by Nancy Gideon
“Oh, Max. I’m so sorry. She’ll be fine. She has to be.”
Max squirmed away; it would have been too easy to fall apart within her tender care.
She touched her fingertips to his bloody face and smiled in understanding. “You look terrible. Alain said you needed a change of clothes. Here. I brought you some things.”
He took the brown grocery sack from her, and because his hands were starting to shake, he simply nodded and made his way quickly to the bathroom.
Seeing his appearance in the mirror, Max understood the eddy of alarm he was spreading. He looked like the aftermath of a drive-by in a barbecue pit. And from out of the gruesome hell, his eyes shone dark and flat.
He slipped out of his coat and shirt. The bullet wounds were nearly healed, no longer paining him. Tina had folded an olive green tee shirt and zippered black sweatshirt in the bag.
Before putting them on, he splashed cold water over his face and hair, hoping the chill wouldn’t wake him from his numbness. He needed to stay insulated from whatever was happening behind the doors that kept Cee Cee from him. He needed to hang on, because one little crack would open a devastating crevice all the way to his soul, one from which he’d never be able to climb.
Take it one minute at a time. Don’t look ahead. Don’t look back.
He could hear Jimmy Legere calmly talking him through his initiating trial by fire when he was hardly much older than Oscar.
Don’t think. Just act. Thinking and feeling are for later, when you have the luxury of time. Don’t let your heart or your mind get in the way of what you have to do, or it will never get done. Close those doors, Max. Close the doors and keep everything locked away. Because once you open them, everything’s going to come spilling out and you won’t be able to shove it back in.
And Jimmy was right. That first time when he’d gotten into the car with the blood of his victims still on his hands and in the back of his mouth, he’d curiously, defiantly, cracked that door open to see if he could handle the knowledge of what he’d done. The scent of death and horror took him under so fast, he’d thrown up on the floor mat. After the stoic driver had cleaned it up, he’d slumped weakly across Jimmy’s knees, overcome by guilty shame. Jimmy had let him howl and sob, his hand resting lightly atop Max’s head until all the emotions had run dry. Lesson learned. Some doors weren’t meant to be opened. Ever.
He dressed quickly and then rejoined Cee Cee’s friends in the waiting room, with them, yet noticeably apart.
The first thing he saw was the tragic pain in Tina Babineau’s eyes as she turned from one of the staff. He shut himself away from the knowledge shimmering there, still and emotionless, until Tina crossed the room to gently touch his shoulder.
“She’s not going to make it, Max. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
Twenty
THE DOOR CLICKED shut, then there was silence. Silence and the scent of Charlotte wrapping around him like a welcoming embrace. He leaned back against the door, his eyes closed, unable to move as the events of the long day came back in fractured shivers.
He didn’t know how he’d gotten through the hours, through the sympathetic looks and regretful murmurs. Giles and Helen had come that afternoon. And LaRoche. And Father Furness. They’d all spoken quiet words of comfort; he didn’t remember if he’d said anything to them or not. It had taken all his energy just to breathe.
Junior Hammond had cautiously approached and took the brown bag holding his blood-splattered clothing. Evidence—Max understood. Hammond had been looking for a way to crucify him, and now he’d found it. It didn’t matter.
When the doctor came out to address them, he’d confirmed what Max had guessed but hadn’t wanted to believe. Massive internal damage, almost as if she’d been caught between two colliding buses. Rib cage and spinal column crushed. Lungs, heart, and other organs perforated, ruptured, failing. Shock. BP so low it barely registered. Still, they’d thought they might have a chance. But before they could stabilize her, just as they’d begun a major transfusion to replace the fluids pouring out internally, a clot had raced to her brain and, for all intents and purposes, ended everything that made Charlotte Caissie unique.
As the weary surgeon explained that machines were now keeping her technically alive, Max had been distracted by a teasing whisper. I want you, Savoie. I’m never going to let you go. When he tried to focus on all the grim faces as they were told, “We’ll run more tests and an EEG in the morning, just to be sure; then a decision should be made,” an image dazzled the edges of his memory. A bold figure shimmering in bronze, wreathed in a smoky spotlight. Dark eyes daring him. Step up, Savoie. The feel of her fingers gliding over his. You said there’d be dancing.
“Who’s responsible?”
The question echoed for a long moment. She had no family.
“I am,” Max said. No one argued, though for a second it looked like Alain Babineau wanted to.
“There’s no hurry. She’s in no pain. Take your time. Think of what she would have wanted.”
Then Father Furness’s hand pressed over his. “We need to talk about what she’d like. Tomorrow. You need to pick out something for her to wear.”
He’d blinked. Wear?
“Max, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you.”
And Tina’s fingers gripped his. “Come home with us, Max. You need family around you.”
LaRoche’s sturdy arm circled about his shoulders. “Nothing more to be done here. Let us take care of you for a change.”
And Giles’s somber features, his eyes swimming, unable to speak.
Helen’s soft voice. “Time to go home, Max.”
He’d backed away from them, from their well-intended suggestions, from their sad faces and confusing sympathy. What in God’s name could any of them possibly do to make the situation better?
Tamping down the wild panic of that thought, he thanked them and said he’d be fine. He’d see them tomorrow. Tomorrow, when decisions had to be made. And then he went to the only place he’d feel safe. To the only place that would feel like home. A place filled with her.
For once, her little rodent pets didn’t launch into terrified shrieks when he moved toward them. They sat still and unblinking as he opened the cage and stuffed in some food. Oscar would take good care of them.
He forced the thought away as he went into the kitchen. He had to get something to eat. His entire system was about to crash.
But what did it matter? What did he have left to do but pick out something for the woman he loved to wear to her funeral?
He opened the refrigerator, blinking at the mostly empty shelves. What did she live on? She needed someone to take care of her. He’d promised Mary Kate. Someone to see she ate right and laughed more. One couldn’t live on take-out alone.
Alone . . .
He sat down hard on the tiled floor and leaned his head back against one of the metal-edged shelves, the refrigerated air cooling the raw burning in his eyes as tears ran down his face.
The sound of the phone startled him. The sound of her voice yanked his heart to a stop.
“Caissie, leave a message.”
“Savoie, pick up if you’re there. Max?” Babineau.
Max tried to get his feet under him, but his strength was gone. He took a shuddering breath and let his eyes close, bracing to hear what Cee Cee’s partner and onetime lover had to tell him.
“I wanted to let you know that business with your friends this morning has been taken care of. We gave them a proper send-off for you and tidied up. Least we could do.” A long, awkward silence. “Yeah, well. Thanks for what you did for the boy. See you…tomorrow.”
Huh. What do you know? He didn’t think he had enough energy to feel surprise. The NOPD’s finest covering his butt. He almost smiled.
Get up, Max. You will stop this right now.
Jimmy’s voice, stern and necessarily cold. Automatically, he obeyed. It was that or curl up and die. And then wh
o would pick out Charlotte’s clothes? He knuckled his eyes, then jerked open the freezer door and found one frost-encased steak. He thawed it in the microwave and ate it raw.
Then, because he couldn’t gather enough courage to go into her bedroom and touch her things, not yet, he laid down on the couch, tucking his knees up tight, begging for escape in sleep.
Beside the sofa were her baseball shoes, discarded when he’d iced her ankle. He picked them up to hug to his chest, breathing the history held in the scuffed leather. The scent of the Babineaus’ ragged lawn, gravel from the driveway, hot sauce, perspiration, baseline chalk. But mostly, Charlotte. He closed his eyes and tried to shut down.
Think of what she would have wanted.
He let his breath out in a shiver.
“Don’t leave me. Charlotte, don’t leave me. Who’s going to take care of me?”
The sound of his own voice shocked through his daze, opening the way for a subtle stroke of warmth along his senses. For one paralyzing moment, he heard her voice so clearly, he expected to see her when he opened his eyes.
It’s all right, baby. I’m here.
He sat up, startled, as if she’d slapped him awake.
What the hell was he thinking?
Then he was off the couch and out the door.
MAX WALKED THROUGH the mostly deserted wing as if he belonged there.
The young nurse at the desk told him directions without thinking, then started after him in alarm as he strode down the hall.
“Sir. Sir! Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m not here to visit.” He heard her footsteps coming after him, but he didn’t slow or look around.
The sight of Cee Cee, as white as the sheets and running with tubes knocked him back for just an instant. Then he was more certain than ever. By the time the breathless nurse scurried in, he’d turned off most of the machines that pumped artificial life into a too-vibrant soul and was gently removing the IVs and probes.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, horrified.
“The doctor told me to think about what she’d want and make a decision. I made it.”
“You can’t just unplug things. There are papers to sign. Liability.”
“I’m not going to sue you.”
“I’m going to get a security guard.”
“You’d better get plenty of them.”
Alone with Cee Cee, Max took his time, undoing straps, dropping the side rail, wrapping her snugly in the starchy blanket because the night was cold and she seemed so fragile.
“I’m sorry, sha.” He spoke conversationally, as if he expected her to join in. “I betchu thought I forgot my promise.”
“What promise was that, Max?”
He didn’t turn at Dovion’s quiet question. “Not to abandon her. Not to let her feel unloved. Then I left her here alone. How could I have done such a thing? I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Are you, Max? Are you thinking now? They called me to tell me some crazy fella was up here trying to rob Charlotte of her last hours of life. Is that what you’re doing?”
Max looked back over his shoulder. “Do I look crazy?”
“No.” A pause. “What are you doing, Max?”
“Waking her up so I can take her home.”
“Max, you know that’s not going to happen,” he said gently. “Don’t you think this is a better place for her?”
Max turned toward him then, his features coldly composed, his voice a volcanic rumble. “No. And knowing her, neither do you. Is this where she’d want to be? Strapped down, pumped full of drugs, alone in the care of strangers? I am all she has, and I’m not—” His sentence broke with a sharp snap, then continued stronger, bigger. “I’m not going to disappoint her.” He adopted a defensive stance when two anxious guards appeared behind the calm ME. “Don’t get in my way.”
“Max,” Dovion coaxed gently. “Let her go peacefully.”
“That’s not how she wants to go. Not now, not later. She’s a fighter. She’ll spend her last breath cursing, her last ounce of energy clawing and scratching—not politely fading away so as not to cause any trouble. Would the Charlotte Caissie you know agree to do that?”
Dovion couldn’t argue. “I want you to listen to me, Max. Will you listen?”
The aggressive posture eased slightly.
“She had a living will. She left it with Mary Kate at St. Bart’s.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“That means she agrees with what you want to do. No drugs. No artificial means. The paperwork is already being done. She has to stay here at least for the night, but you can stay here with her. No one will bother you, except to check on her occasionally to make sure she’s not in any distress. Will that be all right?”
No. None of it was all right. But he found himself nodding stiffly.
Dovion observed him for a long moment. “Max, have you considered what it’s going to be like, watching someone you love die?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” His gaze glittered, then was opaque once again. “I’m not letting her go.”
Dovion sighed. “I’ll be on call all night if she needs anything. If you need anything, just buzz the desk. Will you do that?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I’m going to have someone reattach the IV, just to keep her hydrated and comfortable. Would that be all right?”
Max nodded.
Dovion smiled bittersweetly. “I guess she didn’t do so bad after all, picking you.”
Once Dovion was gone, the nurse had reconnected the IV, and the light was turned off, the awful coil of tension began to ease from Max’s chest. Trying to ignore the soft blips of sound as if they were measuring out the rhythm of her remaining seconds in his life, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his fingertips tracing the determined cut of her jaw. Her color was better. He wasn’t imagining it. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her lashes curved in a gentle sweep almost as if she teetered on the edge of awakening. He sat for long moments, just watching her breathe. Then he gave himself a little shake.
“This doesn’t look very comfortable, cher,” he murmured, smoothing the bunched hospital gown at her shoulder. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Turning, he reached down to tuck her feet beneath the covers, his hand folding over her cold toes. He bent, touching a kiss to the top of her foot, rubbing the cool skin between his hands to restore its warmth. He tried to block out the doctor’s grim prognosis, tried to cling to the sudden burst of hope that had him hurrying back to her side. But it was hard, when he was so beaten down with fatigue he could scarcely form a rational thought. Shaky sickness unfurled in his gut, expanding steadily no matter how valiantly he tried to hold against it. He took her unresponsive hand and laid it against his cheek, holding it there.
Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, he mourned.
And just as his overtaxed system began to shut down, he heard her whisper. I’ve got you, Savoie. I’ll keep you safe.
His heart pounded. He hadn’t imagined it. Not at her apartment and not now.
Charlotte was reaching out to him.
He took her hand between his and closed his eyes, struggling to attain that inner peace and power. He forced his breathing to quiet until he could hear his own pulse, let his thoughts calm and his mind narrow to a single focus.
Charlotte.
She had to be there. They shared a bond, a future.
Her energy drew him—a faint glow at first, then stronger, brighter, vital, and bursting with life.
Max.
Then the moment was gone, slipping away before he could grab on.
No!
He sat back in frustration, warming her still fingers between his palms. He could sense her, feel her, just beyond those frail human boundaries that kept them apart.
“You are the strongest, bravest woman I know,” he told her with fierce conviction. “You let nothing stand in the way of what you want. I’m here, Charlotte. Com
e back to me.”
No human female could, he understood that impossibility. But she was his mate. When they’d bonded, he’d shared with her all the marvelous gifts he possessed. He believed that. But to wake her from the finite state she’d accepted as inevitable, she had to believe, too. She had to fight her way back to him with all the stubborn, irrepressible courage she possessed.
He spoke out loud as if he had no doubt she could hear him. “If I’m right, why am I sitting here alone?”
No answer.
His tone roughened into a low growl, goading her famous temper. “You’re a coward, detective. Grabbing at the chance to take the easy way out. You knew I wouldn’t let you go any other way. And you’re a liar, too—telling me I could wake up to you for the rest of my life. If that were true, you’d wake up for me now.”
No flicker of her lashes. Just the slow movement of her breaths.
He made his attack on her subconscious more aggressive.
“Jimmy was right when he said you wouldn’t stick by me. And now that your cop pals have enough to lock me away forever, you’re not going to even stay around to drop by for conjugals on visiting day. What am I supposed to do? You know I don’t play well with others.”
Still nothing. His words grew more forceful, pushing for a rebuttal that in life, she could never resist.
“And now that those of my kind have a pretty good idea of who and where I am, do you keep your promise to watch my back? You didn’t even watch your own. If I’d known you couldn’t handle it, I would have told you to stay safely tucked in with Babineau.”
I know you’re in there. Fight for me, Charlotte!
“So, where does this leave me?” he drawled with an arrogance that would have had her bristled up and spitting like a cat. “You said I was selfish but after all I’ve done for you, this is the thanks I get? You’ll just go gently into that good night? Where’s the rage, Charlotte? Are you just going to lie there and—and die?” His voice broke. His resolve quavered, but he fought back for her. He squeezed her hand between his. Please, Charlotte.
“I guess there’s no reason for me to work at being legitimate now, is there, detective? I could have it all, you know. I could take it by force and intimidation, just like my father did. Just like Jimmy did. I’d be just like them, if not for you.” His voice deepened with anger over his despair. “I took you for my mate, Charlotte. For life.”
