Masked by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  He looked down at the top photo, of Charlotte Caissie’s sassy smile. With the picture tipped up, Jimmy couldn’t see the way he rubbed his thumb along the wide curve of her mouth. “Something else you want to talk about, Jimmy?” His voice was only mildly curious. “Like why you got somebody spying on me?”

  “I didn’t send anybody to take those.”

  “Then whatchu doing with them?”

  “I’ve been hearing things, Max. Whispering in my ear like a pesky gnat that you slap away but it keeps coming back. Why you think that is, boy?”

  An alarm began to quiver in the region recently perforated by an assassin’s bullet. “Depends on who’s been whispering and why you’ve been listening.”

  “Folks are saying you’re not as focused on your work as you should be.”

  “Who’s saying that, Jimmy?”

  “They’re saying you’ve been letting your own business interfere with mine. You didn’t pick up after yourself, and you made the police look our way. I can’t have you getting sloppy and bringing trouble to my door. I’ve been hearing that I should have doubts about you.”

  The pictures fell from Max’s hands, scattering about his feet. Another man would have shouted and beaten his chest to dramatize his loyalty, or cursed the one who slandered his name or even his boss for paying attention to it. But Jimmy Legere had rescued Max as a desperate child from starvation and madness with one outstretched hand.

  He stepped across the photos, crouching down at the old man’s feet so they were eye to eye. His glittered with haunted brilliance. Without a word, he reached between the chair cushions for the .38 special Jimmy kept close to him and he pushed the textured grip into one thin hand. Then with both of his wrapped around it, he dragged the pistol up until the stubby barrel rode the jerky motion of his Adam’s apple.

  “If you have doubts, pull the trigger. You do it, Jimmy. Don’t send somebody else to put me down in the street like an animal. I won’t lie down for them. But if you want my life, it’s yours. It always has been. You know that. At least I thought you knew. Was I wrong? Has that changed?”

  Jimmy’s blue-veined hand touched Max’s cheek. “You’re not wrong, boy. Let go.” He tucked the pistol back into its hiding place. “I tell you these things because you’ve got to be more careful now. I don’t have much longer to live.”

  Max drew a sharp breath, his eyes welling up in surprise and objection as he started to shake his head.

  “I need to square things away,” Jimmy continued. “To make sure my business is in the right hands. I’m thinking your hands, Max.”

  “I don’t want your business or your money, Jimmy.” All the emotions he usually kept tightly compressed knotted up in his expression. Fear, anguish, denial, sorrow, but mostly love for this man who had saved his life and given him a home. “It’s not your time yet. It’s not your time.”

  “That’s not for you or me to decide, boy.”

  “Who’s going to take care of me?”

  Such a curious thing to say, but Jimmy smiled. “Max, you’ve been taking care of all of us for a long time now. And I think it’s right that that should continue. You’re smart. You’re fair. You’re respected.”

  “I’m feared. It’s not the same thing. They won’t follow me, Jimmy. They don’t see me as one of them.”

  “You’d rather they follow my cousin, T-John? Some say it’s right that business stays in the family. You’re my family, Max. I’ve always thought of you that way.”

  He made a soft, choky sound of distress. “Don’t do this.”

  The old man’s expression hardened, his tone cracking sharply. “And if I tell you to take it?”

  Max rocked back on his heels. In a blink, he was all smooth, impassive control. “Whatever you want, Jimmy. Whatever you want.”

  And he rose up, a powerful, dangerous man, tightly leashed under Jimmy Legere’s control. Without another word he strode to the door, walking over the pictures without a glance.

  Jimmy sat staring glumly at the photos as Francis Petitjohn stepped in from the porch. His movements always reminded Jimmy of a crab’s sideways scuttle, never straight on. There was no love between him and his cousin but there was blood, and sometimes that counted for more. T-John was clever and quick, but it was a shrewd, selfish intelligence that Jimmy had never trusted. Too much like his brother.

  But he was family, and he’d served that family’s interests second only to his own at Jimmy’s command. Their fathers were brothers, but the only similarities between them were the stringy build and inherent wariness. That Max hadn’t picked up on T-John’s presence bothered the elder cousin, but his comment was firm.

  “See. Nothing to worry about. You were wrong.”

  “I don’t think so, Jimmy. I think you’re a fool to trust him as much as you do. You know what he is, what he does.”

  “For me, T-John. For me.”

  “Maybe once, but maybe not no more. You think he’d be sitting there tame at your feet if he knew the truth? Or would he be going for your throat, like the animal he is?”

  Jimmy’s expression congealed with fury. And fear. “Who’s going to tell him? You? You breathe a word to him and I’ll see you planted so far out in the swamps, pieces of you will be showing up in alligator purses for the next ten years.” He took a shuddering breath, his calm returning as he addressed his cunningly vicious cousin. And he hated his next necessary words. “Watch him, Johnny. But don’t let him catch you doing it.”

  Jimmy Legere sat for a long while, alone, staring at the photographs on the floor. He hadn’t known a peaceful moment since he’d looked at them and had recognized what stirred on Max Savoie’s face as he interacted with the policewoman. Something treasured, something hoarded greedily for himself, until this moment.

  Love.

  ALMOST TOO WEAK to walk upright, Max entered the kitchen. Two of Jimmy’s guards lingered over sandwiches at the center table, and their conversation stopped when he appeared. He had known them for more than ten years, but didn’t know if he’d ever spoken a single word to them. He had never paid them the slightest bit of attention. Still, they looked at him with badly hidden fear. Wariness. Loathing. Like he was some kind of monster in their midst.

  They were right. And Jimmy was wrong. The second he was no longer under Legere’s protection, they would rise up and crush him like the village mob in an old horror classic. He’d recognized himself in that black and white truth long ago. He would be Frankenstein’s creation, faithfully carrying the deceased doctor in his arms to the safety of the windmill, only to have his good neighbors set fire to it to gleefully watch him burn. Because normal people destroyed what scared them.

  As the guards quickly exited the room, he sighed. It was the same way Charlotte Caissie looked at him. Would she show up at his door, waving the first torch?

  He had to think who would stage such a blatant attack in a public place. Who wanted to send a harsh message to Jimmy over his corpse? Who would know how to bring him down? He was a target every time he stepped through the gates, but he’d never thought much about it until this minute. He had no fear of guns or knives or greater numbers. But someone had known his one weakness.

  Despite the army of men at Jimmy’s command, if Max were gone, Jimmy would be vulnerable. And that, Max wouldn’t allow. Telling Jimmy about it would just worry him. Max could take care of himself and he would be very, very careful. Because he was not just a dumb beast at Jimmy Legere’s back.

  He opened the huge stainless-steel refrigerator and was leaning in when he heard a soft step behind him.

  “Can I help you find something, Mr. Savoie?”

  He glanced back at one of the kitchen people. She was young, pretty, and eager to please, but a residue of fright clouded her stare as if she expected him to gobble her up if she said the wrong thing.

  “I’m fine, Jasmine. Just raiding the fridge. Don’t tell anyone now, will you?” He smiled and she responded with a tentative one of her own.

&nb
sp; “It’ll be our secret, Mr. Savoie.” She seemed to relax, and he was starting to feel a little better when she happened to look down at his feet and her face paled.

  Because the color splashed on his pantlegs was as red as his shoes. He didn’t think telling her it was his own blood would take that sudden glaze from her eyes as she took a couple of steps backward then fled the kitchen.

  Cursing softly, he turned back to the well-stocked shelves, dragging out a thick slab of beef. For propriety’s sake he slapped it into a skillet, and while it was lightly searing he tipped up the foam tray to swallow the red juices. As he was about to lick the last of them up, he heard a gasp. Jasmine had returned to the kitchen and stood transfixed with horror by the sight of blood trickling down his chin.

  “What are you looking at?” The low growl tore from him, sending her running.

  Why pretend to be what he wasn’t?

  He snatched the barely warmed beef out of the pan with his bare hands and tore into it with sharp teeth, savoring the raw, restorative taste.

  And he knew right then that if he wanted to stay alive, he’d be long gone before that first clod of dirt hit Jimmy Legere’s casket.

  ALMOST SEVEN-THIRTY.

  Max frowned, disappointment swelling. He’d rushed through Jimmy’s business to be here on time, apparently for nothing.

  What had he expected? Too much. Where she was concerned, it was always too much. She was probably waiting for a warrant right now to bring him in. He was a fool.

  He hadn’t realized how devastated he was until he glanced up from the bar and saw her standing beneath a light, wreathed in cigarette smoke. The sight of her almost knocked him to his knees.

  It took him a long moment to exhale, and the sound shivered noisily.

  He’d always thought she was a stunning woman, tall and powerful like an Amazonian queen. With her coffee-with-lots-of-cream Creole coloring, wide slash of lips painted bold crimson, and stare as black and jagged-edged as her short hair, she was impossible to ignore. Bold and black widow devour-your-mate sexy, she probably scared the hell out of most men. On purpose.

  But he wasn’t most men. And he’d seen her when she wasn’t so brave, wasn’t so tough and was scared as hell. But he’d never seen her looking the way she did tonight. For him.

  The dress was a shiny metallic bronze, textured like chain mail. Thin straps displayed her sleekly muscled shoulders. The gown was gathered down the center in shape-hugging puckers from its low neckline to the minimum of decency, where the skirt split and curved around sweetly to just below the backs of her knees. When she walked, a tease of firm, toned thighs, trim knees, and smooth calves led his gaze down to wicked high-heeled shoes, open in front and laced like an S&M dream about her ankles.

  She saw him looking and waited, waited for him to come to her. She held his stare, drawing him across the room with her shielded gaze. There was no fear in those dark eyes. No welcome, either.

  When he reached her, she asked, “Is this the kind of dress you had in mind?”

  His gaze never left hers. “I want to lick your toes.”

  “Can we discuss that later? I’m hungry.”

  He held up two fingers to the maître’d. The man may not have known who he was, but knew from the way he carried himself that he was someone. Plucking up two menus, the man gestured for them to follow. Max let her go first, giving her plenty of space for him to appreciate the way her hips worked the dress, without having her shove his lust down his throat. He could hear her chastising voice: Step back, Savoie. As if he were some harmlessly naughty street kid, instead of one of the most feared men in the Crescent City. Thinking she could control him that easily.

  And she was right. She could.

  They sat on opposite sides of the table, looking fabulous, smelling good, well-groomed and well-mannered strangers. And all Max could think was, when will that other shoe drop? What are you?

  At that moment, he would have given anything to be some regular guy out on the town with his girl. Not a mob enforcer, a murderer in a fancy suit. And much worse.

  Was that what she saw when she looked across the table at him through those heavily fringed, fathomless eyes? Finally, the suspense got the better of him.

  “Why are you here, Charlotte?”

  “I told you—I’m hungry. And I can’t afford to eat here on my salary.”

  “And you don’t care about the company you keep?”

  “Why, Max, are you calling me a snob?”

  He didn’t answer. He suddenly didn’t know what to say to her.

  She’d had her hair done. He could scent the elaborate, expensive salon products that she usually disdained. Why for him? Why the glamour, the tease? Why share a table with him, when what was foremost in their thoughts kept them from enjoying their usual banter?

  The way she was tiptoeing around it made the change in their relationship all the more unbearable. One thing he liked so much about her was her no-holds-barred honesty. The fact that she was withholding that from him, even if the truth was something he didn’t want to hear, soured his long-savored anticipation. He sat silent and withdrawn, listening to her talk about the food, about those she recognized in the posh establishment, without really saying anything. Things she might share with a casual acquaintance—not with someone who only hours before had been dying, his blood pumping out beneath her palm.

  “Charlotte, look at me.”

  Her dark eyes lifted, carefully masked.

  “What do you see?”

  A slight flicker. Then she smiled. “I see a really nice suit. You clean up good, Max.”

  His expression locked down tight. “You see a thug in a silk tie, a monster in Armani. This was a mistake.” He shoved up from the table, and she stilled him with the touch of her hand on his. So warm. So soft.

  “You said there’d be dancing.”

  She rose from her chair, dropping her napkin over the remains of her meal. In the spiky heels, she could almost look him right in the eye. He wanted to put his hands on her in the worst way. Better it be here in public, with all these people around, where he wouldn’t be quite so tempted.

  Her fingers curled around his. She tugged, he followed, out onto the dance area. No one else was dancing but that didn’t matter. Aaron Neville was crooning, “Tell it like it is,” as he fit his palm to the curve of her waist. They moved to the seductive song at a cautious distance, close enough to feel each other’s heat but far enough apart to retain eye contact. Within a minute, they were joined by other couples who had no such reservations.

  Max carefully mimicked the steps of those swaying around them. He’d never danced before. He’d never had reason. He was quick to pick up the natural rhythm of the music, and Cee Cee followed easily. He quit worrying about treading on her sexy shoes and began to eye the other pairs who seemed Velcroed together. What would Cee Cee do if he pulled her up tight against him, tucked her head down on his shoulder, and let his palm prowl over the sweet curve of her rump for a squeeze? Probably crack his nuts with her knee. Dangerous business, sneaking up on any kind of intimacy with her. Kind of like mating with a porcupine. But worth the risk of those painful barbs? Oh, yes.

  When he chuckled, she scowled suspiciously. “What?”

  He continued to smile. “You’re easy to dance with.”

  “I do have some social graces.” Very prickly.

  “Do you mind if I look for them?”

  “Depends on where you plan to look.”

  He grinned a bit wolfishly and coaxed her in a bit closer so that their knees brushed and their hips bumped. “You can put your head on my shoulder if you like.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “I seem to remember you kinda liked it before.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the reference, and he cursed himself for bringing it up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Max?” she began after a long silence.

  “Charlotte?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Ah, th
at conversation.” Oddly, he felt himself relax. Even if that other high-heeled shoe was going to drop down hard on the back of his neck, it was better than all this waltzing around with a stranger. “Best it should be in private. Your place is probably closer.”

  “Will you behave?”

  Because there was the slightest catch in that flirty question, he smiled, showing his teeth. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, sha.”

  She gave him a long look that said the chances of him getting laid out cold were greater than getting laid.

  He chuckled. “I’ll behave.”

  She stepped away and returned to the table to retrieve her purse, a bag just big enough to hold her service revolver.

  After instructing their server to bill Jimmy’s account and to add on something nice for himself, Max waited anxiously for the waiter to clear his request. He hadn’t considered how he’d pay the bill until this moment, having no money or plastic himself. He hadn’t been thinking about anything except what to say to her, so she wouldn’t guess he’d never done this before. Then the server returned with his receipt and a big smile and a “Thank you, Mr. Savoie.” He was able to breathe again and follow Charlotte to the door.

  She drove a little convertible sports car, fast and aggressively. He didn’t know much about cars but thought the tough, curvy lines suited her. Even the temperamental clutch and rough shifting seemed appropriate. He leaned back in his seat, letting the wind cool his face while his gaze grew hot watching her. She concentrated on the traffic and said nothing.

  She lived in an old but respectable neighborhood, where houses crowded together, sharing little strips of brownish lawn. She fished out her keys as he climbed the outside stairs behind her. He could scent her nervousness, could hear it in the jingle of her keys, as if this was something she didn’t do often. Did that mean she didn’t bring men home, or just men like him?

  Not that there were any others like him.

  Her second-floor apartment was a nice place with big, comfortable furniture and lots of bold color. He could smell the river through the open balcony doors. A slight scurrying sound drew his attention to a large cage in the corner and he approached to be regarded by twin pairs of button eyes.