Samurai Game
Page 26

Azami’s warmth poured into his mind, filled with a soothing amusement. He sees in the dark and I am part of the dark. His eyes glow like those of an animal on the hunt.
Whitney screwed with our DNA. It’s more than probable that he has large cat or wolf DNA somehow.
“Someone must be the voice of reason,” Azami said aloud, “but from the snickers of your fellow teammates, I am uncertain that person is you, sir.”
Jonas gave the others a long, slow, reprimanding glare. “I told every single one of you that you were nuts to go into that bar. The trees surrounding it were bent over, almost in half. I told you they looked like praying mantises about to swoop in on prey. And was I right?”
Tucker laughed. “Damn right, you were.” He nudged Sam. “Those trees came right down on top of that building and took out the wall and part of the roof with us in it.”
“I dropped the Frenchman,” Sam confirmed, laughing. “Right on his ass.”
“The tree smashed the croc barrier and these big mothers come swimming right through the middle of that bar right at us,” Tucker said. “I never saw such big crocodiles. Sam and I were swept underwater by the tree branches and those crocs were loose in the water with all of us.”
“Jonas there,” Ian continued, “he pulls himself inside and sits up top of the windowsill with his knife in his teeth and then does some kind of circus maneuver and the next thing we know he’s hanging upside down from the ceiling and telling us to get the hell out of there, that he’s got us covered.”
“Of course he looked like a chimp swinging on the chandelier, which, by the way, was hanging by one bolt and was nothing more than a couple of lights strung together by a chain,” Sam added, doubling over with laughter. “I’m looking up through the water, this heavy branch across my chest, and I could see Jonas swinging like a madman right over the water.”
“So the damn thing snapped.” Jonas took up the story, as Ian was laughing too hard to continue. “I landed on the Frenchman, who was screaming his guts out. Sam was no help. The crocs were swimming around like they were confused, sort of circling the room. They looked like prehistoric dinosaurs and pretty damn scary.”
Sam felt the energy that could only prelude a GhostWalker. He took up the story quickly, laughing as he did. “Then Gator lets loose and starts yelling like a banshee. He was doing some kind of Cajun ceremonial rain dance or something . . .”
“I knew you were in here swappin’ lies about me,” Gator said. “I could hear you laughin’ two houses over. You’re gonna wake the dead. And, ma’am, don’ believe a single lie these jokers tell you. I saved ’em all that day. It was our darkest hour, with giant crocodiles swimmin’ around the room, water pourin’ in from every direction, trees fallin’ on us, and the bunch of them grabbin’ at the liquor bottles and splashin’ around, bait for the crocs.”
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.
“Embellishments?” Ian said, astounded. “She’s casting aspersions on our story, gentlemen. There were crocodiles swimming around inside and Gator was gyrating on the bar. Jonas managed to fall on the Frenchman, and I was in the water, my life in deadly peril. I hadn’t even managed to grab hold of a bottle of good Irish whiskey and there I was about to die. No self-respecting Irishman would die without at least one drink.”
“How terrible,” Azami murmured in sympathy.
Ian nodded, much more pleased with her reaction. “Now you’re beginning to understand the seriousness of the situation.” He glared at his fellow teammates as they burst into laughter again.
“Tell me who this Shark is that came to your rescue,” Azami prompted.
Sam started to reach out to take her hand and stopped himself. He had not asked for permission from her brothers and she’d told him a couple of times about public displays of affection. He sighed. He was going to have to find it in himself to keep his hands off of her, even when he seemed to need to touch her.
His eyes met hers and she smiled at him. Just for him. Her eyes warmed slowly, going from that cool darkness to molten heat.
I want to touch you. Skin to skin. The admitting of his secret need, even if it was only a whisper in her mind, made him feel closer to her.
Azami shifted again, a slight, subtle movement that put her even closer to the bed where he sat. Her bare arm slid against his, the merest of brushes, yet he felt her touch all the way to his bones, branding him hers.
“We call him Shark because he’s good in water, ma’am,” Tucker said.
Azami smiled at them, leaning against the bed, making the movement so natural Sam was certain no one would think twice about it. “Enough addressing me as ma’am. My brothers and I are quite fine with using the more personal first name. We don’t find it insulting. Please call me Azami; I will consider it an honor.”
Sam couldn’t help but stare at her. She sounded so demure and sweet, her long lashes veiling her eyes, her lips both fascinating and alluring as she spoke.
Tucker nodded. “Azami, then. Shark’s name is Tom. He recently joined our team and like we said, it was his first mission with us. We were still feeling our way with him. He didn’t hesitate at all. He was in that water, swimming under the water to Sam and me. Ian was splashing like crazy and Gator was doing his wild Cajun thing to keep the crocodiles’ attention focused on him while Shark worked to move that tree off of them.”