Bound by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  At the end of those sixty minutes, the sun was gone and he was treading carefully on unstable physical and mental ground, spooked and anxious.

  There were no more paths, just deceivingly quiet patches of green over black glassy waters. He was deep inside the treacherous swamps, with so much area still to cover. Soaked through, weary and chilled, he leaned back against the scaly trunk of a cypress tree, his gaze sweeping the gathering blackness as if it hid all sorts of unseen dangers from him. He took out his phone and felt water run out of it.

  “No. No. Charlotte.”

  He needed to hear her voice to keep from going under. Sinking fast, he shook the phone until the display lit up and, with a whisper of thanks, keyed in her message.

  Heya, Max.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and the terror fell away as her voice stroked him in a soothing caress.

  Missing you, thinking about you, wishing I was home sharing a meal, sharing a conversation, sharing a bed with you.

  Emotion rose fast and thick; images of her danced behind his eyelids. Charlotte smiling as she dropped into his lap with her cup of coffee on the wide veranda.

  Her feet in his hands as she spoke so passionately about the details of her case. The sound of her sigh, the weight of her palm rising and falling with his breaths as she curled close to him in the night.

  I do understand, and it’s okay.

  The screen flickered as the signal wavered and died.

  And he was alone.

  Charlotte, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here.

  He projected the words like a wounded cry, and almost at once sensations of heat brushed over him, around him, through him. The teasing scent of her Voodoo Love filled his nose, driving away the odor of dank waters. And he could hear her voice stroke across his mind.

  Come back, baby. Don’t open the door alone.

  I love you, sha.

  I want you, Savoie . . . I’m wearing new shoes.

  He wouldn’t have thought anything could wring a laugh from him under the circumstances, but it burst out so loud and sudden, it scared up a noisy flutter of wings from unseen night birds. Then the darkness settled once more. And his soul settled into a saving calm.

  After that, he had no idea how long he waded through the chest-high muck. Time only mattered as it applied to the frightened girl awaiting rescue. He no longer noticed his own fatigue. He was pure power now, tough and fierce concentration. Lamb’s trail was stronger here, brushed across dangling leaves and hanging moss, imprinted on bark and lily pads.

  Then, finally, a different scent.

  The metallic bite of blood and suffering and fear. Of Kelly Shoenbaum, and the girl on Dev Dovion’s slab. And of dying horribly.

  He shut his eyes as the rain of bloody pearls began.

  Run! Run! Don’t look back, Max. Don’t look back.

  Then it was gone. The shivery nausea, the shadowed memories. Trapped behind a closed door.

  And he moved on.

  The stilt house was so covered with moss and vines, it seemed organic. Nothing about it suggested it held a living being, but Max could sense her there, could hear her faint respirations.

  The door held another of Donald Lamb’s exceptionally sturdy locks. Max tore through the wood panel with the rake of his claws and punch of his fist.

  She was on the plank floor, blindfolded, her mouth taped, hands cuffed, ankle shackled to the wall. Her nude body was ravaged by abuse, bug bites, and starvation. She huddled, alarmed by the sound of his entry, too weak to do more than whimper.

  He’d claimed not to care about this girl, but there was no way he could look at her and not be moved.

  “Kelly,” he said in a low voice, “my name is Max. Your daddy sent me to bring you home. Don’t be afraid. No one’s going to hurt you ever again.”

  CEE CEE PACED the parking lot at the Cajun Life museum for at least an hour. Max had telegraphed that single image to her, but nothing about what it meant. Giles had picked her up at Oscar’s insistence that Max needed them and that they should hurry. They waited with her, along with an ambulance and Kelly’s anxious father, in hopes of a good outcome.

  She stopped suddenly. Max.

  She could feel him. Could feel his fatigue and the chaos of his emotions, but that was all. He wouldn’t let her get closer. So she waited and worried, and nearly wept when he emerged from the trees carrying a blanketed figure in his arms.

  “Kelly!”

  She put up a hand to halt Stan Schoenbaum when Max jerked to a standstill. “Wait, Stan. Just wait here.”

  Let her be alive. Let her be alive.

  She couldn’t read anything in Max’s face except weariness. He looked terrible—scratched, filthy, and exhausted.

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  “Yeah. And so is she.”

  Uttering a soft thanksgiving, Cee Cee gestured for the gurney. Schoenbaum raced ahead of it to take his daughter from Max’s arms, weeping unashamedly. When he’d assured himself that she was breathing, he looked up at Max, relief and gratitude twisting his features.

  “How can I thank you?”

  “Don’t mention my name as being part of this.” He took a step back, his eyes going flat and cold. “I found I couldn’t blame the daughter for the father’s sins.” And he turned away, walking toward Giles and Oscar where they waited by the car.

  As Kelly was placed on the stretcher and her vitals quickly taken, Cee Cee hurried after Max. He turned when she called out to him, his glance lowering to her Doc Martens.

  “Those aren’t new, and they’re not terribly sexy.”

  “I wanted to give you some incentive.” She embraced him tightly, complaining, “Geez, you stink.” That didn’t keep her from running her fingers through his hair, from tipping his head down so she could kiss him softly. “Thank you. I gotta go with them.”

  “I know. I need to go home and shower for about two days.”

  “I’ll see you later, Savoie.”

  She moved back so he could continue to where Giles and Oscar waited.

  THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR hours were a media circus.

  All business, wearing a sober jacket over dark jeans and an elegant string of pearls about her neck, Detective Charlotte Caissie, with Stan Schoenbaum, gave a press conference concerning the rescued victim whose identity was being protected. They cited the teamwork of their two units for their success in ending the Tides That Bind killer’s spree. Schoenbaum’s voice betrayed only the slightest tremor when he relayed that the young victim’s status was guarded, but that a full recovery was expected. Neither could be lured from their statements when Karen Crawford asked for the name of a mysterious citizen who carried the naked girl out of the bayou, protecting her own source for that leak as confidential.

  Watching the press conference from the overly bright showroom floor of the Sweat Shop, Alain Babineau smiled.

  Good for you, Ceece.

  “Mr. Babbit, isn’t it?”

  Babineau turned to regard Simon Cummings in surprise. “Yes, that’s right. You remembered.”

  “There’s very little that slips by me.”

  “Mr. Blu isn’t in yet. And I was just leaving.”

  “Then maybe you’ll let me buy you a meal, and we can discuss people and things we might have in common.”

  “All right. Hey, Barry,” he called to the bartender. “Heading out. See ya tomorrow night.”

  “Laissez les bons temps rouler.”

  Babineau waved a hand and followed the businessman outside.

  Cummings picked a place several blocks away, where the light was low and the scent of grease and hot sauce was part of the ambiance. “I love this kind of food. It’s worth the morning jog through Audubon Park to pay for the occasional indulgence.”

  While they waited for catfish and fried okra, Babineau said, “Thanks for not giving me up to Blutafino.”

  “Babineau, right? I remember you as being the cooler head of the partnership. I thought you were Homicide.”
/>   “On loan to Vice.”

  “After Manny?”

  “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  “Integrity. Good. I’ve heard positive things about you, Detective, and I checked. I like to know as much as possible about people before I make an investment in them.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  “I remember my friends and reward them. When I get into office, I’ll be making some significant changes. Those who stick by me will benefit from them. I’m not stopping at mayor, and every administration has a place for men of integrity.”

  “I have a job, Mr. Cummings, but thank you.”

  “And you have a modest paycheck that demands more than it returns, and a partner who garners all the attention and commendations because of who she’s sleeping with and who her father was partnered with on the streets a long, long time ago. That has to annoy even a man of integrity.”

  Babineau placed his palms on the table and began to rise. “Thank you for lunch, Mr. Cummings.”

  Cummings laughed. His hand pressed Babineau back into his chair with surprising strength. “Loyalty. That’s another quality I’m looking for. I have nothing against your partner. She’s a fine officer, but her career is becoming a bit too . . . compromised for what I’m looking for.”

  “And what are you looking for?”

  “Stepping-stones to a senate seat—and beyond. The right people: good, decent people in the right places who remember who helped them get there. The commissioner is a close friend. My opinions carry weight with him. I could fast-track a career for the right individual.”

  Babineau leaned back in his chair, suspicious and tempted. “And what would this individual have to do?”

  “His job. I want to make a strong stand against crime, Detective. I want people with me who will be assets, not roadblocks. You’re in a position, should you decide to stay undercover, to be one of those assets. I need to bring down an element in our city that’s had free rein for too long.”

  “Blutafino?”

  “Him, and those he associates with. If you’re interested I’d like to share my plans with you, starting with what I was doing at his club when we bumped into each other. But first, let me ask you something, Detective. Would you have any problem helping me tear down Max Savoie and that crooked empire built by Jimmy Legere? If you have reservations because of his relationship with your partner, I’ll understand.”

  For a moment all Alain Babineau could see was Savoie’s smug face as he drawled, “She said it was nothing.”

  “No, Mr. Cummings. I’d have no problem at all.”

  Twenty-three

  MAX STOOD AT the edge of the skeletal wall, twelve stories up, with nothing between him and an open view of the city.

  “Not going to jump, are you?”

  Charlotte could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, “Not today. How did you get up here? This is supposed to be off-limits.”

  “Not to the long arm of the law.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and put those long arms around me?”

  “Why don’t you take a few steps back first?”

  A chuckle. “Afraid of heights, Detective, or just the fall?”

  “Actually, it’s the sudden stop. If I were afraid of falling, I wouldn’t be here.”

  He turned toward her and the wind caught his raincoat, flaring it out behind him like black wings on a dark angel. Her breath caught, partly due to the danger, partly to the delicious drama of that pose. This was the way she always thought of him: alone, arrogantly braced before the elements, powerful, and harshly gorgeous. Once he’d been hers—now he belonged to many.

  He waved his arm wide. “What do you think of the Towers?”

  They were called the Trinity Towers, three bold spires rising from bleak surroundings with bold hopefulness. The unifying three-floor triangular base would boast trendy shops and offices, the two outer eight-story towers, plush condominiums. The central spear, jutting like a defiant middle finger to flip off an uncaring city, would house those Max protected and now would be able to shelter. She thought the concept was magnificent. She thought he was, too.

  “I’d prefer some glass between me and that long fall.”

  “This floor is the last to be closed in. I was thinking I might like to have it.”

  “For what? Offices?”

  “No, I like to keep my feet on the ground for business. I was thinking I’d like to have a place to stay in the city.”

  “And you need a whole floor?”

  “So I can see both the city and the river. Close to work for those late nights. What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Living here.”

  Was he asking her to live here with him? Her heart jumped to a quick yes, but her mind was cautious. She made a point of looking all the way down the long, long distance to the far end of the building.

  “I guess it would be all right if you wanted a bowling alley or a shooting range.”

  His smile unfurled slowly. “I’d planned to put up a few walls, but if you want a bowling alley or a shooting range, it’s not too late to talk to the architect.”

  Here she was, at the cusp of taking that next frightening step. As much as she wanted to go forward, part of her still wasn’t ready. So she took cover behind her job. “Atcliff wants a decision on whether I stay with Homicide or assist Vice. Any opinion on that?”

  “It’s nice to be asked. This would be a very nice place for me to keep my very sexy mistress. Then we wouldn’t have to go to shabby motels.”

  She smiled. It would be the perfect cover, keeping her in the game and allowing them to spend more time together. “Always thinking ahead, aren’t you, Savoie? Babineau is staying on with Vice. He’s gotten the go-ahead to bring down Manny Blu now that he’s inside.”

  “Then he’ll be staying undercover.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve told Tina and Oscar they can stay with me at the house.”

  She nodded. “They’ll be safe with you.”

  “I saw you on the news,” he mentioned. “You looked good. I seem to remember owning a jacket like that.”

  “Hmmm, what a coincidence.”

  “You wore the pearls I gave you.” His tone wasn’t so casual now.

  “They looked good with the jacket.” They’d made her feel close to him. She hadn’t been back to their room at home since he’d moved Tina and Oscar in with him.

  Their circumstances had changed so fast, she didn’t know how to get things back to where they’d been before.

  “How’s the little girl?” He angled away from her, his movements restless now.

  “Doing well, considering. She wants to thank you.”

  “Not necessary. Better she forget about my part in it.”

  “I can tell you from experience that won’t happen. You’re a hero to her—the one who rescued her from hell.”

  “I’m no hero,” he growled. “I would have left her there, to punish an injury done to me over twenty years ago.”

  “The way Jimmy would have? But you’re not Jimmy. You couldn’t turn your back. That’s not who or what you are, Max.” There was no doubt in her voice, or in her mind.

  He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “Why are you here, Charlotte?”

  “There are some things I need to tell you, and I wanted to do it face-to-face this time. I’m taking a short leave of absence. I’ve got things I need to deal with before I can go forward on anything else.”

  “Am I one of those things?”

  “I’ve got a flight to California in the morning. I got a call from Mary Kate’s doctor. She’s semiconscious. She’s asked for me.”

  “And you don’t want me with you?”

  “Not this trip, baby.”

  “Why not? I love you, Charlotte. Why can’t I make you happy? Why won’t you let me make things easier for you?”

  She shook her head. “You do. I’m crazy about you, Savoi
e. Always have been, always will be. There’s nothing I want more than to just stop the world and lose myself in you.”

  “Then do it.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes full of conflict, full of yearning.

  “I want you, cher. When I was asked what was closest to my heart, there was only one answer for me. It was you. Just you.”

  He slowly sank down to his knees before her, then his hands curled lightly around her ankles as he laid his cheek atop her feet, his eyes closed. A gesture so totally submissive, yet backed with such amazing strength, her heart dropped into her shoes.

  Pushing her toward taking that step.

  “Oh, geez. Get up, Max. Get up.”

  She knelt awkwardly. When she couldn’t pry him up she leaned over him, circling his strong shoulders with her arms, nestling her face in his dark hair to whisper, “I love you, baby. And I need to take care of this. I’ll only hurt you if things stay the way they are.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do, Max. If I didn’t, I’d just hang on tight and let you deal with everything.”

  “Let me, sha. Let me take care of you. I will. I promise.”

  “I don’t want you to take care of me, Max. I want us to take care of each other. I’m not unhappy because of you. It’s the things I can’t face in my past that keep me from being all the things you need me to be. The things you and I both deserve.

  “I need to open my closet and clear all that ugly shit out of there, and I have to do it now, before I damage what I care about most.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “My future with you. I haven’t been able to deal with what happened to Mary Kate, but I’m ready now. All I need is for you to tell me you’ll be here when I get back.”

  “Right here in this spot or in the general vicinity?”

  A snort of a laugh escaped her, and she looked into his eyes to see the unwavering devotion there. He’d wait. Forever. “Savoie, you drive me crazy.”

  “And you love that about me.”

  The truth of that statement centered her. “Yes, I do.” She touched his face, and was lost at the rough feel of him beneath her fingertips.