by Nancy Gideon
“Let’s get him prepped,” she instructed the orderly handling his transportation. “I want this wound irrigated and an IV of antibiotics started. I can’t even imagine what kind of organisms are floating around in that river.” She smiled at Silas. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, until you got me thinking about organisms.”
Nica gripped his hand firmly. “I’m going with him.”
Susanna nodded and stepped back so they could continue on. Her attention focused on Cee Cee. “And you?”
Cee Cee caught the undercurrent in the doctor’s voice and glanced at the figure beside her before saying, “I’m fine.”
“Under the circumstances, we can’t be too careful.”
Charlotte’s tone firmed. “I’m fine. There’s no need.”
Susanna let it go. She swept the dripping couple with a cautious gaze. “You’d better clean up. Think organisms.”
Who was behind the attack? How had someone discovered so quickly that she and MacCreedy were on the case? Had the bodies been under observation at the morgue to see who came for them or expressed interest in their fate? Or had their visit with Philo prompted the aggressive response?
What were they getting themselves into?
Wrapped in a blanket from the facility, Cee Cee frowned slightly when Max opted to climb in beside Giles in front rather than ride next to her. Mood chafing, she glared at the back of their driver’s head as a focus for her temper.
“Good thing you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
Giles flashed an unapologetic look in the rearview mirror. “Yes, it was.”
“Rather than where you were supposed to be.”
“Good thing I’m not one for following directions.”
Irritated because she couldn’t argue the outcome, she snapped Giles in the back of the neck before settling back into her solitary seat. She wasn’t angry with her friend. He would never allow any harm to come to Max or put him into a compromising position.
Or so she thought until she caught a glimpse of Karen Crawford’s interview.
While she’d showered and dressed in their luxurious master bath, Max had done the same segregated in the guest suite. He and Giles were watching the midday news when she emerged, still toweling her hair. The punch of seeing Max’s cool, “No comment,” on the flat screen left her breathless. But only for a moment.
“What the hell? You call that keeping an eye on him?” she demanded of Giles. “How could you let that woman near him?”
Giles regarded her with a no harm, no foul grin. “You know her, Detective. To stop her, I’da had to tackle her.”
A sour return smile. “Now that I’d like to see on the news. What were you thinking, taking him there without any prep?”
“He handled himself just fine.”
“He,” Max interrupted, “would like you to stop talking about him as if he wasn’t in the room. I’m not a houseplant, Detective, or some unreliable little pet you’re afraid will pee on your guests if agitated.”
Giles’s robust laugh was cut short by one of Cee Cee’s crippling stares. Neither of them had the decency to appreciate her concern. Finally, she blew out her temper on a big sigh. “You’re right. Of course, you’re both right. I’m being foolish.”
She returned to the bedroom and angrily flung the damp towel down on the bed. What did it matter? Their sheets weren’t being used for anything of importance anyway.
All the fear and tension of the past hours rattled through her. She hugged her arms about herself to still the shivering. The events emphasized her fragile hold on those she cared about. For all her best and bravest intentions, she couldn’t protect them, especially within the often-lethal uncertainty of their preternatural sphere. One she was now a part of by choice and by recently-discovered heredity.
Still, she wasn’t doing Max any favors by keeping him isolated in emotional bubble wrap. He’d proved himself to no longer be a danger to others or to himself, his moods stabilized if rather withdrawn. Nothing too unusual there. Except for his loss of memory, he seemed fine.
If he was going to recover any sense of normalcy, he needed to get out into the world and out of her panicked grip. Almost losing her partner made that all the more painful to accept. To be alone again. To not share her life, her thoughts, her heart with another . . .
What did she have to lose? She had none of that now in her despondent dream that all could go back as it was.
She’d known one of them would come into the bedroom after her. She’d expected Giles to make the placating gesture. He was so good at running interference. Her system gave a jolt when she realized it was Max who’d come up behind her to make amends.
“You weren’t being foolish.”
The rumble of his deep voice caressed over her nerve endings, quieting them like a balm. “Yes, I was. If you and Giles hadn’t been so close by, MacCreedy would be dead, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with that. I should be thanking you, not treating you like a runaway child who broke curfew. I’m sorry.”
His hand settled on her shoulder, and the weight and warmth of it had her dying inside. “Don’t apologize. I know how hard this is for you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
Past tense. A bittersweet twist shaped her mouth. “All I’ve done has been for me, not you. I haven’t given you much consideration at all. I’m selfish that way.”
His palm rubbed over the cap of her shoulder, fingers gently kneading. Leaving her needing as he objected quietly, “There’s not a selfish bone in your body, cher.”
A laugh. “How would you know? You’re hardly an expert on what I am or I’m not.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
She wasn’t sure if he stepped forward or she leaned back. Their bodies bumped, and the shock of it undid her.
Cee Cee turned right into his arms. Hers circled him in a frantic clutch. Cheek pressed to the hard wall of his chest with only a thin weave of white linen between them, she squeezed her eyes shut and simply breathed him in. Love, longing, desire all quivered through her, a bouquet so potent he couldn’t be unaware of it. This was where she belonged, where everything made sense.
And then she realized he no longer held her, that his arms had dropped to his sides, as his breath suspended. She knew if she looked up, she’d see that horribly familiar blankness in his eyes, that stiff distance in his expression, and suddenly that hurt worse than the thought of his absence.
She pushed away with a crisp, “I’m sorry. I’m breaking the rules. I forgot we were strangers.” She turned to her dresser to snatch up those things that represented her: shield, cell, holster and gun, all the while saying, “Consider yourself off the leash, Savoie. You’re capable of handling your own affairs. I’ll stick to mine. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a report to file.”
He didn’t move to stop her.
Giles came up off the couch, but she cut through whatever he was about to say with her brusque, “Take your orders from him from now on. I’m not his babysitter or your conscience.”
Then Giles surprised her with a well-meaning but nonetheless wounding, “That’s probably for the best, Charlotte.”
For whom? Definitely not her.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Cee Cee went through the motions, quickly and efficiently. She filed her report of the incident—a carefully veiled version of the truth. Everything about her life seemed wrapped in varying shades of a lie. She and MacCreedy had gone to the wharf to follow up on a lead. Their police-issue coupe had been struck by a runaway forklift whose driver had bolted the scene after they went into the water. They were fished out by vigilant dockworkers, and Silas was currently under observation for some nasty contusions. Which was all that would be left of his trauma after he’d healed. Having a self-restoring partner had its perks. She was never without one for long.
While she was running solo, she decided to complete their morning’s intentions in a talk with Jacques LaRoche.
Cheve
ux du Chien. Hair of the Dog. An appropriate name for LaRoche’s warehouse-based club where those of his kind didn’t have to pretend they were like everyone else in New Orleans. Within its black-matte walls, beneath its booming sound system, they could howl.
The first time she’d gone inside she’d been a stranger in a very strange land. Following a whispered suggestion, she’d taken Max there to find others like him. Before that, he’d believed himself a frightening anomaly. To discover an entire community of supernatural beings who now looked to him for leadership changed a shadowy Mob bodyguard who’d lived to heed one voice into a powerful symbol of change and freedom who heard the cries of many. From that initial meeting of kindred souls, Max had felt the pull between two worlds, and because she was with him all the way in all things, so had she.
The club’s mammoth owner was hunched over ledgers in his glossy black, red and chrome office. On the other side of the desk, his seven-year-old daughter’s head was bent over school books. Both looked up through the same bright blue eyes.
“Detective.” Jacques’s usual booming fondness was tempered by concern. “I hear there was trouble at the docks.” He smiled at the child. “Pearl, grab one of those pricy foreign waters out of the cooler for Detective Caissie.”
“On the house?” Pearl may have inherited his stare but the sharp contemplation behind it was all her mother’s. Her censure was very clear.
“Don’t be sassy.” After the girl begrudgingly left them, Jacques muttered, “Quite the little capitalist, that one.” But his smile softened with adoration, turning ferocious beast into teddy bear. He looked to Cee Cee, all attention. “Fill me in.”
As he listened, his expression grew more and more troubled. When she’d finished, he asked with some difficulty, “Are you looking at Tib for this?”
Jacques and Philo Tibideaux went way back, to the time the redhead and his brother had interrupted the killing of a stranger from the North and took him in as family. The break between them had been harshly painful on both sides so Cee Cee continued with care.
“He’s right in the middle, Jacques, so I can’t exclude him. He knows something, but he won’t talk to me.” Her insinuation was plain, and Jacques didn’t like it.
“We’re not exactly on good terms, Charlotte. He’s not going to confide anything to me.”
“Could you be my eyes on the docks then? If what Silas heard is true, we’ve got a dangerous unknown trying to push inside our city limits. They’ve already made trouble for Giles’s family in the bayou, and I don’t want them camping out on our back porch.”
“No problem. I’ll poke around.”
“Have you heard anything about this Kick? Noticed any changes in your clientele?”
“Cher, my customers have always been a rowdy bunch, but if they’re up to really rough stuff, they’re not doing it here.”
Cee Cee exhaled loudly, disappointment evident. Then she recalled something Dovion had mentioned. “What about illegal fights? Max’s father used to mix it up on the docks in his day. Is there anything like that going on?”
Jacques chuckled. “I never thought I’d be so happily domesticated that I don’t even notice. I’ll have some of my less tame acquaintances see what they can sniff out. There’s always some group of knuckleheads who can’t get their aggression harnessed by honest work.”
“Like Philo’s Patrol?”
Jacques’ smile died. “Yeah. Like them.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It was well past the supper hour when Cee Cee, carrying a takeout bag of Chinese, let herself into the apartment. Finding the rooms dark likewise colored her mood.
Her taste for the meal gone when it meant dining alone, she put the sack in the nearly-empty refrigerator, exchanging it for a beer. She studied the cool bottle then, with a sigh, put it back, resigned to a comfortless evening.
Where was Max?
She paced and mulled over that question as shadows deepened along with her fears.
Had she expected it to be easy having him here so close and yet so agonizingly far away? Bad enough watching him in that antiseptic clinic cell, a prisoner of his own panicked madness, raving, raging, out of control. Worse was having him here in the lush, sexy surroundings he’d built for them to share, temptingly near yet impossible to reach.
A bargain made in heartbreak hell.
It was practical, logical, she’d argued once he’d calmed and was no longer a threat to them or himself. Where better for Max to recover his fragmented past than in surroundings rich with the memories they’d shared? The high-rise stronghold he’d erected to house his clan would become his own protective cocoon where he could remain safely swathed in the details of his life. A huge walk-in closet filled with his designer suits and tailored shirts. The scent of his toiletries in the bathroom. Of their bodies entwined together on the sheets. His unpretentious taste reflected in the clean yet sophisticated line of each and every room. She’d been sure the proximity would provoke something . . . other than her frustration.
Max had come with her willingly enough. What option did he have? Remain at the Institute as a subject of surveillance and cautious study? They’d made an agreement so the transition would be less awkward: cohabitation without the pressure to fulfill each other’s expectations. She’d walk him through the personal ins and outs of their life together in an effort to spark familiarity. She’d keep him safe from the outside world and from himself. And from her. What an excruciating Catch 22 that had become. To pretend not to ache for his touch. To keep her hands from reclaiming the long, powerful lines of his body, from absorbing his heat, from tasting his lips with a hunger that just kept growing. Rolling over in the huge bed she insisted they share to find them separated by more than just space. Or, more often than not, him absent, preferring the couch to her company for what little rest he was able to find.
Though she might be tortured by cherished memories, he was not. She was nothing to him but a protective port in his emotional storm. And that knowledge was driven home like a stake through the heart every time they were together. Every time he stared at her through those cool green eyes without the slightest flicker of response. Every time he took that distancing step back to evade the casual graze of her hand. Every time he lay next to her in the night, and silence created a force field of discomfort.
Tripping over him every minute of the damned day only emphasized how much she wanted, needed him back. And underlined how far away he was.
“Don’t push.” Susanna’s advice weighed like a stone upon her anxious hopes. Make the past available, but don’t overwhelm him with it. Let him take it in slowly, don’t force-feed him until he chokes. Offer, but don’t insist. Be patient. Not her strong suit.
Max was the one who’d been willing to wait twelve years before making a move for her affections. He was a virtual Job of restraint. Her, not so much. Time was a luxury she rarely enjoyed in her profession’s sprint for results. If a short cut to his recovery existed, she’d take it in a heartbeat if not for the Chosen doctor’s warning.
Max could crash.
Susanna didn’t have to paint an oil masterpiece for Cee Cee to get the picture. Overload. Melt down. Circuit fry. Permanent collapse of personality. Since they had no idea what had been done to him, those horrifying consequences were all too real. Susanna had seen it happen when subjects fought the imprinting process, her kind’s nasty habit of mind control by chemically and psychically altering individual will. Max Savoie had battled for his identity since childhood, that need to fight ingrained in him.
So Cee Cee would go slowly. She’d suppress her own desires to protect him during this fragile stage, and calmly, patiently encourage those baby steps to bring back her love, her mate, her every dream come true.
That was the plan.
What was she going to do if she couldn’t break through that barrier between them? How was she going to live her life if, instead of going back to what they’d had, he rebuilt his world without her?
&nbs
p; Cee Cee collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes, struggling against the burn of distress prickling behind them. Her palms pressed to the faint curve of her abdomen as she remembered Susanna’s concern. Was she all right? Not hardly. Nowhere near it.
Time was running out.
Some elements of the past would soon be apparent. Whether Max was ready to face them or not.
CHAPTER FOUR
No particular sound or movement woke Cee Cee from her restless sleep. More a sense that she was not alone. She straightened from her curled position on the couch, puzzled by the drape of a light blanket tucked in around her.
The bare wall of windows let in the lights of the city against an ink-black sky, silhouetting a solitary figure. Her throat clutched as she recalled the first time she’d seen him there when the building was still a metal skeleton, toeing the edge of the beam, his dark coat billowing behind him like the wings of a fallen angel. His pose was no less dramatic now, sleek, dark and solitary as he stared out into the night.
Cee Cee bit down on her initial impulse to demand where he’d been, knowing her panic would shine through. No pressure. Don’t push. Give him space. Her restraint was rewarded by the quiet murmur of his voice.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. Giles and I were going through the books at LEI, and time got away from us. There’s so much I need to learn if I’m to maintain the masquerade of knowing who I am. I apologize if you were worried.”
He’d been with Giles at Legere Enterprises International tending his inherited ill-gotten and now nearly legal gains. All anxieties addressed and answered. She relaxed. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She could tell by his hesitation that there was more he wanted to say, so she remained silent and let him work up to it. Still, his question took her by surprise.
“What was that this morning?”
“I had a very busy morning. Be more specific.”
“Between us.”
Specific as a heart attack. No use tiptoeing around it.
“We’ve had a sort of psychic connection since we bonded.” Thankfully, he didn’t ask her to explain that process. “We can get inside each other’s heads.”
