by Nancy Gideon
She dragged him up to his knees and forced two fingers down his throat. Max fought the gag reflex and, more weakly, her. “Come on. Give it up for me.” She rammed her fingers again and this time, his choking produced the desired result. She didn’t look at the bloody mess he retched up onto Petitjohn’s plush carpet. “Good. That’s good,” she soothed, stroking the sweat off his fevered brow. “We’re not done yet. Throw it off, Max. Come on—you can do it. That little weasel isn’t going to beat us.”
But the sound of Max’s breathing was harsh and awful. If the silver was in his system, she didn’t know how to stop its spread, how to keep him alive.
She pushed him back onto his heels where he sagged against her palms, sucking for air in that horrible clogged-hose fashion. His eyes had glazed and began to roll back.
“No! Stay with me, Max. Fight it! Come on.” His head lolled when she shook him, and snapped back when she slapped him. Once; again; then harder. “Max, it’s Charlotte. Look at me. See me. Come on—don’t be a coward. Don’t you dare give up. Don’t you run away from me now. I’m right here. Look at me!”
He blinked.
Encouraged, she got even tougher. “Come on, baby. Fight for me. Fight for them. You’ve never done a single thing for yourself your whole life. You’ve never taken a single stand. Make it count this time. Are you just going to roll over and play dead because that’s what Petitjohn wants you to do?”
“For you,” he whispered.
“What?” She stroked her hands over his gaunt face. “What did you say?”
“For you. I took a stand for you. Twelve years ago.”
His eyes took on that eerie brilliance, then he tucked his head, a hard shiver passing through him. When he looked up, that gaze was warm and clear. And hard. “I’ve never regretted that choice for a second. I’m not sorry, but T-John will be when I catch up to him.”
She smiled in relief. “Can I give you a lift?
Nineteen
SIX DOUBLE PATTIES, hold everything but the meat, and I’d like that just thawed, not cooked. And coffee, large, black.”
Silence.
Cee Cee could imagine the teenager on the other end of the order box and smiled, adding, “For religious purposes.”
She pulled through to the pick-up window and paid the nervous kid who passed her the order as if it contained toxic waste. After taking the coffee, she tossed the bag into Max’s lap where he was dozing in the passenger seat.
“Breakfast. You can consider this our third date.”
Opening the sack, he inhaled deeply and sighed. “Do you think we could go out sometime when it doesn’t involve a near-death experience on my part?”
“So far you’ve been picking the places. Eat.”
While they sat in a far corner of the parking lot, he made quick work of the raw burger. By the time he was licking the wrapper, his energy level was back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Besides stupid?” He smiled wryly. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.” His brow puckered slightly. “What were you doing there, anyway?”
She started the car. “I meant it when I said I had your back.”
“Ah.” He sat back, pleased with her answer. His hands latched instinctively onto the dash as she wheeled out into traffic.
“What are you going to do about Petitjohn, Max?”
“Well, I can’t exactly file a police report, can I?” He looked away. “I’ll see to him. Eventually. But I want some answers from him first.”
“I probably shouldn’t be listening to this,” she remarked casually. “But I can’t think of anyone who would miss him if he turned up on the bottom of my shoes. Not my new shoes. If you’re going to disembowel him, please don’t do it tonight.”
“I have other plans for this evening. You have this wonderful all-new smell to you that I need to investigate.”
“New all the way to the skin. And I think you’ll enjoy what you discover.”
“Really?” Interest piqued, he craned his neck, trying to see down the scooped neck of her shirt. “What?”
“Later.” She slapped his hand away. “You have to earn it.”
“Detective, are you trying to bribe me with sex?” He gave her a shocked look, amusement playing about his lips. “To do what? Stay alive?”
“We certainly won’t be having sex otherwise. Do you have a problem with that, Savoie?”
“Not in the least.”
They pulled into the upscale restaurant’s parking lot, edging up between the long lines of sleek, nondescript town cars and glossy SUVs, all with tinted windows.
“This must be the place.” Cee Cee cut the motor and turned to Max. “By the way, thanks for the use of the car.”
“My pleasure. But it’s your car.”
Her eyes widened.
“I owe you one. And I really like watching you handle the gear shift.”
“Do you think anyone would mind if I slid onto your lap and we started making out like crazy?”
“I know I wouldn’t mind.” He sighed heavily, glancing toward the front door. “But duty calls. Come on, detective. Escort me in.”
THE INTERIOR OF Michael’s was all crystal and silver elegance. The bulky patrons in the bar area, wearing suits cut to conceal their firearms, looked as conspicuous as Cee Cee felt. A pompous staffer stopped them outside the banquet room, raising an eyebrow at Max’s shoes.
“I’m sorry, sir, madame. Private party.”
“It’s my party,” Max announced coolly.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Savoie.” He pulled back the sliding doors to reveal a horseshoe of the who’s who of Crescent City crime.
“Oh my God,” Cee Cee whispered. “And here I am without any handcuffs.”
“Behave, detective. You’re here as my guest.” He smirked. “Besides, they’re probably thinking the same thing. I do every time I see you. Shall we?”
He strode into the room with her on his heels, aware of all the attention turned his way. But only one reaction interested him.
Francis Petitjohn paled dramatically.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. Couldn’t find a place to park. You know my girlfriend, Detective Caissie.”
Nothing like laying it all out there, Savoie. Charlotte smiled tightly across the sea of bristling hostility. “We’ve met.”
Max approached the head of the table with a stalking intensity while Petitjohn sat, pinned prey. “You didn’t save me a seat, T-John. Charlotte told me you’d be expecting me.” His stare brightened, all cold fire, and his voice lowered to a murderous rumble. “Take my hand, Francis, and maybe I’ll save you.”
He gripped the sweaty palm in his own, nearly crunching bone. To his credit, Petitjohn didn’t flinch.
“Gentlemen.” Max turned to the elite company. “I’m not one for long speeches, so let me get this out of the way. Thank you for the cards and flowers. Now it’s time to pony up with something a little more tangible. Jimmy Legere trusted me with all of his interests, and I’m taking them. Anyone have a problem with that?”
Rafert Thoms, who controlled the city’s transportation, spoke up for the rest of the group. “Max, nothing personal, but how do you plan to hold them?”
“The same way Jimmy did, the way he taught me. By being smart, by knowing who my friends are—and aren’t. By crushing anyone who gets in my way without mercy or regret.” He glanced to Cee Cee with a chill smile. “Pretend you didn’t hear that, darlin’.”
“Big words, Savoie,” another challenged. “How are you going to back them?”
“With big, sharp teeth. I’m the top dog now and nobody steps in my yard. Anyone tries to take a bite out of something that’s mine, I’ll tear out his throat.” For a long moment, no one in the room exhaled. Max smiled with a slow show of gleaming white. “Figuratively speaking, of course. You’ll be dealing mainly with Jimmy’s cousin, T-John. You know him. He’s one of you, but make no mistake: He answers to me and only me. Right, Francis?”
; “Whatever you say, Max,” came the faint reply.
Thoms leaned back in his chair, amused and interested, but unintimidated. He was an expert at it; they all were. “I had a great deal of respect for Jimmy, but I don’t know you, Savoie, except by reputation. It takes more than scary stories to make me a believer. Don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t step up if I had any intention of stepping down any time soon. You want references.” His face went still, his eyes cool and remote. “If anyone has any further doubts or questions about how seriously I take my business, I can arrange for him to take them up with Vic Vantour. I settled him into some property over by Lake Pontchartrain. He found himself ready to retire, and figured what was good enough for Jimmy was good for him. What was his is now mine, too.”
There was a sudden commotion at the entry doors, then Jacques LaRoche filled the opening with his bulk and brashness, his gaze on Max. When one of the restaurant staff gripped his beefy forearm, he was flicked off like an annoying tick. LaRoche came forward, in his steel-toed boots, tight jeans, and tighter tee shirt, smelling of labor and the docks.
Max stepped back from the table, waiting for the big man to reach him, while Cee Cee swept the room with her hard gaze, alert for trouble.
LaRoche had one quiet question for Max. “Who do you stand for, Savoie?”
“Stand with me.”
LaRoche hesitated, caution narrowing his eyes. “You’ll be our voice?”
“To my last breath.”
LaRoche studied his face, the unblinking intensity of his gaze, and finally allowed a slight smile. “We’re yours.”
He leaned in to butt the top of his head against Max’s shoulder. Max’s hand came up to clasp the back of his neck, holding him there for a brief instant before releasing him, letting him step back to motion to Tibideaux, who stood at the door.
The redhead opened it, and a line of solemn workers, men recognized by the guests at the glitzy table as those who ran their various interests on the grassroots level, approached Max Savoie to pay homage in the same subservient fashion.
Standing at his side, LaRoche shot Cee Cee a quick, grudging smile. “I see you’re still determined to protect his back.”
“To my last breath,” was the steely reply, earning her a wide grin.
When the silent laborers flanked him, Max regarded the elite company once more. His tone was smooth, even smug. “Control the docks, control the city, the saying goes. Gentlemen, the docks belong to me, and if you want to do business in the city, you go through me. We can agree on that here and now like civilized men, or would you rather I come into each of your yards and piss on everything before I take it away from you?”
No one moved or spoke, stunned by his arrogance.
Rafert Thoms broke the quiet with a booming laugh. He stood and approached the head of the table to take Max’s hand in a firm clasp.
“Mr. Savoie, I look forward to doing business with you. No need to turn up your nose when, together, we can turn a profit.”
One by one, the highest echelon of the New Orleans underbelly came up to do the same. Cee Cee faded back without complaint, feeling unnecessary now that LaRoche and his kind were there to guard their alpha. Especially since half the men in the room had spent time behind bars at her invitation.
Francis Petitjohn looked up at the press of her hands on his shoulders. She smiled, but there was no mistaking her words for anything other than a threat.
“I told you not to hurt him. If he doesn’t settle things with you, I will. And you’ll find out you were wrong to think he’s the most dangerous thing out there on the streets.”
She pushed her way through the crowded room. The air was a tad too polluted with the stink of illegal activities for her comfort.
At the door, she looked back and saw Max glance behind him on either side. His head came up as he sought her scent in the crowded room, then his gaze snapped right to where she was standing. She held up seven fingers and pulled the neckline of her shirt over to reveal her thin, black, rhinestoned bra strap. He stopped in mid-sentence, his grin wide and wicked before his attention was called away.
She watched Max work the group. He was direct and assessable, gripping hands, holding eye contact, his posture confident and effortlessly lethal. Powerful and in control.
She smiled reluctantly. Jimmy Legere should have been there to see him. He would have been so proud.
“Are you another part of his scheme, Detective Caissie?”
She glanced over at the balding importer who moonlighted as a midlevel arms dealer. “What do you mean, Artie?”
“Control the docks and control the NOPD? Our boy Max found himself a pretty beneficial bedfellow. And he’s pulled your teeth, too.” He chuckled. “Who’s going to believe you’re not in his pocket, as well as his pants?”
“Oh, damn. I left that warrant for your arrest in my other purse.”
Artie scowled. “You’re a laugh riot, Caissie.”
She looked up at Max, surrounded by the cadre of hoodlums. How many of them were thinking exactly the same thing? How long before they started pressuring Max to cull favors for them? Until the things she couldn’t share with him became greater than those she could?
She left the room, troubled by an uneasiness that wouldn’t go away, and almost ran into the group of photographers who leaned in to snap pictures through the momentarily open door. She dodged back, head lowered, stiffening when one of them grabbed her arm.
“Can you tell me what’s going on in there?”
“I don’t know anything. Sorry,” she muttered, trying to escape the reporter.
“Hey, I know you. Aren’t you—“
She jerked free and moved as fast as she could without running toward the front door, not slowing until she reached the car. Huddled behind the wheel, her heart hammered, her breath chugged in unfocused panic. Her hand shook as she inserted the key, and the numbing anxiety just kept getting bigger.
She hadn’t gotten three feet inside the locker room when Babineau caught up to her.
“Captain’s looking for you. And he ain’t happy. It was your gun those kids used in the stickup. He’s talking about a suspension.”
“Fine. I deserve it.”
He pulled up short, his mouth hanging open. “Ceece, everything all right? Where have you been? I’ve tried to cover for you.”
“I’ve been witness to the swearing in of criminal royalty. I need a shower.”
“Wouldn’t that new royalty be the one you’re showering with?”
“Yeah.” Her laugh wobbled. “My God, Alain. What am I going to do? I’m a cop, and I’m the girlfriend of the head of organized crime in New Orleans. He took me into a meeting with every Most Wanted in the city. I don’t want to think he did it to hamstring me in my job, but how can I be sure? That’s what Jimmy would have done. There were photographers there. Do you think the captain will just be talking a suspension if my picture turns up on the front page tomorrow? How would I ever do my job? Why would anyone take me seriously ever again?”
“Sit down. Come on. Sit down.”
“It was one thing when he was just in Legere’s shadow, and nobody knew or cared if we had a little fling. But now he’s high profile, and it’s going to be my job to put that profile on a police blotter with a number over his shoulder.” She dropped onto the bench and lowered her head between her knees to combat the sudden waves of vertigo. Thinking of the pieces and parts of four victims in Dovion’s lockers, of crimes she was supposed to be solving, committed by the man who controlled her heart. “I’m in love with him,” she moaned.
Her partner’s soft curse summed it up nicely. “Fuck me.”
“Fuck me sideways,” she agreed on a sob.
SEVEN O’CLOCK CAME and went.
She sat outside the restaurant in the car for almost an hour. He didn’t come out, and she couldn’t go in. She couldn’t make that committing move to open the door. If anyone had looked through the rainy car windows t
hey would have thought her a crazy woman, weeping uncontrollably over what was waiting for her. Over something she wanted with nearly mindless desperation. Over what she could never claim. A dream that was never meant to be.
She loved her job. She loved her role in defending justice, in standing for the weak, the vulnerable, the deserving. It was everything that defined her, everything that gave her purpose, meaning, and validation. It was the link to her past, the need to make her father proud, to continue to honor his memory in the only way she could. It was her only tie to family, those men and women sworn to uphold the laws and rights of the citizens of their city.
She didn’t know how to do anything else. She didn’t want to be anyone else. If she didn’t have her badge, her integrity, her focus, what would she have? If she was no longer that person, who would she be?
She would be an empty possession in Max’s yard, unable to go beyond the limits of her chain. And she would grow to hate him for holding her back. She’d spent her whole life fighting on her own behalf and to protect those she loved. If he took away that freedom, there would be nothing left of her.
But how could she give him less than everything?
Max had her heart, her body, her soul. She would give her life for him without a second’s thought. But to have him, to keep him, would require a sacrifice of her spirit. And that was a compromise she couldn’t make. Not even for him.
And he would never forgive himself for demanding it of her.
She finally started the growly 427, and after wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she tore away from the curb. Zero to sixty in under four seconds—even dragging her heart behind her.
SHE NEVER HEARD his step until he was beside her. He smiled slightly.
“Heya. I thought you might be here.”
She scooched down the smooth wooden pew to give him space to join her.
He kept an incremental distance, waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t, he asked, “Why didn’t you come in?”
“Because I’m a coward.”
