone with a lot of money and a lot of contacts is running them.” Kadan’s gaze had such an impact she hunched, but refused to look away from him. She brushed palm over the hilt of her knife for reassurance.

“I’d agree that running that list of names and comparing them to men who are supposed to be dead is a very smart idea,” Kadan agreed. “I’ll pass it on to Rye and see what he comes up with. He also mentioned that a couple of days ago a U.S. registered Falcon 2000 executive jet landed at the airport here and remained until yesterday. The jet is owned by a company called Lansing International Consulting.”

“Where’s this company based?” Gator asked.

“They’re out of Nevada.”

“I don’t understand,” Wyatt said. “Why would a jet be important?”

“Those men we encountered in the swamp,” Gator said, choosing his words carefully, “had to have been flown in.”

Kadan cleared his throat and continued, “One signature appears on the company’s annual report, an Earl Thomas Bartlett. Ryland ran a search of all commercial databases and there is no record whatsoever of Mr. Bartlett. No residence, driver’s license, Social Security number, or even evidence of a vehicle, yet Mr. Bartlett signs reports and sends jets to various locations all over the world.”

“Who was the jet purchased from?” Flame asked.

Kadan’s strange, glittering gaze met hers, sending another chill through her. “You’re smart. That was the first thing Lily asked too. The jet was purchased from another company, one called International Investments. Like Bartlett, the owner of that company doesn’t seem to exist in any public records.”

“He’s alive,” Flame whispered. She looked at Gator, stricken. “He is alive. I was right all along.”

Gator held out his hand to her and after a moment, she took it.

“Unfortunately, Flame,” Kadan said, “I’m beginning to think you could be right. This aircraft, as well as a few others like it, owned by private international consulting, investing, or marketing companies, appears to be able to fly into restricted areas and that takes clearance. The companies Rye’s looked into all have the same low profile, claim to make small profits, turn in their annual reports, and each has one man who doesn’t appear to exist at the helm. Ryland’s still investigating and it will be a while before we know anything else, but in the meantime it would be a smart move to be on high alert.”

“Any news out of the Congo on Ken Norton?” Gator asked.

“Not yet. No one’s heard anything,” Tucker said.

“Come sit down,” Nonny said, pulling out a chair at the table. “The tea’s done and we could all use a cup.” They complied quickly, although Tucker hung out by the stove, inhaling the aroma of the fish stew slowly cooking. Gator sat between Flame and his grandmother, afraid the next subject would distress her. “Flame and I have a theory about Joy’s disappearance,” he announced. “And we’d like to run it by you.” While his grandmother poured tea, he filled the others in on the details. Flame liked the fact that Gator didn’t try to hide anything from his grandmother. She had a strong feeling that Nonny could help them given the right information. She was shrewd and very knowledgeable regarding the bayou as she’d lived her entire life there. “I think Joy’s still alive and being held somewhere. Now that they’re worried about me blowing it for them, they very well could move her-or even kill her,” she concluded.