A little rain never hurt anyone. You aren’t worried I’m going to leave you, are you, cher? A man doesn’t leave the mother of his child. And after this, I expect you to address me as your hero.

Her soft laughter reached his ears coming toward him on the precision sound wave she generated.

The clouds suddenly burst with an ominous rumble of thunder and rain poured down from the sky. Gator kept his head down, but his gaze moved ceaselessly over the terrain. He was looking for anything that might reveal the presence of the killer. With the rain coming down, it was much more difficult to see, but he strained his eyes, feeling rather than seeing that something was moving closer to Flame.

He’s shifting position. Flame’s warning came on the heels of his own radar. The man was good. Even with the rain flattening the reeds in places, there was nothing to give him away. Gator looked for telltale “tree cancer,” a small dark spot on either side of the tree that might mean a sniper had set up shop, but there was nothing, only his warning system blaring at him.

My ear is planted in the mud and I can feel the earth vibrate. He’s using the cover of the rain to get a better angle. I’m going to roll to my left. I think he’s to my right.

No! Gator’s command was sharp. He’s deliberately trying to get you to move. Stay still. I’ll get him. You need patience for this kind of hunt. Don’t panic on me, cher. The thought of Flame moving terrified him. His heart actually jumped in his chest and something squeezed hard on his lungs. He didn’t know how he knew the killer was trying to spook her into movement, but he was absolutely certain. And while he didn’t think that Flame’s training had included sniper school, Gator would have bet his cabin that the killer’s had.

As if! I never panic.

He hoped that was true. Playing cat and mouse with a professional killer took nerves of steel. Flame knew the killer had a scope on the spot where she went down. If he managed to get a good shot off, she was dead. It took a lot of guts to lie still when a high-powered rifle was pointed right at you. Snipers didn’t miss. He knew the odds. Where many soldiers fired off hundreds of rounds in a battle, a sniper used one to three shots per kill.

The rain poured from the skies, through the canopy of trees, so heavy it obscured vision. The water would help obliterate the tracks when it came to clean up, but it also provided a conductor for sound. He muted noise and sent out sonar, using echolocation in an attempt to pinpoint the location of the sniper. The man had to be concealed in the network of tree roots. Gator willed Flame to remain still as he crawled through the reeds and muck toward the last known spot where his adversary had been.

He scooted through a water-filled depression before realizing it was a man-made trench, narrow with just enough space for a man to lie in. He froze. He had to be almost on top of the sniper. Carefully, only allowing his eyes to move, he searched the area around him, quartering every section of ground. He barely allowed his breath to escape, waiting for something, anything at all to give the sniper’s position away.

Time crept by. The rain poured down. Gator felt the rhythm of the marsh now, the teeming of insect life and the whisper of movement as frogs and lizards darted out from cover to grab a quick meal. His watchful gaze poured over the terrain again and again. The log to his left had split apart, rotted with age and was home to various life forms. A small green lizard skittered toward the log in small stops and starts, dashed forward and abruptly stopped before going up and over a slight mound.

Gator’s breath caught in his throat. That mound, no more than ten feet from him, was the sniper. He hadn’t moved, lying so completely still, covered in reeds and mud, he appeared part of the landscape. If he turned his head and looked, he would be able to spot Gator as only Gator’s head and shirt were camouflaged. His jeans were muddy, but no way, at such a close range, would he escape detection. He didn’t have a gun, which meant he would have to use a knife – and that meant working his way without detection until he was within striking range.

What’s wrong?

He heard the anxiety in Flame’s voice clearly.

Nothing. Stay down.

Your heart rate just went through the ceiling. Don’t give me nothing. Fill me in. I’m not some pansy ass that can’t take bad news.

No, she wasn’t that. She’d coped with bad news most of her life. No, you’re a hothead and you might get yourself killed.

I knew that weasel Whitney wanted me alive. Give it to me straight, Raoul. I need to know what’s going on.

He weighed his options. He’d only have one chance at the sniper. She had to know the danger. He’s a few feet away. If he turns his head, he’ll see me. Don’t move, Flame. This guy knows what he’s doing. He hasn’t moved a muscle and he’s had his eye to the scope the entire time.

There was a small silence. He found himself holding his breath. Raoul. I’ll be really angry at you if you blow this and get killed.

Now cher, make up your mind. I thought you wanted me dead.

You haven’t had time to take out an insurance policy for the baby and me.

Nothing’s goin’ to be happening to me.

Flame was silent again. I could kill him using sound. It’s risky, but better that, than taking a chance…

No! He forced calm into his voice. She was shrewd. He’d just given away too much to her, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to chance it. He wouldn’t let her chance it. No. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.

Count off. On every fifth second I’ll use sound to move the reeds off to my right.

Was there relief in her voice? He couldn’t tell. Damn it, no.

Damn it, yes. Just enough to make him worried I might be on the move. He’ll be concentrating on me and it will give you a chance. I’m not stupid enough to let him get a shot at me. There was determination in her voice. You can’t have it both ways. Either we use sound or we take the chance together.

Gator counted to five and propelled his body forward through the mud using his elbows. He silenced the sucking sound as muck dragged at his body in an attempt to hold him in place. He gained two feet. A few more and he could launch himself onto his target. He would have to go from a crouch to a full-on attack, leaping the distance before the sniper could turn and get a clear shot.

The second count he pushed forward only to see the sniper shift ever so slightly, shoulder hunching.

He’s taking his shot.

He sent the warning simultaneously as the gun went off. The sniper rolled to his left, came up on his knee, rifle to his shoulder for the second shot. Gator sprang, more than grateful for the physical enhancement that allowed him to smash into the sniper, driving him facedown into the mud.

The man must have sensed his presence at the last second because he tried to turn, tried to keep the rifle out of the mud. Gator drove his knife into the man’s side just as the sniper slammed the rifle stock against the side of Gator’s head. For a moment, everything faded in and out. The sniper heaved him off, but Gator caught the rifle, hanging on and kicking at the other man’s crotch.

Flame! Are you hit? He felt frantic, needing reassurance, needing to hear she was alive and well even as he was fighting for his own life. The sniper fought savagely, fear and anger lending him strength as they struggled for possession of the gun. Answer me.

“I’m here,” Flame called out to him as she pushed up out of the muck. The wet ground sucked at her, tried to hold her in place and her leg was throbbing and painful as she tried to stand. Gator had jerked the rifle from the sniper’s hands and it went flying away from them. Both men pulled knives and began to circle.

She dragged herself out of the mud, willing her leg to work when it buckled under her. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered but that she get to the gun. Gator leapt back avoiding the slice of the sniper’s knife by a hair’s breadth, feinted with his right hand, and moved in, going for the kill with his left hand. Flame launched herself into the air, landing hard beside the gun, going down as her leg collapsed under her, but she wrapped her fist around the rifle and brought it to her shoulder. The sniper was already stumbling backward, Gator’s knife in his heart. He toppled over slowly, landing face-up in the rain, eyes wide open, shock on his face.

Gator turned and looked at her. Her gaze clung to his. She looked worn. Beat up. Shocked. Both heard the approach of a four-wheel-drive vehicle, but they didn’t look away from each other. Gator walked over to her and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled, lacking her normal fluid grace and he caught her arms, steadying her, then reached out to wipe the mud from her hair. Streaks of brown and red ran down her pale face as the rain tried to wash her clean.

“Did you plan this?” Her voice was low, barely discernible, but her gaze remained locked with his. Steady. Demanding. There was pain there. Sorrow. Betrayal. All of it mixed together and it tore him up inside that she could think he might have been part of killing Burrell. Her body shook almost uncontrollably despite the heat and warmth of the rain.

Gator sucked in his breath, his fingers curling into two tight fists. “What the hell are you accusing me of doing?”

She shook her head. “I’m asking. Tell me the truth. I need the truth.” Her arms swept out in a semicircle to encompass the swamp. “Did you do this? Set it up?”

The SUV screeched to a halt and Wyatt and Ian jumped out, looked around at the dead men, then to the couple, but they didn’t approach them. Something in the way Gator and Flame stood so close, one body protective, the other fragile, yet both seemingly combative, warned the two men off.

“Damn it, Flame. Are you asking me if I killed Burrell? Grand-mere’s friend? My friend? What possible motive could I have?” Gator demanded.

“A field exercise to see if we worked well together. If we did what we were created by Whitney to do. We did, you know. We just performed a perfect combat mission.”

“Get the hell out of here. Go with Wyatt and stay with Nonny until I can get home.” He raked a hand through his hair. “That’s a hell of a thing to accuse me of, Flame, when I just saved your life. You have a real knack for getting under my skin.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Or what? You’re going to shove a knife down my throat? You can’t be here when they come to clean up. I’ve got to take the heat for this. I’m not about to stand here defending myself to you.” He took a step closer, gripping her upper arms before he could stop himself from giving her a little shake. “You’re being completely unreasonable and illogical…“ His voice trailed off. Was she? Could he say with certainty that someone hadn’t set them up to test their skills? The sniper had had exceptional skills.

He dropped his arms, suddenly wary, gaze working the area. “Damn it, now you have me thinking conspiracy theories.”

“At least you’re thinking. I can’t stay with your grandmother. Don’t argue with me, I just can’t. I’ll find somewhere, a motel, a room, it doesn’t matter. I’m not being difficult, I need-space. Downtime. You know what I mean.”

He did. It didn’t sit well with him, but he knew exactly what she meant. “I have a cabin out in the bayou. It’s far away from everyone. I’ll have Wyatt take you there.” She turned away from him but Gator caught her arm. “I expect you to be there.”

“I hear you. It isn’t like I have too many places to go.”

“I didn’t. Set this up I mean. There was no field exercise that I know of. I have no idea who these men are or who sent them, but I’ll find out. I didn’t do this, Flame.”

“Just out of curiosity, who’d you call for help with the cleanup? I’ll bet it wasn’t the local authorities. You called Whitney, didn’t you?”

He almost wished she sounded angry. Instead, she sounded weary, exhausted, defeated even. “Not Whitney. Lily.”