by Nancy Gideon
“Men like my father.”
Knowing Cee Cee half hoped her co-worker would deny it, Max squeezed her fingers to soften the blow of an inevitable truth.
“Yeah, like Tommy. One of the good ones who always said no . . . until he couldn’t.” Cee Cee’s slight nod relieved the burden of truth from his shoulders. “Haven’t heard nothing ′bout Babineau to tarnish his halo. What do you know that I don’t?”
Voice flat and calm, she laid it out as if discussing some nameless perp who’d wandered onto her radar: Babineau’s previous entanglement with a witness, not mentioning Amber by name or her connection to Max’s kind; his suspicious dealings with Cummings; his illegal use of electronics in his vendetta against Brady; and, the sudden availability of a cash crop to buy his way from a tiny suburban home into a gated community. Max understood the cost to her loyal heart even before she bared it.
“I need to know who’s leveraging him and why.” Charlotte’s strong features tightened, her eyes glowing like coals. “Make no mistake here. This isn’t about bringing him down. It’s about pulling him out. He’s my partner, my friend, my family.”
“Understood.”
– – –
Across the Big Muddy in Algiers, Maisy J’s wasn’t the type of place one took a date. It was where one went to find one. At a reasonable price. What went on beneath its roof stayed there, making the original proprietors a tidy sum, and it’s surviving one a fortune. The other benefit was having a safe place to conduct private business both carnal and criminal.
Amber James had grown up beneath its roof, daughter of two of the three owners. At fifteen, she’d caught the eye and violent attentions of her parents’ silent partner, bringing a young police officer to her rescue. Now mated to the Terriot prince who’d taken her and her daughter in, she was a different kind of threat to Warren Brady. The kind that could not only ruin his career but put him behind the bars of justice he’d perverted. And he’d be damned if he’d give the scheming bitch that kind of power over him.
“I don’t see how this is our problem, Warren.”
Brady glared across the desk in his small office tucked away from the other business he ran upstairs. “Because we’re all in this together, Manny. You think they’ll be content just taking me down? Think again. They’ll go after both of you next. Secrets as dark as ours don’t remain secret for long, especially if one of us goes to prison.”
The third of the trio who’d remained mostly silent, spoke to that. “No one’s going to prison. No one’s getting as far as trial. Not if we keep our mouths shut. We stick to the plan and ride out Warren’s bad judgment.”
“Easy for you to say,” Brady grumbled.
“It’s not, and you know it. I have aspirations for my future, and I’m not about to let your ego destroy them.”
“Gentlemen,” Blutafino sighed wearily, “let’s not make this personal. But when I have cops in my place of business threatening me, I can’t help but think you,” he stabbed a stubby finger at Brady, “are a liability.”
“With enough information to see you both buried!”
“This is your mess,” Manny argued. “Tidy it up before I have to call in my cleaners to take care of you.”
The third in their group spoke up again, this time with a weary finality. “No one is taking out cops when the real problem goes around on both two and four legs. We need a distraction for them to focus on until we wash our dirty linen.”
“A distraction.” Brady tapped fingertips together. “I think I can manage that.” Time to use the weapon he’d been hoarding like a decadent dessert all for himself.
His slow smile promised hell was about to rain down upon his enemies, beginning with the one who’d stolen his freedom and his daughter.
They’d regret betraying him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Chris. Chris!”
Kip Terriot forced eyelids apart for a glance at the clock. Three a.m.? He squinted at his brother’s silhouette. “Simon? Wassup?” He kept his voice to a whisper so as not to wake his mate.
“Someone’s in the house.”
Alarm spiked, waking him fully. “You sure?”
A quick nod. “I was going to the kitchen and saw someone moving in the hall down there.”
“Sure it wasn’t Carl?” Their middle brother slept in the guest room on the main floor.
The boy’s expression clenched. “I’m sure.”
Ophelia stirred beneath the covers. “What is it?” Before he could answer, she sat up with a gasp. “Something dark is close.”
Kip never doubted her intuitive visions. “Can you tell what? Or who?” His first thought was Olivia, but Phe’s quick headshake said no. One sister could always tell when the other was near.
Kip slipped from the king bed and into gym shorts he’d tossed to the floor in his hurry to get between those sheets and his wife’s knees earlier that evening. “You check the others?” he asked his younger sibling.
“Still asleep from what I could tell. Don’t know about Carl.”
He grabbed up a tee shirt, tugging it over his head as thoughts sharpened. “Don’t come down.” Before the boy could protest, he added, “Gather the others, quietly, and help Phe keep them safe in here until I get back.”
“But you might need me.”
“I do. Here, to protect them.”
“Christopher—”
Kip cut off whatever else Phe meant to say with a quick, fierce kiss, refusing to believe it would be their last. Moving quickly into the large dark room Ophelia’s grandfather had used as an office, he palmed a silver letter opener by its leather-wrapped handle as the closest weapon at hand then ran out into the hall where the other bedroom doors stood slightly ajar. His sisters Cassie and Merry shared one, their shapes visible beneath the covers. His grandmother snored lustily in the other, but the spot beside her where Lydia should have been was empty.
His heart revved as worse case scenarios raced for a long second. Could she have been taken? Or was Lydia their mysterious visitor and their panic for nothing? Wishing for the second but fearing the first, he closed off thought to act on instinct.
Protect.
Bare feet fell swift and silent down the hallway runner to the graceful curve of the open staircase. The massive foyer of the big house lay dark beneath him. If Lydia had come this way, she’d head to the kitchen for a forbidden treat.
Please let it just be the child Simon had heard.
He’d started toward the family areas when a faint scuffle drew him to the rarely used formal dining room. The large table with its bordering parade of stuffy chairs stood in unwelcoming shadow, offering no haven. Unless one was a small girl.
“Lydie.”
His soft whisper encouraged a scramble of movement. He bent just in time to receive the catapulting figure. Trembling arms collared his neck as he straightened, crushing her close. A whisper brushed his ear as her shivers grew convulsive.
“In the kitchen. There’s a monster. It has sharp teeth and red eyes.”
Ordinarily, he’d have called her claim the product of a lingering nightmare. But these weren’t ordinary times.
“Did it see you?”
Wisps of baby fine hair grazed his cheek as her head shook.
Kip eased back into the hallway, senses on full alert. All he had was a letter opener to defend women and children against an elite killer. Only a highly skilled Tracker could have breached the estate’s security. Or Olivia Brady about her father’s . . . or real mother’s . . . business.
Bare feet made no sound as he hurried toward the stairs. First, he’d get Lydia to the negligible safety above then he’d come back for Carl. He’d gotten halfway up the graceful twist when a low rumbling broke gooseflesh. Very slowly, he bent to put Lydia down. When she refused to release him, he gently uncoiled her arms and whispered, “Go tell Ophelia I’ll be up in a minute. I need you to do that for me, so she won’t be scared. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t look back.”
&
nbsp; Huge eyes glittering, she smushed a quick kiss on his cheek then ran.
Kip straightened, defensive fury boiling through him as he faced the shadowy figure now at the foot of the stairs. All in black, including a hooded half-mask through which lurid eyes sparked red and gold, the figure was definitely female. That made her no less dangerous, not after Savoie’s aunt had become a beast that nearly ended Cale’s life.
Sharp fangs appeared as the intruder placed her foot on the bottom riser. Words rumbled in an unrecognized growl.
“Time for you all to die, Terriot.”
Kip held his ground, letting his own basic nature lengthen teeth and hair. Muscle bulged, massive thighs straining fabric. As fingertips spouted razor-sharp claws, toenails curved, gripping the edge of the step for traction. No one was getting past him to harm his family. He widened his stance, becoming a wall of ferocious determination between her and his loved ones.
As the flame-eyed creature took her first step up, an explosive roar reverberated through the cavernous hall. Carl Fraser stepped out into the foyer, a gigantic pistol braced with both hands.
“Get away from my family, you bitch!”
Hand clasped to a seeping shoulder, their would-be attacker howled, fury tempered by pain as she stumbled back then fled through the kitchen area, presumably out the same way she’d stealthily entered.
“Holy shit!” Simon leaned over the balcony railing, eyes popped wide in amazement.
As the pistol began to waver in an equally startled Carl’s grip, Kip raced down the steps to pursue the intruder. By the time he returned from that futile quest, the rest of his family had gathered above. Very carefully, Kip eased the gun from his brother’s white-knuckled grip then hugged him tight.
“Was that a movie quote?”
“It was the only badass thing I could think of.”
Kip rumpled the teen’s close-cropped hair then stepped back. He showed the pistol to Ophelia as she hurried down the steps, loosely belted robe winging out behind her. “I thought you said this didn’t work?”
Carl cleared his throat. “Uncle Rico fixed it for me.”
Phe put her arms about them for a fierce squeeze. “Good ole Uncle Rico.” Stepping back, she turned a somber gaze to her mate. “We’re not safe here anymore.”
“I’ll find a place.”
Problem was, Kip wasn’t sure there was such a thing. Until Rico showed up at their gate with his mate and Babineau in separate vehicles.
Rico grabbed Kip and Carl up in a crushing hug then pushed away with an all-business, “Let’s get you guys outta here.”
Kip had no more questions, letting Rico stride into the house to take charge.
“Morning. Pack up and get ready to roll.”
Hiding her misgivings behind a polite smile, Ophelia asked, “Mind telling us where?”
They’d done the math. The children and their grandmother would go to Babineau’s where they’d be safe in his gated community, bunking in their extra room and huge rec area. Kip and Ophelia would stay temporarily with Rico while the brothers took care of business.
Phe didn’t ask what kind of business that might be. Instead, she targeted Rico more directly. “You gave a child a loaded weapon.”
Before Carl could yip that he was no child, his uncle draped an arm about his shoulders. “Yeah, I did. And showed him how to use it.”
Her eyes glistened. “Thank you.”
They packed light and fast, mood sober but not fearful, knowing they were in good hands.
Concerned by his youngest brother’s silent acceptance, Rico cut to it. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Brady knew about this place,” probably thanks to Olivia, “and was waiting until we got comfortable to strike.”
“I think it’s bigger than just Brady being a bitch.” At Kip’s prompting look, he explained. “This, on top of what happened with Colin, I’d say we’re all being targeted. Time to circle the wagons.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
While Ophelia made a temporary home for Kip and herself in Evangeline’s room, Max and Cale arrived in response to Rico’s call to discuss the ramifications of the Baton Rouge attack with him and his other two brothers.
“This is a first step, not an endgame,” Max said carefully. “And it’s not just Brady anymore.”
His conclusion was what they all feared.
“It’s a warning shot.” Colin paced the living area, looking ragged and on edge. “There’s no safe place to hide if they’re determined to kill us. Our only chance for survival is to take the fight to them where they live.”
“You want to go at Brady right in front of the news cameras?” Kip didn’t say that like he thought it was a bad idea.
“It’s not just Brady,” Colin reminded. “If he adds our father into the mix, we’re done.”
“Ain’t you just a ray a sunshine,” Rico grumbled, flopping down on the sofa. “There’s no denying he can pull numbers we can’t. He knows how we think, what we’ll do.”
“Not all of us, he doesn’t.” Cale looked to Max. “He doesn’t know you.”
This was the moment Max feared was coming, when he’d be called upon to fulfill the role destiny said was his. The Shifter King. If he believed in such things. Apparently, the Terriots did, for they looked to him expectantly. He took a breath and waded in. “We’ll prepare, organize.” He nodded to Rico. “You’ve got the loyalty of the Patrol behind you.”
“Some,” he argued, “not all. We need Tibideaux. He can rally them in ways I can’t as an outsider.”
“Then get Tibideaux.”
A tap on the door distracted them as Mia slipped inside, her gaze seeking Colin. “What’s happened? Can I help?”
Noting Colin’s brief hesitation, Amber smiled at her. “Come in. You’re always welcome.”
So, Max wondered, observing the scene, why didn’t Colin look like it?
He hadn’t seen the former Guedry heir since the hospital. She’d recovered well but as he watched her interact with the others, something seemed . . . off. It was nothing in her appearance, though she was still pale, nor in her mannerisms. It went deeper, to that place he’d tried to reach while she lay upon that hospital bed. Mia Guedry hadn’t been there.
Why wasn’t he sensing her now?
– – –
Relief melted the iron-hard lines of Jacques LaRoche’s face as Max and Silas approached the bar just before the rush began, Silas asking, “Where is he?”
The bar owner tipped the bristle-covered top of his head toward a grouping of empty tables near the back door. “Been there for the better part of two hours, sucking up enough to put a normal fella into a coma or a coffin.”
Studying the lone figure slumped over his glass in the shadows, Max mused, “He doesn’t look dangerous.”
“Well, I’m not taking any chances after the last time he drank up my inventory and nearly ripped my clientele to pieces. I’m making him your problem.”
“We’ll take care of it.” Silas assured with a placating smile.
Jacques merely shrugged. “Just do it quick and quiet and without any property damage.”
Max nodded to the back stairs. “Your office available?”
“As long as you don’t make a mess I have to clean up.”
For the two of them to approach the table without Colin Terriot noticing set off alarms. Even a glaze of drunkenness couldn’t cover the sharp edge of pain in his face as he blinked slowly to acknowledge them.
“Hey, got a minute?” Silas reached for an elbow, tugging determinedly to haul the big Shifter’s unresponsive weight from the chair.
When an uncoordinated effort failed to find his glass, Max interceded with a quiet, “I’ll get that for you.”
“Holy crap,” MacCreedy grumbled, struggling to drag the listing figure up the short flight of steps, “Might as well be towing a cement truck with its parking brake on.” Colin’s head rolled back, the momentum taking them back down two of the stairs. “A hand, Savoi
e?”
With Max on the opposite side, they managed to navigate their rudderless barge of a friend, who was determined to go anywhere but in the right direction, into Cheveux du Chien’s pristine office. Before they reached the right-angled leather couches, Colin muttered, “I need to sit down,” and the muscles in his sturdy legs liquefied. Max managed to get a hip under his to act as fulcrum, tipping the huge Terriot toward the final drop to the cushions. Expensive upholstery groaned beneath the sudden deposit of his weight.
While Silas went into the small bathroom to wet a towel and fetch an equally chilled water bottle from the mini-fridge, Max arranged uncoordinated arms and legs to keep the drunken prince from toppling over. Colin’s head dropped onto the couch back, jaw loosening for the issuance of a sound-barrier-breaking snore. MacCreedy plopped the cold towel over his slack features, inciting a frantic flailing of arms and legs until it slid off into his lap.
Dulled green eyes blinked open, regarding them with surprise. “Oh, hey. When’d you get here?” He glanced around in confusion, finally focusing on Max. “Where’s here?”
“LaRoche invited us to make sure you didn’t redecorate.”
“LaRoche?” He struggled to haul himself upright, comically tasting the aftereffects of the past hours lying bitter in his mouth. Then some awful truth settled like a load of concrete. “Oh, hell.” Elbows on knees, he dropped heavy head into hands.
Max and Silas exchanged worried glances. They’d been at Silas’s condo discussing the Terriot situation when LaRoche called Max after he couldn’t reach Rico. Silas had come along reluctantly, not sure what to expect. Certainly, not this.
“Colin?” Silas asked, as they settled on either side of him. “Does Mia know where you are?” When his head rolled a negative, he added, “Where’s Mia?”
“It’s not Mia.”
At that gruff mumble, Silas placed a firm hand on one slumped shoulder and repeated more forcefully, “Where is she, Colin?”
“What? Oh. With Dr. LaRoche.”
Max frowned. The strange quiver of apprehension returned. “Is she all right?”
