by Nancy Gideon
“No. Pretty disgusting stuff, but when you’re stuck behind bars with a bunch of rude and horny fellas, it starts sounding pretty hot.”
“And you want to do these things with me?”
“No! No. Well, yeah. Yes, I do. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a rude, horny beast after all.”
“You and the rest of the male gender.
“I love you, Charlotte,” he told her tenderly. “You’re safe with me.” He rubbed his cheek over her hair. “You’re safe with me.”
She burrowed in tight, breathing in his familiar scent, soaking up his comforting heat, calmed by the careful way he handled her until her pulse slowed from its frantic gallop. The denying tension drained from her body. He was so perfect, so tender. So why had she been so afraid?
She wasn’t sure what had happened. Something in the forcefulness of his touch and tone set off a chain reaction of remembered distress. It took her under so quick and so deep, she’d no time to prepare for it, no way to battle out of it. And now he was being so solicitous, she could weep in grateful misery.
The fact that she didn’t have to explain only wound those emotions up into more complicated knots. Because she knew he would never ask for more than she was willing to give. That knowledge came with a humbling sense of security and a frustrating impatience with her own inconvenient frailty.
“I don’t deserve you, Max.”
He was silent for a moment, then, as she braced for his scare-the-crap-out-of-you laugh, a quiet chuckle vibrated beneath her cheek. “Now, there’s a ridiculous statement if ever I heard one.” His lips brushed along her brow. “I love you, Charlotte.”
She expelled a shaky breath. Her arms slipped around him, curling tight. He held her easily until she began to nuzzle his neck, igniting a renewed desire in him that he thought best suppressed for the moment. And nothing quelled passion like bringing work into the picture.
“Have you found out anything? Any ideas on who killed these women?”
“Nothing yet. I’m sorry.”
The fear bred into him, that terror of being discovered for what he was, kinked up in his belly. Without Jimmy’s protection, he felt vulnerable, exposed, unable to hide. His voice was flat beneath that weight. “Like I needed more attention turned my way. I don’t have time for this now. I’m trying to quiet the situation on the docks, and I’ve got the press swarming me like fire ants.”
“Did they follow you here?”
“No. Of course not.” But he’d caught her anxious tone. He lifted his head to look at her. “Why?”
Her hand clutched the fabric of his shirt, kneading restlessly.
“What? Charlotte, tell me.”
“The department is under a lot of heat to get this case resolved quickly.”
“Good.” He noted her discomfort. “It isn’t good?”
“Cummings has a lot of pull in the force. Particularly with the commissioner.”
“And?”
“The chief called me in after you were arrested.”
“Is he giving you grief over not having this solved already? You’re the best they have, Charlotte. No one can do the job better.”
“He knows that.”
“So?”
“He gave me grief about you.”
He went very still. “Oh.”
“He said our relationship was—”
A hot spark of frustration flared. ”You don’t need to tell me what he said. I get the picture. He didn’t officially reprimand you, did he?”
“No. Not exactly.” Her eyes clouded with upset and anger.
Max reared back in alarm. “What?”
“He told me to either take myself off the case or break it off with you for the duration.”
Max took a long moment to process the enormity of that. And he said what she needed to hear, not the protest that beat wildly in his heart. “You can’t leave the case.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Then that’s what you need to concentrate on.”
She met his unblinking stare and found the strength to say, “Yes, it is.
Without another word, he rolled off the bed and headed for the door, not looking at her. If he did, he’d never find the strength to go.
She bit back the need to tell him to stop, to call him back. The effort had her shaking.
He stopped at the threshold of her room to ask softly, “Is this what you want, too, Charlotte?” He waited a beat, two, then he started forward again.
“No.”
He paused but didn’t turn.
“No, it’s not what I want, Max.”
The stiffness ebbed out of his posture and he leaned his head against the doorjamb. His words were low and rough. “I need you, Charlotte. I need you like air, like light. Without you there’s only darkness. There’s just emptiness. Tell me what you want me to do. I’d wait forever for you. Just don’t tell me you don’t want me back.”
She crossed to him quickly, encircling him with her arms, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Of course I want you back. I’ve always wanted you. I will always want you. It’s just until this case is closed. I need to finish this for you, for the families, for Mary Kate. Please say you understand.”
Instead of answering, he surrounded her hands with his, squeezing tightly.
“It will only be for a little while.” Was she trying to convince him or herself?
He straightened suddenly, releasing her hands. “There are reporters outside.”
She swore fiercely and went to the window. Sure enough, there were several unfamiliar cars out front. She saw a cameraman darting furtively through her neighbor’s flower bed. “We’ve got to get you out of here without them seeing you.”
“Walk me right out the front door.”
She turned toward him, then drew up, stunned.
Max stood naked in a pool of his clothing. He smiled faintly at her astonishment, and at the hot way her gaze ran over him. He pointed to his discarded suit. “Could you get that cleaned for me?”
And then, while she watched in amazement, his form compressed with the speed and ease of a computer graphic morph, then dropped down onto all fours. Within seconds she was regarding a large, lean, wolflike creature, sleek and black with startling green eyes.
“Max?” she said cautiously. “Can you still understand me?”
The big creature trotted forward, nudging his warm nose into her palm, then beneath the hem of her T-shirt into her crotch. With a laugh, she shoved his head away. “Behave, you beast. Sit.”
He sat, watching her with those unnervingly human eyes while she pulled on a pair of jeans.
“Right out the front door, huh?”
She crouched down in front of the still animal and warily touched the soft, thick ruff of fur, running her fingers through it.
“You’re magnificent, Max,” she told him with hushed awe. Without hesitation, she slowly put her arms around the powerful shoulders and buried her face in his dark pelt. Soft and ermine sleek, just like Max’s. He sat motionlessly, his chin resting on her shoulder, eyes closed.
Finally Cee Cee stood, her hand still atop his head. “Walk nicely. No biting the nasty reporters, even though they deserve it.”
He got up and trotted into her living room, where an immediate ruckus started in the guinea pig cage. He went to stand with snuffing nose against the bars and her furry pets huddled in terror in the far corner.
“Max, leave them alone.” Before she could catch herself, she’d snapped her fingers to bring him to heel. “What do you know? You mind better this way.” She grinned, then bent to kiss the top of his head, and was startled by the wet slap of his tongue across the side of her face. She pushed him away, smiling. “No tongue. I’m not going to French you while you’re wearing your dog suit. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
He gave her a quick wolfish grin that was pure, mocking Max, then walked tamely at her side.
The reporters who’d camped out on her steps jumped up.
&n
bsp; “Oh,” she said in feigned surprise. “I thought I heard prowlers and was about to sic my dog on them.”
“Karen Crawford, Detective Caissie.”
Cee Cee eyeballed the reporter with malice. Crawford had once been a top-notch journalist, but as the inevitability of age started to nudge her out of her lucrative career, she’d begun to resort to less savory means of grabbing a story. Her favorite was sensationalism, manufactured or truthful, it didn’t much matter to her anymore, as long as it got her ratings points and kept her lifted and tucked self in front of the public. She dogged Cee Cee’s steps because eventually there’d be a payoff. The two women hardly bothered to hide their animosity.
“I know who you are. What are you doing invading my privacy in the middle of the night?”
The chic newswoman came up a few steps with her microphone, but a sudden rumbling growl had her quickly backtracking. To her credit, she didn’t alarm easily. “What a beautiful animal. Is he yours?”
“We belong to each other. He’s not fond of strangers.”
“Is he vicious?”
“He can be when he’s provoked. Uninvited guests provoke him a great deal. He doesn’t play well with others. He’s very protective.”
“What’s his name?”
She couldn’t very well say “Max.” “Baby.”
Crawford came up the few steps more cautiously. “Will he let me pet him?”
“I don’t know. You can try. I have liability insurance.”
Trying to ingratiate herself, the newswoman reached out to fondle one of his ears. When he allowed it, she grew bolder, coming closer to croon, “Why, you are just a big baby, aren’t you?” She jumped when his nose went up under her short skirt.
“Stop that,” Cee Cee hissed, smacking the back of his head. “Get, you ill-mannered beast.” She gave him a boot in the hind quarters to send him trotting down the stairs. The other newspeople scattered at the sound of his throaty snarl. Then he was gone, slipping between their parked vehicles and into the shadows.
“You let him run loose?”
“He knows where he belongs. Now, what can I do for you, Ms. Crawford?”
“Were you aware that Max Savoie was released this evening?”
“I just put them there. It’s not my job to keep them there. He has a very good attorney.” She noticed the way the woman was glancing around her toward her open door. “Did you think I had him stashed inside?”
“Is he?”
“One, if he was, it would be none of your business. Two, no, he’s not, because I’m working on a case that involves him at the moment as a suspect. You and I are both professionals, Ms. Crawford. We know better than to mix business with pleasure when it can damage our approval ratings. If I see Mr. Savoie, it will be on a strictly professional basis. I have too much sympathy and respect for the families involved for them to think I would care so little for their pain. Can you say the same, Ms. Crawford? Any of you? I thought not. Good night, then. You’re welcome to camp out here in hopes of catching a shot of someone jumping out of my window. Far be it from me to interfere with the freedom of the press.”
And she went inside, closing the door on them.
MAX SHOWERED IN water as hot as he could stand it, remaining under the spray until the film of captivity was washed away. Then, dressed in loose jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt, his feet bare because his shoes were still at Charlotte’s, he began to pace. Even the big rooms of Jimmy’s house seemed too confining. Too uninviting with no one he loved inside them.
Frustration and fear knotted. Frustration because all the attention from the police, from the press, from his own people, still caged him and made him helpless. He preferred the shadows to the glare of media lights, but there was no way to escape them now.
Fear knotted because he knew that it wouldn’t be just for a short while. If Charlotte allowed her superiors to push her job between them this time, they would again the next. And the next. Until they had no time for each other at all.
He remembered her earlier warning about all her energies going toward the job. Having only leftovers after enjoying the feast left him unsettled and discontent.
He could pace and fret, or he could do something about it.
After all, he’d made a promise.
And there was one place the press couldn’t follow.
THE NOISE AND smoke welcomed him like a bad habit.
Because he’d had enough invasion of his personal space, Max strode through the crowded club with his presence cloaked, psychically invisible. He could see their surprise when he was upon them without their notice, see their awe, their uncertainty as they parted to let him pass. And their fear. Just enough to remind him that even here, among his own kind, he was alone.
As he eased into his chair at the table reserved for him alone, the voluptuous Amber was immediately at his elbow.
“Good evening, Mr. Savoie. Your usual?”
“I’ve got it, my lovely.”
They both looked in surprise at the lean, dark figure who’d approached undetected. Rollo grinned and placed a bottled beer on the table in front of Max. He sat without being invited, not bothered by Max’s glittered stare of objection.
“I’ve been expecting you, boy. Bit of trouble, I hear. Bad business, jail. Our kind wasn’t meant to be caged.”
“What do you want?”
The cold greeting didn’t lessen the other’s cheer. “To chat. To get to know my only son.”
“It’s several decades too late for that, don’t you think?”
“For father and son, perhaps. For two of a kind, I don’t think so. I’ve been asking around about you, just in case you are stingy with the details.”
Uneasiness rippled. “And what did you discover?”
“Not much. You are an enigma, my boy. I like that. You’ve kept yourself hidden. Your mother’s influence, no doubt.”
“Why would you say that?”
“‘Rollo, don’t make a spectacle of yourself. You’ll draw attention. They’ll see that you’re different.’”
His imitation of Marie Savoie was so dead-on it took Max aback. And for the first time, he could see them together, his mother and this man he didn’t know. He sat frozen in his seat.
His father . . .
Mocking his mother.
His eyes narrowed slightly, their inner light growing cold and clear.
Oblivious to the insult he’d delivered, Rollo chuckled. “Such a strong, vibrant woman, but a little too conservative. Always seeing worries that weren’t there. Always putting boundaries around any kind of fun. I wished she’d learned to just relax and enjoy life.”
“Perhaps she didn’t have the luxury.”
“She deserved better,” the older man mused, suddenly somber. “Better than me, certainly. I was young and wild and irresponsible. The thought of trusting me to take care of her and a child must have terrified her. She was right to run from me when she did, before I knew about you. I would never have let her leave and take my son from me.” He frowned at the tabletop for a long moment, then his gaze lifted to study the impenetrable features opposite him. “How did you get on, just the two of you?”
“We got by. She saw I had everything I needed.”
Rollo let it pass for the moment, asking instead, “Who killed her, boy?”
“I didn’t know them. But I took care of them for her. And then I took care of her for as long as I was able.”
Rollo stared curiously at the calm face, into the unblinking eyes. “You killed them.” When Max didn’t answer, he sat back in his chair. “You were four, maybe five years old?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how old I am now.”
“Your first kill. So young.”
“No. Not my first.”
“My, you are full of surprises,” Rollo murmured, impressed and something more. Something Max couldn’t identify as Rollo leaned forward to clink his bottle against Max’s.
Behind his blank facade, Max pushed down the
horror of what he was, of what he’d done. His hand was steady when he picked up the bottle and drank the contents in several quick swallows.
Rollo grinned at him and gestured to the waitress. “A couple more here.” After he thanked her, he turned back to Max with renewed interest. “So Jimmy Legere took you in and raised you. He knew what you were, of course, and was more than happy to exploit you. Just like his father before him.”
“Yes.”
“And Legere was the one who taught you about what you are?”
“Yes.”
Rollo chuckled. “I’ll bet he did. Just enough to keep you under his control. Jimmy was more clever than his old man. But he left everything to you. Why, do you suppose?”
Max didn’t answer.
“You think it was because he cared for you?” A loud scoffing laugh. “They don’t care for us, Max. They tolerate us when it suits them. They use us when it’s to their advantage. We are a wonderful, unstoppable weapon when clenched in their greedy fists. But like us, care for us? Never. They fear us like they fear the shadows, like they dread the corners of the night. They would destroy us all if they could. Because we’re stronger, we’re smarter, and they’re just beginning to figure out the one thing that terrifies them more than anything else.”
“What’s that?”
“We don’t need them.”
Max emptied the second bottle as strange, unsettling emotions prowled through him. He’d never considered what Rollo said. Would never have believed it to be true.
Until Charlotte Caissie.
“I think,” Max drawled, “that it’s you who’s afraid of them.”
Rollo’s eyes gleamed hot gold. “For now, but not for much longer.” He shoved his chair back but found it stopped by the solid bulk of Jacques LaRoche.
“Who’s your friend, Savoie?”
Before Max could answer, Rollo twisted to glare up at the intruder. “No one who is interested in becoming yours, so back away, mongrel, and mind your business.”
LaRoche’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained pleasant. “This is my business and if you’re bringing trouble to it, you’d best think again.”
Rollo came up out of the chair like a rocket fueled by rage. He had the bigger man by the throat, and with a roar threw him like a stunt dummy over a half dozen tables and through the last of them. Before Jacques could gain his feet, Rollo was on him, crouched upon his chest, head flung back to transform into a snarling, shaggy beast, red of eye and long of fang.
