“I’m moving to my new home tomorrow,” he informed Wyatt, not apologizing. “After tonight, she’s going to be so angry with me for interfering with her business that she won’t come calling again.”

“If she doesn’t decide to kill you.” Wyatt swung around and began walking, staying to a narrow path just behind the brush and trees.

Trap smirked. “She’ll probably consider it, but she won’t do it. She couldn’t kill me anymore than I could kill her.”

“You’re bettin’ your life, Trap,” Wyatt said, holding his hand up for silence. They were both speaking softly, but they needed to cease talking altogether. Sound carried at night, and they were closing in on the canal leading to the Comeaux properties.

Yeah. Trap knew he was betting his life, but he was fairly certain the end result would be worth it. He had calculated the odds, because that was what he did. He ran the data through his brain and knew if he couldn’t stop thinking about her – if he couldn’t harm her – she couldn’t stop thinking about him and she wouldn’t want him permanently removed from her no matter what she said. She was fighting the pull between them, the same as he was.

Cayenne was a beautiful woman. Other men were going to try to court her. Maybe most men would run for the hills when they discovered she was dangerous. She would never reveal her enhanced abilities, but she wouldn’t be able to help showing her character. They’d be jealous and possessive, the exact same as he felt and they wouldn’t be able to handle her. But they were in Cajun country. If Gator and Wyatt Fontenot were anything to go by, Cajun men liked strong women. They liked a little wild in them.

Trap wasn’t taking any chances that another man might slip in there and try to claim her. He didn’t want to kill anyone over her, and he was fairly certain it could happen. He studied their surroundings as they made their way in absolute quiet, muting their footfalls as they moved. He needed to take his mind off the thought that another man might touch her – or kiss her. Or in any way draw her interest.

Trap, Wyatt hissed.

Trap glanced out into the water. Cypress trees grew along the bank, their knobby knees spread wide to make certain of survival. Gum trees grew higher on land. Brush and plants filled in between the trees, lending the island an unkempt appearance. This was the place of legends. The shimmer floating out over the water would add to that if anyone saw it. If Cayenne saw it, she would know he was close – and following her.

He took a deep breath. Where was the ice water running in his veins? His team referred to him as the iceman for a good reason. He was the one who went into the hottest spots and pulled out the soldiers torn and bleeding while the others covered him. He faced every dangerous situation without flinching. Over the years, he had forced himself to become the man he was – the man able to protect his family if his uncles – or anyone else – threatened.

Wyatt held up his closed fist, and Trap instantly went still. He opened his psychic senses to the night. Instantly he heard voices. Two men and a woman. His heart thudded in his chest and then settled into a normal rhythm as his training took over. They moved closer, and Wyatt went up a tree to cover him as he approached the trio.

Trap stayed as close to the tree line as possible, wanting the concealment so Cayenne couldn’t spot him. She looked very small next to the two Cajuns. She gestured toward her boat with a smile.

“Thanks. I can’t believe I ran right onto the bar. I would have gotten it off eventually but I probably would have been here most of the night.” Her voice was soft. Whisper soft. Compelling. Like silk. Her French accent was thick. Sexy.

She was throwing out a lure without even knowing it. Trap could tell she was giving them one more chance to walk away.

Pascal Comeaux stepped right up to her. “Maybe you should find a way to thank us.”

Trap clenched his teeth as Blaise Comeaux caged her in on the other side, much like they’d done at the bar.

She raised a hand and swept it over her hair in a long, sexy slide. The action called attention to her high, full breasts. He nearly groaned aloud. Everything she did was sexy. The way she moved. Her voice. That accent. Her body standing between the two large men. He let out his breath.

Pascal caught her around the waist and pulled her front to his easily. His brother moved in behind her, arms around her as well. She didn’t make a sound, but she pressed her head to Pascal, just for a moment. He yelped and stepped back, nearly letting her go, his face dark and red with sudden anger. One hand balled into a fist, the other stayed firmly around her back.

Cayenne didn’t look at him again. She leaned down and bit his brother’s forearm. His cry was higher. Longer. She just watched him impassively as he jumped away from her. Staggered. Pascal’s hand dragged her closer, and she turned back to him. His fist went back, fury gathering in his eyes.

Trap was there before him, catching his arm, holding back the punch. His piercing blue gaze met Cayenne’s. They stared at each another while Pascal’s body shuddered and slowly began to crumple. Trap let his arm go so that he fell in a heap very close to his brother. Both had their eyes wide open, but neither could move.

“What are you doing here?” Cayenne demanded, her hands on her hips.

“Saving your pretty little ass.”

Her chin went up. Her eyes narrowed. That only brought his attention to the beautiful green surrounded by all those thick, luxurious lashes. He really wanted her eyes open when he was moving inside of her.

She toed Pascal. “I didn’t need help.”

“I wasn’t saving your ass from them.” There was contempt in his voice.

Pascal’s eyes blinked. The fury should have set the island on fire.

Trap switched to telepathy, a much more intimate form of speech. Even if Pascal and his brother had their memories removed, he didn’t want even a residue of his conversation with Cayenne in their minds. I was saving you from yourself. Go home. I’ll be there tomorrow. Make a list of whatever you need and I’ll get it for you. You want money or need it, you’re a GhostWalker. The money will be put into an account for you. We have a collective one, and each GhostWalker has received compensation. Whitney’s daughter sets up an account for each of us through a trust.

Something moved in her eyes. Something that made his heart jerk hard in his chest. Her chin lifted, but she followed his lead. For the perfect ones, not the flawed ones. I’m supposed to be terminated, not compensated.