by Nancy Gideon
Praise for award-winning author Nancy Gideon’s
“darkly compelling”* paranormal suspense series
CAPTURED BY MOONLIGHT
“These lovers have much to overcome, including their own self-sabotaging character traits. Gideon adds new clues and layers to her world while placing her protagonists in terrible danger, both physically and emotionally. A terrific series that thankfully leaves the opportunity open for future exploration!”
—Romantic Times*
“Exhilarating adventure . . . and extremely erotic sex.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Captured by Moonlight is profoundly moving as emotional challenges endlessly crop up amid the perilous danger.”
—Single Titles
“As good as if not better than its predecessors. . . . Gideon has written the perfect paranormal romances.”
—Romance Junkies
“A deliciously complex novel full of love and devotion, personal angst and paranormal intrigue. I highly recommend it.”
—Night Owl Reviews
CHASED BY MOONLIGHT
“Gideon does a terrific job with her world-building as her characters and readers discover dark and hidden secrets.”
—Romantic Times
“Another dynamic thriller in this series filled with exciting drama and erotic romance. . . . This book will keep your senses alert and the blood pounding.”
—Fresh Fiction
“An outstanding romance overflowing with emotional issues and innovative supernatural elements.”
—Single Titles
“The boiling-hot duo of Max Savoie and Charlotte Caissie returns, and the thrill-ride just keeps getting better. . . . This series is a must read!”
—Bitten by Books
MASKED BY MOONLIGHT
“A paranormal romance series with intriguing characters and zippy action. . . . Gideon masters the tension required to keep her complex and engaging story moving.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Definitely a series to keep an eye on!”
—Romantic Times
“Sizzling . . . dark and compelling!”
—Susan Sizemore, New York Times bestselling author
“Vivid, dark, and memorable. . . . I couldn’t put it down.”
—Janet Chapman, New York Times bestselling author
“The reader won’t find more excitement anywhere.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Brilliantly spellbinding with fascinating supernatural aspects, heated passions, and unanticipated dangers.”
—Single Titles
“An exceptional read. It will have the reader laughing one minute, crying the next. It’s a compelling story and a tremendous first book in Gideon’s new series.”
—Reader to Reader, NewandUsedBooks.com
“Darkness and danger never seemed more appealing. Gideon’s paranormal world comes alive with dynamic characters and seductive werewolf lore. A must read!”
—ParaNormal Romance Reviews
ALSO BY NANCY GIDEON
Masked by Moonlight
Chased by Moonlight
Captured by Moonlight
Available from Pocket Books
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Nancy Gideon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
First Pocket Star Books paperback edition August 2011
POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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Cover design by Min Choi
Cover art by Craig White
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4391-9948-0
ISBN 978-1-4391-9952-7 (ebook)
For my fabulous editor,
Micki Nuding.
Thanks for believing!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Prologue
Chapter One
Prologue
C’MON. C’MON.
She shifted from one foot to the other and scowled through the grated front window, unable to see anything in the dark, uninviting interior.
It’s not like I don’t have better things to do at the butt crack of dawn.
She checked the luminous dial on her cartoon character wristwatch, a silly gift from her father she couldn’t make herself toss away. It was the only thing from her past she’d hung on to. Everything else belonged to her new incarnation: Kikki Valentine, exotic dancer and reluctant temporary prostitute. Temporary because as soon as she had the money put aside, she’d enroll in a real school for dance and the past few months would just be a bad dream. At least that was the plan. But, lately, things weren’t going in the direction they were supposed to.
Lately, she’d been questioning a lot of things that had seemed like a good idea at the time.
She didn’t mind the life so much. It was hard, but she was tough. You gotta pay your dues, her daddy had always said, and this was a school with some pretty hard knocks. But weird shit was going on lately, the whispers passing from one girl to another. They were scared, and fear was like an STD. It spread everywhere if unchecked.
Some of the girls were even talking about getting away while they could.
But if she caved now and gave up her dreams, what would she have except more of the same dead end?
She’d always been the rebel, too impatient to wait for chances to come her way. Not the smart one, like her brother. Not the sweet one, like her sister. She was the one who was just a little harder to love, her mama had told her after one of many arguments. The others were praised for their academics and good behavior. That left her the all-time fuckup.
From the time she was a toddler, she’d wanted to dance. She wanted to be center stage, a star so bright no one could look away.
Rhythm beat in her blood, motion stirred through her soul. Music seduced her body the way a lover never could. She’d mastered pop-’n’-lock in grade school, was mimicking the steps in Dirty Dancing, Simply Ballroom, Step Up, Save the Last Dance, and Stomp the Yard as a preteen. At thirteen, she was sneaking into clubs with a fake ID just to dance, until she got caught.
She’d never fit into the home scen
e, anyway. Too many rules and regs. But lately she’d been thinking about maybe giving the folks and school another chance. Probably because of the weird shit.
She paced in front of the clinic, her feet pinched by her new boots, then tried the door again. Cupping her hands by her eyes to lessen the glare, she peered inside. No lights were on, just the familiar soft fluorescent glow. Damn, where was the doc? If she didn’t hurry she’d miss her bus, and she couldn’t afford a cab.
Maybe she could call home, just this once. They’d come get her. She was sure of it.
She straightened and glanced about her gritty surroundings. It looked like a scene from one of those end-of-the-world movies. Steam roiling out of the alleyways, swirls of white over oppressive gray, the empty streets bled dry of all life. In the grainy light she could see her reflection in the grated window: a cold, frightened little girl with teased auburn hair, hiding behind heavy makeup and garish clothes. Alone.
Then she heard a noise from around the corner of the building. The doctor—good.
“About damned time.”
She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under the toe of her platform boot, then stepped off the curb to check the alley. A vehicle was parked at the far end, squat and dark in the shadows and mist. She started walking toward it. She should have gone to the side door instead of waiting out front like an idiot.
Suddenly the headlights came on, bright and blinding. Shielding her eyes, she kept walking. “Hey, Doc, it’s me, Kikki. Turn those off, will ya?”
She heard the low purr of the engine coming to life, and stones crunched as the car moved toward her at a slow, stalking pace.
She froze, then started backing toward the street, hearing the girls’ whispers warning her to be careful, warning of the danger. She scrambled and ran, darting to the safety of the sidewalk. She fumbled in her purse, looking for her pepper spray.
The car edged into view, turning onto the street to stop in front of her. Then the passenger window slowly rolled down.
She exhaled a shaky breath. Probably just a john looking for some early action. She straightened, cocking her hip and tossing her head. Maybe he’d be willing to give her a ride to the bus station if she threw in a little extra. These new boots were not made for walking.
“Hey there. Lookin’ for a party?” she asked.
She started toward the car with an exaggerated roll of her hips to begin the bartering. The door opened. The figure bent toward her, and she started to smile.
“You nearly scared me to death, turning on the headlights like that. What—”
Strong fingers gripped her upper arm, pulling her inside the car before she could think to struggle. Her temple hit the door molding, making everything go bright and glittery like the New Orleans nightlife she loved. A sharp sting at the base of her throat, a flare of burning heat. Then nothing.
The door closed and the car moved in no hurry into the morning mists.
One
ONE GLANCE TOLD Charlotte Caissie what she’d feared from the start. The situation was high risk and potentially dangerous.
She visually swept the area, studying the scene with a cop’s attention to detail. The press were everywhere, seeking scraps to tantalize the public’s hunger for information. The more sensational, the better.
She scowled, wishing she had the authority to make the vultures scatter. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here in an official capacity, couldn’t brush them off with a flick of her badge. What the hell am I doing here?
The most controversial criminal figure in New Orleans stepped out of a sleek, dark town car, coming toward her with lethal grace and fixed intensity. A shiver rode across her skin. This was why she was here. Max Savoie had taken the place of crime kingpin Jimmy Legere, his dead mentor, with frightening competence and control. He’d built his reputation as Jimmy’s unflinchingly loyal enforcer upon tales of gruesome deeds. Rumors, because no one really had a clue as to who—or what—Max really was. Except her.
Savoie, with his dark, forbidding looks and ferocious silences, had become her obsession. A smaller prize wouldn’t have drawn her out into this terrifying arena. Less important stakes wouldn’t bring her to the most daunting endeavor of her career without backup. She cursed him under her breath, yet was unable to take her eyes off him.
Sleek, powerful, and deadly, he still provoked all her senses the same way he had eight years ago, when she’d seen him walk handcuffed through the station as if nothing could touch him.
Tonight he was the sophisticated image of a wealthy businessman, but tailored Armani couldn’t disguise his harshly cut features. A bristle of dark hair arranged by the drag of fingers, the solemn black brows above eyes like pale, impenetrable jade, added to his ruthless mystique.
Unblinking, unsmiling, he stepped right inside her guarded circle of personal space, and offered his arm. “Ready?”
Her hesitation brought no change to his expression. “If you want to get back into your cab, I’ll understand. I would be the last one to fault you for it.” He softly added, “Coward.”
Her spine stiffened. “I said I’d come with you, and I’ll stick it out.”
“Heroically spoken.”
“Now’s not a smart time to be amused at my expense,” she growled. “I’m only doing this for you.”
“I know.” He lifted her hand, pressing her palm to his freshly shaven cheek. “And that means everything to me. You mean everything to me.”
She swallowed hard, her fingertips tenderly stroking his jaw.
He leaned down slowly, making her breath catch, her eyes flutter shut. At the sound of his quiet chuckle, they flashed open again.
“You’re trying to distract me, cher. It won’t work. I’m not leaving.”
She shoved away from him to glare at the gauntlet before them. “Give me one reason why I put up with you.”
He smiled, heat kindling in his gaze. “Because you know that while everyone here is admiring how beautiful you look in that dress, I’ll be anticipating how beautiful you’ll look as I’m taking it off you.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Damned good reason. Okay, let’s get this over with.”
“Your enthusiasm is underwhelming, but the reward of seeing you naked will sustain me.”
She laughed and finally relaxed as her hand rested in the crook of his elbow. “Let the bastards do their worst. I’m ready for them.”
“Spoken like one of NOLA’s finest. Chin up, sha. Don’t let them see what frauds we are. The tough homicide cop and her mobster-beast boyfriend milling with the city’s best. Shall we?”
She hesitated, then said, “I love you, Max.”
His breath hitched as if she’d shot a round into his chest. Then his free hand slid over hers and pressed lightly. “That sustains me, too.”
And together they breached the society that shunned them.
She’d say one thing for her least favorite politician. Simon Cummings sure knew how to throw a wing-ding. He’d pulled strings all over the Crescent City to commandeer the streets surrounding Jackson Square for his block-party-style fund-raiser. The pre-ticketed event promised plenty of good PR for those contributing to the launch of his new foundation. Security was high to separate the curious from the guests and to protect the celebs from being mobbed by fans.
Charlotte groaned as they were approached by one of the off-duty cops hired to keep things under control. Donner, from Robbery. His smooth, dark face betrayed no emotion as his palm slapped against Max’s shirt-front.
“Sorry. Private party.”
“Sorry. Invited.”
Without breaking from the man’s challenging glare, Max carefully reached into his jacket, keeping one hand visible, and produced the embossed card. When the officer refused to look at it, he tapped it with one finger.
“That would be me.”
“I know who you are,” Donner snarled. “What you are.”
“And I believe you know my date. Who and what she is.”
Donner
’s gaze flickered to acknowledge her. “Caissie.”
“Donner. Are you finished, or are you going to piss me off even more by asking to see my identification, too?”
He stepped aside with a grim, “Have a nice evening.”
“Like that’s going to happen now,” she muttered to herself.
The instant they entered the roped-off area, the press swarmed them. Each garnered headlines on their own, but stepping out as a couple for the first time in public, they were media magnets. Scowling, Cee Cee fielded the rapid-fire questions with a crisp, “No comment.” Max never spared them a glance as he towed her into the fray, until Karen Crawford planted her microphone in his face. Before the Terror of Tabloid Journalism could begin her barrage, Cee Cee pushed between them.
“Back off, Crawford. I’m not on the clock and I don’t have to be polite.”
Her nemesis arched a penciled-in brow. Refusing to let age force her out of her youth-obsessed profession, Crawford now relied on pure shock value to sell herself. Her questions were precisely lobbed grenades. “Detective, this is a glamorous look for you. Obviously you’re enjoying the spoils of Jimmy Legere’s ill-gotten fortune.”
Direct hit.
“I buy my own clothes, Ms. Crawford. A job that you give very little credit to pays for them.”
“I hadn’t credited you with having good taste.” Crafty eyes swept over her escort. “Until recently.”
Max’s arm curled protectively about Cee Cee’s waist, protecting the reporter. “Ladies, play nice. This is a charity event, after all.” He smiled at the news-woman. “You’re looking very elegant yourself, Ms. Crawford. Putting our faces under your byline along with your lies must have paid you well.”
She grinned like a shark. “Not as well as an exclusive would.”
“Dream on, Crawford,” Cee Cee growled. “The only thing exclusive about him is me.”
The reporter chuckled. “Can I quote you? At five hundred dollars per ticket, you’ve come out as a couple in a big way.”
