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.
He was very proportionate to his size. She knew, because she studied him from every angle. He didn’t like clothes, and he didn’t like to get tangled in the covers. She’d never been close to a man’s naked anatomy, although she’d seen plenty of pictures when they insisted on educating her on the subject of murder – and sex. She decided, after studying his penis several times, that he was too large to fit inside a woman. At rest he was too large, so how could he when aroused? More, in the pictures, she thought men’s packages were quite ugly. She didn’t think that at all about Trap’s. She found herself wanting to know it very intimately.
“Stupid,” she whispered. “You let him know you were going into the house. You shouldn’t have done that. They’ll be waiting now.”
She shouldn’t go. It was insanity. Suicide. But she could barely breathe for the fear moving through her. Her mind felt chaotic. What if she’d given him too much venom? He hadn’t responded like Pascal and Blaise Comeaux. They’d come around, disoriented. Sweating. Grouchy as all get-out, nearly picking a fight with each other, but it had only been a couple of minutes before they’d come around.
She could still hear Wyatt’s voice when the brothers managed to stand up and wade into the water to step into their boat. Of course, she was listening for his boat. The moment the brothers had cleared the area, she was on the move, rushing to follow Trap and Wyatt back to Wyatt’s home.
She leapt from the couch back onto the floor, digging her toes into the thick carpet. She knew she was going to go check on Trap. She had patience, discipline and restraint when it came to any other person or situation, but with Trap she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she shouldn’t go, that it was far too risky, but there was no staying away from him.
What if he stayed away from her? She’d kissed him. Given them both that. At first she told herself it was because she was curious, but she knew that wasn’t the truth. She
had
to taste him. She had to feel his body against hers. She could lie to him and tell him she wanted him to stay away, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She didn’t want him to stay away. She craved seeing him. She needed to see him in the same way she needed air to breathe. She couldn’t keep away from him. She didn’t understand why, with her discipline, she couldn’t train her mind away from thinking about him, but it was impossible.
Shivering, she took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. If something had happened to Trap the men would be swarming the swamp looking for her. She had silken lines everywhere, so thin most wouldn’t notice. They certainly wouldn’t care about breaking one as they rushed through the thick brush. She’d be warned. Over the last few weeks, she had set her alarm system wider and wider, around the building, through the trees and even farther into the swamp itself.
Each silken strand was so thin, nearly transparent, that it blended into the surroundings. Dew and rain could cling to the strand, giving it away, but she took care to always make her work look like that of the local spiders. She was good at web art and could reproduce any spiderweb shown to her.
She wandered over to the small dresser in the corner of the room. Sliding through the layer of webs, she ran her finger along the surface. It was silly really, that they’d put a dresser in the small apartment. Trap knew she was staying there and there was no doubt in her mind that he’d done it for her. She didn’t have any clothes. Two stolen pairs of jeans. Two camisole tops and a sweater. One shirt she had from before that she didn’t wear, but wanted to keep. And his jacket. That was it. That was the extent of her wardrobe. The rest of her own clothes had long since been ruined in the muddy swamp.
People making their homes in the swamp and bayou didn’t have tons of money. Stealing from them was not only immoral, but risky. If a woman only had a few clothes, she knew what those precious clothes looked like. Cayenne didn’t dare go into town and shop with the money she’d stolen. She was afraid someone would recognize what she was wearing. In any case, the idea terrified her. She wouldn’t know how to go into a store or make a transaction like that. She had no experience.
Sighing, she skimmed her finger over the polished wood. Still, she loved the dresser. Carved wood. So beautiful. Heavy. She wished for a little box, just like the one she’d seen on Nonny’s dresser. Her hand hovered just above the sturdy piece of furniture, as if she could touch that box. She mimicked opening the lid with her fingers. The box made music, a soft song, the notes filling the air around her when she’d peeked inside. Her heart had stuttered in alarm when the notes drifted into the room.
Hastily, she replaced the lid and thankfully the music had stopped. The woman Trap called Nonny stirred and then rolled over and looked toward the dresser. Cayenne was already up in the corner, clinging to the ceiling, holding her breath and whispering softly for Wyatt’s grandmother to go back to sleep. She’d never dared open the box again – but she wanted to. She thought about it a lot.
There was no more stalling. She had to go. She had to see for herself that Trap was all right after she’d stupidly and childishly injected venom into him. He wasn’t going to ever kiss her again. Cayenne touched her lips with the pads of her fingers, found them trembling, and hastily leapt up to the vent to exit the building. They’d even done things to the ventilation system, installing doors every so many feet
inside
the pipework. She knew eventually those doors would be locked with a security code. So far, that hadn’t been done, but it soon would be, and the ventilation systems were her exits and entrances.
She moved quickly through the narrow shaft to where she emerged just outside the building and very close to the high chain-link fence. At the top was razor wire. She detested that stuff. This exit was the closest to the fence of all the ventilation doors. She could practically leap from the opening and catch the chain, it was that close.
Cayenne went up and over the fence in seconds. She didn’t leap over it like she’d seen Trap’s team do, but she could go over it just as fast. She knew the way and went unerringly. Trap’s workers had opened a trail through the swamp, cleverly concealed, but since she’d watched them, she knew exactly where the faint trail was and she used it, rather than the boat, to make her way to the Fontenot property.
She made certain to come downwind of the dogs so they wouldn’t catch her scent. If they did, she was putting out more of a spider vibe than a human one. They might grow restless, but they wouldn’t sound the alarm. She studied the seemingly and very deceptively dark home. It looked as if the occupants were all asleep.
No one appeared to be in the laboratory, which Trap and Wyatt often spent many nights in. She didn’t bother to enter the house when they were working, and she’d never found an entry point into the lab in order to see what they were doing. She could guess, though. Wyatt’s toddlers were cutting their teeth and they all had venom, much like she did, but they were babies and theirs was snake venom.
She studied the house. They were aware that she bypassed their security, and they wouldn’t like it. She’d woven a few webs inside the extremely narrow chimney on the roof. She knew men wouldn’t consider that a human being could make oneself so small they could fit in such a place. She was also very curvy and men tended to look at her curves, not realizing how limber she was, how her body could flatten itself, her bones soft, allowing her to become so much smaller.
She knew they had someone on the roof. It was a matter of locating him. These men didn’t make mistakes. There was no restless movement. No cigarette smoking, or whipping out a cell phone and playing on it. They remained still and silent for hours on end. Normally, she liked the thrill of pitting her skills against theirs. It kept her sharp and she thought of it as a game.
She could move slow or fast, go up impossible angles and extremely high buildings. She possessed the same stillness and patience these men had. It was fun to slip past them and enter the house, knowing she could. They were highly trained and motivated to keep the girls safe. If she was being strictly honest with herself, she identified with everyone in the house – especially those little girls. She watched over them as well, but she would never admit that to anyone.
She went up and over their security fence. It wasn’t that difficult. She knew they sometimes ran electricity through it, but never unless they were on high alert. They didn’t want stray animals or a neighbor to get hurt. The moment she cleared the fence, she stayed very still, crouching low to the ground. There was a long, open stretch that was the most difficult area to get through leading to the house itself.
Like most places in the swamp or bayou, the Fontenot home was built up to keep from flooding when the river rose. Made entirely of cypress, she knew it would withstand the water and elements for many years. She could see the craftsmanship and the loving hands in the work. Everything about this place appealed to her.
She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. These people were like her. Different. Pepper and the three little toddlers had spent their lives – like she had – in a laboratory. Although Pepper had a different education and had been allowed out much more, they weren’t like other humans, and they never would be. She had never felt that more acutely than she did right then.
She wasn’t part of the GhostWalker team, but she was no longer in her cage. She didn’t really fit anywhere. She didn’t know how to act. She had to watch others and follow their examples. She often made mistakes. Her training helped her to quickly cover those mistakes, but she learned fast to minimize her contact with locals – other than when she went hunting. She had to eat, so she had no choice but to get money someway, although she went hungry for long periods. She wasn’t about to sleep with men like the Comeaux brothers for money, and her particular skill sets weren’t very marketable. That left robbery.