Night Game by Christine Feehan Page A

he?”
    Raoul shook his head. “Not he, she . Lily. The old man is dead.”
    Her eyes flashed fire. “For all your nonsense, I didn’t take you for a complete fool, but if you believe Dr. Whitney is dead, you deserve anything that happens to you.”
    She moved again, a slight, nearly imperceptible gliding of her feet. Without warning, she launched herself, leaping into the air, shooting both feet at his broad chest. She went at him in an angle, determined to knock him off the bike, but at the last possible second, he deflected the double kick, driving her legs away from him with a powerful block of his forearm that sent her tumbling to the ground.
    Flame leapt to her feet, landing in a fighter’s crouch, fists up and ready.
    Raoul smirked at her. “You don’ play well with others, do you, cher ?”
    “I don’t play at all, especially with Whitney’s little puppets.”
    The lazy swinging of the foot halted abruptly and the smile faded. “Now you done gone and insulted me, ma petite enflamme . That’s not a good thing to do when I’m holding your motorcycle hostage.”
    She circled the bike, studying him from every angle. He could call her his fiery little one all he wanted, but he was the one about to be burned. He was far too sure of himself and, as most of her opponents did, he underestimated her. “Why are you here?”
    “To bring you home, cher , where you belong.”
    “Like hell you’ll take me back. I’d rather be dead.” She leapt into the air a second time, going over him and the motorcycle, one boot aiming for his face.
    Gator whipped his head to one side. Her boot barely skimmed his jaw, burning a line across his five o’clock shadow. He caught her leg in a scissor lock and shoved, sending her sprawling toward the ground. Flame rolled with the scissor lock, tucking into a somersault, doing an aikido roll, and coming right back up into fighting position.
    The man just sat on the motorcycle, a small irritating smirk on his face. Nothing seemed to ruffle him and Flame felt the small shift under her feet that indicated she was definitely ruffled. She’d been taking it easy on him, mainly to see what he’d do, but the more he sat there looking all puffed up and satisfied, the madder she was getting. Flame couldn’t afford to lose her temper.
    Before she could launch another attack she saw his gaze shift toward the street. The small smile hovering around his mouth faded and he held up his hand in a silent signal of danger. His hand moved across his throat before showing four fingers. He had gone from amused male to commander in a split second. He looked lethal, dangerous, and every bit the predator.
    Flame backed away from him, shaking her head. She wasn’t his ally. Anyone sent by Whitney was her enemy.
    She crouched lower and studied the street. Not only were four guards spreading out, armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and heading straight into the park, but several black SUVs had pulled out of the Saunders estate and onto the street to patrol the area. She was certain they were looking for whatever she had taken from the safe. Anyone caught was going to be interrogated and searched.
    Gator gestured imperiously toward the bike, clearly ordering her to get on it.
    Flame ran to her bag, staying low as she swooped it up and secured it on her shoulder. She wasn’t about to get caught between a rock and a hard place. She’d take her chances with civilian guards rather than a genetically and physically enhanced soldier. She wasn’t about to kid herself. No matter how charming the Cajun might be, he was a weapon, the same as she was.
    She ran for the center of the park where the shadows were the darkest. She heard Gator swear and her motorcycle start up, the engine loud in the silence of the night. He revved it up, deliberately drawing attention to his presence. Flame skidded to a halt and watched as he did several doughnuts with the bike, luring the guards in closer to him. They talked