by Nancy Gideon
“I need to wrap up this case. You’re still on the top of the list of those we’re looking at.”
“I know that.”
“We both know you didn’t kill those women.”
“Do we?”
“Yes. But I think you know who did.”
“Do I?”
“Who are you protecting, Max?”
“Why would I protect a killer, detective? If I knew who it was, why wouldn’t I have told you?”
“Because this murderer is one of yours, not one of mine. I’ve been searching and searching for some kind of link, for some reason for this man to target Cummings—either on his own, or for someone else. But there’s nothing Cummings is involved in at the moment to warrant that kind of intimidation. There’s no purpose in these attacks, unless they’re motivated by vengeance. Or unless the killings were accidental.”
There was no change in his expression when he asked, “You’re suggesting these women were killed and half eaten by accident?”
“You told me not to run because you couldn’t help but chase me. Why is that? Some sort of animal behavior? Some primitive instinct?”
“Something like that,” he answered carefully.
“The chase is like the hunt. Pursue, bring down, kill.”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Can it get out of control?”
“I suppose it could. It’s intoxicating, exciting. It’s power. It’s something dark and passionate at the soul of what we are. I can’t explain it any better than that.”
“Suppose he didn’t intend to kill them. But they got scared. They ran and he chased them, got caught up in it, reverted to the wild or however you describe it. And he killed them. Is that possible?”
“Perhaps.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“Power is balanced with control. We’re not beasts, detective.”
“Then maybe he did it because he likes it. Because he likes losing control.”
Max said nothing.
“But I still need some kind of motive. Some reason why. These weren’t random acts. And now that Cummings’s older daughter has been threatened—”
“What?”
“You didn’t know that?”
“I hadn’t heard.” He looked away, but not before she caught the sheen of concern in his eyes. Then he met her gaze with a flat stare. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t know what’s behind these killings.”
She rose from the chair and began to pace. His eyes tracked her restless movements. Finally she circled in close to slap her palms down on his desk.
“Why won’t you help me?”
He regarded her unblinkingly. “What’s in it for me, detective? Why should it matter to a criminal, a killer, a monster like myself?”
She chewed on her own words for a moment, then went right for his throat. “Even if you don’t care about me, you care about them—about your kind. You’ll want to do whatever you can to protect them and yourself. Imagine what Karen Crawford could do if she had just a hint about what killed these women. More and more people suspect, but can’t quite come to terms with the reality of such creatures existing. How could you keep them safe, yourself safe, if the truth got out?”
Something flickered in his expression, a deep, desperate panic. Then it was gone, glossed over by a hard stare and a harder tone.
“You would do that? You would lead them to me with pitchforks and torches?”
She went right after the fear, sensing it as keenly as he would have.
“I don’t want to. Don’t force me, Max. I want this killer. He’s dangerous. He’s careless. And if he isn’t stopped right now, he’s going to expose you all for what you are, and I won’t be able to prevent it.”
“Detective, I’m afraid that’s all the time I can give you today. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he drawled smoothly.
“Fine.” She straightened, shoulders squared, her expression nearly as sharp-edged as his own. “I have some of your things. Do you want me to have them sent here or to the house?”
He absorbed that kick in the gut without a flinch. “I don’t care. Whatever you want to do, detective.” He held her stare for a long minute, then his slid away. He lifted an unsteady hand to rub at his eyes. “Keep them, burn them, mail them. I don’t care.”
Beneath the shading of his palm, he watched her hand stretch over his desk. It opened slowly, setting the keys to the car he’d given her on the blotter. His speed startling, he grabbed her hand, pushing the keys back into it and closing her fingers tightly around them.
His voice was a low throb of fury. “You don’t have to shove it all back in my face, Charlotte. Keep the car. It’s a debt I needed to pay. I wouldn’t want to owe you anything.” He pushed her hand away and spun his chair so his back was to her. “We’re done here. See yourself out, detective. You know the way.”
He closed his eyes as she went to the door, then hesitated, to address him softly.
“I was so proud of you at Cummings’s office—the way you held your ground with him and Crawford. You were magnificent, Max.”
An involuntary spasm in his throat cut off any possible answer.
The door closed quietly.
Max gave himself over to the emotions shaking silently through him for long, tearing minutes. Then he took a breath and scrubbed his face dry with the back of his hand. A hand that was steady when he reached for his intercom.
“Marissa, have Rollo meet me in the gym.”
HE WAS WORKING the bag with short, hard strikes when he felt Rollo watching him. He was in no hurry to acknowledge the other, continuing to pummel the stiff canvas and leather with his bare knuckles until they stung and began to bleed.
“Keep your elbow in tighter to the body. That’s it. Nice form. Who taught you?”
Max stepped back and steadied the swinging bag with his fingertips. “I don’t remember his name. I was only about eleven. Some fellas roughed me up and Jimmy thought I needed to know how to defend myself the conventional way. Jimmy was always bringing in folks to teach me things. Boxing, martial arts, gymnastics, Latin, calculus. I can even play the piano. The perfect pet to perform at social events.” A quick jab sent the bag spinning. “T-John tells me you used to fight down on the docks.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Were you any good?”
“The best.”
“Now I am.”
Rollo smiled tightly. “Perhaps.”
“Shall we see? Just a friendly go-round. I find myself in need of working off a little aggression this afternoon.”
“You and your girl didn’t patch it up last night? I would have thought so, the way she came plowing into the club like an Arctic icebreaker to demand Amber surrender your jacket or lose her jugular.”
“Did she? Didn’t know. And no, we’re not together.”
“So you want to beat me up over it? Okay. You can try, but I only fight when there’s a wager involved.”
Max smiled, baring his teeth. “What do you want?”
Rollo shrugged. “A percentage. Think of it as retirement for your old man.”
“Okay.”
“How ’boutchu?”
“The truth.”
“About what? Your mama and me?”
The smile never faltered. “For starters. About anything I want to know. About all those secrets you never got around to telling me. About why you killed those two women.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Fair enough. You’re not going to beat me, you know.”
Max’s fist took him squarely on the jaw, sending him staggering back. As Rollo touched a hand to his bloodied lip, Max began to bounce lightly in his Converses.
“We’ll see. Consider me highly motivated.”
“You’re on, boy.” He charged in, looping an arm about Max’s neck and smashing him to the padded floor. With an agile twist, Max was on his feet. He was lighter and faster, but Rollo struck like a runaway cement t
ruck. His fist caught Max just below the ear and sent him stumbling.
Max shook it off and snapped off a sharp kick to the side of his opponent’s head, following it up with elbows to the body in quick succession.
Rollo shoved him and rubbed his ribs, grinning. “You’re pretty damned good, kid. Shall we take the gloves off?”
His hand fisted in Max’s shirt, yanking him forward so the top of his head took Max in the face. Then he flung the younger man into the free weight rack, where he slumped to the floor, momentarily dazed. Rollo picked up a twenty-pound dumbbell and swung it at Max’s jaw.
Max slid down onto his back to dodge the shattering blow and caught Rollo with a scissoring of his legs, flipping him hard into the bench press. Then they were both up, eyeing one another with respectful wariness.
“Why didn’t you marry my mother?”
Rollo weaved around the fast jabs Max flashed out at him.
“I asked. She wouldn’t have me. I wasn’t good enough for her family. They had other plans for her.” He pounded Max with a series of hard hits to the midsection, then sent him reeling back with an uppercut. “So I convinced her to run away with me. They never forgave either of us for it.”
“I have family? Where?” His heel connected with Rollo’s sternum, then sharply beneath his chin, toppling him like an imploded skyscraper.
On his way down, Rollo knocked Max’s feet out from under him with a sweep of his own. Then he was astride Max’s chest, his forearm pressed against his throat.
“They’re dead, boy. All of them. Your entire line was slaughtered. Every man, woman, and child—except you. And they’ll kill you if they find you.”
Max hooked his leg around Rollo’s neck, pulling him off and reversing their positions. “Who? Why?”
“You want any more answers, you’ll have to earn them.” His elbow socked Max in the temple, sending him sprawling. When Max came up on all fours, his eyes swam with red and gold. “That get your hackles up, son? Come on, then. Let the fur fly.”
A deep reverberation worked up through Max as the hands splayed wide before him began to change. His lips curled back from sharp teeth in a ferocious smile, and he lunged.
There was no finesse as they grappled on the floor; it was all about power and the willingness to inflict damage.
With a huge hand clenched on the thick cords of Max’s throat, Rollo leaned close to growl, “And what would your tough little Upright girlfriend think of you if she saw you now?”
Using his feet, Max flipped the older man over his head and rolled into a crouch. “She thinks I’m magnificent.”
That took Rollo by surprise. “She knows what you are? She’s seen what you’ve become?”
“Yes. And she’s not afraid of me.”
He chuckled. “I take it you haven’t tried to mate with her yet.”
“I don’t care to discuss my sex life with you.”
“I’m not talking about sex, Max. I’m talking about howl-at-the-moon mating, when the need to claim her in the old way drives you mad. You won’t be able to think of anything else, and she won’t want any part of what you have in mind.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rollo laughed. “Nature. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for you. Or should I say for her.”
Distracted and alarmed, Max allowed a hard punch to get through his defenses. Then he was all lethal focus.
“Is that what you did to those women?”
“Once you try it, you’ll crave it like nothing else you can imagine. How do you think you were conceived? In a nice hotel room on starched sheets? In the dirt, Max. On the ground on all fours, like the animals we are. And your mama, she was howling, too.”
Max plowed into him, rage overwhelming restraint or care. It was the reckless move Rollo had been waiting for. One big hand clamped over Max’s face, holding his jaws shut while his own huge teeth went for Max’s neck.
Max lurched to one side but couldn’t evade the attack altogether. Sharp agony stabbed through his upper arm just below the shoulder. He dropped to his knees, his world going black.
“Time to pay up, you cocky little bastard,” Rollo said smugly.
Max drew a deep breath. “Not yet.”
He struck with every ounce of his strength. The heel of his hand drove into Rollo’s Adam’s apple, dropping him onto his back with a gurgle of surprise. Then Max was on him, pounding with his right fist because his left was numb and useless, pounding until Rollo was no longer moving. He crawled off the unconscious figure, his head swirling as he examined his torn shoulder. He bound the savage wound as best he could, then gingerly put on his coat.
He didn’t remember leaving the building or the long reeling walk through the city. With his dark glasses on and his head down, he could have been just another weary visitor on the crowded streets. Except he left a trail of blood dripping off his fingertips.
HE SLUMPED AGAINST the doorframe, vaguely seeing the figure of a man straightening from his work under a bank of bright lights.
“Are you Devlin Dovion?”
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“Charlotte said I could trust you.”
“You must be her Max.”
Her Max.
His knees began to give. Then he was aware of supporting hands under his armpits.
“Good lord. You need to see a doctor.”
“I need to see you. I need you to do something for me.”
He just managed to get it all out before his eyes rolled up white.
CEE CEE REACHED for her desk phone. “Caissie.”
“Charlotte, this is Dovion. I need you to come over here, please.”
“Dev, I’m right in the middle of something.”
“This can’t wait. Now. And don’t say anything to anyone.”
Provoked by the mysterious summons to the morgue, she told Babineau she was going out for coffee.
More puzzled than alarmed, she left the bustling halls where lives could still be saved to travel down into the refrigerated realm, entering Dovion’s lair.
“Dev, what’s going on—”
She drew up short, her breath catching on the upward lunge of her heart. She made a small, injured sound as Dovion caught her by the elbows.
For there on one of his stainless-steel tables, his face as pale as the sheet draped over his motionless form, was Max.
“No. God. Please.”
“Charlotte, he’s not dead. He’s not dead.”
She looked at Dovion through wild, frightened eyes. “What?”
“He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s weak. I don’t know how he managed to make it here.”
She rushed over to Max, not daring to take a relieved breath until she felt his chest rise and fall beneath her hand. She touched his still features, noting the bruises and scrapes in surprise. What had weakened him so quickly he hadn’t had a chance to use his almost instantaneous healing powers?
She looked at the snug wrapping on his arm, then up to Dovion. “What happened?”
“He showed up here, bleeding buckets, and asked me to check his wound. Not to take care of it, but to document it.”
“What? Why?”
“He had me chart the bite radius and take photographs.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sank their teeth into him also killed Sarah Cummings and Vivian Goodman.”
She absently stroked his cool cheek, his hair, his chest, her hand shaking as her mind spun ahead. “Did he say anything about who it was? Did he mention a name?”
“No. He was pretty out of it by the time I got him on the table.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
“By the time I see them, I usually don’t have to give odds.” When her eyes filled up, he added hastily, “He’s fine. I got the bleeding stopped, but you need to get him to a hospital.”
“Did he ask you to call me?” Her voice was oddly fragile.
“That was my doing. Like I said, he was out of it. I
figured you’d want to come get him.”
She nodded. “Dev, I need you to work up the results, but keep a tight lid on it, okay? I want to get Max’s statement first.”
“You’re the boss.”
She pressed his arm. “Thanks, Dev. I owe you big.”
She made a quick call. Within ten minutes, Giles and Teddy arrived. They asked no questions, quickly doing as she instructed. Max was wheeled out a back entrance and loaded into the vehicle Giles backed in. She gave Teddy her keys and told him to follow with her car. Then she climbed into the backseat, cradling Max’s head and shoulders in her lap. As Giles piloted them into traffic, her control came apart in small fractures.
“What were you thinking?” she scolded Max quietly, her fingertips caressing his battered features. “If you had died, it would have killed me.”
His Adam’s apple moved in a slow swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, baby. I’m here. You’re going to be all right.”
His eyes blinked open to regard her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t leave me.”
Her throat tightened up painfully, making it hard for her to answer. Her voice was hoarse with tears. “I’m not going anywhere, Max. I’ll be right here. Close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”
He smiled faintly as his eyes slid shut.
She met Giles’s worried gaze in the rearview mirror.
By the time they reached the house, Max was stirring. Though disoriented, he was able to walk between them on wobbly legs. Cee Cee directed them into Jimmy’s office, afraid he’d never be able to make the stairs.
“Helen, I need some blankets.”
The ever-present housekeeper hurried off without comment.
Max slid bonelessly onto the leather couch, letting Cee Cee ease him down onto his back. He watched through half-closed eyes as she unlaced his shoes, then tucked the blankets Helen provided around him. When her hand got close enough, he curled his bloodstained fingers around it. His grip was surprisingly strong.
“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
“I love you, Charlotte.”
Her other hand stroked through his hair. “I know you do, baby. Should I call Dr. Curry?”
