“What the hell were you doing in the club tonight?”
Flame waited until he turned back toward her, until his dark, angry, turbulent gaze met hers. He was smoldering with temper, his fist opening and closing, his easy charm obviously wearing thin.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you in there? Do you want men to be so obsessed they can’t control themselves?” He took an aggressive step to ward her.
She stood her ground, one hand steadying herself on the seat of the boat, refusing to be intimidated. She was never intimidated. She could easily protect herself whether he had her knife or not. His eyes glittered at her with a kind of fury she found intriguing rather than terrifying. Raoul Fontenot was a man who liked to portray himself as easygoing but beneath the veneer was a man of intense passions, of dark secrets, a man he kept hidden from the rest of the world.
“I absolutely did not expect that to happen. Obviously you were affected and it’s upset you. Did you think you’d be exempt from the effects? Have you checked out the weapons they have now or are in the process of developing? They actually have everything now, from acoustic beams and blast waves to my personal favorite, the acoustic bullet, high-powered, very low-frequency waves emitted from one to two meter antenna dishes that result in blunt-force trauma, affecting anything from discomfort to death. Surprise, Raoul, even the shooters can be affected if they aren’t behind the device used to produce the sound. You and I, we’re basically human acoustic bullets. We can get into and out of places fast and without being seen and we don’t need an antenna.” Her eyes widened. “You were created after me, weren’t you? And you amplify my talent, don’t you?”
“Don’t you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you suspect me of some conspiracy.” He swore in Cajun, a blast of words so fast she was hard put to keep with him.
Flame remained silent, intrigued by the way he looked when his ancestry came out. He was a good-looking man, rough around the edges with his blue-shadowed jaw, but the thick black wavy hair and ready smile provided the killer charm. “It simply occurred to me that Whitney wanted to see what would happen if we were together.”
“Whitney is dead.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“Tell me what you were doing at the club tonight.”
Flame sighed. “You’re like a bear with a sore tooth. I was trying to lure a particular person to me. A girl disappeared a few weeks ago. She was a singer, had a beautiful sultry voice. The cops think she picked up and left the area because it’s convenient for them to think that. But her family and everyone who knew her think something happened to her. And I do too.” Her voice was pitched low, not in the least remorseful or defiant.
There was a long silence. Too long. It stretched out between them until she could feel the full weight of his disapproval. “You’re telling me, you set yourself up as bait for what could be a killer because a girl you don’t even know disappeared? Have you lost your mind or do you just have a death wish?”
“I don’t have to justify my actions to you.”
“You don’t have backup. I don’t go on a mission with out backup. That’s just plain stupidity.” He stepped closer, his fingers settling around her upper arms.
Flame felt the tremor running through him. “Let go of me before I push your butt into the bayou. Talk about stupidity! You had everything and you threw it away. At least I have a good reason for the things I choose to do.”
“Like stealing from Saunders, who, by the way, I had investigated and he’s about as mean as they come. He’s suspected of having ties to the underworld-”
She jerked away from him. “Like I didn’t know that already? I do my homework.” Red hair went in all directions as she shook her head. “I’m not exactly a team player. I make decisions based on percentages and the percentages were in my favor this time. The girl…”
“Joy Chiasson,” he supplied, his gaze on her throat. When she’d turned her head, the scarf she wore slipped. He moved even closer, crowding her, his body brushing hers. “Our two families have known one another for years. I came here to find out what happened to her.” He broke off, his attention diverted. His fingertip brushed the dark marks on her throat. His fingerprints. “Did I do this?”
She lifted a hand to hide the marks, but he stopped her, this time much more gently. “I’m sorry, Flame. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I had a knife to your throat. I think the situation was a little tense.” Her voice was suddenly husky, a little too intimate. “Did you really come to New Orleans to look for Joy?” Why hadn’t she moved away from him? He was so close she felt his heart beat. And why was she whispering?
“Yes. My grandmother asked me to come. When she told me Joy was missing, I remembered another woman, a singer from another parish who disappeared a couple of years ago. I thought the fact that they both had incredible voices was worth checking into. And I don’ like Grand mere to be upset.”
“Because of her heart.”
“Because I love her and she rarely asks me for any thing. But I’m not going to lie to you. Lily asked me to find you, if possible, and persuade you to join us.”
Flame stepped away from him, her eyes suddenly hard and sparkling with temper. “And just how would Miss Lily know I was in New Orleans?”
“She ran the probabilities of you coming here through a computer.”
“She knew the fire at the sanitarium would draw me out. They made a hit on Dahlia, didn’t they?” She turned completely away from him, but not before he caught the glitter of tears in her eyes. “I didn’t find her in time.”
“The GhostWalkers found her in time,” Gator said. “Dahlia’s alive and well and very safe. In fact she’s married to a buddy of mine.”
CHAPTER 6