Azami’s low laughter was pure music. Sam was fairly certain he was already addicted to the sound of her voice. That low, alluring tone, so pleasant he could listen to it forever.
“I don’t know what a ceremonial Cajun rain dance is, but why would you perform such a ceremony if it was already raining?” she asked.
“Exactly,” Tucker said. “We all asked him that later and he just insists he saved us by dancing on the bar and performing weird gyrations.”
“I’ve told you all a million times that bar was wet and I was slippin’, not performin’ some rain dance in the middle of a hurricane,” Gator protested. “I don’ even know a rain dance.”
Gator’s statement drew more laughter. Sam wrapped his arm around his stomach, afraid if he didn’t stop soon, his wounds were going to rip open just from pure amusement.
Azami shook her head as she slipped closer to the bed, leaning one slim hip against the frame closest to Sam. “Your mission sounds much more fun than anything I’ve ever done.”
“Fun?” Ian’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “Ma’am. You don’t seem to understand the deadly peril I was in there at that bar. The Frenchman was trying to drown me and the crocodiles were circling me, thinking I was their next meal.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to swim with the crocs?” Sam asked. “We all heard it. And as I recall, Tucker and I were the ones stuck underwater and you were clinging to the side of the wall like a lizard.”
“I wanted to see them,” Ian corrected solemnly, “not swim with them. But you know,” he added, brightening significantly, “the sign did say if you swam with them and survived, you get free drinks for the rest of your life. Technically, that bar owes me free drinks, because I swam with the crocs and survived.”
“Technically, Ian, you didn’t swim with the crocodiles. You barely got your big toe wet once they were loose. That was Sam and me,” Tucker snickered.
“How?” Azami asked. “How in the world did you all make it out of there?”
The men exchanged glances and then laughed again.
“Tom Delaney,” Sam said.
“Tom Delaney,” Tucker and Ian agreed simultaneously.
“We call him Shark,” Gator confided.
“The new guy. We had a new addition to our team and he’d come along to learn the ropes, so to speak,” Sam explained. “He’d been a GhostWalker for some time and had an impressive record, but none of us had worked with him before. We thought it was a get in and get out, no problem mission.”
“Never been on one yet,” Tucker said, “but I’m always hopeful.”
“If it can go wrong,” Jonas added, “it does.”
“So we’ve got this new guy none of us are sure of,” Sam continued. “He’s leery. We’re leery. We all think we just grab this Frenchman and get out of there fast, right? Except the Frenchman starts yelling and fighting. He kicked me. And he bit Tucker.”
Instantly laughter erupted again.
Tucker looked wounded. “Seriously, ma’am, that bite hurt. He was truly vicious. Lily insisted on giving me a tetanus shot or something. With a needle.” He shuddered dramatically.
“Poor baby,” Sam soothed. Tucker had been wounded several times and he’d never made so much as a whimper. The idea of him whining over a needle was ludicrous—but funny. “Quit interrupting. We’d gotten into the house without anyone knowing and the idea was to get out the same way—like ghosts. That’s what we do. But that Frenchman—and the weather—had other ideas. Apparently he’d been recruited in high school and once he’d gained a position in the government allowing him to feed the terrorists intel on the movement of money and weapons, he began to work in earnest. From what I understand, someone became suspicious and cut off his line of communication. Immediately the terrorists ‘kidnapped’ him, hoping that by doing so, they’d throw the government off the scent and they could use him if France ransomed him. Of course, we didn’t know any of that; we just were sent to get him out.”
“Freaky little bastard,” Gator commented.
“The next thing we know, we’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest and we’ve got everyone and their mothers shooting at us,” Sam continued.
Azami raised her long lashes and looked at Sam, her eyes laughing and a little challenging. “So why did you really go into that bar?” she asked. “Because I don’t believe you would do so unless you had no other choice.”
There was a brief moment of silence. The men exchanged long, knowing grins.
“She’s not so easy to put one over on, is she, Sam?” Ian asked.
Azami smiled at him, looking as serene and composed as ever. “You may joke all you like, but clearly you are professionals, and in the middle of a rescue mission during a hurricane, something very compelling would have to drive you to stop what you’re doing and get trapped in a bar that was being decimated by the storm.”
“True,” Sam agreed, “but Ian really did notice the sign and we’d stopped for a second because the river had flooded and our escape route was cut off.”
“The Frenchman made a run for it,” Ian took up the story. “Straight into that bar. Bullets were flying, the river rising, and we had to make a quick decision—let him go or get him back.”
“Hell no, he wasn’t getting away,” Sam said emphatically. “I thought about shooting him in the leg. But that little bastard was coming back with us, even if I had to carry him every step of the way.”
“I can see you have a stubborn streak,” Azami observed.
“Ha!” Ian agreed. “You don’t know the half of it. He was going in after the Frenchman no matter what anyone said. I sure wasn’t going to let him go alone.”
Gator flashed a cocky grin. “Sam really did nearly shoot our runaway, but Ian jumped through that window after him and then it was on.”
“And you all followed him, of course,” Azami said.
“Well, ma’am,” Jonas said. “There was liquor in there and no one was minding the bar. Ian is Irish. We had to make certain there was something left.”
“We all had a mighty thirst after all that runnin’ from those bullets, ma’am,” Gator added.
“How did you get away from the crocodiles, or is that part of your embellishments?” Azami asked.