by Nancy Gideon
Nearly blubbering in terror, Nash forgot all other loyalties. “We was making extra cash working for Mr. Blutafino. Please don’t kill us!”
Max stared dispassionately at the groveling figure clutching at his pantleg. “What kind of work?”
“He’d give us a list of names and we’d bring ’em to him. We didn’t hurt ’em, I swear we didn’t.”
“Shifter females?”
The bowed head bobbed rapidly.
Max exchanged a look with Silas, who was equally puzzled. “What did he do with them? Turn them out as prostitutes?” he asked Nash.
“No. I don’t know.”
“Which is it?” Max demanded.
“He was selling them,” Nash cried out. “I think he was selling them to some medical clinic up north.” He cowered on the bare board floor, watching Savoie’s inscrutable features for a clue to his fate.
Selling their own kind, females, for God knew what kind of abuse. If Savoie wanted to kill them, MacCreedy wouldn’t stop him. These two scum were witnesses whose testimony could never be permitted to come out into the open for fear of what they might give away. So, what to do with them?
Savoie glanced from the huddled creature on the floor to Silas. “You said there were four of them. Who killed the other two?”
MacCreedy’s jaw tightened.
“It was that she-wolf what got them,” Nash spoke up. “The one I was telling Mr. Creed about.”
Max gave Silas a stare that silently asked, Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? Then he turned back to Nash. “Tell me.”
Eager to earn his favor, Nash spilled everything. How Amber, a waitress at the bar, had tipped them that the Upright cop was asking questions about the females who’d gone missing, and how LaRoche had made Amber give up their names to the detective. How they’d waited for Caissie to come out of the bar alone—to scare her, Nash emphasized, not to harm her.
“She doesn’t scare,” Max advised flatly.
Nash swallowed hard. “Nossir, she don’t. She put one in Willis and things kinda got outta hand.”
“And did you put those hands on my mate?” Savoie asked, as low and deadly as a suddenly unsheathed blade.
No male who wanted to go on breathing touched another’s mate. It was quick and violent suicide. Realizing that, Nash amended, “That was Mickey. He roughed her up some and then . . . and then the other one, she was just there. Red eyes and fangs and ready to tear us to shreds, until LaRoche came outside and she changed back so he wouldn’t see what she was.”
“A female shape-shifter,” Max said, apparently having no trouble believing it
Nash nodded. “Scared us spitless. We musta run miles just to make sure she wasn’t behind us.”
“Who is she?”
“Never seen her before. Never want to again. Ask your buddy there. He got up close and personal with her after she tricked us into coming after her in that alley the other night. Wasn’t sure until just now, but he was the one who grabbed onto her while we was getting away, after she kilt Mickey and Len.”
Again, Max’s reassessing gaze touched on MacCreedy before he replied, “You saw what she is, and now she wants you dead. Is that about it?”
“And Creed said he’d help us get outta town ’fore the law or Mr. Blutafino was the wiser.”
“Sounds like a smart plan. Let me talk a minute with Mr. Creed while you get your belongings together.”
Silas followed Max out onto the porch.
“Tell me about this female who changes shape.”
Silas had no obligation to protect Nica after she’d tried to rip out his throat. And he knew it was in his best interest to hand the matter over to Savoie and walk away, safe from her retaliation. But he’d tasted her lips. He’d known a harshly beautiful pleasure within her body. To betray her as if she meant nothing went against his conscience, stirring up a rebellion between his heart and mind. He knew she was a danger to him and his plans, yet he couldn’t suppress the fierce, possessive need to keep her from harm at his enemy’s hands.
“I can introduce you,” Silas began carefully. “If you promise to keep things civil.”
Complex emotions flickered across Savoie’s face: annoyance, amusement, curiosity. Then he smiled, showing his teeth. “No need for it to become anything else. I’ll call our transportation back while you see to our friends.”
Silas watched Savoie move to the end of the dock, his steps sure and relaxed. Could he be trusted? Absolutely not. Was there any other choice? None came to mind. MacCreedy reminded himself that this was where he needed to be in order to see his goals accomplished. That’s where he needed to focus.
The sounds that came from within the shanty could have been Nash gathering their meager possessions, but instinct told MacCreedy to be wary as he approached. His senses were suddenly alive and tingling.
But caution couldn’t prepare him for the bloodbath inside the small room. Arterial spray striped the walls, and what was left of Nash and Willis would tell no tales.
“Son of a—”
A hand clutched his throat, squeezing off further sound as he was pushed against the wall with a force that made it tremble. Another hand clamped over his mouth.
MacCreedy hadn’t felt her presence but now her scent overwhelmed him, rushing to his head like brain freeze to ache and paralyze. When he tried to struggle she began a slow compression, blocking his airway until dots of blackness swirled across his vision, obscuring her cold, deadly features. She leaned close. He couldn’t turn his head away.
“I’m sorry, lover,” Nica whispered against his ear, her breath soft and warm. “Try not to feel used. I couldn’t afford to let them live, not after what they’d seen.”
He’d led her right to them! Humiliated fury returned strength to his resistance, but she quashed it easily with the press of her body, with the tightening of her hand. His senses swam and began to fade as she advised, “Don’t fight. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He reached up, clasping the hand over his mouth. She let him pull it away without loosening her stranglehold.
“I’ve seen what you are, too,” he goaded hoarsely, too angry for fear as he felt the sting of her claws at his jugular. “Aren’t you going to kill me, too?”
She chuckled and leaned in closer, until her lips caressed over his with a taunting tenderness. “Shhh. Not yet, hero.”
She stared into his eyes, hers all glittery promise. Silas was lost in them as in a mesmerist’s crystal, seduced by their dark brilliance, held prisoner there by his own confusion. He could feel her hot, smoky desire for him and crazy things drifted through his fogged thoughts. Stay with me. Don’t go. I can protect you.
Maybe that desire was a two-edged sword.
The press of her lips softened, conforming to the shape of his. Her fingers relaxed at his throat, a second of weakness. He gripped her forearms, spinning her around so her back was to the wall and his formidable size imprisoned her there. She didn’t resist, for the moment content to submit. They exchanged hurried breaths and fierce heartbeats.
Then they heard the sound of Savoie’s approach.
Nica’s glance darted to the door, her need to escape breaking the thick, sensual haze between them, and she struggled to free herself.
Once he saw the carnage strewn about the cabin, Savoie’s first instinct would be to kill her. Silas’s grasp loosened. Her lunge to the side unbalanced them, and they went down hard on the floor. As she scrambled over him, the door opened.
Max’s first glance interpreted the situation as life threatening. The force of his backhanded blow sent Nica across the room. He swiftly knelt beside Silas to check his condition, then he rose up purposefully, nails lengthening into claws as his attention turned to the dazed assassin.
Silas’s reaction was as instinctive as it was bewildering. He gripped Max’s ankles, tangling his stride and bringing him crashing to the floor as Nica leapt to her feet and disappeared through the rear curtain.
As he
held on to Savoie’s writhing legs, Silas realized his foolishness, but contained him until he was certain of Nica’s escape. The second he eased his grip Savoie was on him, his hand fitting the mark Nica’s had left on his throat. Silas put up his hands.
“You better explain yourself before I bury you along with them,” Savoie demanded, his grasp opening so Silas could breathe.
“They were already dead,” he rasped out, rubbing his abused neck. “If she’d wanted to, she’d have killed me before I crossed the threshold.”
“Why did you stop me from going after her?”
“Because she did what we couldn’t make ourselves do. She got rid of a problem that was going to bite us in the ass.” Seeing he had Savoie’s attention, he continued, “They were taking money for the sale of innocent females. Our females. Do you seriously think any amount of cash or distance was going to keep them quiet about what they were doing, about what they saw? I don’t have that kind of faith in their integrity. Do I approve of what she did? No. Do I regret it was done? I don’t think I do.” If Savoie wanted to kill him for that honesty, so be it.
Silence stretched out as Max considered his words. “I can still track her.”
“No need. I know where she’s going.” He smiled wryly. “She’s not afraid of us, and she’s not going to hide.”
“Let’s clean up this mess.” Max put down his hand, grasping MacCreedy by the forearm to haul him to his feet. “Then it’s time for that introduction.”
It took a lot of hot water and lather to scrub the stench of the swamp off her skin. Wrapped in an oversize towel, Nica padded into the bedroom to pull a tube of scented body lotion from her backpack. Warming it first in her palms, she began to smooth it over her legs as her mind spun.
Leaving MacCreedy and Savoie alive was a problem, but one she could handle. She had no doubt about her abilities. What she’d begun to doubt were her intentions.
Her MO was quick in-and-out, no time for attachments. She never got close enough to care, so if she had to exterminate an unexpected risk, she could take care of it without hesitation.
MacCreedy made her hesitate. And damned if she knew why.
She rubbed on the moisturizer with quick, aggravated motions. He stirred feelings up inside her. Agitation, uncertainty, and worst of all, anticipation. She looked forward to their confrontations. MacCreedy made her feel restless and unsettled, unsatisfied.
It was more than sex. She could indulge lust without conscience or complication. She’d enjoyed other attractive males before, slaking her needs and her interest in them on her own terms and timetable. MacCreedy was upsetting both.
He’d kept Savoie from pursuing her. Why? It wasn’t a logical choice. She’d pegged Silas as methodically intelligent and admired that about him. He should have let Savoie go after her rather than creating tension between himself and the dangerous Shifter king. As a stranger to New Orleans he needed strong connections, yet he’d risked them for her. Finding no answer why chafed her uneasiness.
The soothing vanilla notes of the lotion warmed with the heat of her skin, but for once the familiar scent and its subliminal associations failed to calm her. She rested her cheek upon her updrawn knee, her brow furrowing.
What was MacCreedy’s angle? He had to be up to something, want something. Her anxiety twisted tighter. She shouldn’t be analyzing her feelings for MacCreedy. She shouldn’t be thinking about him at all, except as a potential liability.
And now there was Savoie to worry about, as well.
How could she gain the upper hand? Though it went against her independent nature, she needed someone to have her back.
Going into the kitchen, Nica poured a glass of the pinot gris and as she sipped, she began to smile. She needed an ace, an unexpected card that would flip things in her favor, and her past would provide it.
Nica reached for her phone and dialed. “Hello, Lottie. I know it’s late, but could you meet me for a drink?”
Nica had lived at St. Bart’s from the time she was seven until she ran away at twelve. Unlike most of the orphans there, she hadn’t thought of it as a home or salvation. To her, it was a prison.
Having survived on the streets, roaming the shadows with a feral band of discarded children, she’d learned the skills necessary to escape notice and capture: how to hide, how to lie, how to steal, how to kill, and how not to trust. The walls and rules of St. Bart’s smothered her. Overtures of care or affection were greeted with hostility and suspicion. Only three breached her instinctive guard. Father Furness, who’d refused to give up on her, she respected; Mary Kate Malone, who was like a fairy princess in the storybooks she devoured, dazzled her; and Charlotte Caissie, who treated her like an annoyance, was her idol.
Father Furness took her in without question. He told her she’d have a safe place to sleep, eat, and learn, if she’d abide by the ten very difficult commandments that governed his spiritual life. At seven she’d already broken a considerable number of them, but he told her with infinite patience what was past was past.
He didn’t understand. She didn’t need or want his rules or forgiveness.
At first she’d considered him a foolish mark, with his unrealistic ideals and tender heart. Then he’d come upon some street toughs who’d surprised her on her way back from school. He’d waded into them like a holy fury, then carried her the remaining blocks home within the strong wrap of his arms. In those moments, she’d felt a security she’d never known before. He was the only one who’d ever come to her defense without an agenda—until Silas MacCreedy. Or so she’d wanted to believe.
Truth had a way of crushing trust. Father Furness had sheltered her because of the special talents he’d kept a secret from her. MacCreedy had been working on a case.
But still, in those first moments, when he’d thought she was the victim, he’d risked breaking cover to come to her aid. And he’d kept Savoie from coming after her today. Neither intervention had been necessary, and both left a trembly confusion in the pit of her belly whenever she thought of him.
So she wouldn’t think of him. She’d look into her past.
Mary Kate Malone had been everything Nica dreamed of becoming, but knew she never would. Beautiful, carefree, generous, filled with laughter and love. She’d adopted Nica like a little stray, showering her with attention and small gifts and affection, which were received with wary caution. It simply astounded Nica to think such things could be so freely given, with no strings attached. So she watched for them, waiting for the trap to spring. It never did. Mary Kate Malone might have been the first and only human she’d loved with a child’s desperate greed.
Lottie Caissie was as different from her best friend Mary Kate as night and sunny day. Like Nica, Charlotte was dark souled and distant, an outsider who preferred to observe rather than participate. Her father was a cop, which made her immediately suspect. But when the older girl had caught Nica lifting her cigarettes and change, instead of reporting the theft, Charlotte had told her to apologize and mean it. Nica had and did, because Lottie had told her if she tried to steal from her again, she’d be in a body cast. Nica believed her, and admired that honorable fierceness. Honor was a mystery to her, a luxury she couldn’t afford, balanced against survival.
It was Charlotte who taught her how to throw a punch and how to roll with them. From her stoic tutor, Nica had learned to adapt without submission, and how to get what she wanted without guile or lies, though her own way was far easier. While she coveted Mary Kate’s glamour and femininity, it was Charlotte’s impressive swagger she mimicked.
It still impressed her. She smiled as she watched the detective stride through the room of unnatural beings as if she were walking up a church aisle, without any fear or awareness of her precarious situation. Her façade still bristled with self-assurance and “Get the fuck outta my way” aggression. But there was something else, too. Something that surprised her.
Charlotte Caissie gave off a glimmer.
Though it was faint and pro
bably undetectable to the baser shape-shifters inside the club, Nica picked up on that psychic vibration that existed in all her kind. But Charlotte was human. So how could she exude that signature of power? Unless . . .
Unless she’d bonded with Max Savoie.
A human and a Shifter. Impossible. Unheard of.
Fascinating.
And in light of Nica’s purpose in New Orleans, dangerous.
Seven
They were on their second round, Nica drinking dark beer and Charlotte tonic water.
“Tell me about this Max Savoie I’ve been hearing so much about,” Nica prompted after they’d gotten through the “Bring me up to date” talk. “Is he as badass as the rumors say?”
Charlotte leaned back in her chair, her smile smug, her eyes gleaming. “They don’t even come close. Max is . . . complicated.”
“And you’re in love with him.”
Charlotte grinned.
“So how did a nice little red-white-and-badge like you get hooked up with America’s Most Wanted?”
Even before Charlotte spoke, Nica saw the shadow of terrible things in her eyes.
“About a year after you left, Mary Kate and I got nabbed by some mobster knee breakers to keep my father from giving damaging testimony. They took their job above and beyond what they’d been ordered to do.”
“Bad?”
“As bad as it gets,” she said flatly. “Until Max rescued us.”
Nica leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin on her laced fingers, intrigued. “But wasn’t he working for the mob?”
“For Jimmy Legere, the one I always suspected was behind the kidnapping and my father’s murder.”
“So why did he do it? Why did he risk everything for the two of you?”
“Because he couldn’t look away. And I’ve been in love with him since the first moment I saw him, because I couldn’t, either.”
Nica was amazed. “Even though he’s a shape-shifter?”
Charlotte shrugged. “By the time I found out, it didn’t matter. That probably sounds crazy to you, doesn’t it?”
No. It sounded wonderful, like one of Mary Kate’s fairy tales come true. What was crazy was the way the memory of MacCreedy’s touch immediately flamed through her.
