Crux sa-1

by Moira Rogers

  He did. “Busted, huh?” he drawled, one hand rubbing at the strong line of his chin.

  She started when she recognized the man from the bar, the handsome one who’d been talking to Nick. He was taller than she’d realized, with broad shoulders and an easy grace. Though it was blanched and yellowed by the harsh glare of the streetlight, she clearly remembered the sandy shade of his brown hair, and the startling blue of his eyes.

  He was gorgeous, all right, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Marcus had been gorgeous too. So she did her best to ignore his looks as she curled her fingers around the pepper spray in her pocket. “Why are you following me?”

  He took a step closer. “Your boss asked me to. She was…well, I suppose ‘concerned’ is probably as good a word as any.”

  Nervousness drove her back a few paces, and she immediately regretted showing fear. She straightened and struggled to reclaim her challenging expression. “Nick told you to follow me?”

  His voice softened, turned almost gentle. “She was worried you didn’t have anyplace to go, and she said you’ve been acting jumpy. Like maybe you were in trouble?”

  “I have a place to stay.” The response came too fast, too forced, and she almost cringed at how defensive she sounded. He didn’t look like the sort of man who would consider her motel an appropriate dwelling. She didn’t like it either, but it was all she could afford on her limited budget.

  He was still watching her, so she moderated her tone. “It’s nice that you’re worried, but I’m fine. I promise.”

  He stared at her as if considering the veracity of her words. “All right. But at least let me walk you home.” His lips curled into a charming smile that made her heart beat faster. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not in the best neighborhood at the moment.”

  Mackenzie opened her mouth to turn down his offer. The last thing she needed right now was trouble, and the absolute best-case scenario involved him talking to Nick about how unsuitable her current living quarters were. But when her gaze found his again, the words died on her tongue.

  She should say no, but she didn’t want to. Loneliness and fear had become so ingrained that she sometimes wondered if she remembered how to feel anything else. His presence would give her the illusion of companionship, for however short a time. Something about his eyes made her want to trust him, made her long to tell him everything that had happened. Or maybe I just want to tell someone so I won’t have to be alone.

  She wasn’t ready to trust him with the truth, but she could let him walk her home. “What’s your name?”

  He took another step forward and held out his hand. “I’m Jackson. Jackson Holt.”

  If she wanted to shake his hand, she’d have to let go of the pepper spray in her pocket and give up the only chance she’d have of getting away if he tried to hurt her. She looked at his face, at his smile, but most of all at those astoundingly blue eyes.

  She slowly uncurled her fingers. The pepper spray stayed in the pocket of her sweatshirt as she pulled out her hand and offered it to him. “I’m Mackenzie.”

  Jackson tried not to let his dismay show as he accompanied Mackenzie farther from the bar and the French Quarter. Her walk home had brought them into one of the worst-damaged areas left over from Hurricane Katrina, and block after block revealed the same thing—rows of shotgun houses and closed businesses, gutted and awaiting restoration. They’d long since left the acceptable tourist spots behind, leading him to believe the curvy woman keeping her distance beside him either hadn’t done her homework or was running short of cash.

  He shook himself with a silent grumble. He just had to see her home, somehow manage to get himself home without getting rolled for his wallet and shot, and he could report his findings to Nick in the morning. His and Alec’s bar tab would be cut in half, and he’d have done Nick a solid.

  So what if his eyes kept flickering back to Mackenzie and her lustrous hair? She’d been wearing it in a twist when he’d seen her at Mahalia’s, but the hairdo had given way to a sloppy ponytail. Though still pulled up, it was easy to see that, unbound, the shining mass would damn near reach her waist. He’d never been much for long hair, but it worked on her.

  “So,” he said, mostly to distract himself from wondering whether it was as soft as it looked. “Where are you from?” He couldn’t detect much of an accent.

  If he hadn’t been watching her hair so closely, he wouldn’t have seen her shoulders stiffen. Silence stretched out between them before she grudgingly replied, “I was born in Seattle.”

  It wasn’t really an answer. “Washington’s nice,” he said easily. “I’m from Georgia myself. Went to college in Florida, moved here. I wanted to stay in the South, and New Orleans seemed like a logical choice. It’s a good place for people like us.”

  She glanced at him, her expression confused. “People like us? Are you a bartender?”

  He searched her eyes for signs of recognition or evasiveness, but they were clear, guileless. Interesting. “Free spirits,” he explained.

  “Ah.” She slipped her hands back into the pockets of her sweatshirt. August in New Orleans was anything but cold, even after dark, and the sweatshirt looked out of place. So did the way she curled in on herself as if cold or, more likely, scared.

  Odd. If she was a shapeshifter, like Nick thought, it didn’t make sense for her to seem so frightened. Shifters could generally fend for themselves pretty well, no matter the circumstances.

  He recalled his conversation with Nick. “I get the vague sense that she’s like me, but different,” she’d said.

  Her words had prompted a snort from him. “That’s not very helpful, Peyton. Can you be more specific?”

  “A shifter,” she’d said finally, “but not a wolf. Maybe something else.”

  Something else. Even in a city like New Orleans, which was full of supernaturals mostly trying to live quiet lives of peace and secrecy, it was all but impossible to find a shifter who wasn’t a wolf. Through birth or transformation, their ranks had grown, while other breeds’ numbers had dwindled. Still, if Nick sensed magic within Mackenzie, he trusted her instincts.

  So why hadn’t she looked the slightest bit nervous or intrigued when he’d made the comment about people like them?

  Jackson briefly considered casting his seeing spell on her to determine her true nature, but dismissed the idea. If she had any magical heritage at all, she’d know he’d done something, if not exactly what, and he might find himself in somewhat of a pickle.

  Despite his musings, he didn’t drop his easy, crooked grin, didn’t betray the thoughts whirling madly through his head. His placid exterior was part of what made him very, very good at his job. It had kept him alive on more than one occasion.

  Mackenzie remained silent until she stopped in front of a building with a visible flood line etched three feet high on the ground floor wall. It looked as though it shouldn’t have been in use anymore. The lights on the sign had blown out but, squinting, he could make out what had once been a sign for a motel before graffiti, vandalism and storm damage had taken their toll.

  A small alley lay between the building and the one next to it, obviously leading back to the parking lot and rooms. It was there that she hesitated, glancing into the dimly lit alley with a self-conscious grimace that told him more clearly than words she was aware how bad it looked. Her eyes didn’t quite meet his as she cleared her throat. “This is my place.”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Jackson didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Mackenzie flinched and shot him a mortified look. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just… Damn, Kenzie.” The nickname rolled off his tongue, unbidden. “If I leave you here, Nick’ll skin me alive.” And I won’t sleep a wink for worrying.

  “I’ve been here four nights already,” she said, averting her eyes. “I’ve been fine.”

  Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “Just because you’ve been fine so far doesn’t mean you’re going to stay th
at way.” He tapped his chin. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stay somewhere else tonight?”

  If anything, she looked even more uncomfortable. “I know you’re trying to help, but it’s late and I wouldn’t have any idea where to go. I’ve already paid for tonight.”

  “There’s a small apartment above the bar. It’s where Mahalia lived when she owned the place. You could stay there.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I thought Nick owned the bar. How can you offer to let me stay there?” She probably didn’t even realize that she’d taken a step back from him, but Jackson noticed.

  He kept his voice soothing. “Nick is my best friend. She wouldn’t want you to be here, that’s for damn sure. I think she’d want you to stay there until you find a better place.”

  The fight seemed to melt out of her, leaving her looking exhausted. She finally met his eyes, and gave him a tired, self-conscious smile. “Honestly? I don’t think I’m up to walking all the way back there tonight.”

  “So I’ll call a cab. Hell, I’ll call my partner if I have to. He won’t like having his tired old ass dragged out of bed, but I’ll do it.”

  Mackenzie stared at him for a long time, studying his face as if she could read his intentions. Then she nodded once. “If you don’t mind calling a cab, I can go and get my bag.”

  There was no way in hell he was letting her go to her room alone. “I don’t really want to wait here by myself. Would it be all right if I came and waited outside the door?”

  “Okay.” She tilted her head toward the dark driveway. “It’s back this way.”

  Jackson already had his phone out. He dialed information absently, the bulk of his attention focused on every noise in the dim alley. As confident as he was in his ability to take care of himself and Mackenzie, he didn’t relish the thought of getting caught off his guard. But they reached the top of the rickety staircase without incident.

  A man stood by the landing, leaning against the wall next to a defaced sign entreating the guests not to smoke. He had a cigarette in his mouth, but pulled it out to leer at Mackenzie when she walked by. He caught sight of Jackson and the expression faded, replaced by surprise and then wary resentment.

  Mackenzie appeared to ignore him, but Jackson could see how tight her shoulders were as she walked to the second door and slipped a key out of her pocket.

  “Evening,” Jackson said with a nod, taking care to follow Mackenzie closely.

  The man glared at Jackson and ground out his cigarette on the sign next to his head. His dark gaze slid to Mackenzie, who struggled to work the rusty key into the lock with hands that shook.

  Jackson answered the man’s glare with a bland look and stepped forward. “Let me.” He reached around and took the key from her trembling hand. The lock yielded easily. “I’ll be right here.”

  She was close enough for him to feel her shiver before she slipped away, still moving with that surprising grace though obviously exhausted and terrified.

  Jackson spoke into his cell phone, asking to be connected to the first cab-company listing. The sooner he got Mackenzie out of here, the better.

  Mackenzie was fumbling through her bag for her envelope of cash when she looked up to see Jackson pass several folded bills through the cab’s window. The cabbie handed him a slip of paper in return and pulled away, leaving Mackenzie on the sidewalk with the money in her hand.

  She stepped forward and held it out. “Here. I was going to pay for the cab.”

  He shook his head. “Got a receipt. It’s a tax-deductible business expense.”

  “Oh.” Even if it was just his way of making her feel better about accepting his charity, she was too tired to argue. She shoved the money back into her duffel bag and swung the strap onto her shoulder. “So where do I need to go?”

  He nodded to the Spanish-style brick building that housed the bar. “There’s a staircase around back that leads to the apartment. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  He led her around the corner and up the sturdy, wrought-iron stairs. “Wait here,” he said on the landing. “I need to see if I can find the key.” He fumbled around the doorjamb before kneeling and lifting a potted fern. “Here we go.” His broad shoulders blocked her view as he opened the door with a click. He stepped back and gestured her in.

  For a moment Mackenzie stood on the landing and watched him, fear and paranoia battling with the desperate need to sleep in a safe place. The bar was located in a quieter part of the Quarter, and most of the surrounding buildings housed residences or businesses that had long since closed for the day; walking into the apartment would put her at Jackson’s mercy. It was unlikely anyone would come to her aid if she called for help.

  Then again, no one would have cared if she’d called for help at the motel. If Jackson had wanted to hurt her, he’d had ample opportunity. She didn’t know if he made her feel safe or if she just didn’t have the energy to care anymore, but she nodded and walked into the apartment.

  The small entry gave way to a kitchen and living area, everything decorated in bright, welcoming colors. After a string of motels that had started at cheap and nosedived to trashy, the sight brought tears to her eyes.

  Jackson stood there, one hand on the edge of the open door. “I hope you’re not hungry. There probably isn’t any food in the fridge, though you might be able to find something in the pantry.” He scratched the back of his head and furrowed his brow. “You could always order in. The phone should be in working order.”

  “I’m fine,” she said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t hear the slight tremor in her voice. She moved slowly into the living room, dropping the bag by the side of the couch. She surreptitiously wiped her eyes, turned and sat. “Are you sure Nick isn’t going to mind?”

  He shook his head and spoke, his voice low. “Nick won’t mind. She’ll be glad you stayed someplace safe.” His grin was encouraging. “Hey, you’re not likely to be late for work tomorrow.”

  His smile was as irresistible as his eyes, and she found herself wishing she had an excuse to get him to stay a while longer.

  Don’t be stupid, she reminded herself sharply as she pulled her gaze from his. Now is not the time for distractions. She couldn’t get involved with him. At best, it would make it hard to move on when she needed to. And if Marcus showed up while they were together…

  He was too nice a man to get tangled up in her problems, so she met his eyes again and tried to show gratitude in her expression without letting anything else creep in. “Thank you, Jackson. It—it’s really nice that you and Nick are helping me out. I promise I’ll find someplace else to stay.”

  “Sure,” he said easily, rocking the door back and forth absently. “I’ll call Nick in the morning and tell her you’re here, so don’t worry about that. Bolt the door behind me. Sleep well, Mackenzie.” He disappeared, and the door closed with a gentle click.

  Mackenzie let out the breath she’d been holding. Exhaustion dragged at her as she made her way to the door to lock the deadbolt and back to the couch, and she sank back into the plush cushion with a soft sigh. I’ll just sit here a few minutes…

  In moments, she was curled comfortably on her side, her head resting on a bright blue cushion. For the first time since Marcus had found her over a month ago, she drifted to sleep feeling safe, comfortable, and almost hopeful.

  Jackson leaned against the lamp post and scratched his arm as he looked at the second-floor windows of Mahalia’s old apartment. The lights hadn’t gone off, but he hoped Mackenzie was getting some rest, anyway. She’d almost fallen asleep in the taxi back from her crappy motel, even though it was obvious she was fresh out of trust for strangers.

  A handful of people walked past, almost knocking into him, and Jackson stepped back automatically, his mind on the woman upstairs. She’d been so skittish he hadn’t wanted her to look out and see him on the street, so he’d thrown up a quick shield, something to shadow him from most people’s sight. It was a trick Mahalia herself had taught him, back before she�
��d decided to retire to Boca Raton and make him learn all his magic the hard way, from dusty old books that tended to fall apart on him and make his eyes water.

  There was no doubt in his mind Mackenzie was on the run from something, though he’d bet anyone a hundred bucks it was someone. An old boyfriend, perhaps, or a husband. Some overprotective, possessive asshole, maybe even an abusive one. His fists clenched at the thought. Surely if she was a shapeshifter, as Nick had suggested, she could have taken care of such a situation. Or maybe the hypothetical guy was just as strong, or stronger. It made sense.

  Except that she really had seemed clueless when he’d tossed out that line about people like them. That part didn’t make so much sense. He resolved to ask Alec to take a look at Mackenzie. His partner was fifteen years older than Nick, and his shapeshifter instincts were more refined. He should be able to settle the question.

  What wouldn’t be so easy to settle was why Jackson could still remember the striking cobalt shade of her eyes, or the way she moved like the same gravity that affected everyone else couldn’t quite reach her.

  He scratched his head and huffed in disgust. He was standing under a streetlight, waxing poetic about the shade of a stranger’s eyes. Add a show tune or two, and his already bizarre life was headed straight for the theatre of the absurd.

  Chapter 3

  Jackson growled and balanced a coffee tray and a paper bag in one hand as he tugged open the office door. “Morning,” he said dourly as he walked in and dropped the bag on the small table that held the cold, empty coffee maker. “I stopped by Café du Monde on the way in and bought beignets.”

  The young woman behind the receptionist’s desk looked him over before raising an eyebrow. “I thought Alec was the one staking out crazy husband dude. Did something go down last night that you both needed to handle?”