The knife connected hard, the sound loud in the still ness after the gunfire. The smoker toppled over backward, crashing heavily into the brush, breaking small branches as he went down. His rifle clattered to one side, hitting a chunk of rock. Birds shrieked as they rose into the air, fleeing the scene of violence.
“That’s three, you son of bitch,” Flame called. Rudy knew exactly where she was. He just wasn’t in a position yet to get a clear shot. If he wanted to kill her, he would have to move. And if he moved, he would be every bit as vulnerable as she was.
Sound reached her, a blast of command, the same pitch she used when talking to Gator, but he was telling her to shut the hell up. The man had a mouth on him when he was angry. He had a good idea where the last killer was hiding and was working his way around to get in place behind him. He wanted her to stay put, not provoke the man and let him do his thing.
She responded by offering to draw fire and keep attention fixed on her. The barrage of distinct commands coming back at her made her wince and dig down deeper into the mud. Gator was really, really angry.
CHAPTER 9
Gator fought down the unreasonable anger churning in his belly. Stay where you are and keep your head down, or I swear I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life. He used directional sound to give her the command, uncaring that the notes were pulsing with rage. The spongy ground undulated slightly and birds shrieked an alarm, taking once more to the air. He wasn’t concerned about the sniper hearing him. Directional sound waves were powerful enough to go through walls, yet they could be directed specifically to one recipient. He had worked on the ability in the field often and wasn’t in the least surprised that Flame was as adept at it as he was.
Be still my heart.
His fingers itched to shake her-or strangle her. She had to know the sniper had a bead on her. Gator couldn’t spot him and that made the man dangerous. He had training and he was just lying in wait, biding his time, waiting to get a shot at Flame. All she had to do was stick her head up and the marksman would kill her. She knew better. She should have waited! It was illogical to rush off after four murderous gunmen when she had only knives – and it was really, really stupid to get pinned down.
I can’t hear him. Not even his heartbeat. Can you?
That brought him up short. She was right. He should hear breathing, at least the beat of the sniper’s heart, but he heard nothing at all. He could feel him, but there was no sound-and there should have been.
Gator moved with deliberate slowness, forming a makeshift Gilly suit by shoving reeds, leaves, and moss through his shirt. It didn’t take long to construct a hood for his head and back, cover it with the foliage and begin a slow stalk through the swamp. Somewhere nearby, the sniper lay silent, targeting Flame, rifle steady and waiting. Gator had to find him before he managed to get off a clear shot at her.
He studied the area where he knew Flame lay in the reeds and water. He couldn’t see her. She was adept at be coming a ghost, using the camouflage around her. No doubt she was still digging deeper into the muck. Their two big advantages were that the shooter didn’t know Gator had joined the hunt and that they could communicate with each other.
Do you have a bead on his location? Gator asked.
That last shot came from directly in front of me, somewhere near the cypress with the one branch sweeping to the ground, but he moved immediately. He doesn’t have a clear shot at me or he would have taken it.
Gator considered the information. What would he do under the circumstances? The swamp offered several good places for concealment and a professional sniper could lie for hours waiting for that one moment to take his shot.
Gator worked his way in a wide semicircle using Flame’s position as his reference. The going was slow and methodical. He had to inch his way, careful not to disturb the reeds or bend any foliage.
He has to be enhanced. He has to be sent by Whitney.
Not necessarily. But he didn’t know. What the hell kind of sniper could mask his heartbeat? His breathing? Was he the same as they were? Gator and Flame muted any noises they might make. Could the sniper do the same?
Raoul? It’s going to rain any minute. I can feel moisture above us, can’t you?
Was there a tremor in the sound coming to him? Her voice just slightly wavering. She was probably stiff and sore from falling off the motorcycle, and lying so still in the mud and water she’d be cramping up. She was looking for reassurance and completely unaware of it. His every protective instinct grew stronger.
A little rain never hurt anyone. You aren’t worried I’m going to leave you, are you, cher? A man doesn’t leave the mother of his child. And after this, I expect you to address me as your hero.
Her soft laughter reached his ears coming toward him on the precision sound wave she generated.
The clouds suddenly burst with an ominous rumble of thunder and rain poured down from the sky. Gator kept his head down, but his gaze moved ceaselessly over the terrain. He was looking for anything that might reveal the presence of the killer. With the rain coming down, it was much more difficult to see, but he strained his eyes, feeling rather than seeing that something was moving closer to Flame.
He’s shifting position. Flame’s warning came on the heels of his own radar. The man was good. Even with the rain flattening the reeds in places, there was nothing to give him away. Gator looked for telltale “tree cancer,” a small dark spot on either side of the tree that might mean a sniper had set up shop, but there was nothing, only his warning system blaring at him.
My ear is planted in the mud and I can feel the earth vibrate. He’s using the cover of the rain to get a better angle. I’m going to roll to my left. I think he’s to my right.
No! Gator’s command was sharp. He’s deliberately trying to get you to move. Stay still. I’ll get him. You need patience for this kind of hunt. Don’t panic on me, cher. The thought of Flame moving terrified him. His heart actually jumped in his chest and something squeezed hard on his lungs. He didn’t know how he knew the killer was trying to spook her into movement, but he was absolutely certain. And while he didn’t think that Flame’s training had included sniper school, Gator would have bet his cabin that the killer’s had.
As if! I never panic.
He hoped that was true. Playing cat and mouse with a professional killer took nerves of steel. Flame knew the killer had a scope on the spot where she went down. If he managed to get a good shot off, she was dead. It took a lot of guts to lie still when a high-powered rifle was pointed right at you. Snipers didn’t miss. He knew the odds. Where many soldiers fired off hundreds of rounds in a battle, a sniper used one to three shots per kill.