by Nancy Gideon
The angles of his face grew sharper, bolder, changing right before her astonished eyes. His jaw and cheekbones extended to form a pitbull-like muzzle. Heavy brows on a now prominent ridge and black hair thickened and lengthened. His five o’clock shadow became coarse and dark. His upper lip curled back from those elongated features, now more animal than human, to reveal a row of teeth right out of Little Red Riding Hood.
She shrieked in primal fear and scrambled backward as he lunged, looming over her, a fearsome, frightening being that was bestial, unnatural . . . and somehow still Max.
She froze, cowering, her heartbeats frantic. And then an odd jumble of emotions stirred. Fragmented memories. Half-realized feelings of relief, of safety. And her fear fell away before a sense of curious wonder.
She reached a tentative hand to touch the side of that misshapen face, her fingertips lightly following the ravening quiver of his jaw. Her words were a dreamy whisper.
“My God, Max. You’re magnificent.”
And familiar.
He blinked. The dark centers of his eyes swelled, cooling them to a clear pale green. He drew a short breath as the dimensions of his face reformed into recognizable contours. The hands he placed on either side of her head were his hands, still braceleted in metal.
And the sudden, hard kiss he pressed on her mouth transformed everything inside her. Her breath trembled against his parted lips for a long moment, then he eased back to regard her with typical inscrutability. “Thanks for dinner and the conversation.”
Then he was up and over her and gone.
Cee Cee lay staring at the ceiling, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes.
She’d seen the monster in the man.
And it hadn’t made a bit of difference.
MAX BOUNDED DOWN the stairs, pulling on his shirt and jacket, refusing to think about what had just happened. About what she now knew. His heart was jackhammering; his senses were pulled in a dozen different directions.
Which was why he didn’t notice them until they were upon him.
“Stand easy, Savoie.”
He heard the revolver cock as it was shoved up under his chin. He stood easy. “What do you want?”
“Jimmy wants to see you.”
At gunpoint? “All you had to do is ask.”
The three of them were armed and nervous, which made them all the more dangerous. He could smell their fear of him and he was careful to give them no reason to act upon it. He got into the backseat of the Mercedes and sat quietly as they drove him out on River Road. He walked ahead of them to Jimmy’s office, his shirt still untucked but buttoned.
Jimmy was in his chair, but he didn’t look old and vulnerable. He looked fierce. And Max started to worry.
“Jimmy, where y’at?”
“I’ve been better. Where have you been?”
“Out to dinner.”
“What’s that you’re wearing?”
He glanced at the broken cuffs. “Just having some fun with my girl.”
“Your girlfriend. Detective Caissie?”
“Yes.”
“Are you crazy? What are you thinking? What are you thinking with?”
“I’m thinking you never told me I couldn’t have a personal life. I’m thinking I really like her, and she makes me feel—” Alive? Human? He let Jimmy fill in his own word. But maybe he shouldn’t have, because maybe the word Jimmy came up with was disloyal.
“What else have you been doing?”
“I don’t understand.” He looked from Jimmy’s angry glare to Francis Petitjohn, who slid in behind his three thugs. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me. You tell me why you took it upon yourself to start a goddamn war.” Jimmy flung something at Max’s feet.
Max looked down, at first confused, then filled with an icy clarity.
Thumbs.
Six
I’M GUESSING THIS is Vic Vantour. Where’s the rest of him?” he asked.
“You tell me, Max. These arrived overnight express. Probably all of him that would fit in the saver envelope.”
“I don’t know, Jimmy. He had all ten digits when I saw him down at the docks.”
“His men have been looking for him since that meeting. Since you and Paulie went your separate ways. If word gets out that we have part of him here, I don’t need to spell out for you what will happen, do I?”
“I know how to spell, Jimmy.”
Petitjohn looked to his cousin. “They’re going to know it was him, Jimmy. They’re going to want something from us. What are we going to give them?” Who was his unspoken demand. Who was going to be sacrificed to keep peace between their families?
Legere gave Max a long, hard look. Max returned it evenly, never blinking, never sweating, totally motionless. The old man sighed in aggravation. “As long as Vantour doesn’t surface, they’re just guessing at best. Once we know how he was killed—if he was killed—then we’ll know how to deal with it.”
“And if other parts of him are missing? Like his heart?” T-John prodded.
“I said we’d deal with it!” Jimmy roared. He took a shaky breath, then waved them off. “Look for the son of bitch. Do it quietly. Max, a word.”
Max stood where he was until the others had gone, then he spoke plainly, without emphasis or emotion. “I didn’t do this. I had no reason to. Either you believe me or you don’t. Which is it?”
A long, weary sigh. “I believe you, Max. You’ve never lied to me before.”
But was Jimmy lying to him now? Max couldn’t tell, and that uncertainty was worse than any outright accusation. Doubt was an ugly thing, gnawing away at his sense of safety, making him wonder why Jimmy had sent armed men to bring him home when he would have returned just as quickly to the usual call. And that made him think again of the assassin at the church, an assassin who knew what kind of bullet to use to bring him down. He chose his words carefully. “If you have to give me up to satisfy them, I’ll understand.”
“No one’s giving you up. Come here.”
Max crossed to his chair, hunkering down on the balls of his feet, hands resting easy on Jimmy’s knees, his stare direct and open.
“Haven’t I always protected you, Max? I made a promise to you. Did you think I was going to break it? Over the likes of Vantour and his lot? What’s going on with you, boy? Why would you be thinking such things? Are you unhappy here?”
“You’ve always been good to me. I have no reason to want to leave.” His tone quieted. “This is my home. I owe you everything.”
“This woman, this detective—is she going to get between us?”
“We don’t mix business with personal.” He spoke the lie as smoothly as all the truths spoken before it.
“If she becomes a problem, will you handle it, Max?”
“Don’t ask me to, Jimmy.”
“Are you saying no?”
“I’m saying don’t ask me to.”
Clearly unsatisfied with that answer, the old man still put his hands over Max’s to press lightly. “Don’t forget where your loyalties lie, boy. Don’t forget who’s taken care of you. Don’t forget what’s on the other side of that wall.”
“I won’t, Jimmy.” And the uneasiness that always crept into his eyes when he was reminded of his past was there, comforting Legere that all was as it should be.
“Go get cleaned up. I’ll have someone bring up some metal shears.” He nodded to the handcuffs. “That’s not a good look for you, son.”
“That’s okay. I can take care of it.”
And as he would do once in a while, when his mood was pensive or disturbed, Max bent down, letting his cheek rest on one of the gnarled hands in a gesture both submissive and trusting. But this time he felt far from comforted by the weight of the old man’s other hand on his head. He shut his eyes tightly, feeling Charlotte Caissie’s slight tug on the leash of his loyalty.
“GOOD MORNING, DETECTIVE Caissie. Some coffee and beignets? I have them delivered from Café du Monde while t
hey’re still hot.”
“No thank you, Mr. Legere.”
“Mr. Legere? So formal.”
“This isn’t a social call.”
It took Max five seconds to appear behind Jimmy Legere’s chair on the front porch. No charming manners and fancy suit this morning. He wore faded jeans stuffed into the tops of half-laced muddy work boots and his long raincoat over a tee shirt. His cheeks were dark with unshaven stubble. His hair stood at wayward angles, spiky with sweat as if he’d been engaged in heavy labor. His rough, earthy look growled with a dangerous male sensuality that had Cee Cee’s pulse kicking up a notch. But his gaze was crisp and cool, inanimate as he took in her appearance.
She was as fresh as he was rumpled, wearing a white cotton shirt tucked into skinny black jeans and a man’s brocade vest. His gray silk tie was knotted loosely around her neck and secured by the silver stick pin he recognized with a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“Max, pour Detective Caissie some coffee. It’s just the thing to cut this muggy heat.”
He filled a cup without comment, never taking his eyes off her. When she reached for the saucer he caught her fingers with his other hand, lifting them to press a surprising kiss on her knuckles. Then he passed her the cup, all without a flicker of expression.
Aware of Legere watching the exchange, she didn’t react. Wondering what Max was up to with that unexpected display, she took a sip of coffee before getting straight to business.
“Word has it that Vic Vantour is missing. Any insight on that, Jimmy?”
“None, detective. Mr. Vantour and I had some business dealings together and a fairly good relationship, but I can’t say that we ever socialized. You must suspect foul play or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Just following leads that somehow always lead to your door. Why is that, do you suppose?”
“I’m a powerful man. Power attracts speculation and suspicion. I knew your daddy, detective. He was a good cop. A tough cop. I understand you’ve followed in his footsteps.”
Cee Cee stiffened slightly but her voice remained conversational. “My father was killed by some powerful, cowardly rat bastard who blew the top of his head into my red beans and rice as we ate our Sunday supper. Don’t tell me what my father was.”
Legere regarded her for a moment, his expression intrigued, even amused. Then he touched the back of Max’s hand. “Max, did you take care of that matter we discussed?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a good boy, Max.”
“Happy to do it for you, Jimmy.” Though he addressed his boss, his stare was fixed on Cee Cee.
“Go get yourself cleaned up and put a civilized face on you. You know I don’t like my people going about untidy.”
“Sorry, Jimmy. I’ll take care of it.” But he didn’t move.
“Max. Now.”
The unblinking gaze flashed between Cee Cee and his employer, reluctance subtly shading his expression before he repeated, “I’ll take care of it.”
After he’d gone into the house, Jimmy Legere waved his hand to a seat at the wicker table beside him. “Join me, Ms. Caissie. We need to get better acquainted.”
“I know all I need to know about you.”
“But you don’t know all you need to know about Max. Sit down.”
She sat.
“You have him well trained,” she observed dispassionately. “Does he roll over and play dead, too?”
The old man got right to it. “Max tells me you’re involved.”
She kept her features from betraying any surprise. “How ungallant of him to kiss and tell.”
“You don’t see a conflict of interest there, detective, seeing as how Max is what he is and you are what you are?”
“What we are is none of your business.”
“Oh, you’d be wrong there, cher. Max is more than my employee. He’s my family. So what involves him, involves me. Do you understand my meaning?”
“It means holidays might get complicated.”
“Complicated. Yes. Has Max told you how he came to live here?”
Max had told her absolutely nothing about himself. In all the years she’d known him, with all their verbal parries, he never got around to it. He was a complete mystery to her. And to everyone else.
Jimmy took her silence for a negative. “He and his mama were swamp folk. Ignorant, superstitious people with their strange ways of looking at life. She got to thinking she’d like him to have a better one, so she moved them to a poor little shanty town where she started plying the oldest profession to buy him shoes. She told him the measure of a man was in his shoes. And one day, one of her customers had a disagreement with her; I don’t know what about. He took her and Max out into the swamps and shot her, but for some reason Max was spared. He was four, maybe five years old.”
Cee Cee remained still, her heart weeping for Max.
“Some of my associates and I happened to be out in the neighborhood taking care of some business.”
Probably out disposing of a body themselves, she thought.
“We come across this boy and his dead mama. I don’t know how long he’d been out there—maybe two or three weeks. You see, he wasn’t big enough to drag her out, but he had too much heart to leave her there alone. So he stayed with her to keep the predators off. Just a child, out there all alone in that dark, dangerous place. Imagine that, detective.”
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“It was the stink we noticed, first. I don’t know how he’d stayed alive. He was half crazy with fear and grief, sick from bad water, nearly starved, torn up from whatever he had to fight off to keep his mama safe. Just this filthy, terrified little kid—the deadliest creature I’d ever seen before or since. He was on us before we even knew what hit us. My associates wanted to put him down right then, but there was something about that boy and those fearless protective instincts.”
Jimmy shook his head, still marveling over it. “I put my hand down to him. I told him to come with me. That I’d see his mama was taken care of, that I’d take care of him and keep him safe. When he took my hand, he gave me everything he was and everything he would be. I took him home with me, saw his mama buried properly, fed him, clothed him, educated him, and loved him like he was my own.”
“And made him into a killer.”
“Oh, my dear detective, I had nothing do with that. Whatever horrors he went through to survive out there in the swamps made him fierce and grateful. A powerful combination. If I said to him, “I want your right arm,” he would tear it off without hesitation and say, “Happy to do it for you, Jimmy.’”
“And if you unsnap his leash and say ‘kill’, he does that for you, too.”
Legere didn’t answer.
“Did you send him to kill Vantour?”
“No.”
“Would he, if you had asked?”
“Without question.”
“Gautreaux and Surette?”
“No. Max is a very valuable resource. I would never jeopardize him carelessly.”
“How lovingly paternal of you.”
“Sneer at me if you like, Ms. Caissie, but the truth of the matter is, Max has one master: me. No matter how lovely you are, how charming, how tempting, Max is not going to choose you.
“I understand him. I keep him safe from a world that would not be so forgiving of what he is, through no fault of his own. I wanted you to know these things to spare you any future heartache.”
“How considerate of you to think of my feelings, but you needn’t have concerned yourself. What Max and I have between us is business. If I come for him, it will be to take him to jail, not to my bed. And if I decide I want him for any other reason . . .” She paused for effect. “You won’t get in my way.”
Jimmy gave a cold chuckle and smiled. “Very sure of yourself, aren’t you, my dear?” Then the smile was gone. “You’re playing a very dangerous game—one that will hurt him and destroy you.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
She glanced over his shoulder to see Max framed in the doorway. He’d changed into an expensive dark suit with a stark white shirt. And bright red tennis shoes. For a moment, his gaze was as naked as his cleanly shaven face.
Then the impassive mask settled into place. “I’ll walk Detective Caissie to her car.”
Jimmy Legere gave her a nod. “Always a pleasure, detective.”
“I look forward to visiting you in prison.”
As Max walked silently beside her, Cee Cee wondered how much of their conversation he had heard. His brows were leveled into a formidable line and she could have pounded out horseshoes on the surface of his hard jaw. She’d rarely seen any emotion on his face.
“Max—”
“You shouldn’t go making such bold claims when you don’t know if you can back them up.”
He was angry. She tried to make less of it. “I was just trying to provoke him.”
“Well, I find myself plenty provoked, too. I may trot at your high heels and sniff at your skirt, but don’t think for one minute that I’ll leave my yard and come running if you whistle. Because I know chances are, you’ll be coaxing me to dash right out in front of a truck. I’m not stupid, Charlotte. So don’t confuse pulling on a leash with wanting to be off it. I know where I belong.”
“Especially when the first thing he taught you was heel. You’re a coward, Savoie.”
“If you say so, detective.”
As he opened the door to her car, she met his unreadable stare, first in challenge, then with a gradual softening because of all the things she’d learned about his past.
Her empathy immediately knocked him back on the defensive. “Don’t pity me,” he growled. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
“It’s not pity, Max,” she assured him quietly. “It’s . . . I don’t know what it is.” She didn’t have a name for the emotions crowding up to burn the back of her throat like a spicy meal. She reached out, cupping the back of his head to hold him in place, then leaned forward to touch a light kiss to his cheek. His skin was smooth and warm, smelling of shaving soap, tasting of unspoken dreams.
