get inundated by all the sounds surrounding her.”
Gator didn’t even flinch, not even when her shrewd gaze rested on his face.
“Well,” she continued, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t responded, “maybe not in this house. The walls are soundproofed. And maybe that’s why my father had it built this way. For his protection, not mine.” She wiped the tears from her face and stood up, pacing restlessly across his room. “Have you kept up with the latest research on sound as a weapon?”
He had, but he wasn’t going to admit it. GhostWalkers rarely volunteered information, especially when it concerned their own talents. He remained silent.
Lily cast him a small glance, clearly waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t she sighed. “Flame can use sound as sonar. She can literally ‘see’ in the dark like a bat or a dolphin. As a weapon, infrasound can debilitate by causing nausea, bowel spasms, change of heart rhythm, interference with lung capacity, vertigo, etc.”
“In other words, she can kill a human being.” He said it without looking at her. He knew firsthand what low- frequency sound could do and it sickened him.
“Absolutely she could kill a human being. Also, infrasound is nondirectional in its propagation, therefore it envelops without any discernible localized source. She could produce the ‘weapon’ without her direction being detected.” Lily squarely met his gaze again. “Another thing that is interesting about what she can do, Gator, is aside from ‘talking’ to animals, she could conceivably create a mass exodus of, say, bats from a cave or rats from an abandoned complex using a high frequency. She could even draw or repel insects such as mosquitoes.”
Lily was well aware she was talking about things he could do, and she was looking for a reaction. He remained absolutely without expression. She lifted her chin at him. “Can you use ultrasound to detect problems in people, Gator? Can you ‘see’ organs by using a high frequency?”
“I believe the idea was to be able to help should any one in my unit be injured. We’d have a walking ultrasound machine.”
“Which is no answer at all. If you find her, Flame could be very ill. She might not let a doctor get near her, but she might let you. Would you be able to detect cancer?”
“I’ve never tried.”
“If she tried to kill you, Gator, would you be able to defend yourself against her, or would you allow sentiment to get in your way?” She asked it bluntly.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be asking me that?”
She had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to turn. You’re heading back to the bayou and I think there’s a very good chance she’ll be in the same vicinity. Look in the blues clubs. She won’t be able to resist them. She has to have a dynamite singing voice-like you. And you’ll be there looking for information on Joy anyway.”
“You’ve never heard me sing.”
“I don’t have to hear it. I know you have the ability. I have no idea what Flame’s going to be like, and I’m sorry I’m dumping this in your lap, but I have all I can do trying to sort out the mess we’re all in. Something’s wrong, but I can’t figure it out.”
“Ta1k to Ryland, Lily. That’s your first mistake, not trusting him to help you.”
She hung her head. “I hate the way you all look at me.”
“The guilt is in your own mind, Lily. I don’t blame you for what Whitney did. Wevolunteered. You didn’t.” “Please know I wouldn’t have asked you to do this, but I honestly believe it’s imperative to find Flame. She may be very sick.” “I’ll look for her, Lily.” “Thank you and please, Gator, be careful.”
CHAPTER 2
Four weeks later
Gator shoved the gas hose into the tank of the Jeep and stretched his tired muscles while he waited for the tank to fill. Another long night and, if one considered listening to great blues music all night a failure, he’d had another unsuccessful search. He’d asked more questions and received absolutely no answers in his hunting for Joy Chiasson. No one seemed to know anything. Everyone remembered her beautiful voice, but no one knew any thing about her disappearance. Joy had completely disappeared and not a single person seemed to know anything about it.
As for sighting Iris Johnson, he hadn’t even come close to seeing anyone who looked like her. He must have hit every club within five square miles while hunting for information on Joy’s disappearance and he’d still come up empty on both women. He’d taken personal leave and so had Ian. They’d been in the bayou nearly four weeks and they couldn’t stay there forever. If he didn’t find something on Joy soon, he would have to leave, and his grandmother’s heart would be broken. She was so certain he would solve the mystery of Joy’s disappearance and bring her home safely. He was beginning to believe that wasn’t going to happen.
His restless gaze shifted in a continual sweep of the area. Recon. Always recon. He would never be free of the need to be on his guard. He’d picked the gas pump in the deepest shadow with the easiest exit back onto the street, and he’d done it without conscious thought. With a small sigh, he glanced up at the stars. He loved the night. It was the only time he felt truly comfortable, and tonight he needed a little comfort.
He hadn’t thought all that much about a woman of his own, or a family. He wasn’t the kind of man to settle down, but Lily’s disclosure of genetic enhancement had hit him unexpectedly hard. For some reason he couldn’t get it out of his mind. In the beginning when he realized he could leap up onto a roof with little or no effort, he thought it was cool, an extraordinary side benefit of his psychic experiment. The word virus had never come into his mind, and neither had cancer. He’d never really questioned the physical things he could do and, other than the uses as weapons, he hadn’t discussed the enhanced physical abilities with the GhostWalkers. Maybe none of them really wanted to know, but now it seemed all-important.
He hadn’t signed on for genetic enhancement. Psychic yes. As a child growing up, he had noticed he had some small psychic talent. Animals responded to him. Sometimes he caught impressions of what they were feeling. He had an extraordinary memory and his mind would figure out patterns the moment he saw them. He had exceptional hearing as well. Little things, nothing big, but he knew he could do things others couldn’t. Not wanting to be different, he’d kept it hidden, much like the rest of the GhostWalkers had done.
He’d trained in the military, was gifted with explosives, building bombs fast and efficiently as well as dismantling with equal speed and care. He’d been recruited by special operations, and the moment he’d heard of Dr. Whitney’s psychic experiment and the special psych unit he’d jumped at that as well.
The idea of a unique group of soldiers, able to use psychic skills, to slip in and out of enemy territory using hit- and-run tactics, really appealed to him. He’d seen too many people-good friends-die and he thought it would be a way to stop so many unnecessary deaths.
What did genetic enhancement mean for the GhostWalkers’ already uncertain futures? Would they be able to have families and, if so, would they pass the traits on to their children? What in the world had he been thinking to do such a stupid thing? He groaned aloud. It should have occurred to him that Whitney would use them as human lab rats. Gator hadn’t known of Whitney’s earlier experiments with the little girls when he’d signed on, but still, that was no excuse. He should have been smarter. He might have thrown away his entire future.
Gator leaned against the Jeep and pushed a hand through his thick black hair. Growing up in the bayou had been an experience that taught him different wasn’t always good. His parents had died during a flood, a freak accident, and his grandmother had taken on the task of raising the four boys. Wild, fiercely loyal, and proud, Raoul was the oldest and took care of the others. That responsibility had transferred over into his military life. And now, here he was, looking for a woman who was probably dead and another who didn’t want to be found.
He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately went on alert. A woman slipped out of the shadows. She must have been in the store. More than anything else, it was the way she moved that caught his attention. She flowed in silence, her black, tight-fitting pants molding to her hips and legs. She wore gloves and a leather jacket. Her hair was thick and dead straight, ending just about her shoulders. She glided to her motorcycle, a crotch rocket, a lightning bolt if his guess was correct, built for nothing but speed and handling.
