Captured by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  When he blinked his eyes open, everything was wonderfully clear. The low-grade fever and constant throb in his head were gone. Not sure where he was, he got his elbows under him and levered up, dislodging a weight over him. Wha—

  It was a limp Charlotte Caissie. He said her name groggily. Her head rolled to one side, and he saw all the blood.

  For a moment, all he could do was stare. At her still features. At the savage wound. At the scratches marring her tawny skin. And the blood everywhere, staining what was left of her shirt, streaking her thighs.

  “Charlotte?” No response. His hand trembled as he touched the side of her throat, where a thready pulse fluttered. “Charlotte!”

  He gathered her up, clutching her close as paralyzing terror began to build. What had he done? The sound of his low, moaning howl woke him from that stupor.

  Her cell phone was clipped to the waistband of the jeans tangled about her ankles. He dialed Stuart Curry’s number, and a recording told him that Jimmy’s doctor was unavailable. He punched in the first two digits of 9-1-1, then stopped. An ambulance, the hospital would mean questions.

  He hated the cold reason that stilled his hand. But that fierce protective instinct held firm, forcing him to take another direction.

  Dovion’s sleepy voice answered the number on Cee Cee’s speed dial. “Charlotte, it’s one in the morning.”

  “She needs help. I don’t know what to do.”

  “PUT HER OVER there.” Dovion pointed to a steel table.

  Max stood, crushing her close to the frantic thunder of his heart. He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let her go. His breathing quickened until his head was light and spinning.

  He barely remembered how he’d gotten there. Racing down the steps with her so boneless in his embrace, only to stare at her car with its intimidating stick shift. He didn’t know how to drive. And it would take too long to bring a vehicle from his house to pick them up.

  He’d pounded on the downstairs neighbor’s door until a bleary-eyed young man answered. Max had thrust the contents of his pockets at him. Hundreds of dollars; it didn’t matter. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he begged for a ride. Please. Please. There’s been an accident. My girlfriend…from upstairs. She’s a policewoman. I can’t drive. I can’t help her. I don’t know what to do. Please.

  “Max.”

  The feel of Devlin Dovion’s hand on his arm snapped his thoughts back to the overly bright room and the man he’d called because Cee Cee trusted him.

  “It’s all right, Max. You can put her down.”

  The firm, quiet voice reached through his frenzied mind, and very gently, he let her go.

  “Sit down. Put your head between your knees. I don’t allow throwing up in here.”

  Max took a tight breath that tasted of acid and fear. He took another, one deeper and stronger. “I’m fine now.”

  Dovion gave him a critical look, then nodded. “Move aside.”

  Max stepped back. The effort of maintaining a calm facade automatically reined in the chaos of his emotions. He watched Dovion sum up the situation with a practiced eye, struggling with the same need to disassociate what he was seeing from the woman he cared about.

  “What’s happened? What am I looking at?” His gaze cut to Max. “Is this a sexual assault?”

  “Yes…no.” Then flatly, “No.”

  Dovion assessed the blood on his face, on his hands, on his clothes. His tone chilled. “Did you do this? Did you hurt her?”

  “I would never hurt her. I love her. I would never—” He couldn’t finish, so he simply stood, silent and still.

  Dovion turned back to the tattered and pale Charlotte Caissie to examine the wound at her neck. “Is this the same animal that was involved in the Cummings case?”

  Animal.

  “No.”

  “Where did you find her?”

  “At her apartment.”

  “How long between the attack and when you found her?”

  “I don’t know.” More softly, “I don’t know.”

  He watched as Dovion cleaned her up, the same way he would one of the corpses on his table. He undressed her carefully, respectfully, cutting off the ripped remainder of her clothing, quickly washed away the blood, then did a thorough exam. The damage done to her pale, vulnerable flesh was glaringly apparent under the lights.

  Afraid he was going to throw up after all, Max knelt at the end of the table, his hand curled about one bare foot, pressing his cheek into the delicate curve of her cool arch. His heart shuddered. What had he done?

  He realized Dovion was collecting evidence of a crime, and said nothing to stop him. What could he say?

  “Hey, Dev.”

  The sound of her voice, so weak and disoriented, nearly broke his control.

  “Good morning, Charlotte.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  “Am I naked?”

  “I’m getting no prurient enjoyment from that fact. You have my word on it.”

  A pause as she took in her surroundings. “Am I dead?”

  He chuckled. “Not that I’m aware of. Max brought you here. He was worried about you.”

  “Did I get hit by a truck?”

  “You’ve been attacked, Charlotte. What do you remember?”

  A long silence. “Max is here? Max?”

  He took the hand she reached out to him, holding it carefully. The way she smiled at him brought balance back. And a terrible, terrible guilt.

  “Detective, I do not enjoy watching another man looking at you naked.”

  “Why did you bring me here? I’m fine—” As she tried to move, a groan tore from her. “Geez, Savoie, what did you do? Run a streetcar up through me? For fuck’s sake, find me something to put on.”

  Clutching the sheet given to her, she sat up with Max’s assistance. She touched her shoulder, wincing slightly. Dovion had dressed it with gauze and tape and though it no longer bled, she felt as if the jaws of a steel trap had cut through to the bone. She shifted her attention to Max.

  “Are you all right?”

  Something flickered deep in his unblinking stare, a furtive shadow of unrecognizable emotion.

  She squeezed his hand. “Why did you bring me here?”

  His tone was flat. “You were unconscious and bleeding, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Dovion interrupted. “Charlotte, you should check into the hospital. I don’t have the facilities here to tell if there’s any…internal damage.”

  She remembered his description of the injury done to the two attacked women. They’d been ripped apart inside. Fear and objection collided.

  “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

  “I haven’t finished collecting evidence.”

  She stared at Dovion, not understanding. “Evidence of what?”

  “A crime, Charlotte. You’re in shock. I don’t think you fully realize what’s been done to you.” He didn’t look up at Max, who continued to stand at her side. “I need to finish.”

  “I’m not in shock, and no crime’s been committed here except maybe an overenthusiastic crime of passion.”

  Dovion went rigid. His features tightened in outrage, in poorly contained fury as he reevaluated his first assumption—and hated his conclusion. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Charlotte. You don’t need to protect him.”

  “Give me what you’ve collected, Dev.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “Now, Dev. I’ll be damned if photos of me are going to pop up on Junior Hammond’s screen saver.” She made a joke of it, but her stare was serious.

  Protest narrowing his gaze, Dovion handed over the kit he’d begun to put together. “Charlotte, we need to discuss this.”

  “No, Dev, we don’t.”

  She eased off the table, clutching Max’s hard forearm while struggling not to drop the sheet. Dev Dovion had seen quite enough of her for one evening. Her body was one big screaming ache, but she d
isplayed none of that distress, fearing she’d be whisked off to the ER regardless of her wishes. She bound the drape into an awkward toga and slipped her arm gingerly into the sleeve of the long coat Max held for her. Bundled up inside it, she cast a plaintive look at her longtime friend.

  “Thanks, Dev.”

  “Let me take you home, Charlotte.” Obviously he wasn’t convinced that Max presented no threat, and she wouldn’t allow that thinking. From either of them.

  “I’ll be fine, Dev. Really. Max, let’s go.” She tugged his arm, but his gaze was fixed with Dovion’s.

  The older man’s glare cut through him like one of his bone saws. “I was wrong about you, Savoie.” His look clearly said he wouldn’t make that mistake again and that he couldn’t hide behind Charlotte forever.

  Instead of speaking in his own defense, he said quietly, “I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for her.” The implied threat was clear.

  Max just nodded and curled a supportive, possessive arm behind Cee Cee, waiting for her to lean into him in a show of solidarity.

  She didn’t fail him.

  Dovion stepped back and let him steer her out of the ME’s domain.

  As soon as they were alone in the hall, she turned on him and whispered fiercely, “What were you thinking, bringing me here?”

  “Forgive me for worrying about you, detective. It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

  “And if he decides to follow up on his suspicions?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that.” He’d thought that Dovion would be swayed into silence by his fondness for Charlotte. Even with her bleeding in his arms, he’d been thinking with the quick caution bred into him by his mother and Jimmy Legere.

  Animal, Dovion had called him.

  And that’s exactly what he was.

  Sixteen

  HE WATCHED HER sleep.

  Deeply, motionlessly, until the dreams began.

  The clock read 4:15. Darkness hung heavily on the humid air. She lay beneath a sheet wearing the loose tee shirt he’d slipped on her when he’d brought her home. She’d been asleep before Pete arrived with the car and hadn’t stirred since. He’d stretched out fully dressed atop the sheet beside her and waited, watching for any signs that she needed to be rushed to the hospital.

  The first soft whimper alerted him. Her head tossed from side to side, her breath quickening, shivering.

  “Shhh. Shhh. It’s all right, sha. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” The words tasted bitter upon his tongue as he tried to calm her night terrors. It was too late for promises now. The promises he’d made to her back then had been broken.

  Usually the sound of his voice quieted the demons of memory. But perhaps because he’d created new ones earlier that evening, she only grew more agitated. Her restless movements intensified, her knees beginning to work as if she were running from some faceless, formless threat. Afraid she’d reopen the wound Dovion had dressed, Max stroked his palm over her hair, repeating that empty vow. She knocked his hand aside and started to roll away on a sob. He pulled her carefully to his chest, holding her close for warmth and comfort as he murmured, “You’re safe, Charlotte. I’ll keep you safe. Quiet now. Quiet, cher.”

  Her palms pressed against his shoulders, pushing wildly for escape. Her cries were low and raw.

  “No, please. Don’t. Max.”

  He released her instantly.

  The sound of her plaintive moans ripped at him, left him feeling helpless and drowning in shame. He couldn’t see her pain and fear and do nothing. But what could he do if she rejected his embrace?

  She flinched away from the first prod of his nose. But the slow, repetitive drag of his tongue along her cheek distracted her from the dark memories. She shoved at him, muttering, “Don’t, baby. Stop it.” But her hands began to stroke the thick, black furring about his neck. With a sleepy murmur, she buried her face in it and curled up against him with a sigh, slipping back into restful slumber.

  Resting his muzzle on outstretched paws, his eyes glowing in the dark, Max lay awake. As daylight began to pinken the edges of his room, Cee Cee finally released him to roll onto her other side.

  He thought a shower might make him feel better, but it didn’t. He decided to get breakfast and bring up coffee. She’d want that when she awoke, even if she might not want him.

  Downstairs, Giles was holding the front door open for a weary Helen and her daughter, Jasmine. He’d sent them to Cee Cee’s apartment to put it back in order, so she wouldn’t have to face the evidence of their violent mating. When Helen saw him at the bottom of the staircase, she simply stared at him.

  “Is everything taken care of?” His tone was a cool slick over the choppy emotions he submerged.

  “Yes, Mr. Savoie. Like nothing happened.” Her voice matched his for chill civility. Then she approached him purposefully. Her hand cracked against his face, snapping his head to one side from the force. Though her eyes flashed with fury, her words remained respectful. “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  As she hustled her daughter toward the back of the house, Max shifted his impassive gaze to Giles. His relationship with the burly bodyguard had been warily evolving into something resembling friendship, but that was gone now. He read it in the other man’s expression, saw the loathing, the fear return. Torches and pitchforks.

  “Do you need me for anything else, Mr. Savoie?” His rough voice was frigid.

  “No. Thank you, Giles.”

  The big man turned away from him without another word, but his censure lingered.

  Max went to Jimmy’s study, shutting himself inside the room. He sat in his mentor’s large leather chair and brought his feet up to hug his knees, resting his flaming cheek atop them.

  Only one hand had ever dealt him a blow that shook him as badly. He’d been just three or four years old, but he could still hear the sound, still feel the sudden, startling impact of his mother’s hand.

  He’d been so shocked, so devastated, that the impression of the act remained upon his spirit the way the imprint of Helen’s palm lay upon the pallor of his skin. He’d deserved it then, just as he deserved it now.

  And in the quiet of early morning, he withdrew to the place he’d created within himself, where the pain and confusion couldn’t reach him.

  CEE CEE GLANCED at the clock, then bolted up out of bed. Holy geez, she was slated to continue testimony at nine! That gave her only fifteen minutes to be out the door if she was going to make it into the city on time. She was dashing for the bathroom, when she realized she wasn’t limping. She stopped, surprised, and tested her ankle. Not even a twinge of pain. Pleased, she continued on. But as she tugged the tee shirt over her head, remembrance sucked the breath from her.

  She stared for a long moment at the gauze pad Dovion had taped over her shoulder, covering Max’s brutal mark. She carefully peeled off the bandage, wincing as the adhesive yanked at her skin. Then she gazed at the savage scoring made by his teeth, remembering the similar wounds on the bodies of his father’s victims. Except…these were pink and puckering. Almost healed.

  Perplexed, she stepped under the hot spray, scrubbed up, toweled off, then snuck up cautiously on the overwhelming fact.

  She belonged to Max Savoie.

  She’d never belonged anywhere before, nor to anyone. She’d worn her independence like armor to protect against the truth that she was so achingly alone.

  Until Max. Until his lost soul had reached out to touch hers. Until his love had wrapped around her and made her whole.

  And now they belonged to each other.

  So…what did that mean?

  She didn’t have any court attire here, so she snagged one of his luxurious silk shirts and tucked the soft, slate-colored fabric into her snug black jeans. After running quick fingers through her hair, she jogged down the stairs to find Helen and Jasmine staring up at her in surprise.

  “I’d love a cup
of coffee, if one’s ready. I’m late for court and have to gulp it on the run. Could you ask Pete to bring a car around?”

  “Go ahead,” Helen told her daughter softly.

  “Where’s Max? He hasn’t left already, has he?”

  Helen’s features stiffened, matching her tone. “I believe he’s in Mr. Legere’s office.”

  Giving her a puzzled glance, Cee Cee started for the closed door, only to have Helen touch her arm. She paused.

  “Are you all right?”

  The prickly woman’s concern surprised and touched her. “I’m fine. My ankle doesn’t hurt at all. No excuse to play hooky anymore.”

  Looking uncomfortable, the older woman asked, “No other…ailments?”

  What did she know? What had she seen?

  Cee Cee covered her alarm with feigned embarrassment. “I drank a bit too much. I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself last night. I don’t remember how I got here.”

  “Max carried you—you in a hospital sheet and him wearing your blood.”

  “I cut my hand. I broke a bottle in my kitchen.”

  Helen glanced at her unmarked hands and made no comment. “I’ll get you that coffee.”

  She didn’t have time to soothe Helen’s suspicions, nor was she sure how to approach Max. Max, who chose to seclude himself behind closed doors, instead of being with her when she awoke. The man to whom she was now bonded for life.

  The study was cool and dark, the curtains drawn tightly across the windows. He was stretched out on the sofa, his eyes fixed on her as she moved toward him. Nervousness jittered through her. She felt no different. Wasn’t she supposed to be experiencing some sort of telepathic stirring? Some supersensory tingling? Some new awareness of him? But no. Nothing. Why didn’t he say something? She finally broke the silence with a quiet, “Good morning.”

  No reply. His expression was a careful blank, his stare cool and unblinking. She hadn’t seen him so pulled back inside himself since he’d stood at Legere’s back. What was going on?

  Ordinarily she would have dropped down onto his lips for a kiss, but the lack of anything in his eyes made her cautious. She perched on the edge of the couch, nudging her hip against his waist. Her palm rested on his shirt front, riding his slow breaths, measuring the quiet beats of his heart. Everything about him was so quiet and controlled, after so many days of feverlike restlessness.