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  You fucking heard me, Malichai, Trap snapped.

  You got your head so far up your own ass, you're not making any sense. Chasing that woman, thinking with your dick. She hurt him, Wyatt?

  Trap's heart stuttered. He knew. He felt her now. Close. She'd already made her way through the swamp, up the canal. Ezekiel had her in his sights, and Ezekiel never missed. Never. He had so many kills, impossible shots. Trap felt something close to terror.

  Baby, for God's sake, get the hell out of here. They've made you. Whatever you were thinking of doing here, go.

  There was a small silence. I'm just making certain you're okay. You should be recovering. I might have injected a little too much venom because I was . . . excited. I'd never experienced anything like that. There was anxiety in her voice. When you kissed me, Trap. I was scared and confused and feeling too much. Her admission was raw. Honest. Terrified for him.

  Instantly he felt settled. She's worried about me. That's all, Wyatt. Tell the others to stand down.

  Wyatt tossed the rope to Draden. Draden was known in their team as Sandman because he didn't sleep much, and he often put enemies to sleep. He had the looks of a male model--had in fact been very successful in his modeling career before joining the GhostWalkers. He stayed close to Trap, clearly understanding something in Trap most of the others didn't. He ran often and for long distances, mostly, they were all certain, to keep his demons at bay.

  Draden would protect Trap with his life, the same as Wyatt. The same as the rest of their team. Wyatt put both hands on his hips and smirked at Draden. "Take a good look at the ladies' man there."

  "He sandbagging it?" Draden asked, putting one foot on the boat and peering down at Trap.

  "Nope. He tried cuddlin' up to that woman of his. Kissin' her. Probably tryin' to cop a feel and she took exception to his roamin' hands. She don' need a knife to keep her man in line." He burst out laughing. "Give me a hand. I've got to lug his lazy ass to the lab. He wants a few blood samples. Figures we need to get them before this paralysis wears off."

  Draden's eyebrow shot up. "He thinks he can come up with some kind of vaccine? Something to keep this from happening the next time she decides she doesn't want lover boy to use his hands on her?"

  Wyatt's grin widened. "Yep. That's about it. He thinks he'll fight a little fire with fire." Wyatt stood over Trap's body, one foot planted on either side of his legs. He whipped out his cell phone. "Need to get me a few shots of this. No one will believe she got the drop on him."

  Put that away, Wyatt, Trap demanded. He sent a scowl toward the swamp--toward Cayenne. I'm never going to live this down. He takes those pictures and the boys will have a field day. You didn't have to bite me.

  I had to bite you.

  I didn't mind the bite. I'll take the bite if you like that sort of thing. It was kind of sexy, but lose the venom next time. I can't satisfy your needs, baby, if I can't move.

  Draden pulled out his own cell phone. "I think it best if more than one of us has the proof. He's not above destroying evidence."

  Wyatt slipped his phone back into his pocket, reached down and heaved Trap's weight over his shoulder while Draden steadied the boat. Trap hung helplessly down his back, arms dangling free. Mordichai came out of the darkness. He reached Trap, caught his longish blond hair in his fist and lifted Trap's head to peer into his eyes.

  "She fucked you up royally," he observed. He dropped Trap's head with a grin and pulled out his own phone. "I'll have to email these to the boys so they don't miss out on the fun. Hang tight, Wyatt, let me get a few shots."

  I'm fucking going to kill every one of you, Trap snapped.

  "Not if that woman of yours gets ahold of you. We won't have to worry about a thing," Draden said.

  Wyatt glanced into the swamp. Straight at Cayenne, as if he could actually see her crouched there in the trees and brush. He raised his voice and gave her a little salute. "Thanks, lady. We don' often get Trap over a barrel. We can have months of fun with this. Don' you worry, we'll take care of him for you. Go on home where you'll be out of harm's way. He's safe with us."

  There was a small silence. Cayenne emerged from the swamp right out into the open, knowing she was exposing herself to real danger. She looked very small and lost. Wyatt stood sideways so Trap could see her there, risking getting shot. Knowing she stood right there visible to Ezekiel's lethal trigger finger.

  "He should be coming out of it by now. The Comeaux brothers both were up and moving within minutes after you were gone." There was worry in her voice. "He shouldn't have any ill effects, but maybe he's allergic."

  I'm not allergic. You just injected a little too much venom. It's already wearing off. Go home. I'll be seeing you sooner than you think. Trap made it an order. She wasn't good at taking orders, but she was anxious about him, and he was just as anxious about her. If his teammates perceived anything wrong with a single movement, if they thought her a threat, something bad could happen. He didn't want to have to kill anyone he loved.

  She hesitated, and then she looked up toward the roof. She knew exactly where both Ezekiel and Malichai were--something most others would never be able to pinpoint. Cayenne faded into the shrubs, and that told him she didn't have a clue about Gino or his whereabouts. Wyatt turned toward the lab.

  "We don' have much time, Draden. He wants as much toxin in his blood as possible to work with. Mordichai, get the door open and get us the blood draw kit. I'll want a lot of tubes," Wyatt said. "This is funny as hell, but he's still our brother and we've got to take his back. The next time she thinks she has him at her mercy, she's going to have a very big surprise."

  Mordichai had already punched in codes and yanked the door open. Wyatt took Trap through to the long padded table where he placed the limp body gently. "When we develop this vaccine, Trap, and I have no doubt we will, make certain that it will guard against a lethal dose, accidental or not, just like we did with Pepper and the girls."

  Wyatt pulled Trap's arm straight, found a vein and inserted the needle Draden handed him, his movements quick and sure. Pushing the first tube into position with his thumb, he watched the blood fill it. He filled five tubes. During that short amount of time it took to do so, he noticed Trap could move his head around.

  "It's wearin' off. If she's still close, reach out and tell her," Wyatt suggested.

  She doesn't deserve to know after exposing me to the crap I'm going to get from all of you. She can get her beautiful ass home and stay up all night worrying about me.

  "Before you start work, you're going to have to let me check you out. You'll need food, something to drink and a few hours of rest. I know you. You're going to work day and night until you find what you're lookin' for. I'll work with you, but you've got to follow my advice on this, Trap. We don't know if there are any long-term effects yet."

  It might take me much longer, and I want to spend tomorrow night in my own home.

  "You'll do what I say. I'll help, that will cut down the time. We're already way ahead of the game because we've got the breakdown of Pepper's and the girls' venom. We know what we're doin' now and what to look for. I know you want to get into your home and be with her, but one or two more nights will help with gettin' that woman nervous and anxious over you as well. She told you to leave her alone. Wait it out. She won't be so quick to bite you when you show up."

  That made sense. Cayenne had it in her head that she wasn't going to be his woman. She didn't trust the connection. He had no idea how much she knew of Whitney's experiments, but he paired his subjects using a combination of pheromones and something else no one had identified yet. She might not know that, and she'd be even more confused than he was about overwhelming emotions.

  Trap didn't give a damn if he had been paired with Cayenne by a psycho mad scientist or not--not when he knew it was more than physical attraction. He could have walked away from that, or had really great sex a lot, but there was much more than his body involved in the way he felt around Cayenne. He didn't kno
w if it was the same for her. Giving her a few days without him, to think it over, to miss him and worry about him was a good idea.

  She should have left the area, hell, even the state, the moment she was freed from her cell. He knew that had been her intention, but she hadn't gone. She'd stayed right there in the swamp with no home, no money, nothing at all but her connection to Trap. She'd stayed for him whether she would admit it to herself or not. She'd stayed because she couldn't leave him any more than he could leave her.

  His first reaction, when he realized they'd been paired together, was to let her go free. Not to go near her. Not to give that attraction a chance to grow, because he knew that was his only means to keep her safe. His attempt to be a decent man hadn't lasted very long at all. Maybe she was still struggling with the idea of them together, but she'd get there eventually.

  Truthfully, none of them were ever truly safe. Whitney was still after her. Cayenne was still under termination orders, and if Whitney sent a supersoldier after her, that soldier would have orders to kill on sight. At least with Trap and his team to protect her, she had a much better chance. If his uncles came after her, he'd be ready. They'd be ready.

  Cayenne was no young child like his sisters and brother had been. She was no helpless woman like his aunt had been. She would fight and she would have her own arsenal, without even being armed with a gun. He was more than certain Cayenne had been trained to use a gun, a knife and every other weapon known to man. She probably could put together and take apart a bomb using an ink pen. She might not have had the practical experience, but Whitney believed in every soldier or assassin being trained and he wouldn't have made exceptions--even if they kept her in a cage.

  Trap nodded his agreement to Wyatt. His body was beginning to sweat. Little beads formed on his forehead and dripped down his face into his hair. He still couldn't sit up, but his muscles were finally beginning to receive messages from his brain. Tremors started. Small ones. Hands first. His foot twitched. The woman had a lot to answer for.

  He recognized that Draden, Mordichai and Wyatt were keeping a close watch on him in spite of nudging one another and poking fun at him.

  Wyatt casually took his pulse. "Your heart rate's up, Trap. Not a lot, because you've got that ice water flowing in your veins, but still, for you, it's up."

  Trap worked his jaw. Doesn't surprise me. She put me down hard.

  Wyatt grinned at him. "Sexy as hell, right? Now you get why that woman of mine is so damned special. She makes me hard every time I piss her off."

  "You two like to live on the edge," Mordichai observed. "Me, I'm going to get me a little yes-woman who wants to cook like Nonny, wash my clothes for me and fuck all night."

  "What does she get out of it?" Draden asked.

  Mordichai looked shocked. "I told you. I'll fuck her all night."

  Wyatt and Draden burst out laughing. Even Trap's mouth quirked, although it wasn't a bad plan.

  "You think a lot of your skills," Wyatt observed.

  "'Cuz I'm that good," Mordichai said.

  Behind him, Malichai snorted as he walked in. "He giving you his life's bullshit plan for a woman?"

  "Just because you didn't think of it first," Mordichai snapped, "doesn't mean it isn't perfection. She'll keep the fridge stocked with ice-cold beer for me."

  "She goin' fan you when it gets hot?" Wyatt asked.

  "Sure. Why not?"

  Trap struggled into a sitting position. He was weak. Wyatt was right. He needed water and food and a few hours of rest. Bed sounded good. Too good. Coming up with a vaccine to protect not only him, but all of them, just as he'd done with Pepper and the girls, was going to take time. He needed his entire brain working, and right now, he was too weak to stand long, let alone think clearly.

  "I don' think Trap's woman is goin' to be fannin' him," Wyatt said, toeing the leg of the table. "She's goin' to be the one callin' the shots. He went to the bar how many days in a row lookin' for her like some lovesick calf?"

  The good-natured ribbing had turned from Mordichai right back to him. He couldn't deny he'd gone to the Huracan Club day after day looking for her.

  "I was right," he managed to croak. "She came, didn't she?"

  "And kicked your ass," Draden pointed out. "Big badass Trap, the iceman. She kicked your ass."

  Yeah, he wasn't living this one down for a while. He sighed. "Help me into the house. We've got the blood, store it for me, Wyatt. I'm all for resting."

  "Can't wait to hear what Nonny has to say about you getting your ass handed to you by a girl," Mordichai said, smirking. The smirk faded. "Of course, I'm not using the word ass or she might try to wash out my mouth with soap."

  "You know Nonny would do more than try, Mordichai," Wyatt said.

  They all burst into laughter. Draden and Mordichai both swept arms around Trap and helped him to his feet. He staggered and nearly went down as his legs gave way, but they held him up. Wyatt locked the laboratory after them. Ezekiel came down from the roof and joined them as they took Trap into the house. Gino came in from the swamp, silent as always, looking as if he'd been on a Sunday stroll.

  --

  Cayenne paced up and down the floor. Her bare feet sank into a soft, thick carpet, a luxury she'd never imagined in her life. The entire basement of the enormous building she now called home had been transformed. At first, when the workers had arrived to tear apart the upstairs, she was certain they would leave the basement area intact. Weeks had gone by, enough time for her to realize most of the houses in New Orleans and the surrounding areas were built up high and few or none had basements.

  The long, two-story building had been designed so that any prisoners in the cells below the main floor would die if there was flooding and the water somehow breached the thick concrete and steel walls. She was certain the new owner--before she figured out it was Trap--would just leave the lower floor alone. She'd hoped he would.

  She'd had to move out when they'd come to tear out everything and redesign it. She'd spent a very uncomfortable time in the swamp, creeping back to her building only at night. At first she'd messed with the workers, making them believe some swamp creature or ghost was around, but then she realized the renovations would just take that much longer. She let them get on with them.

  Cayenne watched them, observing all the security measures being put into the building. Several times she saw Trap come in, and with him were blueprints he laid out on a table and showed his workers. She'd gotten ahold of the blueprints and saw that he was changing all the entrances to the tunnels and reinforcing all doors. He replaced the long rows of concrete with banks of windows up high, giving her views that took her breath away.

  She had to admit, she had never once considered that terrible place could be transformed into a beautiful home. She loved the upstairs, not to live in, but the design of it all--the spacious rooms and views. The apartment downstairs was far too big for her. She had never really lived outside her cell and freedom was overwhelming. The wide-open spaces made her feel exposed. Because she'd lived most of her life in that small cell, having so much open space terrified her. She would never admit it to anyone, but she couldn't sleep and ended up dividing the room into sections with silken webs. That helped.

  She paced more and restlessly jumped up onto the low-slung couch, standing on the cushions, biting her thumbnail. She never bit her fingernails, but she couldn't help herself. She shouldn't have left Trap when she had. His friends had surrounded him protectively, and she could feel waves of both humor and anger radiating out toward her. They wanted to think it was a good joke, but they wouldn't really find it funny until he was fully recovered.

  She had never seen camaraderie like that before. She'd heard of it and read about it, but she'd never actually witnessed it. Certainly not among Braden or Whitney's supersoldiers. She'd studied all the GhostWalkers from a distance, and sometimes at night while they slept. Wyatt's home was filled with warmth. The moment she slipped in through the tiny little chimney stack
on the roof that no longer was used, she felt the warmth surrounding her.

  She'd been careful, staying in the corners, up high on the ceiling, trying to feel what it was like to have a home and family. Again, she'd read of such things, but she had no idea of what one was supposed to be like. The older woman, the one all of them called Nonny, was small and frail. She slept in a bed that seemed too big for her and twice she nearly caught Cayenne, waking when curiosity had gotten the better of Cayenne and she'd slipped down the wall to the floor in order to examine the old photographs lining her walls. Nonny had them everywhere throughout the house.

  Cayenne was fascinated by the photographs of four little boys in the process of growing and what those pictures represented. Wyatt and presumably his brothers had grown up in that house. The progression of their aging along with the differences in the house itself kept her coming back to Nonny's room time and time again. Other than being with Trap, she found she loved that room the most. If there was a scent and a feel to home, it was there in Nonny's room.

  The other place that had absolutely drawn her was Trap's room. She could sit there for hours watching him while he slept. He never wore clothes to bed. Never. His body captivated her, held her spellbound so that once she was in his room her entire attention was so riveted on his physique that she wasn't certain she could describe the actual contents of the room, not like she could in Nonny's.

  She was absolutely fascinated with his body. He was a big man, tall, with lots of muscle, miles of it, it seemed. Even in his sleep, there it was, all beautifully covered by his skin. He had scars. She recognized bullet wounds and several stab wounds and that set her heart pounding, that something could happen to him in his line of work. The worst wound was across his stomach, and it had been deep. There was a second high up on his thigh where the blade had been twisted as it was pulled free, creating a crater. He didn't look like any of the lab techs working for Braden--or Whitney.