by Nancy Gideon
His expression got serious. “Take it. You’ve earned it a hundred times over. And the city deserves and needs you if it’s gonna survive.” Before she could argue, he added, “But first, we bring down Brady.”
“Love to. I owe that to every good cop who looked up to him the way I did. He made fools of us, Mac, betraying those he swore to protect and humiliating those he represented.”
“Atcliff will erase his stink. And after him, maybe you.”
“I don’t like politics.”
“All the better.”
Cee Cee fidgeted then finally asked about the elephant trying to hide in the room. “How’s Babs doing?”
Ever candid, MacCreedy stated with all the diplomacy of a baseball bat to the knee, “He’s wondering what the hell he did to piss you off. First you have me send him to Colin Terriot for a Come-to-Jesus talk, and now you’ve got Schoenbaum sniffing around like he’s a dumpster after Fat Tuesday. Wanna fill me in on that?”
“Not just yet.”
Expressive eyebrows soared. “Really? Alain Babineau? The Fraser kids are stashed in his basement. He’s risking his career going after Brady, and his marriage manning up over Amber James, the one damned fool thing he’s probably ever done. He’s a good guy, Charlotte. I’d want him next to me in any fight and trust him with the life of my wife and child.”
“He was working with Cummings against Max.”
He snorted a laugh. “Trying to keep you from ruining your career.”
“By endangering his?”
“Yeah.” When she continued to stink eye him, MacCreedy threw up his hands. “To protect you from throwing your career away getting horizontal with a two-bit hood.”
Her veneer slowly cracked. “He’ll be ticked to find out that’s all you think he’s worth.”
Finishing the last bite of his po’boy, he dabbed the corners of his mouth rather delicately with his napkin and cleared his throat. “I’d rather we keep that between us. I’d like to see my first born.”
She struggled to hold back a smile, losing that battle, and fearing she was about to surrender the war. “We both want that, Mac. How we gonna make sure that happens?”
His hand fit over hers for a tight squeeze. “I don’t know, other than having each other’s backs and taking it one rung at a time.”
– – –
One rung at a time. Starting with the first difficult step.
After she’d pressed in her partner’s code the imposing entrance opened, inviting her into the Babineau’s upscale plat. As she followed the esthetically pleasing streets, her brain calculated list prices. How had he gone from not being able to pave his driveway to . . . this?
The gate across that new drive was open, her approach already radioed by the not so inconspicuous Rent-a-Cop on duty. Babineau’s ratty police issue stood parked in the drive like a poor relative denied entry to the posh three-bay garage. Tina, wearing a chic chevron-patterned sweater over leggings, her recently-styled black hair swinging playfully at her jawline like an upscale book clubber, stood on the front steps, her big smile of welcome a stab to a traitorous heart.
“So nice to see you, Charlotte. Everyone’s out back. Alain just put burgers on.”
“I can’t stay. Max is meeting me for dinner in the city.”
Pretty features constricted, moisture pooling in her dark eyes. “I heard about his assistant. I hope she’s all right.”
“Just bruises and a mild concussion. Max’ll have a hard time keeping her away from her desk.” She came up on the porch, enduring the effusive hug with light return pats of her own. When welcomed inside the soaring foyer, Cee Cee couldn’t help herself. “Quite a jump in zip code from the old place.”
Tina laughed a bit nervously and confided, “It’s so big, I find myself getting lost.”
There it was, a slight flicker of discomfort as her partner’s wife turned to lead the way through the banquet-sized dining room onto the equally extravagant back deck with its shaded nooks, a jungle of potted green plants, elegant seating around a huge glass-inlaid table instead of warped porch steps and two ratty lawn chairs. And a gurgling water feature for extra glam factor like on one of those trendy cable home makeover shows. All that was missing was a damned Jacuzzi big enough to fit all the other book-clubbing and possible husband-swapping moms in the neighborhood!
Savory smells rose from a humungous grill as Babineau, clad in baggy chinos and a bright blue polo that made the color of his eyes go nuclear, lifted the lid to reinforce his call to the kids playing Frisbee toss on a golf course lawn to come and get it. He was still grinning wide when he turned, that expression catching slightly when he saw her.
“Heya, Ceece. Wanna make up a plate?”
“Not this time. Can I talk to you for a sec?”
He passed the spatula to Oscar, who seemed to have grown a foot. “You’ve got the helm, Oz. Don’t let anything burn.”
“I got it, Dad.” That ‘Dad’ came so easily now.
As the Fraser kids swarmed the deck, Babineau preceded her back inside, touching a quick kiss to his wife’s cheek in passing.
Suburban Ken and Barbie host a barbeque.
He led the way through a House Beautiful kitchen, down the long hall to an office of the gods. Sheepishly, he waved her in.
“Quite the place,” she murmured, walking past him to take a seat on the sofa. Leather soft as a baby’s butt. “Your Lotto number come up?”
“Something like that.” He turned to lean a hip against a glossy wood rolltop, handsome features inscrutable.
“Something like what, exactly?”
His jaw tightened into a hard square. “Why’re you here, Charlotte?”
“How are you here, Alain? Some long-lost relative turn up their toes and dump a cool mil in your lap?”
“That would be my business.” She’d seen that inflexible look when he’d confront a difficult suspect in Interrogation. It usually came just before a reading of formal charges. “If you think otherwise, maybe you should leave before I forget to be hospitable. And while you’re at it, tell Showboat if I see him shadowing me again, I’ll report him as a stalker.”
She should have known better than to think a cop wouldn’t spot a cop. To cover her chagrin, she went on the attack. “What else have you forgotten to be? Suddenly you’re living in high cotton on money you got who knows where. How do you think that looks? What am I supposed to think?”
Face flushed with rare temper, he snarled, “I don’t give a flying f—"
A soft voice intruded. “We got it from Cale Terriot so we could keep his nephew safe behind high walls and surveillance cameras.” Tina remained unflinching beneath her husband’s skewering stare, no apology or shame in her expression. “And we took it because Oscar means more to us than our pride or any nasty rumors supposed friends started spreading.
“None of this was our choice. If it was up to us, we’d be cooking ground beef instead of sirloin on that rusty old kettle grill Alain’s had since his first apartment. But having this,” her hand flashed a wide, dismissive gesture, “we can sleep nights. We can shelter those who’ve no safe place to go. And we’ve done nothing we’re ashamed of.” She took a breath then concluded in a steady tone, “I think you should leave now, unless there’s something else you think you have the right to know about our lives that doesn’t concern you or anyone else at the NOPD.”
A long, taut silence stretched out.
Finally, face hot, Cee Cee muttered, “No. I think I’ve done enough damage.”
The hurried journey toward a safe escape out the front door might well have been miles. She’d just reached the edge of the front steps when that arm that had held her up when she’d had too much to drink, had curled about her when she wept over a romance not meant to be, and had bumped against hers when they stood before their peers to proudly receive commendations cinched her to an abrupt halt.
“Don’t you run out on me. Not like this. She shouldn’t have said those things.”
/> “She had every right, every right in the world. I’m the one who should have kept my damned mouth shut.” She stood panting wildly, emotions pooling into despised waterworks she’d blame on pregnancy.
“Since when haven’t we been able to say anything and everything to each other?” A long pause, him waiting for her to speak, her afraid to. Until he stated quietly, “I’m not a dirty cop, Charlotte.”
“I know.” She sagged against the long-familiar lines of the second-best friend she’d ever had. As Cee Cee let him lower them both to sit on the steps side-by-side, puzzle pieces that had always fit so well together, her frustration and anguish poured out. “Things used to be so easy. We did our jobs and knew who the bad guys were. We stood for justice and slept like babies after we put them away. We were the good guys who stood for our city and our brothers. Monsters were just men who bled like anyone else.”
“We’re still the good guys, Ceece. We still get the job done. You want to tell me what this is really all about?”
She took a gulping breath, wishing she could blame the thickness in her throat and runny nose on that awful cologne he continued to wear because Oscar had given it to him for Christmas. Probably as a joke. “Atcliff wants to groom me for his job so he can take Brady’s. It should be you. You have a family to support and—”
“And nothing.”
Silence settled. Tension melted into a comforting pattern of openness and trust.
“I don’t want a desk job, Ceece. You know me. I’d be no good at politics. I’m a foot soldier, and I’m okay with that. I come from generations of flatfoots who worried about fallen arches, hardening of the arteries, and living long enough to retire on crappy pensions. We always understood our enemies and what we were up against. Our world was black and white and our blood ran blue. But the things we both stand for, you and me, won’t matter a damn if Savoie can’t kick those creatures back to Chicago. It’s not what either of us signed up for, but there it is. Whatchu’ gonna do?”
What was she going to do? Cee Cee dragged in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Tell me why I’m suddenly worried about whether or not you’ve crossed certain lines.”
He tensed at that blunt demand. Slowly, shared history got the better of suspicion. He expelled a weary breath along with his demons, confessing, as he had to Colin Terriot, the twisting and turning actions, both noble and misguided, concluding simply.
“I was jealous, Charlotte, of everything that was pulling you away from what we had. Savoie and his people and their problems . . . I couldn’t compete. I didn’t fit in. I’m a simple guy who wants to fall asleep in front of the TV at night knowing the world is a safer, better place because he spent the day out there making sure it is. Bagging bad guys is all I know. And now, they’re not even guys. They’re . . . not even people.” He caught himself, realizing she was in that category. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Alain. Not for anything. Not ever. You’re not the only one struggling like a row boat in a hurricane.” She reached for the hand resting on her shoulder, threading fingers between his for a tight squeeze. “Long as we got each other, we got this. Right?”
A brief pause. Then a returning pressure. “Right.” He expelled a breath and straightened away from her. “So how long before you leave the pavement to grow a big ass along with that belly sitting behind a desk?”
“Not until we finish with Brady. That’s a given.” A sharp elbow to the ribs. “What’s wrong with my ass?”
He laughed. “Not a thing, darlin’. We’ve got each other’s. Always.”
– – –
Max sat seemingly relaxed on the balcony above the modest block-letter sign proclaiming “K-Paul’s Louisiana Kitchen.” His always in motion gaze scanned busy foot traffic on the banquettes below for the one sight that made his day complete. Having her out of it for any length of time had begun to make him itchy, though she’d sink her teeth into him—not in a good way—if she found out about it. Finally, a small smile escaped his impassive veneer. A lifted forefinger sent one of the servers bustling below.
He breathed her in slowly. Voodoo Love. Strong with a tease of feminine vulnerability, just like his mate.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Gaze devouring her the way he would the meal to come because both provided the necessities for him to live, Max rose. As he seated her, his nose brushed thick black hair feathered against the nape of her neck, inhaling deeply. His. Always and forever.
He took another quick sniff, catching a chaser of Babineau as he vowed, “Anticipation whets the appetite.”
As he returned to his chair, her pre-ordered appetizer of fried green tomatoes slipped in front of her, earning a blink of surprise and smile that was worth . . . everything.
She nodded to the waiter and grabbed up a fork. “Thanks. I’m starving. This eating for two . . .” She glanced up at him to offer a saucy wink, “. . . is the best excuse ever.”
He watched in silence, appreciating her appetite in all things. Finally, she leaned back to sigh, “That was wonderful. What would I do without you, Savoie?”
“Most likely you’d be sharing a walk-up apartment with two rodents and take out containers.”
A rueful laugh before sobering. “How’s Marissa?”
“When I called the hospital, they said they might have to place her in restraints to keep her there long enough to finish tests.” His expression softened. “Thank you for asking.”
“Ideas on who’s behind it?”
“Too many to discuss.” He glanced up as the waiter returned to clear her plate and dress the tabletop with their entrees. “And your day?”
“Eventful.”
Brows lifted in patient expectation.
She talked around mouthfuls of pan-fried flounder while Max’s Blackened Beef Tender grew cold on his plate. Quick flickers of eye contact assessed his smooth façade for reaction to each revelation, finding none. When she’d finished, he calmly cut his meat and began to chew, pausing only to state, “You’ve had a busy day.”
“That’s all I get? You have nothing to add?”
“Oh, I have plenty, but it can wait until I’ve digested it along with this meal.”
Finally, after he forked up the last of the cast-iron skillet debris and she’d swallowed her final bite of decadent Crème Brȗlée, Max fixed a steady stare upon his mate to demand, “Is this what you want, Charlotte? To become Atcliff to his Brady?”
Black brows rocketed. “It’s hardly the same thing. You wanted me off the streets. And I can be diplomatic.” At the slight quirk of his lips, she tossed down her spoon. “I am the soul of calm, cool and collected!”
“Indeed, you are, Detective. It would put my mind at ease to see you behind a desk instead of a gun. You’d wield either with lethal force, I’m sure, for the sake of your city. A regular schedule in a building surrounded by cops instead of on the streets with criminals? For the sake of our daughter and my blood pressure, I am thrilled. But only if it’s where you choose to be when you’re ready to be.”
Charlotte stared at him, looking for hidden clues to his agenda. Finding none, she announced, “I want you now.”
He pushed back his wrought-iron chair. “Then I’m glad I skipped dessert.” He lifted a finger and their check appeared, quickly whisked away with his card. “It’ll be a long drive home.”
She pointed a finger toward the riverfront. “We have a perfectly good king right over there.”
“To the Towers it is.”
– – –
As they lay tucked together in the big bed listening to the sounds of the city and the river far below, Cee Cee felt the vibration of Max’s laugh beneath her palm.
“I used to fantasize about you in your uniform on my many trips to Interrogation in cuffs.”
A thrill of recall raced through her. His mysterious half-smile, gleaming green eyes, and confident stride, strolling by with hands behind his back as if he owned the station. Then that shock of connect
ion when their gazes met and held for a moment too long.
She chuckled. “I used to daydream of being the one to march you before the judge. What do you dream about now?”
“You out of uniform.” His fingertips did a leisurely assessment of those coveted territories.
She caught that clever hand, lifting it to her lips for a kiss to his palm before cupping it to her cheek. “Am I making the right move, Max?”
The vulnerable uncertainty in her tone squeezed about his heart. “You seldom make a wrong one, sha.”
“It might mean a higher profile in the press. Can we afford that . . . considering?”
His laugh burst out, loud and genuine in its amusement. “Detective, we couldn’t have a higher profile if we were carved into a mountainside.”
“I know how you hate attention.”
After a tender kiss to the base of her thumb, he murmured, “I’ve found the limelight sometimes has its advantages. The shadows are what we need to avoid.”
Cee Cee rolled onto her side, bringing them nose to nose, hard middle to rounded belly. His fingertips gently spanned that circumference. Before drowning in the warm sea of his gaze, she demanded a single truth.
“Can we survive this?”
She didn’t need to explain further. This, the collective chaos that surrounded their life together. The list was endless and seemingly impossible with the added weight of the North crushing down atop it.
His answer summed up his faith with calm simplicity.
“It’s what we do, Charlotte. We survive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Instead of returning to River Road after he’d lingered over coffee and the panoramic riverfront view, Max readied to head to LEI, having gotten the all clear to reclaim the former crime scene. Though she’d left hours before, his mate’s scent lingered in the unmade sheets, in the bathroom towels, in the air itself. He breathed her in and exhaled on a sigh.
As he started to tuck away his wallet, he opened it instead, taking out the small square he carried. His daughter’s first picture. Not much to see yet, a tightly tucked little bundle with fingers and toes in shadowed x-ray greys, she was the most beautiful thing, next to her mama, he’d ever seen. His heart was gone. Just gone. As soon as he attended to what scant work he could do for the day in the disaster of his office, he’d speak to Susanna about information he could read to ready for his role as a supportive daddy-to-be for his warrior bride, hopefully without interruption from a clan war.
