Captured by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  As she chuckled and stepped back, he suddenly felt a prickle riding lightly along the surface of his skin, like a mild electric shock.

  “Come on, Savoie. Lunch is ready.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She hesitated, studying his expression. “Everything okay?”

  “Hey, Ceece,” Babineau hollered from the side yard. “Any more beer?”

  “I’m fine,” Max told her. “There’s another two cases in the trunk. Want me to get them?”

  “I’ve got it. I love you, baby.”

  She said that easily now, without thought or effort. And he smiled.

  He waited until she was gone. Then he closed his eyes, let himself empty of exterior distraction, and reached out with a very light mental touch.

  His eyes flashed open, and quickly scanned the small hedged-in backyard. He got off the swing and moved slowly, casually toward the far corner of the house. There, he crouched down slightly to peer under the raised deck.

  “Heya.”

  A boy regarded him from where he was seated in the shadows. He was young, maybe ten, eleven.

  “I’m Max. And you are?”

  “Oscar.”

  “Oscar.” He smiled. “Babineau?”

  “He’s my mother’s husband. Now that’s my name, too.”

  That may have been his name—but that was hardly all he was.

  Nine

  MAX SAT ON the steps leading up to the deck, waiting for the gangly boy to crawl out of his burrow to regard him with cautious, curious eyes.

  “Not much for parties?”

  The boy stared at him solemnly.

  “Not much fun when there’s no one like you, who understands you.”

  With a heartbreaking simplicity, the boy told him, “There’s no one like me.”

  Max smiled slowly. “I am. I’m like you.”

  He looked uncertain, suspicious. “Are you crazy, too?”

  “No.” He hung on very carefully to his anger. “I’m different, Oscar. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing.”

  He watched the boy process that information, mulling it over, struggling between what he’d been told and what he wanted to believe.

  “Let me have your hand, Oscar.”

  He took the small, fragile hand in his, holding it lightly so the boy could pull away if he chose. Holding the tentative gaze with his, Max bent to quickly snuffle up his scent. Though the boy seemed alarmed at first, he didn’t jerk away. And after a long moment, he leaned hesitantly to sniff at Max’s palm.

  “There,” Max concluded. “Now we will always recognize one another, even before we’re in sight.”

  “Max?”

  He turned toward the sound of Cee Cee’s voice, and when he looked back the boy had disappeared.

  “Hey, come on. If you turn your back on this lot for more than five seconds, all you’ll have left is a platter of bones.”

  Funny, he mused; that’s probably the same way they viewed him.

  Wonderfully spicy smells emanated from Dovion’s stack of ribs beside a table groaning with food. The departmental clique broke up as officers went to sit with their wives and girlfriends. Cee Cee stuck Max with balancing their plates as she piled on everything the heavy cardboard could hold. A potluck pro, she’d tucked their napkin-wrapped utensils down the cleavage of her sports bra to leave her hands free.

  As Max stepped around the corner of the table, Junior Hammond was suddenly in his path.

  It could have been an accident.

  Somehow Junior managed to knock up against the bottom of both plates, sending them flying. But before the surly detective could have his laugh, Max had caught the plates with enough speed and agility to have every last morsel, from pea salad to potato chips, right back where it started.

  Junior stared at the plates, mouth ajar.

  “’Cuse me,” Max murmured, executing a sharp turn that brought his elbow in contact with Junior’s beer, leaving the disgruntled bully wiping off his shirt.

  Cee Cee steered them to the concrete front-porch steps, where they sat close to but separated from the loud group gathered in the drive.

  He knew she was watching him, puzzled, unbearably curious, worried by whatever she’d seen in his expression. But he couldn’t talk to her about it. Not here. Not yet.

  He ate what was in front of him, quickly, efficiently, because it was there, because he’d been hungry once before. And while he did, he studied Cee Cee’s friends and associates with a complicated covetousness of what was missing from his life.

  He saw camaraderie, trust, family; simple things that rang huge and unattainable in the cavern of his soul. Things he thought of, dreamed of, knew nothing about. But wanted—desperately.

  These weren’t his unnatural clansmen, who’d gathered on his lawn with their feral eyes and carnivorous females. These were men and women, amazing to him because they were so ordinary in the way they went from day to day. Happy, belonging, decent, admired. Their enviable state was out of his reach because of who he was, because of what he was. Charlotte could thrust him into the middle of that all-American setting all she wanted, but he’d never fit, he’d never be included. And that knowledge cut deep and keen to the heart of him.

  “You’ve got some sauce on you.”

  “What?” His attention came back to Cee Cee. He reached for his face, but she stilled his hand.

  “I’ll get it.”

  The feel of her tongue flicking across the corner of his mouth shocked him into immobility, a fact she cleverly took advantage of.

  “Oops, missed a spot.”

  Her lips fit to his, providing a sizzle of heat equal to Dovion’s sauce. Then she laid her cheek on his shoulder with a quiet sigh. The cheek carefully dabbed with cosmetics to cover the fading bruise.

  “Thank you for being here with me. I figured I’d always be the only one who came to these things alone. And now I have you.”

  Because her tone was so poignant, he made his reply light and teasing. “And I’m such a prize.”

  Her hands rubbed up and down his back and arm. “Yes, you are. Those clucking hens must be squirmingly jealous of my hot boyfriend. I’ll bet they’re dying to know what it’s like to go to bed with someone so sexy and powerful and rich and dangerous.”

  “Would you like me to do them all, to relieve their curiosity? I will, if that’s a sacrifice our relationship demands of me.”

  She chuckled and squeezed him tight. “No, I don’t think so. Let them wonder. You’re my dish. I plan to take you home to enjoy all by myself, down to the very last drop.” She made a smacking sound with her lips that created an uncomfortable tightness at the crotch of his pants.

  Though he was smiling, he murmured, “If you wanted to fit in with them, you should have chosen a boyfriend who was a bit more…conservative.”

  She leaned back, keeping her hands on him. “Are you disagreeing with my choice?”

  “Not at all, detective. You know I defer to your wisdom on all things.”

  “Oh, bullshit. Since when?” Smiling, she added, “Besides, there’s nothing I like better than the way you fit me.”

  That’s exactly what he needed to hear to make all the tension melt away. Until Alain Babineau approached them.

  “Hey, Ceece, grab your glove. We need to warm up before the vice team gets here, so maybe they won’t kick our asses so badly this time.” He moved on to load up the cooler with the rest of the beer and join the migration across the street to the school’s baseball diamond.

  Tina met them as they reached the road. She touched Max’s arm lightly. “I’m sorry for what Becky said to you.”

  Cee Cee’s head snapped around. “What did she say? Max? What did she say to you?”

  “It’s not important.”

  Tina’s grip tightened. “I just wanted to let you know that not everyone feels that way.”

  Max smiled thinly. “Yes, they do. You don’t have to apologize for them.”

  “I think sh
e should apologize to you. I don’t appreciate rudeness in my home.”

  “What? What’s going on?” Cee Cee’s gaze flew between Tina’s surprisingly tough expression and Max’s look of dismay.

  “No,” he said quickly. “Please let it go. She had every right to say what she did. It’s okay.”

  Tina sighed in aggravation. “It isn’t, but I’ll let it go. This time.”

  Gaping after her, Cee Cee then rounded on Max. “What did that bitch say to you? Don’t make me have to go knock it out of her.”

  He gripped her shoulders, hard. “No. You’ll do no such thing. Not when she was only speaking the truth.”

  He watched realization dawn on her face with unpleasant clarity. “Becky’s brother.” She hesitated, but had to ask. “Have you killed cops for Jimmy Legere?”

  He saw her horror, her sudden panic, and he wanted badly to lie to erase that ugly suspicion. But he couldn’t.

  “I don’t know, Charlotte. When I was younger, I never asked any questions.” Not until her. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer.”

  She took a step back, whirled, and ran to join her teammates.

  He followed more slowly. Why had he insisted on coming here? What had he thought to prove? He should have heeded Cee Cee’s warning. But he’d wanted so desperately to participate with her in something normal, something not life or death or weighted with moral consequences.

  And what had he brought to the party along with the imported beer? Suspicion and remembered pain. And Charlotte was looking at him the same way. As an outsider.

  The spouses and significant others sat in a tight cluster halfway up the bleachers. Figuring they wouldn’t care to have him next to them, or worse, behind them, he sat on the front row. When he saw Tina start to get up, he lifted a subtle staying hand.

  Sitting alone, he took a solemn joy in watching Charlotte. Tall, strong, and the athletic equal of any of the men on the field, she moved with unhesitating confidence at her position as shortstop. She dove in fearlessly to field ground balls, whipping them powerfully to the appropriate base, clapping and calling encouragement to her teammates. A warm curl of lustful appreciation wound through him, and a slight smile curved his lips.

  Awareness of someone beside him was a startling surprise. He glanced down to see Oscar Babineau seated on his left, but was careful not to show any sign of reaction.

  “Heya. You like baseball?”

  “This is softball. A baseball is smaller and harder.”

  “Oh.” Who knew?

  “Do you belong to Detective Caissie?”

  He canted a look at the boy, who appeared to be watching the warm-up. “That’s an odd way to put it, but yes, I do. We belong to each other.” He started feeling better, having said that out loud. “Do you know Detective Caissie?”

  “She comes over sometimes. She’s pretty.”

  “I think so, too.”

  They watched the team work for a while, then Oscar asked, “Did you mean what you said? About us being the same?”

  “I always mean what I say.” He touched him with a light mental glimmer, just a gentle whisper to see if the boy was ready for it.

  The return push struck the breath from him. Strong, direct, and unschooled. The same way his had been when he was young.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Oscar shrank back, his eyes round with alarm and regret.

  Max managed a smile as he struggled to steady his senses. “It’s all right. Not so hard next time. Don’t force it.”

  The boy’s amazement didn’t dull. “I could feel you—here, on the inside.”

  Max glanced up at Tina who was watching her husband with an adoring gaze. “Do your mother and father know what you can do?”

  “They don’t want me to be different. I have to take pills that make me want to sleep all the time. Sometimes I throw them away. Please don’t tell my mama. It would make her cry, and him mad.”

  “I won’t. You have my promise. And I want you to promise something, too. Don’t let anyone see what you can do. Keep it quiet, hidden. Can you do that?”

  He nodded, then looked up as Cee Cee jogged over to them.

  “Hey, Ozzy.”

  “Hey, Detective Caissie.”

  “I didn’t know you two knew each other.” She glanced from the boy to Max.

  “We met a little while ago and are getting better acquainted.”

  “You’ve got my sunglasses.” Her tone was brusque, her gaze avoiding his as he fished in his shirt pocket for his Ray-Bans—which, like many other of his belongings, had somehow become hers. The way he had become hers.

  Passing them to her, his fingertips slid over the back of her hand. She didn’t pull away. And slowly, her wounded stare met his.

  He held her gaze and said quietly, “I can’t change what I am or what I’ve done.”

  Slowly, she reached out to touch his cheek. “I know. But I’m going to need some time to get on top of this. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  And as she straightened, her stare lifted to meet Becky Rossiter’s with a .40-caliber intensity.

  Max watched her rejoin the other players, his mood heavy.

  “Does she know you’re different?”

  Max glanced at the boy and smiled. Ozzy had Tina’s delicate build, brown hair, and large dark eyes. “Yes, she knows what I am. And she loves me in spite of it. Or because of it. A little of both, I guess. If you’re in trouble, if you’re afraid, you can go to her. You can trust her. You can tell her anything. Okay?”

  The boy nodded.

  The opposing team arrived, a rough and motley-looking bunch of undercover operatives who remembered Max from a botched sting to get weapons Jimmy was allegedly moving south of the border. Their pride still hadn’t recovered from the slick way Legere had wiggled out from under their meticulous months of surveillance and setup. And they knew that was because Max Savoie had somehow, uncannily, managed to I.D. their inside man. Who had then disappeared.

  The fact that Charlotte Caissie was banging Savoie wasn’t news. Not when it had been all over the news. That she’d drop him right in their laps to rub their noses in it was something else altogether. And as they began to play, his presence amped up the rivalry between the two units, with the unfriendly focus centering on Detective Caissie.

  She snatched up a low ground ball and was whirling to rifle it to second base. It could have been unintentional, the way a train runs over someone unwisely on the tracks. Only trains don’t jump the rail to ensure impact.

  The collision between her and the baserunner almost knocked Cee Cee out of her shoes. She saw a great deal of spinning sky, then the hard-packed ground knocked the wind out of her. It took her a long, panicked moment to suck oxygen back in, and by then the faces of her teammates swam above her.

  “Don’t move,” was Babineau’s advice. Since she couldn’t, she took it.

  “While you’re up, could you get me a beer?” she wheezed with a strained smile. Because she was beginning to realize that more than her wind had been crippled.

  “You took one helluva knock,” he said.

  “Yeah, someone forgot to tell Showboat this isn’t a full-contact sport.” She flipped up a finger at the big vice detective who was stupidly smirking as Max came to kneel down beside her. He reached without hesitation for her left ankle and was almost kicked in the face as pain spasmed up her leg. “Geez, Savoie, stop your prodding!”

  Because he was touching her with extreme care, and knew a growl of bravado when he heard it, Max paid no attention as he unlaced her shoe and peeled off her sock.

  “Maybe you shoulda told him that a few months back, Caissie,” Stan Schoenbaum drawled.

  Max’s gaze lifted slowly, his eyes hard chips of pale jade. “What did you say?”

  Schoenbaum was already turning away, chuckling over his remark with his buddies.

  Seeing his body coil, Cee Cee grabbed his arm. “Max, he’s just an asshole. Ignore him. That’s what we all
do. Help me up. Max.”

  He shifted his attention back to her, but she could feel the tension building even as he curled her arm around his shoulder and stood with her. The instant she tried touching her foot to the ground, huge waves of pain threatened to take her under. She couldn’t even protest when Max lifted her gently into his arms to carry her to the bleachers, where Dovion was waiting with improvised ice packs from the beer tub. She sucked air and gripped Max’s shoulder while Dovion examined her ankle, then, pronouncing it a probable sprain, wrapped it tight and put her on ice.

  “Looks like you’re one run down and a couple men short,” Schoenbaum taunted from midfield. “I say that because Caissie is probably twice the man as most of you.”

  When Cee Cee started up, Babineau pressed her back down with a firm hand. “He’s not worth it, Ceece. We’ll get ’em next time.” His tone dropped to a fierce rumble. “But I would love to shove those words right down that bastard’s throat.”

  “I’ll play.”

  Cee Cee and Babineau looked to Max in surprise.

  “I’ll finish the game for her. Is that allowed?”

  Babineau saw the blood in his eyes and smiled thinly. He called to the other team, “Savoie wants to know if he can take the field. Whaddaya think?”

  Max Savoie within reach, where accidents could happen . . .

  “Let him play,” Schoenbaum yelled back with a cunning smile.

  “Okay,” Max said, setting Cee Cee’s NOPD hat on his head and reclaiming his sunglasses. “What do I do?”

  While Cee Cee hesitated, Babineau nodded to the field. “Get the ball to the base before the runner. Catch it before it hits the ground if you can. Three outs, we’re up.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Max?” Cee Cee gripped his arm, her concern telegraphed in the pinch of her fingers. “Don’t hurt anybody.”

  Her few words spoke volumes. For the past week he’d been on the edge of restraint, sizzling like the delayed fuse on an explosive. If he let go here, in front of her team, in front of an audience not of his kind, the blast would have consequences beyond her ability to do damage control.

  “Just a friendly game, right?” He smiled in a not-so-friendly fashion before following Babineau out to the field.