Viper Game

  A hand-carved chest sat at the bottom of the stairs with a marriage quilt over it. Two more chests were lined up, both with marriage quilts over the top of them. The fourth - his brother Gator's - was gone now. He remembered how his brother's wife, Flame, had cried and clutched the marriage quilt to her that Nonny had made long ago. Each of the boys had one on top of their ornately carved chests. So, okay, his sister-in-law was the exception to the women-weren't-worth-it rule. They'd keep her in the family.

  He knew Nonny longed for babies. She'd hoped Flame and Gator would provide them for her, but Flame couldn't have children. Nonny loved her dearly, but she prayed for a miracle and wasn't quiet about her praying. Often, she glared at Wyatt as if he needed to pull babies out of a hat for their family. He avoided the subject at all costs. He glanced back at Malichai and Ezekiel. He should have warned them what a force Nonny was and how she could get you promising things you never considered.

  Both men were looking around the house with wide, almost shocked eyes. Wyatt looked too. He knew what they saw. When they were growing up, the Fontenots weren't the richest family in the bayou, not by a long shot, but there was love in the house. You couldn't walk indoors without feeling it.

  The smell of fresh bread and gumbo permeated the house. He lifted his head and found himself smiling. She'd made his favorite dessert as well. That was Nonny, she did the little things that mattered.

  "I called ahead, but you didn't tell me you felt so threatened you needed to sit outside your home with a shotgun," Wyatt said, heading toward the kitchen.

  "Best not to mention things like that right off," Nonny replied with a shrug of her bony shoulders. "You might not have been able to come and then you woulda felt bad. There's no need of that."

  Of course there wasn't. Grand-mere would never want one of her boys feeling bad for her or even feeling concern. She humbled him sometimes with her generous spirit.

  The pot of gumbo was right there where it always was. He couldn't remember a time when he had come home and not found something simmering on the stove. He reached up into the cupboard to pull down the bowls.

  "You're in for a treat, boys."

  "You're not goin' to show them around the house first?" Nonny asked. There was laughter in her voice.

  "Eatin' is on our minds, Grand-mere," Wyatt admitted.

  "He's been talking so much about your cooking, ma'am," Malichai added, "that all we've been thinking about is food."

  "That's good," Nonny said, and sank into her familiar chair at the kitchen table.

  Wyatt couldn't help but think about all the times he'd sat at the table with his brothers as laughter and conversation had flowed. There was a part of him that wanted to go back to those carefree days when living on the bayou was enough - was everything.

  When all three men had a bowl of gumbo, warm fresh bread and hot cafe, Wyatt glanced at his grandmother.

  "Tell me what's going on around here that has you packin' a shotgun, Nonny."

  She leaned back in her chair and looked at him with her faded blue eyes, eyes still as sharp as ever. "There's been a coupla strange things happenin', Wyatt. I know you don' believe in the Rougarou, and in truth, I never much believed either, but there's been things in the swamp there's no accountin' for."

  She paused dramatically. Malichai and Ezekiel both paused as well, the spoons halfway to their mouths. Wyatt kept shoveling food in. He was used to his grandmother's storytelling abilities. She could hold an audience spellbound. She'd used it more than once to keep the boys from wolfing their food.

  "Food disappearin', clothes stolen right off the line."

  "Sounds like someone hungry, Nonny, a homeless person maybe."

  At the word "hungry," both Malichai and Ezekiel resumed eating.

  "Maybe," Nonny conceded. "But the food was taken from inside the houses. Sometimes the clothes as well. The houses were locked."

  "No one locks houses on the bayou," Wyatt said.

  "They do now with all the thievin' goin' on. I keep a pot of somethin' simmerin' on the stove at all times, Wyatt. You know that. Neighbors drop by. Sometimes Flame comes unexpectedly when Gator's out doin' whatever it is he does. I lock up, and I've got the dogs. Twice I let them in the house with me, but every third or fourth mornin' the food was gone out of that pot, even with the dogs inside."

  "Someone entered the house while you were sleepin'?" Wyatt demanded, his temper beginning to do a slow boil.

  Nonny nodded. "Yep. I couldn' even figger how they got in. When food disappeared here, I started puttin' a package out with little bits I thought might help. Food, clothes, even a blanket or two. Each time I put somethin' out, it was gone the next mornin', but three mornin's in a row after that, I had fresh fish on my table waitin'. Dogs didn't bark. The doors were locked. I couldn't tell how they got in, but it made me a mite uncomfortable knowin' the Rougarou was in my house."

  "Why the Rougarou and not a person, ma'am?" Malichai asked.

  "Delmar Thibodeaux seen it himself, with his own two eyes. It was movin' fast through the brush, so fast he could barely track it."

  "Delmar Thibodeaux owns the Huracan Club, where liquor flows in abundance," Wyatt explained to the others.

  "He swore he wasn't drinkin' when he saw it."

  Wyatt sighed. "What else is goin' on around here, Nonny? That shotgun wasn't out for the Rougarou. You wouldn't kill it."

  "I might," the old lady insisted. "If it threatened me."

  Wyatt lifted his eyebrow at her. "Animals don' threaten you, Nonny. Everyone in the bayou knows that. Even the alligators leave you alone."

  The boys were fairly certain they'd inherited their psychic abilities from their grandmother, although she never admitted to anything.

  Nonny let out a resigned sigh. Clearly she wanted the shapeshifting legend to be true. "Do you remember that old hospital that burned down a couple of years back? There were whispers about that place, some madman owned it and held a girl prisoner there and she set the whole thing on fire to escape."

  Wyatt nodded reluctantly. There were always rumors in the bayou - superstition melding with truth. The bayous and swamps were places where myth or legend often was rooted in reality. In this case, he knew the whispers were true.

  Dr. Whitney, the previous owner of the hospital, was truly a madman. He had dedicated his life to creating a supersoldier. Those soldiers were known as GhostWalkers, because they owned the night. Few saw them, or heard them as they carried out their missions. Few knew that their DNA had been tampered with and they were all psychically as well as physically enhanced.

  Now they were getting into classified things - things he couldn't discuss with his grandmother. He kept his head down while he ate.

  "I remember it," he admitted.

  "Some big shot bought up the land right away and cleaned it all up. They built a long, ugly building with few windows and walls at least a foot thick, all concrete. Not a single man or woman on the river was employed."

  There was no denying the little sneer in her voice. It was considered an insult for a large company to come into the bayou and not hire the locals who needed work. Most of the families living on the river would have taken it the same way. The "big shot" hadn't made any friends with his decision to give work to outsiders, but he hadn't broken any laws either.

  "Who owns the land now, Nonny?" he asked.

  Whitney Trust had owned it, and Lily, Whitney's daughter, had sold it the moment she realized her father had used the facilities to experiment on a child. Wyatt didn't look at either of the Fortunes brothers. Like him, they were fairly new in the GhostWalker force, but he had information they didn't on the founder and creator of the program.

  "They have a big sign up on their fourteen-foot-high chain-link fence with razor wire rolled up along on the top and men with guns patrolling with dogs," Nonny said in disgust. "Like they're afraid everyone in the bayou wants to know their business."

  Wyatt couldn't stop the grin. "Nonny, everyone in the bayou
does want to know their business."

  She threw back her head and laughed, the sound adding to the feeling of home.

  "Ma'am," Malichai interrupted. "Do you mind if I have another bowl of this very good gumbo? I've never tasted anything like it."

  "It's authentic gumbo, a traditional recipe that's been in my family for generations," Nonny said, looking pleased. "Dive right in, that's what it's there for. We always have somethin' cookin' on the stove for you when you come in hungry."

  "I'm always hungry," Malichai admitted.

  "You're a big man and it takes a might of food to keep you satisfied," she said.

  "If you don't mind me saying, ma'am," Ezekiel said, "he's got some kind of hollow leg that's plain impossible to fill. I ought to know, I tried for years."

  "He broke into a grocery store once," Malichai said, "you know, back when we were kids," he added hastily when Wyatt shot him a look. "The kind that has the hot chicken roasting and already-cooked food. Our brother Mordichai and I feasted all night and we were still hungry in the morning. Ezekiel said it was impossible to keep up with our stomachs."

  "He's like a starved wolf, ma'am," Ezekiel said. "Never gains an ounce of fat, but he gorges on food when we've got it. Our other brother is the same way."

  Nonny's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "You boys had no one lookin' after you when you were young? Not anyone?"

  Malichai shrugged. "We did a pretty good job of it, ma'am. We had each other's backs. We grew up in a city, and we knew every building and alley there was." He scooped a hefty amount of gumbo into his bowl and caught up a generous amount of bread before taking his seat.

  "The older we got, the easier it was," Ezekiel added. "We got a reputation for fighting and the others left us alone."

  Nonny shook her head. "You boys. You'll fit right in with my boys. They do like to fight." She sat back in her chair with a feigned little slump. "I should put in a call to Delmar and warn him you might be visitin' his place and not to let the three of you in."

  "The Delmar that saw the Rougarou," Malichai clarified.

  "That's the one," Wyatt said. "His place, the Huracan Club, is the best place on the bayou to go for drinks, women and fights. Well, for drinks and fights. Or just plain fights," Wyatt said to the Fortunes brothers. He laughed and raised his eyebrow at his grandmother. "That would just be mean, Nonny. We're all grown up now and we don' get into trouble like we used to."

  She gave a little unladylike snort. "I'm expectin' lightnin' to strike you any minute now, boy."

  "Why the shotgun, Nonny?" Wyatt persisted quietly, slipping the question back in casually. He slathered butter on the bread and took a bite. Pure heaven. Evidently Ezekiel and Malichai felt the same. They were making short work of the three loaves his grand-mere had baked.

  "That fence is right along that swamp area where my plants I need for medicinal purposes grow. I was there harvestin' the other day and some kind of ruckus broke out in that buildin', with alarms shriekin' and voices on loudspeakers. Dogs were goin' crazy, and the guards got all panicked. Now that's none of my business. My plants was my business, Wyatt."

  Wyatt put down his spoon and sat back, giving her his full attention.

  "All of a sudden, these men surround me, trampin' through my plants and swearin' like they was gunna kill me. I had to raise my hands, and one of them put his hands on me, so I kicked him where it counts."

  Wyatt felt the familiar surge of heat rushing through his body, threatening to boil over. He had a temper, he knew that, but his enhancement had made it worse, much more difficult to control, and the thought of a man putting his hands on his grandmother made his blood swirl hotly. Beneath the table his fists clenched and under his feet, the floor shivered.

  Both Ezekiel and Malichai put down their spoons as well, heads up alertly, suddenly listening just as closely to what Nonny had to say.

  "Explain puttin' his hands on you, Grand-mere," Ezekiel said, his voice deadly quiet.

  "Now don' go gettin' all riled, boys. I can handle myself, I'm not that old yet. He was pattin' me down for weapons. Took my best knife too. Still has that knife, and I want it back. They told me they knew where I lived and called me by name. Ms. Fontenot, they said. The big one said he'd be comin' by my house and settin' his dog on me if I didn' keep my nose out their business and keep my mouth shut 'bout what I seen and heard."

  "What did you see and hear?"

  "That's the thing, Wyatt." Nonny sounded annoyed. "I was workin' and had my contraption in my ear, the one you got me for Christmas with all the music. I wasn' listenin' or lookin' until those sirens went off." Clearly she was deeply disappointed she hadn't seen whatever it was they didn't want her to see. "I got me the idea that they're making dirty bombs."

  Wyatt worked hard to keep the smile from his face. He found the idea that his petite grandmother even knew what a dirty bomb was both unsettling and a little funny. She glared at him, so he didn't make the mistake of actually grinning.

  "Dirty bomb?" he echoed. "Where did you come up with that?"

  "I listen to the news," she replied with great dignity. "I know what goes on in the world, and those men are up to no good." She leaned close. "When they go to the Huracan Club, they don' talk to nobody. Not even Delmar. They jist keep to themselves and glower at everyone. Even when the boys push them a bit, they don' want to fight and that's jist not natural. Delmar says they don' drink anythin' but beer and never more than two apiece."

  "Maybe the bayou doesn' give them a powerful thirst like it does the rest of us. Are they city boys?" Wyatt asked.

  "They don' look like city boys, Wyatt, except for a couple of the suits that come and go on occasion."

  "So you do keep an eye on the place," he said, using his mildest tone.

  His tone didn't matter. She gave him a look that had withered him as a boy and still left the pit of his stomach unsettled.

  "Everyone keeps an eye on them. I'm tellin' you, somethin's not right there."

  "Well, you know, Grand-mere, I think it best you stop your harvestin' until I check it out. Which man put his hands on you? Do you have a description for me?"

  "I can do better than that, Wyatt. I took his picture with that newfangled camera Flame got me. She calls it a cell and it rings now and then, but I don' know how to answer it so I just take pictures with it."

  Wyatt shook his head. "You don' answer your phone, Nonny?"

  "Who wants to be talkin' when they should be workin'?"

  "She's got a point," Malichai said. "Can we see this picture?" He glanced at Wyatt. Clearly he couldn't imagine a man patting down Nonny and then intimidating her by threatening to come to her home. "I'm glad you have that shotgun, ma'am."

  "I may have to use it if you keep callin' me ma'am," Nonny said. "My boys call me Grand-mere or Nonny. You're here in my home and I'm claimin' you as my own."

  "Yes, ma'am," Ezekiel said. "Thank you. We've never been claimed before."

  Wyatt snorted derisively. "Don' be so happy about it. That means she'll take a switch to you if you give her any trouble," Wyatt said.

  "He sounds like he got the switch a lot, Nonny," Malichai said.

  "He should have gotten the switch," Nonny said, "but he and his brothers were far too charmin'." She sounded proud - and loving.

  Wyatt could hear the love in her voice. He almost couldn't remember the reason he'd been so reluctant to return to the bayou. He loved it there, everything about it, especially his grandmother. After hearing about the men guarding the new plant, he was more than happy he'd come back home. Still, what man wanted to come home and admit to the woman he respected and admired most, just what a blind ass he'd been?

  "Did you go back there, Nonny?" he asked suspiciously.

  "I'm fixin' to. They trampled my plants, and I've spent years puttin' them all in that one spot in the swamp so I could gather them easier. I'm too old to be gallivantin' around the swamp lookin' for the right plants to make medicine when the traiteur calls for it."


  "Traiteur?" Malichai asked.

  "Our local healer," Wyatt supplied.

  "I'll go look after your plants for you, ma'am," Ezekiel said. At her swift look he cleared his throat. "Grand-mere, I mean. I'll be more than happy to read anyone from the good book who comes looking to step on those plants again."

  "You're a fine boy, Ezekiel. You may not have had much parentin' but you probably are one of those boys who just figgurs it out on your own," Nonny said.

  Wyatt sent Ezekiel a sharp glance. All three of them were enhanced physically and psychically. Unfortunately, their cat DNA gave them a need for hunting. Wyatt felt sometimes as if his mind was always at war. The healer side of him versus the killer instinct that the cat had. Ezekiel already had been an aggressive, dominant male. He didn't fight for fun in the way Wyatt and his brothers did - Malichai, Mordichai and Ezekiel had fought from birth to stay alive. The new mixture of DNA into their already explosive make-up could be hazardous under the wrong circumstances.

  You can't kill in my grand-mere's backyard. He used telepathic communication.

  Ezekiel didn't look up from mopping up the gumbo with the bread.

  What did you plan on doing, Wyatt? Malichai asked. Shaking hands with them and thanking them politely for patting down your grand-mere?

  Your sarcasm is not appreciated. I plan on a little recon before I go to bed. I want to check out this building and who owns it. I can get word back to Mordichai and see if he can dig anything up on them for us while he's lookin' after Joe.

  Wyatt hadn't been too surprised when his ability to speak telepathically with his team had been so easy - he'd always heard others in his head - catching random thoughts now and then - which was how he caught the love of his life cheating on him. At least at the time he'd thought she was the love of his life, now, after much soul searching, he realized he was just a damned fool with a white knight complex.

  Beneath his hands the table trembled slightly, just enough for both Malichai and Ezekiel to frown at him.

  What's wrong? We'll get these bastards, Ezekiel said. No one's going to hurt your grandmother, not with us here.

  What could he say? That he couldn't bear thinking about what an idiot he'd been because he'd thought some woman ripped out his heart, stomped on it and then told him what she really thought of him - none of it good. He thought he loved her from the time he was five years old, when he'd first laid eyes on her at a neighborhood fais do-do. He'd devoted himself to her, although they didn't date in school. She appeared too fragile and always turned to him when she broke up with her latest boyfriend.