Chased by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  His kiss reached all the way to her soul. Then he held her in his arms, smiling as he rocked her to the tender ballad. There was nothing in the world he looked forward to more than spending the night beneath his sheets with her. And waking up to her for the rest of his life.

  He felt Philo Tibideaux’s approach before he saw him.

  “I’m going to cut in here,” Tibideaux told them. “Max, Jacques needs to talk to you. It’s important. I’ll finish the dance for you.” He smiled, not without charm, when Cee Cee scowled at him. “You’re not gonna bite me again, are you, detective, darlin’?”

  Max glanced over at his table, where LaRoche was speaking urgently to someone he didn’t recognize. The mood was unmistakable.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told her, passing her to LaRoche’s second, then quickly stepping away.

  “No grabbing my butt,” she warned the grinning redhead.

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.” He handled her very carefully through some sassy turns. “’Sides, Max done told us what would happen if anybody put a hand on you in a way he doan like.”

  “Oh? And what would happen?”

  “Let’s just say identification by dental records and leave it at that.”

  That possessive bit of ruthlessness pleased her enough for her to relax.

  She watched the table, studying Max’s posture for clues as to what was going on. It was something serious; she could tell by the way he stood—still, straight, braced. LaRoche rose, placing his hands on Max’s shoulders as he spoke earnestly about something. Max staggered back as if he’d been struck.

  “Philo, what’s going on?”

  “Let them handle it, cher.” Tibideaux’s somber expression said more than his words.

  But she couldn’t heed his warning. Not when Max pulled free and wandered in a tight circle, his hands laced behind his head, his movements jerky with pain and upset. She planted her feet, refusing to move as she glared up at Tibideaux.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It be business, detective. It doan involve you.”

  “Anything that hurts him involves me in a big way. Now, what’s going on?”

  Even as she made that demand, Max looked at her. The revolving dance floor lights caught his gaze, flashing brightly on the sheen in his eyes. His features might well have been set in stone. Then he turned briskly away and followed LaRoche toward the rear exit, with several others trailing close behind.

  Tibideaux allowed her to leave the dance floor, but caught her arm once they reached Max’s table. “I’m to keep you here until they take care of things.”

  “What things?” She threw off his hand.

  “It woan take long.” Again, that grimness that suggested terrible deeds. “You stay put. Doan make me get unpleasant about it.”

  “You haven’t seen unpleasant yet.”

  He jumped in surprise when her gun barrel poked beneath his ribs. “Detective, you doan want to do this.”

  “Oh, but I do. And let me assure you, the bullets in this gun were specially designed with you in mind. You will take me wherever they’re going right now or I will blow a hole right through you. One that will never heal.”

  “Max will kill me.”

  “Max will not. He understands how . . . formidable I can be when it comes to him. I’ll determine whether or not it involves me.”

  Unhappily Tibideaux led her out the back door. Wet tread marks were still on the alleyway pavement, where a large vehicle had driven through standing water.

  “Where are they going?”

  Seeing no point in staying silent, Philo mumbled, “To the docks.”

  “My car’s out front.”

  At the prodding of her barrel, he led her around the building. “That’s a nice car!”

  “You’re driving.” She tossed him the keys. “And Savoie won’t be the one you have to worry about if you put a scratch on that paint job.”

  Philo Tibideaux believed her.

  “And you still owe me a camera.”

  MAX ENTERED THE cavernous warehouse with all senses tingling. Though it was dark they didn’t bother with lights, their eyes adjusting to the blackness. The sounds and scents of a small group somewhere in the center drew them onward through the maze of stacked goods. The air was redolent with the odors of brackish water, fish, starchy produce, oil, and machinery. And blood. That last aroma had them all on edge.

  “T-Beau, coming in,” LaRoche called out, his voice echoing back eerily.

  “Come ahead.”

  As they entered the central hub of the building, light flared, illuminating a dozen men armed with pistols or machetes, each cold of eye and attitude. On the floor, on his knees, was a single figure bound in heavy chains, a rough sack pulled over his head. That head came up from where it had sagged to a bloodstained shirtfront.

  “LaRoche, I should have known your treacherous hand was on this,” came a low, slurred snarl. “Who’s that hiding behind you? Show yourself, coward.” His voice shook slightly in uncertainty.

  LaRoche nodded to one of the men guarding the prisoner. The sack was pulled off his head. Rollo blinked against the light, then stared.

  “Is this your doing, boy?” Shock gave way to a shaky laugh. “I wouldn’t have guessed you had it in you.”

  “Where did you find him?” Max asked LaRouche emotionlessly.

  “Drinking away a wad of money up in Baton Rouge, right out in the open like he didn’t have a care in the world. Or like he was waiting for someone to find him—just like you figured when you sent us to tail him.”

  Max fought to control the feelings rioting inside him, betrayal not the least of them.

  “Didn’t I pay you enough?” he asked, his voice as sharp as the blade thrust figuratively into his heart.

  When there was no answer, his hands fisted at his sides. “How much?” he asked with lethal softness. “How much did it take for you to sell your own son?”

  Eighteen

  IT WASN’T LIKE THAT, MAX.”

  “Tell me what it was like, then. What did they offer you, if not money?”

  “My life. And while that may not have much worth to you, it’s quite valuable to me. Cummings owed me, but that greedy bastard wouldn’t come clean with the money, not even for the lives of his family. I had no choice, Max. I owe some dangerous people who are very unforgiving. It was the only card I could play.”

  “And now your miserable life has no value at all, fool,” LaRoche growled. Then he regarded Max somberly. “You know what must be done and quickly.”

  Max continued to speak to his father. “Why didn’t you come to me first?”

  “I didn’t know you. Why would you care if I lived or died?”

  “Because you’re the only family I have.”

  Rollo finally saw the magnitude of his mistake, and the only way to escape its consequences. “Let me make it up to you, Max. All those years. All that loneliness. I haven’t had anyone, either.”

  “The police know you killed those women. Noreen Cummings gave a statement.”

  Rollo shrugged with a callous indifference. “Easily remedied if she never makes it to court.”

  “Charlotte knows, too. Would you kill her as well?”

  Rollo was smart enough to be very careful there. “She would never say anything that might endanger you. She’s no threat to us.”

  “He endangers us all, Max,” LaRoche cut in coldly. “He brings attention to us from the news, from the police, from the public. He’s careless and he’s stupid. He brings your enemies to our door. For what? His own selfish business. He can’t be trusted. He’s already been judged. It’s only out of respect that we brought you here—not to ask your permission.”

  Max stared dispassionately at the kneeling man before him. The man who shared his blood, who’d given him life and precious little else. He was everything LaRoche described and probably worse. There was still defiance in his eyes, but behind it, the fear of a man knowing he was about to die. They m
ust have drugged him somehow, to have him at their mercy. And now, Rollo was at his.

  Max had killed countless times, without hesitation, without regret. Many of those deserved it less than Rollo—but they hadn’t been his family. And suddenly that made all the difference.

  “Let him up.”

  Rollo expressed a huge breath of relief.

  LaRoche stared at him, aghast. “Max, don’t be foolish.”

  “I’ll take responsibility for him.”

  LaRoche shook his head. “It’s too late for that. He’ll destroy us all.”

  “I’ll do anything you want, boy. Anything you want.” Rollo was nearly laughing at his good fortune. He lifted his shackled wrists to the silent sentinel beside him. “Uncuff me, you sorry son of a bitch. Didn’t you hear my son?”

  The man made no move, his questioning stare fixed on LaRoche.

  “It’s done, Max. He has to be dealt with. Don’t force us to include you in that judgment,” said LaRoche.

  “Oh, that would be a big, big mistake. And the last one you’d ever make,” said Charlotte Cassie.

  A small smile touched Max’s lips as she emerged from the darkness with her gun at the back of Philo Tibideaux’s head. “Excellent timing, as usual, detective.” He smirked at Rollo. “I told you there’s no one I’d rather have at my back.”

  Cee Cee shoved Tibideaux away from her and filled her other hand with her throw-down piece. “Where do you want me, baby?”

  He glanced at his fierce warrior mate with her sexy shoes, fists filled with firepower, and eyes hard as bullets. And he wanted her straddling him, riding him like a Grand Canyon pack mule.

  “Right there is fine. I trust you’ve armed yourself for the task at hand?”

  “With enough silver to make some great jewelry. Enough to take down anyone who makes a move on you. Any one or all.”

  “I love you, sha.”

  “Right back at you, Savoie. What am I interrupting?”

  LaRoche hadn’t reached a position of power by being an idiot. “Charlotte, don’t misunderstand the situation. Max isn’t in danger here. We just need him to make the right choice. Or to do nothing at all.”

  “Fill me in.”

  La Roche said, “This liar, this traitor to his own family, his own kind, sold Max to his enemies to save his own life. Enemies who will come here to kill Max.”

  Cee Cee studied Rollo for a moment. “You are dead.”

  LaRoche pressed on. “He’s dangerous, Charlotte. He has no loyalty except to himself.”

  “I know what he is.” She was remembering two bodies on Devlin Dovion’s table, the horror of their last minutes imprinted on her memory, on her abused and broken body, in that corner of her heart Max Savoie hadn’t quite yet conquered. The corner where fear and pain resided. “And I’m here to arrest him for the rape and murders of Sarah Cummings and Vivian Goodman, and the attempted murder of Noreen Cummings.”

  “Detective, if he was anything other than what he is, I would step aside and let you do your job. But I want you to think carefully about what would happen if you do. If, and that’s a big if, you could contain him long enough to actually bring him to trial, how long do you think it would take your superiors to discover that he is more than your average rapist and murderer? Do you think he’d go silently to his fate, or would he try to bring all of us down with him—Max included? And what do you think the reaction of the press and the good citizens of New Orleans would be?”

  Flaming torches and pitchforks. Now she understood what Max had meant.

  “Charlotte, I’m not making light of those women who lost their lives.” LaRoche’s expression was firm, his eyes betraying empathy. “We don’t condone the slaughter of innocents. Not ever. We’ll see he pays for them.”

  Cee Cee stood down. “You were right. This doesn’t involve me. This is your business, and as long as it doesn’t involve harming Max I’ll stay out of it.” She met Max’s flat stare with unwavering support. “Unless you ask me to make it my business, Max. Then I’ll step in with both feet—hard. Max? Where do you want me?”

  She hoped her words would make him take a step back from pure emotion to think, to consider what he was doing and why.

  He didn’t ask or answer.

  She’d worry about what was behind his silence later; for now she had a serious problem to tend to. She turned back to LaRoche. “He needs to disappear.”

  “I’ll give him everything I have,” Max said quietly. “Enough so he’ll never surface again.”

  Rollo jumped on that with desperation. “I’ll disappear. And before I do, I’ll lead them away from here, away from you, Max. I’ll tell them I was wrong. I’ll tell them I couldn’t find you. And you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “Let him up,” Max said again with hard authority.

  “I’m sorry, Max,” LaRoche told him. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Frantic because the chance of escape was narrowing around his neck like a noose, Rollo cried, “You don’t even know who they are. You don’t know who they’ll send. If you kill me, you’ll never know what to look for. You’ll never know when it’s coming. Max, I didn’t have to stay here as long as I did. I wanted to make sure you could protect yourself. I tried to protect you and your mother. Let me do what I can to save you now.”

  LaRoche warned, “Don’t let him deceive you, Max. He doesn’t care what happens to you or to us. He’s only thinking about his worthless hide. We don’t want to take steps against you, but we will stop you.”

  Cee Cee shifted subtly into a more aggressive pose, her cool stare in constant motion.

  “You can’t,” Rollo gloated. “You have no idea how powerful he is. You won’t stop him; no one can. He’ll tear through you and spit you out. They’re nothing to you, Max. I’m family. You’re above all of them and yet they won’t obey you. If they kill me now, do you think you’ll be able to stop them when they decide your girlfriend is a threat?”

  Max’s gaze shot over to Cee Cee, alarmed, then incredibly dangerous when he looked back to LaRoche. “Do what I tell you and let him go. Right now.”

  “Max, don’t listen to him.” LaRoche kept his tone reasonable, but around him his men were tensing, getting ready to take on a force they knew they couldn’t defeat. “We stood behind you because we believed in you, in your willingness to put us first, ahead of Petitjohn, Vantour, and those like them. To put our needs ahead of your own wants.

  “And you have. You’ve earned our respect and our loyalty. Detective Caissie has nothing to fear from us, because she is honorable and would lay down her life for you. As we would, without hesitation. As we do now with this danger that threatens you. We will fight to protect you, die for you if need be. Don’t ask us to die for the likes of him. Don’t ask her to. He would not do the same. Think about what you’re doing, what you’re risking.”

  “Kill them, Max,” yelled Rollo. “Kill them all! Who do they think they are? We are their gods. You are their king! They deserve to die for defying you. Destroy them, or they will destroy you.”

  The cold sheen in Max’s eye grew hot and golden. A low, vicious rumbling started deep down in his chest, rising like a fierce unstoppable tide.

  “Charlotte,” LaRoche called quietly. “If you can control him, do it now before we all die. We can’t back down from this—not when we know it’s right. He’ll know it, too, as soon as he’s thinking with his head instead of his heart.”

  “You don’t need them, Max,” Rollo called. “You don’t need any of them. They will crush you because you’re too strong and they fear you. I’ll stand beside you. Together we can rule all.”

  Charlotte put herself in front of Max, seizing his face between her hands even as it began to change. Lips curled back from the rows of sharp teeth, teeth that could tear through her like tissue paper. Until what she held on to wasn’t Max at all.

  No. That wasn’t true. It was Max.

  And Max would never harm her.

  She leaned
in closer, until his hot breath scorched her skin. Until the foreign fury in his bloodred eyes burned right through her. She stroked her fingertips over those altered bones, her touch gentle and gentling.

  “Max, please. Don’t do this. Don’t let him come between you and what you know is right. Between you and me. Please.”

  “You’d stand against me?” The deep, harsh growl was edged with raw anguish.

  “Never.” Her arms went around the neck that had thickened into a powerful ruff of soft black fur over bunched muscle. She drew him down so her cheek pressed to his, so his jaw and all those razor-sharp teeth were against her vulnerable throat. “Don’t let this hurt you. He doesn’t deserve your mercy, and he doesn’t deserve the loss of any more lives—not after the ones he’s already taken. Make it business, not personal, Max. For Sarah and Vivian. For Mary Kate. For me. We need justice, Max. Let it be done.”

  He took a deep breath, then everything about him was familiar once more. He leaned into her, his face tucked into her shoulder as she kissed his brow.

  LaRoche acted quickly, emotionlessly, crossing to the ever-defiant Rollo.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Rollo spat up at him. “I’m of pure blood. You can’t kill me. You can’t harm me with your silver bullets. Max!”

  With a deadly swish of sound, LaRoche’s machete took his head.

  Feeling Max recoil, Cee Cee clutched him tight, whispering, “Don’t look, baby.”

  But he was already straightening, drawing himself up to his coldly formidable height.

  Standing next to the headless body, Jacques LaRoche let the wicked blade drop to the cement floor. His hands spread wide. “Take me, Max, but let them go. They were only acting on my orders.”

  Max made no move toward him. There was no bitter heat of vengeance in his heart, just emptiness, as he turned and walked out of the light into the shadows.

  When Cee Cee started after him, LaRoche called to her. “Charlotte, what should we do here?”