He put his hands on the concrete and absorbed the feel and structure of it. This time it was a little easier, as he already was connected to the properties in the mixture. He waited, breathing deep, forcing his rebelling mind under control. No GhostWalker left another behind, and he wouldn’t leave this woman, no matter what she was.

If she tried to kill him, well, that was another thing altogether, but he’d do his best to convince her he’d come to help her. He let the wrenching sick feeling overtake him as his body was torn apart, pulled in every direction. His skin felt as if it was removed, leaving his insides spilling out everywhere.

Cold set in. Darkness. He was utterly alone. There was no human sound, no human feeling, only the bitter cold and the endless darkness. He came out on the other side, staggering, going to his knees and then rolling onto his butt, his back against the wall, pressing both hands to his gut to keep his insides from spilling out.

For a moment he was so disoriented, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Had he arrived that way in the babies’ cell, the soldiers would have easily killed him. He tried desperately to drag air into his lungs and calm his quivering gut. When he lifted his head, his neck felt as if it had been wrenched around two or three times.

“Êtes-vous tous droit? Se rapprocher un peu plus, je pourrais peut-être vous aider.” The question was asked in a voice that was as sultry as any Louisiana night. Silk and satin. Candlelight.

He looked up, blinking to bring her into focus. His breath left his lungs all over again. She was small, the way Pepper was small. They easily could have been related. She had a cloud of dark hair, as black as a raven’s wing, but for the brilliant red streak straight down the middle. On anyone else it might have looked terrible, but on her, it seemed as natural as her huge green eyes.

“Are you all right? Come a little closer, perhaps I can aid you,” she repeated in English.

Said the spider to the fly, he reminded himself. How the hell could a woman look every bit the seductive temptress and as innocent as all get-out at the same time? Especially one so young.

He stayed where he was. “Pepper told us about you. She got the babies out and we’ve come to get you out as well.”

Long dark lashes drifted down, veiling the expression in her eyes for a brief moment. “Why would you want to help me?”

“We’re like you. Enhanced. We stick together,” he added lamely. He couldn’t think with his brain still rattling around in his skull, banging away at the sides until he was afraid his head would explode.

“How did you get in here?”

Her voice alone gave him the sensation of fingers trailing down his skin. “I told you, we’re like you. We all have different skills. I can get through walls, although this concrete was thicker than I realized and I already went through a wall once. It’s hard on the body.” And clearly just as hard on his brain.

He couldn’t stop staring at her. She was shapely, an hourglass figure, perfectly proportioned for one so petite. Her small fingers stroked the bars of the cell with a mesmerizing slide. There was a pull about her, a lure, and he was afraid most men would succumb. He was a little worried that he knew just what she was.

“I’m Trap Dawkins. I came here to help Wyatt, a friend of mine, get his kids out of this place. Pepper said there was another woman here, so we figured we might as well break you out as well while we were at it.”

“I appreciate that. I’m Cayenne, and I don’t have a last name. At least I was never called anything but Cayenne.”

She had an accent – a French one, but he knew her training would have included proper accents for every language taught to her. She used her looks and her voice as a temptation. Still… There was more, something else. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was potent.

He didn’t move, but continued to look at her. “I haven’t made up my mind yet whether or not I take the chance and get close enough to that cell to open the locks. You’re a black widow, aren’t you?”

She smiled at him. Her teeth were small and very white. Her smile was beautiful. Inviting. “Some call me that,” she admitted, as if amused by the accusation.

The smile in her voice only added to the sensation of dainty fingers sliding over his body. Her lips parted in invitation. “Come here. A little closer.” She beckoned to him with her finger, a seductive dare in her tone.

He stared her down while his brain tried to work out the puzzle of who and what she was. How she worked. What danger she represented. He was a soldier, but more, he was analytical. He didn’t ever think with his emotions. Her voice, her enticement played to a man’s instincts and emotions. He felt it, the dangerous, magnetic draw, but his brain shielded him from her temptation.

When he didn’t respond, her lashes swept down and then up. Her full, curved lips pursed in an alluring pout. “Can you open the cell? Do you have keys?”

“I can’t bring anything metal through the wall.” He stuck as close to the truth as possible. He was getting his strength back, his insides settling slowly.

Trap couldn’t blame her for using her wiles on him, she was probably terrified. She had to know those in charge were going to kill her, and then he came along and as far as she was concerned, he was probably another experiment she was being subjected to. She was fighting for her life, trying to figure him out the same way he was trying to figure her.

“How did Whitney find you?” he asked, needing a few more minutes to decide to chance opening her cell.