She had to admit, she had never once considered that terrible place could be transformed into a beautiful home. She loved the upstairs, not to live in, but the design of it all – the spacious rooms and views. The apartment downstairs was far too big for her. She had never really lived outside her cell and freedom was overwhelming. The wide-open spaces made her feel exposed. Because she’d lived most of her life in that small cell, having so much open space terrified her. She would never admit it to anyone, but she couldn’t sleep and ended up dividing the room into sections with silken webs. That helped.

She paced more and restlessly jumped up onto the low-slung couch, standing on the cushions, biting her thumbnail. She never bit her fingernails, but she couldn’t help herself. She shouldn’t have left Trap when she had. His friends had surrounded him protectively, and she could feel waves of both humor and anger radiating out toward her. They wanted to think it was a good joke, but they wouldn’t really find it funny until he was fully recovered.

She had never seen camaraderie like that before. She’d heard of it and read about it, but she’d never actually witnessed it. Certainly not among Braden or Whitney’s supersoldiers. She’d studied all the GhostWalkers from a distance, and sometimes at night while they slept. Wyatt’s home was filled with warmth. The moment she slipped in through the tiny little chimney stack on the roof that no longer was used, she felt the warmth surrounding her.

She’d been careful, staying in the corners, up high on the ceiling, trying to feel what it was like to have a home and family. Again, she’d read of such things, but she had no idea of what one was supposed to be like. The older woman, the one all of them called Nonny, was small and frail. She slept in a bed that seemed too big for her and twice she nearly caught Cayenne, waking when curiosity had gotten the better of Cayenne and she’d slipped down the wall to the floor in order to examine the old photographs lining her walls. Nonny had them everywhere throughout the house.

Cayenne was fascinated by the photographs of four little boys in the process of growing and what those pictures represented. Wyatt and presumably his brothers had grown up in that house. The progression of their aging along with the differences in the house itself kept her coming back to Nonny’s room time and time again. Other than being with Trap, she found she loved that room the most. If there was a scent and a feel to home, it was there in Nonny’s room.

The other place that had absolutely drawn her was Trap’s room. She could sit there for hours watching him while he slept. He never wore clothes to bed. Never. His body captivated her, held her spellbound so that once she was in his room her entire attention was so riveted on his physique that she wasn’t certain she could describe the actual contents of the room, not like she could in Nonny’s.

She was absolutely fascinated with his body. He was a big man, tall, with lots of muscle, miles of it, it seemed. Even in his sleep, there it was, all beautifully covered by his skin. He had scars. She recognized bullet wounds and several stab wounds and that set her heart pounding, that something could happen to him in his line of work. The worst wound was across his stomach, and it had been deep. There was a second high up on his thigh where the blade had been twisted as it was pulled free, creating a crater. He didn’t look like any of the lab techs working for Braden – or Whitney.

He was very proportionate to his size. She knew, because she studied him from every angle. He didn’t like clothes, and he didn’t like to get tangled in the covers. She’d never been close to a man’s naked anatomy, although she’d seen plenty of pictures when they insisted on educating her on the subject of murder – and sex. She decided, after studying his penis several times, that he was too large to fit inside a woman. At rest he was too large, so how could he when aroused? More, in the pictures, she thought men’s packages were quite ugly. She didn’t think that at all about Trap’s. She found herself wanting to know it very intimately.

“Stupid,” she whispered. “You let him know you were going into the house. You shouldn’t have done that. They’ll be waiting now.”

She shouldn’t go. It was insanity. Suicide. But she could barely breathe for the fear moving through her. Her mind felt chaotic. What if she’d given him too much venom? He hadn’t responded like Pascal and Blaise Comeaux. They’d come around, disoriented. Sweating. Grouchy as all get-out, nearly picking a fight with each other, but it had only been a couple of minutes before they’d come around.

She could still hear Wyatt’s voice when the brothers managed to stand up and wade into the water to step into their boat. Of course, she was listening for his boat. The moment the brothers had cleared the area, she was on the move, rushing to follow Trap and Wyatt back to Wyatt’s home.

She leapt from the couch back onto the floor, digging her toes into the thick carpet. She knew she was going to go check on Trap. She had patience, discipline and restraint when it came to any other person or situation, but with Trap she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she shouldn’t go, that it was far too risky, but there was no staying away from him.

What if he stayed away from her? She’d kissed him. Given them both that. At first she told herself it was because she was curious, but she knew that wasn’t the truth. She had to taste him. She had to feel his body against hers. She could lie to him and tell him she wanted him to stay away, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She didn’t want him to stay away. She craved seeing him. She needed to see him in the same way she needed air to breathe. She couldn’t keep away from him. She didn’t understand why, with her discipline, she couldn’t train her mind away from thinking about him, but it was impossible.

Shivering, she took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. If something had happened to Trap the men would be swarming the swamp looking for her. She had silken lines everywhere, so thin most wouldn’t notice. They certainly wouldn’t care about breaking one as they rushed through the thick brush. She’d be warned. Over the last few weeks, she had set her alarm system wider and wider, around the building, through the trees and even farther into the swamp itself.

Each silken strand was so thin, nearly transparent, that it blended into the surroundings. Dew and rain could cling to the strand, giving it away, but she took care to always make her work look like that of the local spiders. She was good at web art and could reproduce any spiderweb shown to her.