by Nancy Gideon
The way she could still taste him.
“Leave no witnesses” was a cold but necessary practice that could mean life or death for her. But what an unfair reward for a good deed that would have been, for a stranger willing to risk all on her behalf. She stacked more glasses until her tray teetered as precariously as her reasoning . . . a tall, rugged reason clad in a dark suit coat, blue chambray shirt, and tie, over snug jeans.
There was something about a man in a tie and jeans. She sighed. Something best left alone. A male bearing a clan mark wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.
Nica slid her tray across the bar so owner Jacques LaRoche could unload it.
“Is, umm, everything okay?” he asked with the squeamish distaste males had for female matters.
She liked Jacques LaRoche, and lying to him wasn’t a necessity. “I was late for work,” she confessed. “No excuses. It won’t happen again. I didn’t ask Amber to cover for me.”
LaRoche’s brow lifted at her bold honesty. “She was being a friend.”
Nica nodded. “I’m taking table four for her.”
Jacques watched her walk away with a smile. Monica Fraser had saved a friend of his with her quick thinking, and he wouldn’t forget that. He’d given her a job as a way to thank her, and he’d been thanking his lucky stars ever since.
It took a special kind of female to work his crowd. She had to be easy on the eye without being easy in other areas. She had to have a sense of humor to handle bawdy talk without offense, and enough sense of self to know when to say enough was enough. Nica managed both things. She wasn’t beautiful or swimsuit-issue curvy like the rest of his girls, but she had her own kind of appeal with her long, lean, tomboyish shape hugged by a white knit tank top and skinny jeans. The fact that she didn’t bother with a padded bra in the air-conditioned room also appealed to the customers’ base instincts. The quick flash of her wide smile said she could give as good as she got, and that mass of glossy black hair made every male dream of sinking his fingers into it. She’d come out of nowhere, made his life easier, and he had no complaints.
He watched her handling the difficult customers at table four. They worked for him on the docks and would behave themselves if he stepped in. He let her take care of it in her own way, though he was ready to intercede if necessary. No one disrespected his crew, on the docks or in his bar.
She exchanged tart comments with a friendly smile, just the right balance of sass and flirtation. Two of the fellas grinned and enjoyed the teasing, but the third placed his big hand on her ass for an uninvited squeeze. Without spilling a drop from pitcher to glasses, she caught his hand with her free one, gripping his thumb for an almost casual twist that brought him to his knees on the floor in an instant. After she let go without a glance or a word of reproof, he slipped back into his seat to the demoralizing chuckles of his friends.
Jacques grinned and went back to clearing the bar.
Just then, a slight prickle of sensation disturbed him; a signal from his checker at the door that possible trouble had entered the club. His gaze lifted casually to the stranger at the edge of the room. A tall male with conservatively short brown hair and a five-o’clock stubble, wearing a suit coat and tie, and an attitude that said he could handle himself. He locked stares with Jacques, then started across the room with a purposeful stride. Maybe not trouble, but definitely something. LaRoche made a subtle gesture to stay his men, letting the visitor approach.
“Are you LaRoche?” His voice was deep and smooth, betraying no hint of his intentions.
“I am. And you?”
“Let’s say I’m an interested party.”
“And what are you interested in, friend?”
“I didn’t say I was a friend.” Very smooth.
Jacques smiled thinly. “Guess you didn’t. Best state your business, then.”
The visitor stood straight and sure, with no posturing or aggression, maintaining eye contact. His manner said, I could kick your ass, but I choose not to. Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. Jacques relaxed, knowing he wasn’t going to have to prove anything one way or the other. At least not yet.
“I was told you take care of things around here,” the man continued.
“By whom?”
He didn’t answer that. “I happened upon an awkward situation a few minutes ago that needs cleaning up before questions get asked. I don’t have the resources.”
Now he had Jacques’s attention. “Explain.”
“Two of our kind got themselves dead, not by my hand.” He gave the location. “Maybe you know them, maybe you don’t care. Just thought I’d give you a neighborly heads-up before the police get wind of it and start poking around.”
Jacques signaled a couple of his crew over and gave them the necessary details, along with brusque instructions to tidy the scene. Then he put a glass on the bar. “Thanks for the tip. Drink on the house?”
Silas MacCreedy shook his head. “Gotta be going. Have a nice evening.”
As he stepped away from the bar, Silas hoped it wasn’t a mistake to make himself known to the local clan. He’d been aware of this spot since his arrival in New Orleans, and had made it a point to stay away so they wouldn’t sense him. The success of his plans demanded he conceal what he was and what he was after.
He thought of that drink with a brief wistfulness. How long had it been since he’d shared a companionable glass with one of his kind? Too long to even remember. Too dangerous to even consider.
His mission was completed. He’d alerted them so they could protect the secrecy by which they all lived. Police involvement meant unnecessary attention. Let the clan of outcasts take care of their own, and he’d take care of himself. No need to get involved.
And then Silas caught her scent.
Just that hint, teasing like a whisper across his senses, sent a jolt through his system. His skin sizzled, his blood grew thick and hot, and his breath raspy. The instinctual response came from some unknown place deep inside.
His gaze swept the room, not pausing when it caught her tucked back in the shadows. Hiding from his notice? Perhaps.
The fact that his mysterious and fierce lone wolf chose to conceal herself amongst trusting sheep wasn’t his concern, so he continued out into the sultry night. There he rubbed his arms restlessly until the staticlike sensations eased.
This female was nothing to him. Nothing but trouble.
He remembered his younger sister Brigit teasing him that someday he’d be brought to his knees by fated sexual chemistry, by an irresistible pheromone drawing him to his mate. Then he remembered how he’d laughed at her, calling her a foolish romantic.
He wasn’t laughing now. But he was unbearably—and probably unwisely—curious.
Two
She must have left her backpack in the alley. Was there any chance it would still be there?
Nica watched the clock, anxious for her shift to end. Panic and nearly unmanageable waves of loss pushed her to make an excuse, any excuse, to race back and recover her property. Discipline held her in check. Pragmatism dashed her hopes.
It was gone. Gone, with all links to her identity.
No use crying about it now, she told herself as she blinked the hot anguish from her eyes.
The past was the past. She needed to concentrate on her soon-to-be-reclaimed future.
It was all that Shifter cop’s fault.
Had he followed her to the club? Had he been asking LaRoche about her? Maybe not, since Jacques had hardly glanced her way as business picked up and kept them scrambling. She had no doubt the quick deployment of his men had been to clean up after her. Usually she saw to that herself, but her would-be rescuer had upset her normal routine—and cost her the only thing she valued.
Nica waited impatiently behind two other waitresses so she could close out her drawer. They were taking a long time, chatting about their personal lives and musing over the mysterious stranger who’d come in. Her stranger.
Outsiders always
caused a stir. These castoffs survived by keeping their existence secret not only from humans, but from others of their own kind as well. A current of uneasiness surrounded them, a fear that had been an obstacle on her first few days of the job, until Amber decided to take her under her wing and make her into a confidante.
The outgoing Amber had proved a fount of information. Nica only had to ask why one of the back tables was held in reserve to hear all about their almost mythical leader, Max Savoie, and his human mate. They were currently out of the city, and without Savoie’s stabilizing presence, a nervous anxiety jittered through his clan.
Nica had no interest in local politics, nor did she want to involve herself with their worries. What she did need to do was remain invisible while she waited for instructions. But somewhere out in the night, two males knew she was not what she seemed, and had seen what she was desperate to hide.
So tonight she would go hunting to make sure her secret stayed secret. She’d seek her lost treasures afterward, even though it was killing her to wait.
Preoccupied by her dark intentions, Nica moved swiftly through the Quarter. Well after midnight, the streets still held pockets of activity: college kids scoring illegal drugs, businessmen bartering for sex in dark doorways, tourists happily barhopping, and local workers heading home. Neon and loud music beckoned along Chartres, but she passed those open doors without glancing in.
She needed to make a quick stop at home to restock supplies before getting down to business. With a quick swipe of her passkey, Nica waited for the green light and welcoming click, leaving the night’s humidity for a blast of air-conditioning inside the historic building remade into condos. She headed down the hall, across the inviting courtyard and into the other part of the building, where she pushed the button for the elevator. When the door opened, she stepped in and pressed four, just as another figure ducked inside. As the doors closed, she gave a restless sigh, her attention distracted.
“Tough night?”
There was no way to mistake that low, rumbling baritone with just a slight drag of the South beneath its cool, educated clip.
Nica made a quick sidestep but he was quick, too, snaking his arm about her waist to tug her close against him. He pressed the emergency stop button so the car shuddered to a halt between the third and fourth floors.
“Don’t get excited,” he cautioned. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
She laughed. “You should worry about your own safety, Mr. Hero. As you can see, I’m fine.” She twisted and gave him a push. His arm opened so she could move away. Her back against the reflective wall of the elevator, Nica assessed him warily.
In the small space, he appeared intimidatingly large. He towered over her even though she was tall for a female, and she found herself rather breathless at that slight sense of disadvantage. Not many males could gain one over her. He was big without being bulky, handsome without prettiness. That forbidden interest niggled its way back to the forefront.
“Those two who got away might come looking for payback,” he told her.
She sniffed. “Those two you let get away are looking for the deepest hole they can find. But that won’t save them.”
“Pretty ballsy of you to say so, considering I’m an officer of the law.”
“Here to arrest me?”
“No. That wouldn’t be in either of our best interests.”
“So which part of you is stalking me? The cop or the Shifter?”
“Actually, I wanted to return something to you.”
Her vision blurred as he lifted her backpack. She hesitated just an instant before taking it from him, then clutched the scarred leather protectively to her chest, her emotions swelling dangerously out of control.
“You didn’t have it with you when you came into the club,” she said faintly.
“I checked it at the door.”
She carefully felt for the lock that held the zipper closed—still intact. Relief shook through her as she whispered, “Thank you.”
She breathed his scent in—clean, steely, and cool. Powerful but not overwhelming, subtle without softness. She liked it. She gestured toward the stop button. “Do you mind?”
He nodded and let her put the car in motion.
“So,” she began as her confidence returned, “are you a Good Samaritan, or just stupid for wading into the middle of things that didn’t concern you?”
He chuckled. “That’s the thanks I get?”
“I already thanked you once,” she reminded him, her gaze going to his mouth before returning to his eyes. Gray eyes without the slightest warming of blue, beneath thick, short, dark lashes. Intense eyes that could cut like lasers. That made her cautious, but she liked playing with even a cool flame.
As the doors opened on four he followed her the few steps to her apartment, then waited while she inserted her key card and got the green light to go in.
“Maybe I should check things out for you,” he offered. Again, the chivalrous male.
She laughed and placed a hand upon the chest pocket of his shirt. Beneath it was firm, hard muscle. “If anyone’s waiting in there for me, they’ll regret their foolishness.”
A lift of one eyebrow. “Intriguing females have been known to make even clever men foolish.”
This chuckle had a husky warmth. “I doubt that happens often in your case.”
“Only when I’m distracted.”
“Are you distracted by me?” Her fingertips traced over impressive pectoral terrain before giving his tie a playful flip.
“By your purpose here in New Orleans.”
Nica’s eyes narrowed slightly. She didn’t want to consider him a threat. That wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable.
“I’m working as a waitress at Cheveux du Chien.”
He wasn’t buying it. “And you can afford a posh place like this on tips?”
“I’m very frugal with my money.”
“And with your facts.”
“Is this going to be an interrogation, or would you like to come inside so it can develop into something more pleasant?” She leaned toward him with a hint of invitation, her lips parting, her gaze warming suggestively.
His posture straightened to put a cautious distance between them, and it took Nica a moment to realize he was refusing her offer. She laughed to cover her surprise . . . and disappointment. Honorable males were so difficult. Especially when they were smart.
“Why did you coax those men into the alley to kill them?”
She blinked in pretended surprise. “Why would you think that? Those men attacked me. You saw that for yourself. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t come along when you did?”
“I suspect LaRoche’s men would have had four bodies to contend with. I’m not sure what you are, but innocent isn’t part of it.”
“What I am,” she told him, “is an independent, and none of your concern.” Her words were brusque and razor sharp. “I’ll make sure we don’t get in each other’s way so you won’t be inconvenienced further, on the job or off.”
He smiled then, displaying even white teeth and too much charm. “I wouldn’t call meeting you an inconvenience.” He nodded good night. “Make sure you lock your door. The Quarter can be a dangerous place. All sorts of predators here.”
Nica watched him return to the elevator, unsure whether she was relieved or regretful. When the door opened, she called, “What’s your name?”
He grinned. “Hero.” He stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.
Potential pain in the ass is more like it.
But she smiled as she shut the door and engaged both locks. He’d returned everything that meant the most to her in the world. She quickly spun the combination lock to get inside the pack, then pushed past the tools of her trade to get to the interior pouch. Nothing was disturbed. She sighed in relief as her hands stroked the battered bag.
He’d done her a great service, so she couldn’t reward him with death. But just because h
e hadn’t broken the lock didn’t mean her undeniably appealing hero wouldn’t pry into her other secrets. The prospect of their paths crossing again stirred a shiver of anticipation.
What was his game? A cop who didn’t arrest a killer. A Shifter who shied away from his own kind. There were several ways to find out what she needed to. Why had she tried seduction, her least favorite tool? He was annoyingly immune to temptation—and she was in danger of becoming intrigued, when indifference would serve her better.
Nica moved through the condo. Posh, he’d called it. She never paid attention to her living situation. Her first dozen years of life had been stripped to the basics, and those that followed were ones of discipline and deprivation. These rooms had been rented for convenience; comfort didn’t enter into it. Used to passing through as quickly as possible, she needed only a place to sleep and plan. But because he had mentioned it, she glanced around now, noticing how nice her accommodations were.
The walls were old brick, the local art bold with a jazz theme. Overstuffed furniture offered an oasis of comfort, as did the freestanding bar and small, gleamingly efficient kitchen area. A dining table for four stood unused. She ate her takeout meals from the cartons in front of the TV she’d yet to turn on. The high, pitched ceiling boasted a huge fan and a skylight offering a view of one of the massive City Central hotels. But it was the window-seat nook she focused on, where a pair of stained glass windows opened outward.
Kneeling on the cushioned seat, she cranked one window open all the way and slipped through it, pulling her backpack behind her. With the lights from the hotel to guide her, she moved in a low crouch along the tarred roof of the third floor until she reached the front of the building. Perched on the edge like a gargoyle, she smelled his scent on the warm evening air, its crisp note teasing beneath the odors of grease from the fryers next door and the trash set curbside for pickup.
Hunching down to be less visible, Nica scanned the parking garage across the street. In one of the darkened drives she saw a shadow that could have been a man. He was watching her—waiting for her to make a move.
