by Nancy Gideon
“So I ran away from here, where I’d always been an outsider. There was a train ticket waiting for me.”
“To take you where?” MacCreedy asked.
“North. To the camp where I’d learn how to make the most of all the things that made me different. Where I worked hard to become the best, to be recognized for my talents, to get to the place where I could demand they make good on their promises.”
“And did they?” he asked quietly.
Nica glanced away. “Soon. They will soon.”
MacCreedy leaned against one of the pews. Though obviously disturbed by what she’d told him, he reached out to hold her hand lightly as he asked, “So you went north to learn to kill your own kind?”
She pulled her hand away. “I have no kind. I have what I’ve always had: just me.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she couldn’t divulge those truths, even to him. “I look out for myself because no one else wanted that job. And now I don’t need anyone else. I do what I want, and don’t look to anyone for approval or help.”
“Does that make you free, or more of a prisoner?”
His question stunned her, then infuriated her because she didn’t want to consider it. “Why do you care? It’s not like we mean anything to each other.”
He smiled faintly. “Now who’s lying?”
“I don’t need you, MacCreedy.”
“Then why didn’t you kill me in that alley last night?”
Nica stared up at him through eyes that glittered with desire and dread. “Don’t question your good fortune.” She turned and quickly escaped to avoid a truth she couldn’t accept.
The importance of all he’d learned pounded in the back of Silas’s head like a building low-pressure system. He went through the motions, linking up with Babineau to present a unified front when questions came flying. No, no news yet on Savoie, but no one had seen him since the accident. Detective Caissie was taking some personal time to explore her own leads. No, no reaction yet from the criminal community. They were all waiting for a confirmation on that body in that backseat.
Silas visited the lab under the pretext of following up on the Tides that Bind case. He chatted with the workers, who were quite forthcoming when he produced coffee and beignets. He learned about the chain of evidence, who handed what to whom, and, more important, who had access to their database regarding DNA. By late afternoon, his nerves were hip-hopping from all the caffeine and sugary carbs, and the mental pressure that had reached a throbbing Category Three.
He touched base again with Babineau, who he hoped against hope wouldn’t get snared in the trap they were orchestrating; then he went home, desperately needing to unwind before his shift at the Sweat Shop.
There he found Brigit slumped on his sofa, her eyes swollen from fatigue and tears. He’d called her that morning to reassure her of his safety and to check on hers. She’d been listless then; now she was morose.
“Do you know yet if it’s Daniel?” She sniffled as he settled beside her on the cushions.
“I’ve spoken to Savoie. The description he gave matched the one I got from you.”
She made a mournful sound and turned away. Could she really have cared for the fool? Silas’s irritable mood gave way to reluctant sympathy and he awkwardly patted her arm. “I’m sorry, Bree.”
She shoved his hand away with a petulant cry of, “You are not. You’re only sorry for the inconvenience it’s caused you. If you’d taken care of things like you should have, instead of boning that nasty creature . . . What will Kendra think when she hears of it?”
Silas gripped her shoulders, wrenching her around to face him. His expression was fierce, his tone cold. “And who’s going to tell her? You? You would hurt her with things that don’t concern her?”
“Don’t concern her? You had an understanding . . .”
“We had nothing, Bree. Nothing official, nothing even verbalized. I never led her to believe we’d have a future together, because I wasn’t sure I could make it happen. You know that. Yet now I’m this horrible betrayer of promises never made? What was I supposed to do? Remain celibate all these years? Life isn’t a fairy tale, Bree. It’s not like you’ve stayed chaste in hopes of capturing that prince you used to go on about when we were kids.”
“Of course not,” she flung back at him. “Why are we even talking about this? Have you forgotten who loves and depends upon you? The longer you delay, the more dangerous our position becomes. You need to act quickly so we can get out of this place, so you can throw off whatever unhealthy hold it has on you. What would our parents say if they knew—”
He surged off the couch, all tension and fury. “They can’t say anything about it because they’re dead. I buried them, and I’ve been carrying the weight of their wishes ever since that day. I don’t need you to add to it, Brigit.”
He gestured angrily to the contents of her suitcase that were strewn across the floor and furniture. “Pick up that shit and put it in the bedroom. You’ll be staying in there. I’m going to take a shower.”
Silas stood under the cold spray, waiting for it to cool the heat of his temper and the guilt beneath it. She had no right to cheapen the depth of his feelings for Kendra. If he’d had his way, he would have mated with her years ago, and by now they would have had children and he’d have the warm comfort of family to come home to, instead of the cold emptiness of duty. He’d be living the joyous role of husband and father, devoting himself to whatever he could do to please those he loved, instead of struggling alone and satisfying no one, least of all himself.
Brigit was wrong to blame him for having failed to achieve his dreams. She knew doing so was beyond his control. As the son of a traitor, he wasn’t a worthy match for Kendra. He held a name without honor, he was a male without status, his lineage had no value. He was nothing and would continue to be nothing, until he won back that respect through valor or blood.
He’d never made a declaration of love to Kendra. He’d never asked her to wait for him, though if what his sister said was true, she had. They’d only shared one kiss, of longing rather than passion. If she’d found another, he’d be hurt but he wouldn’t blame her. Her happiness was more important to him than his own.
Silas cranked off the water with sudden clarity. He had to focus, and he couldn’t when Nica had his thoughts and desires so fragmented. That had to stop.
When he emerged from the bathroom, he found the mess gone from his living room and the door to his bedroom shut. With a sigh, he took out his phone. The sound of Nica’s voice sent a shock of heat through him, like an electrical spark.
“Nica, can you meet me for dinner at La Bayou?”
“I have to eat.”
He smiled faintly at her inescapable logic. “In an hour?”
“I’ll see you there.”
He tapped on the bedroom door. “Brigit, I need the clothes hanging on the closet door.”
Silence, then the door cracked open just far enough for the hanger and his tux to come flying out.
“Thank you.”
“Fuck you.”
After he shaved and dressed, he paused at the bedroom door. “Bree, I have to go to work. If you need me, call me on my cell. Stay here and don’t answer the door.”
“Go to hell.”
A fairly apt description of his destination.
Nica arrived at the restaurant early and got a table on the balcony overlooking Bourbon Street. To the left was the cleanly urban cityscape of the Central Business District; to the right was the historic Quarter, old, battered, and slightly seedy. Across the narrow street were clubs and shops selling any sin one could imagine, and in New Orleans one could imagine quite a lot.
In the doorway of one of Manny Blu’s competitors stood a buxom advertisement wearing a floor show costume, talking to a burly suit who was probably her manager. She called boldly to a young man passing by with his girlfriend, making his steps falter until the angry girl dragged him along after her. A family of four hurried by, directing their
children’s eyes toward the souvenir shops across the street. Nica smiled grimly. Everything was for sale: sex, honor, innocence, if the price was right.
Her senses tingled with awareness even before Silas came out on the balcony. Then her gaze traveled appreciatively over him. The polished tux accentuated his powerful masculinity. He slipped off his jacket to hang it on the back of his chair, then rolled up his shirtsleeves as he took a seat across from her.
“Have you ordered yet?”
“No. I’ve been waiting for you.” All my life.
“I’m starving.” His gaze buried in the menu.
“Me, too.” She noticed how the late-day sunlight teased out red highlights in his close-cropped hair.
“What are you having?” he asked, glancing up.
She wanted to have him in the worst possible way.
“The chicken and andouille gumbo and crawfish étouffée. And a Sazerac.” She needed the liquid courage.
MacCreedy handed their menus to the waiter, ordering for her and blackened redfish for himself. Then he leaned back to study the street.
Nica had thought of nothing but him all day. Of how he could alter the dangerous trajectory she was on, if she could just get the words out.
Her drink came and she took a quick gulp, letting the harsh liquid burn down her throat, sweet and bitter at the same time.
When their meal arrived to break the silence MacCreedy kept his attention on his plate, picking at his dinner while she devoured hers. He seemed remote, guarded, and ill at ease. Was he still bothered by what he’d learned that morning? Perhaps it was time to put his fears to rest.
“Busy day?”
“What?” His gaze flickered up, then quickly away. “Yes.”
“Is your sister settling in?”
A wry smile. “Taking over like an invasive species.”
“It’s good of you to take her in.”
He looked at her then, brows knit together. “Why do you say that?”
“She shows up, disrupts your life, invades your space. Most wouldn’t be so obliging.”
“She’s my sister.”
The simple answer said everything about him. He would always protect and support those he loved, regardless of circumstance. She found that remarkably sexy.
“Was the male who died her mate?”
“No, a lover. One in a long line.”
“She seemed very distressed over the loss.”
“She doesn’t like to lose things until she’s ready to get rid of them.”
He was in a strange, unhappy mood. Still, she pressed on. “What are you going to do about the boy?”
His features grew more grim. “I’ll finish what I started. That’s what I do. I’m very reliable.”
And very angry about something.
“Did you know Max and Lottie are a bound pair?”
He blinked at that, obviously surprised. “She’s a human.”
Nica leaned toward him to confide, “They can read each other’s thoughts. It’s because of the old blood.”
“The blood you share.”
“And you, as well.”
He was silent, then asked, “You believe the priest?”
“I think what he said was the truth.”
“That my mother was—”
“Like me? Perhaps. They say there are a few in every bloodline. She was a Guedry. An old and rich heritage.”
“Why wouldn’t she have told me?”
Nica’s tone gentled. “Maybe she was waiting until you were old enough to understand it.”
“She waited too long. And now it’s too late.” He looked away, his eyes blinking quickly. “I’m nothing like Savoie. I don’t have any special talents, and neither does Brigit.”
“I’ve heard that males have to be bonded before they reach their full potential.”
He looked suspicious. “I’ve never heard that.”
“We travel in very different circles. You also hadn’t heard of those experiments the priest was describing. Record and protect, my ass.”
That made him smile. “What else have you heard?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Have you mated?”
He looked endearingly uncomfortable. She hadn’t expected her fiery lover to be so conservative.
“When I was younger, when it was required, I was provided with a female. It was brief and unsettling.”
“You didn’t like it?” She leaned on her elbows, chin resting upon laced fingers, curious.
“She was a stranger, much older than me, and I was—”
“Scared?” she supplied.
He scowled at her. “Inexperienced. And you?”
She laughed. “I’ve never met a male I liked enough to let him go all fur and fangs over me.” Until now. “I’m kind of a control freak.”
He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”
She touched his hand, and his fingers spread so hers could lace between them.
He took a weary breath, the heaviness returning to his mood as he said, “Nica” softly.
Say it now. Just say it!
“Silas, what if you were to bond with me?”
His head reared back as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
She held his stare, laying out what she’d come up with in her desperation to keep him. “If you mate with me, if we’re bonded, our abilities will be joined as well. I could share things with you that would make you as strong as Savoie, maybe stronger, since Lottie is a human. Think of it. You could have what you want. You could take what you deserve. I could help you.”
“Why would you do that? Bonding is no casual thing. It’s permanent. You can’t try it on to see if you like it, then cast it aside.”
“We like each other. We’re sexually compatible. Most matches are made between strangers who don’t have that luxury. We’d be starting off far better than most.”
In his face, shock gave way to distress. Or was it distaste? Her heart began to race; panic squeezed about her chest.
“I want more, Nica.”
It all clicked together in a devastating instant. His anxiousness, his somber mood.
He invited me here to give me the kiss-off.
And she was begging him for an eternity.
She laughed, a loud, rough sound. “I wasn’t asking you to give me children. Forget I said anything. I’d forgotten that you were saving your precious seed to sow in your Terriot princess. I wouldn’t expect you to scatter it about on fallow soil.”
She tossed down the rest of her drink, blinking the moisture from her eyes. She wiped at them with a shaky hand, her laugh brittle. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you, MacCreedy. We’ll pretend this never happened.”
She rose from her chair but his hand circled her wrist.
“Nica, please.”
If he said he was sorry, she’d lose it completely. Pity would destroy her.
Her eyes blazed as she snarled, “Touch me again and I will kill you.”
She jerked away and disappeared, leaving him staring after her.
Silas closed his eyes and let out a harsh breath. His path was clear to duty and honor now, and the price was another burden on his soul. He could carry it, because he had to.
But that tragic look in her eyes, when she mistakenly assumed he didn’t love her, might be the heaviest of them all.
Nineteen
Silas was off his game in more ways than one.
After he’d given away another huge pot in a long series of house losses, Manny came over, put a hand on his shoulder, and said softly, “Step out for a minute, Mac.”
As he followed the hoodlum into his office, MacCreedy immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blutafino. My mind’s not in the game tonight.”
Manny pressed him down in one of the ugly chrome chairs and bent close to ask, “And what would get your mind right? A nine-millimeter to the frontal lobe?”
“I hope that won’t be necessary,” Silas was quick to murmur.
Manny laughed and ease
d his bulk into his thronelike seat. “What’s going on with you? Something I can help you with? You’ve been a consistent moneymaker for me, Mac. I don’t want to let you go.”
As in .9mm to the brain. Yeah, he got that.
“I lost somebody close to me today. It shook me up more than I realized.” How true that was.
“Do you want some time off?”
“No, sir. Thank you. I’m fine now. I’ll get back to my table.”
He just started to rise when the door opened and Francis Petitjohn entered. MacCreedy recognized him from studying his arrest jacket: Jimmy Legere’s villainous cousin and Max’s rival for Legere Enterprises International.
“Got a minute, Manny?”
“For you, Johnny? Anytime.”
“I hope it’s not too premature for a little toast to the former thorn in my ass that’s now burning in hell.” He glanced at Silas. “Fix us a couple of scotch rocks, kid.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Petitjohn.”
T-John squinted at him. “Do I know you?”
“No, sir, but everyone knows you. Congratulations.”
Preening at the compliment, he smiled. “On what?”
“Inheriting LEI. That’s quite a coup.”
Inheriting and coup didn’t carry the same connotations, and T-John began to frown. Seeing his displeasure, Manny waved a hand. “Get the drinks, Mac, then get back to the game.”
“Right away, Mr. Blutafino.”
“Chatty bastard,” T-John muttered as he sat down. Silas could feel his stare between his shoulder blades.
“So, Johnny, when can we get down to some serious business? I’m still a couple light on this latest shipment. When’s the departure date? Do I have time to fill the load?”
“Everything’s on hold for the next couple of days or so, until we get the official word. Then we can grease the right palms and be back to business as usual. The kind of business Jimmy was doing before Savoie let it all go to hell.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Johnny.”
MacCreedy placed their drinks on the desktop and nodded politely. “Good night, gentlemen.”
