Wild Cat (45 page)

“She doesn' think she's the same as we are, Trap. She was listed for termination. She considers herself flawed, just as Pepper always did. Not one of us, but a throwaway. She isn't goin' to come to us. She figures we'll look down on her. That we'll judge her in the way they did. It's possible she doesn't trust herself to be around us.”

“She doesn't trust us,” Trap corrected. “I can't say as I blame her, but she feels it, the same as me, that pull between us, or she'd be long gone. You know it's true. She had no reason to stick around here. She has no place to stay, no money, nothing. No clothes. She's staying for me.”

“She's a GhostWalker, Trap. By now she has all those
things,” Wyatt persisted. “She can slip in and out of any store or home without ever being seen. If she's the one robbing the drunks, then she's got money. You said yourself you're certain she's setting up her home there in the buildin' you just bought.”

“I'm positive,” Trap said. “So much so that I'll be moving there soon. I've nearly got the laboratory all set up. Most of my equipment is in. We've got a big workspace and I can protect it easier than the one we set up in your garage.”

“I don' know if I like you livin' there alone right now, Trap, especially if she's there. We don' know how dangerous she is. I know you're close to finishing the renovations, but Whitney could hit us at any time. The boys haven't had enough time to set up all your security.”

“She's there,” Trap insisted. “If I'm there alone, she won't be able to resist coming to me. I'd never be able to resist going to her if I wasn't afraid of scaring her off. She won't hurt me.”

Wyatt sighed. There was no arguing with Trap when he made up his mind. “If you're determined to do that, why are we here?”

“I need to see her in action. All of you have asked around. You know she's been here. She's gorgeous. Alluring. Almost as sexy as Pepper. You think these boys are going to forget her? Not be able to describe her? She does something to mute that either while she's here or when she's leaving. I believe it's when she's leaving. She'd want them attracted. She's looking for a type. Someone she believes deserves being robbed. A criminal. That tells me she's got a moral code of some kind.”

Wyatt flashed a grin. “They couldn't have decided to terminate her because she's a straight-up killer.”

“A black widow? She's that. She carries venom for certain. She can throw webs out. And there's her voice. She can lure with her tone and that damn French accent that's sexy as hell.” Trap shuddered at the memory of her voice seeping into his body through his pores. The feel of silk on his skin.
Her long, thick hair that was so unusual. Black with red highlights right down the center. She had an hourglass figure—high firm breasts, a small waist and flared hips. Even with her curvy figure she was small, slight, so she could fit into places few others could get in and out of.

He was a big man. Solid. All muscle without an ounce of fat. He'd been with his fair share of women. He knew he was attractive physically and he was highly intelligent. But most of all he was rich. Not just rich. He was in
Forbes
magazine as one of the richest men in the world, yet he was in the military. He was a prize catch and women pursued him. He didn't do the pursuing. He never had wanted to take the chance that his uncles would rape, torture and kill another person he loved.

His brain needed to work. He had no choice, not if he was going to remain sane. He couldn't work as long as he was obsessed with Cayenne—and he was obsessed. His body needed relief, and soon. Right now his brain was occupied with fantasies of her and her body. Of the way she felt when she rubbed up against him. Of the way she smelled, that faintly elusive and mysterious mixture of storms and fresh rain. Sometimes he woke up with her scent in his lungs and he wondered if she'd been in his room. He was fairly certain it wasn't possible—he was staying with Wyatt and the rest of the team at Wyatt's grandmother's house and security was ultra-tight. Still, he wondered.

When he woke in the middle of the night, his heart beat too fast and his body was hard and tight and her scent was everywhere. Once he swore it was on the pillow next to him. He didn't sleep much. Sometimes he went days without sleep when he was on the trail of something he was developing for his pharmaceutical company. When he did regularly go to bed, he slept no more than four or five hours, and not all at once.

Often Trap got up to read or work out elusive problems. His scribbled formulas were on just about every scrap of paper in the room and a few had been written on the wall.
Sometimes he was certain those papers weren't in the same exact spot. He considered that he might be losing his mind. The last few weeks he'd been acting totally out of character, and that's what convinced him he needed to find her. To put a stop to whatever was happening.

If Whitney manufactured their attraction to each other, he should be able to find a way to undo it. Come up with an antidote. Cayenne would stay safe that way. It was the only way he could ensure no one would ever set hands on her again. He would have to give her up before the attraction grew to the point where neither would be able to resist.

Wyatt sighed. “You're going to move into that building before we have it ready, aren't you, Trap?”

Trap nodded slowly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, under most circumstances, but if you're wrong about her, this woman could kill you, Trap. I couldn't harm Pepper. I doubt you could hurt Cayenne.”

Trap's gaze turned glacier-cold. “You've always been sensitive, Wyatt. You don't like anyone pointing that out because you think that makes you feminine.” He spoke entirely dispassionately, no judgment or expression in his voice. “That's what makes you such a good man. You care about people. You always have. I stopped caring when my own flesh and blood murdered my family. I couldn't allow myself to feel. If I did, I wouldn't survive. If this woman who is supposed to be
my
woman decides to kill me, she's an enemy. She isn't mine.”

“She's scared, Trap.”

He nodded. “I know that. I know she'll fight the attraction—and me. That isn't the same as wanting to kill me.”

“When a wild animal is threatened—cornered—they often strike out. She's never known freedom or kindness. She has no idea how to live in the world. She's been locked up, experimented on, which means needles and God knows what else. She's never had anyone give her compliments or romance her. She knows nothing but enemies.”

“I have a brain, Wyatt,” Trap said. For the first time impatience crept into his voice. “I've had a lot of time to think this through.”

“I don' want you to do something you'll regret, or worse, do somethin' that will get you killed.”

The ice-blue flame in Trap's eyes deepened. Nearly glowed. “She's
mine
,” he said softly. This time there was a wealth of expression in his voice. Possession. An underlying anger. That strange shimmer slid into the room again, filling the space where air had been, completely at odds with his intention to reverse whatever Whitney had done to tie Cayenne to him.

“Doesn' seem to me that you're so willin' to sacrifice your own happiness, or hers, to keep those uncles of yours in the shadows. Maybe you ought to consider courting her publicly. Get yourself in the tabloids, let the paparazzi take a gazillion photos of the two of you. That would bring them straight here. Right into a team of GhostWalkers waitin' for them.” Wyatt flashed a cocky grin, knowing Trap was the most camera-shy man he'd ever encountered. “Whitney already knows where she is. It isn't like he'd suddenly find her.”

Trap looked thoughtful as he took another pull on his beer. “That's not a bad idea. She isn't so easily compromised either. They try to tangle with her and she'd kill them in a heartbeat. I've been trying to find them for years.”

“Maybe they're dead.”

Trap shook his head. “Not a chance. They're out there, living the good life. Once I find them, I'm going to kill them.”

Again his voice lacked expression. Still, that shimmer hung in the air. Trap took another drink and glanced toward the piano. If he played, it would get him through the last couple of hours before Thibodeaux shut the place down.

The door opened and the night breeze drifted in. Along with it came the scent of rain. Of storms. Of her. Of Cayenne. She was there. At last. He lifted his gaze, and for one moment, indulged his need to drink her
in.

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