Page 6 (1/2)

CHAPTER 1

Trap Dawkins sighed as he tilted his chair on two legs, autole and vector he could tip before he fell over He was bored out of his fucking ht in a row he'd come to the Huracan Club, a Cajun bar out in theswamp, for God's sake Peanut husks covered the bar and round, handmade wooden tables with a crude variety of chairs covered the floor The bar was constructed of sih stools also hand carved

To the left of the bar was a shiny, beautifully kept baby grand piano In the bar that was mostly a shack out in the middle of nowhere, the piano looked totally out of place The lid was open and there wasn't a dust spot--or a scratch--on the instrument It was also co stepsup to it There were no peanut husks on the platform or on the stairs Everyone who frequented the bar knew not to touch the piano unless they really kne to play No one would dare The piano had gone unscathed through hundreds of bar fights that included knives and broken bottles

Trap glanced at the piano He supposed he could play Sometimes that helped hisfor hours doing nothing How did these people do it? That question had occupied his brain for all of two minutes He didn't really care why they did it, or how, it was just plain a waste of time He wasn't certain he could take much more of this, but on the other hand, what alternative was there?

He'd co for her Cayenne In spite of the fact that no one could accurately describe her, Trap knew she frequented the bar This here she chose her victims The robberies in the sere only rumors, whispers, the men too embarrassed to say much They were always drunk Always on their way home They were men with bad reputations, men others steered clear of She would choose those men and they wouldn't be able to resist her Not her looks Not her voice Not the lure she used

He sighed again and glanced toward the bar, wishing he had another beer, but seriously, it was nearly one in the htain

"Fuck," he whispered crudely, under his breath He had discipline and control in abundance But he couldn't stop himself from the destructive path he was set on He had to find her, and that ht until he did

"How you doin', Trap?" Wyatt Fontenot asked, as he put a fresh bottle of beer on the very rickety table in front of his fellow GhostWalker and toed a chair out so he could straddle it "You ready to leave? You're lookin' like you ht any minute"

Trap would never, under any circuht But he'd finish it, and he'd do that in a very permanent way That hy half their team came to the bar with him

"Can't leave," Trap said Low Decisive

Not that he didn't want to leave, Wyatt noted Trap said can't There was a big difference He'd told Wyatt he was looking for Cayenne, the wo Trap, that was so far out of his reality that Wyatt hadn't really believed him But now

"Trap" Wyatt kept his voice low Steady His gaze on one of his closest friends

Trap was a very dangerous s sprawled out in front of him, his chair tipped back and his eyes half closed, but there was ice water running in his veins More, he had a brain that worked overti even as he observed the s

He had a steady hand and the eyes of an eagle He was silent and deadly when he stalked an eneo into an ene back out He killed without a sound and thoroughly, taking out the ene an alarm When he returned, he was the sa on to solve another problem

Trap raised those piercing glacier-cold eyes to his An icy shiver crept down Wyatt's spine

"I've known you for years," Wyatt continued "You get caught up in problems, Trap Probleo This woman is a problem That's what this is"

Trap sighed "You know better You, of all people, know better"

"You don' become obsessed omen Hell, Trap, you hook up for an hour or two and then you walk Not a night An hour or two at the most"