Night Game by Christine Feehan

laughing face. The laughter never quite reached her eyes. There was something there, a hint of sorrow, a splash of wariness, whatever it was, that look was as addicting as the sultry heat of her voice. “Kurt Saunders is a mean man, Flame. If he ever comes to suspect that you stole his money—”
    “ Your money,” she emphasized. “I stole your money back.” A faint grin crept over her face. “Of course, I grabbed everything in the safe and there might be a bit more than he took from you. Quite a bit more, but I have a few expenses of my own. And he had several disks in one of the briefcases, but no papers, nothing that should make him too upset. It was mostly cash and a lot of cash at that.”
    “Loss of money will make him upset,” he pointed out. “I should have known when you said you were thinking about taking the money back, that you’d do it. You shouldn’t have, cher , but I’m going to take it to the bank and explain I’ve been holding it in my mattress all these years. Now that you’ve retrieved it, I might as well use it.”
    “I thought you’d see it my way.”
    “You can never tell anyone, Flame. Not ever. He’ll come after you,” the captain cautioned.
    She shrugged. “Who would I tell? I’m not into bragging, Capitaine , just getting a little justice once in a while. Throw a bit of moss in the bag and mix it up a bit so it looks and smells authentic.” She glanced at her watch. “I told Thibodeaux I’d be at his club tonight to do a little singing.”
    “I don’ like you going to the Huracan. That Thibodeaux, he runs a mean place. They’re good people but they like to drink, dance, and fight. Or fight, drink, and dance, depending on how the day went. Looking like you do, Flame, you could be in big trouble with those boys.”
    “I’m just going to do a little singing, Burrell, nothing else. There’s no need for worry. I had a talk with Thibodeaux and he said he’d watch out for me.”
    Burrell shook his head. “This has something to do with Vivienne Chiasson telling you about her daughter’s disappearance, doesn’t it? I was watching your face when she told you about Joy and I didn’t like what I saw.”
    Flame sank into one of the tattered chairs beside him. “Here’s the thing, Burrell. I heard talk of a girl disappearing in another parish a couple of years ago. A couple of the men at one of the clubs mentioned it when they were talking about Joy. The cops said she left to find a better life, but her family and friends said she wouldn’t do that. Isn’t that what they said about Joy too? You told me yourself you didn’t think she ran off.”
    Burrell held up his hand. “Everyone in the bayou, up and down the river, knows the story. The police don’t believe the two disappearances are connected. Even most the families don’ believe it. Joy was seeing a boy from the city. He was real sweet on her. His family has money and they think Joy isn’t good enough. She broke it off, but he keep comin’ around. I think he got mad when she say no to him one too many times.”
    “A lot of the families around here think the same thing, but what if they’re wrong? What if Joy’s disappearance and the other girl from a couple of years ago are related?”
    “Why would you think so? They didn’t know each other. They didn’t look the same. There’s no connection between them at all.”
    “Yes there is.” She leaned closer to him, giving him a faint whiff of the fresh scent of peaches. “They both had really distinctive voices. Like warm butter. Sexy. Sultry. Velvet. Smoky. Those words were all words used to describe their voices. All a sleazebag needs is a trigger to set him off, Burrell. Maybe these girls share that trigger.” She sat up straight and gripped the armrest of the chair tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. “And maybe I have that same voice.”
    “No! I forbid you doing this, Flame.” Burrell nearly dropped his pipe in his agitation. “Those