by Nancy Gideon
Cee Cee opened the door, and the sound of MacCreedy’s voice reached Nica at the same instant she breathed in his scent. Her senses spun, forcing her to grip the edge of the bar.
He entered the room behind Cee Cee and a behemoth of a man she remembered as Savoie’s bodyguard. When Silas’s cool gray eyes found her, Nica’s bones went liquid. She looked for visible signs of injury, finding none. He seemed fit and all business in his dark suit coat over jeans and a crisp white shirt and tie. No bloodstains. He looked indescribably delicious.
He was here. He was all right.
Her mind swirled with relief.
Silas stepped forward to put his hand out to Lena Blutafino. “Mrs. Blutafino, I’m Mac Creed. I work at the club for your husband.”
Panic at being discovered flashed across her features. “Did he send you to find me?”
An easy smile. “No, ma’am. In fact, he said something about meeting you after your spinning class to take you to lunch.”
She returned Silas’s smile nervously. “I guess I’d better go. I wouldn’t want to miss him.” She turned to Cee Cee. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Soon,” Cee Cee insisted. She waited until the woman had left the room to turn to the burly bodyguard. “Giles, what’s going on?”
Features stoic, Giles scooped her hand up in his, holding it so tightly she winced. “Charlotte—” His voice broke.
Alarmed, Cee Cee looked at Silas. “Mac? What’s wrong?”
“There was an accident this morning. A driver apparently lost control of his vehicle and plowed into a gas pump. There was an explosion. There were two men in the car, one at the wheel, one in back, both burned beyond recognition. Closer examination at the scene showed that shots had been fired close range prior to the collision. Silver slugs were recovered. It’s not looking like an accident anymore. Babineau’s doing a follow-up at the scene because he figured you’d want to know . . .” He trailed off.
Cee Cee’s hand crushed Giles’s as she looked up at him to confirm what MacCreedy was getting to.
“Charlotte,” he told her gruffly, “they think it’s Max.”
Everything about her stilled, then strengthened. “I don’t believe it. If something had happened to him, I would know.”
“It was the car he picked me up in this morning,” MacCreedy said. “He was with his driver. It must have happened just after he dropped me off at my apartment.”
“What did Max want with you?” Cee Cee asked, suspicion darkening her stare.
“We had some things to talk over.”
His smooth evasion sharpened Nica’s instincts. Her fingertips traced the bloodstain on the bar, drawing his attention there. “Things related to your case?”
“No,” he said simply. “Clan related.” He turned back to the detective. “The bodies are with Dovion. He said he’d make them a priority.” A close friend of Max and Cee Cee, Devlin Dovion, the medical examiner, hadn’t made that promise lightly. “Charlotte, Babineau said they found cuff links in the backseat. Large onyx stones set in gold.”
“I helped Max put them on this morning.” Her chin quivered, then squared. “Until I get word one way or another from Dev, I need to work this case with an open mind. I need to get to the scene.” When she started for the door, MacCreedy put up his arm to block her. When she tried to go around it, he curled it about her waist, holding her still.
“Charlotte,” Silas said gently, “this isn’t your case. They’re not going to let you on the scene. Word from the top, according to Babineau. He’s checking things out for you, and wanted me to tell you to keep your distance if you don’t want things complicated by the media circus. They’re trying to keep a lid on it, but if you show up they’ll start doing the math. By the book, Detective—unless you want the investigation tainted right off the bat.”
“Screw that!” She flung off his arm and stormed to the wall of windows, pressing her palms against the glass, leaning her forehead there until she got her panting breaths under control. Until she tried to reach Max along the psychic connection they shared. And failed. Finally she straightened. “I know you’re right, Mac. I know that’s the right way to handle things, but dammit, I can’t just do nothing. I can’t just wait.”
“Max had a meeting with T-John,” Giles said quietly. “I wonder if that son of a bitch will be surprised by the news?”
Charlotte turned to him, her stare cold as the bore of a double barrel. “Maybe we should go ask him.”
“I’m going to touch base with LaRoche at the club,” Silas said. “If anything’s going on down on the docks, he’ll know about it. If you could drop me off—”
“I’m heading in to work,” Nica interjected. “You can ride with me.”
Silas glanced at her briefly. “Okay.”
“If you hear anything,” Cee Cee began.
“My first call.” MacCreedy headed for the door, Nica on his heels.
Only then did Charlotte crumple in Giles’s arms.
They rode down the elevator in silence. Nica knew he was waiting for her to set the tone after she’d booted him out of her bed at their last private meeting, but she didn’t dare make a move. Her mood was fragile, barely in control. Just the scent of him reduced her to near emotional collapse.
Just knowing he was alive was enough for now.
Her car was a tiny rental. Nica slid behind the wheel while Silas contorted his 6'3" frame into the passenger seat. Once they were headed back into the Quarter, he broke the silence.
“You did get into an uncivilized conversation with him this morning in that apartment, didn’t you?”
“Something’s on your mind. What is it? Are you wondering if I killed Savoie?”
“We had a discussion about family matters that got briefly unpleasant, but we reached a tentative understanding. And where were you this morning?”
She gave him a scornful look. “If I’d killed him, I wouldn’t have made such a mess.”
“Oh? Like our first meeting?”
She sniffed. “I’m very tidy unless distracted.”
“And I distract you?”
“You aggravate me.”
“Enough to get in your way?”
She turned her attention back to the road. “Don’t be silly. I’m a professional.”
“A professional what?” When she didn’t respond, he supplied the answer. “Assassin?”
“If I was, you’d be pretty foolish asking me about it. And I’d be even crazier to tell you.”
“Is Savoie your target?”
“If I was an assassin and he was my target, that would certainly help you, wouldn’t it? Unless someone else has already done you that favor.”
“I don’t want him dead.”
“That’s news. Since when?”
“It was a misunderstanding. We sorted it out.”
“So he’s not going to kill you if you try taking the boy?”
“We hadn’t come to any terms on that yet.”
“If you’re planning to grab the kid, putting all Savoie’s people on high alert wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do. So since you’re a smart guy, I’m guessing it isn’t a move you’d make. So who did?”
“I don’t know, but it sure kicked open a hornet’s nest.”
“Try not to get stung.”
She wheeled the little car into a parking space and cut the engine. When she got to the sidewalk, he put an instinctive hand to the small of her back. She jumped away and strode to the entrance of Cheveux du Chien. She was halfway down the long hall before his arm scooped about her waist.
“Nica.”
The quiet, rumbling way he spoke her name was her undoing. She sagged back against his chest, her eyes closing.
“I thought he’d killed you,” she whispered, shivering.
He simply held her, saying nothing, letting her gain her composure. When her breaths evened out, he turned her toward him.
Her eyes opened, shimmering as she blinked the tears away. “I’m late.”
<
br /> She pulled free and hurried toward the light and noise of the nightclub.
And Silas watched her go, grinning.
Even when they pulled the charred bodies from the remains of the vehicle, Alain Babineau didn’t believe it. Even when they found the ruined onyx cuff links that had once belonged to Jimmy Legere, he wasn’t convinced.
Max Savoie couldn’t be out of his life for good. Someone like that wouldn’t be taken out in a hail of bullets and a funeral pyre. Not Savoie. The evidence didn’t mean a damned thing. He wouldn’t be content until he saw the son of a bitch grinning up at him from hell.
As the investigating officers combed the remains of the vehicle and the coroner’s wagon pulled away, Babineau began his own search for proof that he was either right or wrong. Not daring to hope he’d seen the last of the smug bastard, Alain refused to think about it until he had a signed affidavit from Satan himself.
The smoldering car told him nothing. Two bodies, both crisped beyond identification, though witnesses stated Savoie and his driver had been inside. Holes riddled the interior, from bullets made of silver. While the team concentrated on the wreckage, Babineau widened his circumference, not sure what he was looking for until he was staring down at it.
The first droplets of a blood trail.
He purposefully scrubbed the sole of his shoe across the pebbled surface until the spots were obliterated. And then he began to follow splatters that became dragging smears on the pavement.
Another officer wouldn’t have understood the significance. They would have been looking for a man, but Babineau didn’t turn back at the first sign of an animal’s paw print in the blood. And he found final proof in the large black dog lying behind an alley Dumpster. He was familiar with this animal.
On two legs or four, Max Savoie was the same unnatural being.
Babineau glanced about. They were alone. Cautiously, he knelt down to examine the motionless beast. Frothy blood pooled about the animal’s muzzle. Its black coat was singed and punctured by countless bullets. When he leaned close, he could hear a death gurgle in the softly panted breaths.
All he had to do was nothing. Straighten up and walk away. Or just wait.
But Charlotte would take one look at him, and see her lover’s death in his eyes.
Shit.
Cursing under his breath, he went to get his car, rationalizing that Savoie wasn’t going to make it anyway. His efforts would appear heroic, a futile attempt to save a preternatural life and protect a dangerous secret.
He could live with that.
He parked in the alley and popped his trunk. After spreading out a tarp, he knelt beside the gravely injured creature. Surprisingly, its eyes opened, eyes that were green and eerily familiar.
“It’s all right, Max. I’m going to get you out of here.”
He put his arms around the beast’s hindquarters and powerful chest, hesitating at the sound of a bubbly growl.
“Try to bite me, and I’ll put one in your head. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings to do it, either.”
The animal coughed, almost sounding like a laugh. When Babineau struggled to stand, the heavy shape hung limp in his arms, not moving as he deposited the shaggy form in the trunk. He shut the lid and slid behind the wheel. What the hell was he going to do now? Take him to the vet? And have him shape-shift while on the table? What headlines that would make.
“Fuck me. Looks like you’re going to be my guest.”
For the first time, Babineau was glad his house was empty. He threw blankets down over the old leather couch in his office. Max never so much as twitched when he was carried inside and laid on the cushions.
Alain’s first move should have been to call Cee Cee. But she’d come running to his side—and draw the attention of anyone still looking for Savoie.
“Now what?” Babineau said aloud. Did he call LEI to have someone come claim him? How did he know that Savoie’s men weren’t behind the attempt on his life? Not that he cared a damn, but he didn’t want his family pulled into it. Why should he have to do anything more? He’d rescued the monster from discovery and immediate threat. He hadn’t even owed him that much. Except for the fact that he’d saved Oscar’s life. And that of Schoenbaum’s daughter.
God, he hated being grateful to the son of a bitch.
Babineau sat at his desk, contemplating his options. Was there anything he hated more than the smirky criminal? The long-lost brother adored by his son, who used his illegal wealth to shower his family with luxuries a cop’s salary could never come close to matching. Who was housing them in his mobster fortress as if they belonged to him. Who could protect them even as he brought threat into their lives. Who effortlessly and unworthily awoke love in those hearts he’d always wished would beat for him alone.
Who was now helpless and at his mercy.
Fever-bright eyes opened and a low rumble worked up from the damaged chest.
“Is that the thanks I get for taking you in off the street? Pretty big talk for having three paws in the grave.”
The big animal grew quiet, studying him with a shrewd gaze. His legs began thrashing ineffectively as he tried to get up, and Babineau leaned in to place staying hands on his neck and hindquarters.
“Stop. You’ll just hurt yourself. Relax. You go all Cujo on me, I’ll chain your furry ass out in the yard.”
The movements stilled, and a soft whimper escaped as the glittery eyes closed again. The instant Babineau realized his hand was stroking over the dark head soothingly, he pulled back.
“I don’t like dogs, and I sure as hell have no fondness for you,” he muttered. “Can you understand me?”
The dry, hot nose nudged into his palm, followed by the quick slap of the dog’s tongue.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t kiss me. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”
The animal took several snorting breaths as if amused. And Babineau took a moment to examine the wounds.
“Can you talk? What am I saying? It’s not like you’re Mr. Ed. I don’t know what to do for you, Max.”
With a huge groan, the dog lifted his shaggy head and turned toward the bullet wound in his shoulder. At first Babineau thought he was licking it, but then he saw fresh blood and realized he was biting determinedly, whining not in mindless pain but with purpose. Babineau pressed his head back down, calmingly stroking his ears and neck to quiet him again.
“It’s the silver, isn’t it?”
Max heaved a thankful sigh.
“If I take them out, you’ll be able to heal yourself. If I don’t . . . Kinda sucks to be you right now, doesn’t it? Must be sweating it, thinking you should have been a little nicer to me, huh, Mr. Big Shot?”
Max’s jowls curled back, not in a snarl, but more like an appreciative grin.
Ah, hell.
Babineau pulled his belt free. “No offense, but I don’t want you nipping at me while I’m poking around. Okay?”
Max lay still, letting him use the belt to make a muzzle about his snout.
“And I want you to thank me for this later.”
Fifteen
It was a long, miserable night at work. Nica’s temper was short and her attention strained. The minute MacCreedy disappeared into the back office with LaRoche, she could think of nothing else but their conversation. What would happen to the New Orleans clan if Max Savoie was dead?
More important, what would it mean to her?
She wasn’t just an assassin, she was considered the best. Though she didn’t know the particulars, the fee for her services was enormous. She was in high demand because she was quick, deadly, left no traces, and she had no idea who hired her.
While Savoie was protecting his family and clan from the crude, mindless Trackers, he should have been fearing a more sophisticated enemy.
Her assignment in New Orleans had come so fast after her last one, she’d had little time to unwind. She’d been given little information. Get in place, become invisible, and be ready on a moment’s noti
ce. She hadn’t been told who the assignment was, only that her success would guarantee her notoriety. As the only female in a highly competitive field, she’d won her accolades through diligence and an absolutely merciless success rate. Her targets were usually political, though she had no interest in views or causes, only in habits that would provide her with a single vulnerable moment.
She had no interest in fame, only in the promised reward.
She’d been in New Orleans for several weeks, longer than she’d been in one place since she’d started. She’d settled all too easily into the routine of her cover life, gotten comfortable here, dulling the razor sharpness of her edge. And she liked the sense of normalcy, of friendships. Of flirting with the idea of love.
But what she’d allowed to happen was beyond dangerous to her own situation. It jeopardized others.
She’d been lying to herself that having some hot fun with MacCreedy would do no harm. He was becoming a huge weakness in her armor of indifference. But she didn’t need to worry; he was purely temporary. He’d made his future plans very clear, and the lucky woman in them wasn’t her. There was no place for an itinerate assassin in his warm and fuzzy family ideals. There’d never been a place for her anywhere.
And with Savoie gone, they could both get on to their futures that much faster.
What she hadn’t counted on was Savoie’s impact. He was a remarkable philanthropist, a protector of the local clan, a moderate influence upon the fragile criminal balance, and the man of her childhood idol’s dreams. If Savoie was dead, she was going to have to deal with it.
She was so deep in thought, the light touch of fingertips almost made her drop her tray. She turned abruptly, wedging it between her and MacCreedy.
He looked tired. He had taken off his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt were open, exposing crisp chest hair. She longed to bury her nose there.
“Any news?” Her voice sounded thin and strange.
He shook his head. “Nothing yet. What a mess.”
