by Nancy Gideon
“I know that, Jimmy.”
He could see—or thought he could—the outline of a man in the deep shadows of the room, seated in the chair, a newspaper turned to the financial section spread across his knees.
“Then whatchu afraid of? What’s got you standing there looking like you seen a ghost?”
Was he seeing Jimmy Legere’s shade? Or the sliver of a memory playing out within his mind?
“I took care of that business for you down on the docks.” Continuing to move forward, Max could see his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. But he was young. So young. Lean to the point of gauntness, maybe all of twenty, his usually impassive features pinched with underlying distress.
“And?”
He swallowed hard, nearly choking on the acrid taste of bile seeping up into his throat. Standing there, still, taut with anxiety, he could hear them in his head, those two unfortunate girls, their shrill cries, the moaning pleas, their terror and pain. And then that fierce, growling boldness that gave him goose bumps all over.
Keep your filthy hands off her or lose them, you sonuvabitch!
“Nothing,” the younger Max concluded calmly. “Anything else you need me to do, Jimmy?”
Max could see the older man’s face then. Every familiar line and sharp angle. He could feel the cool scrutiny of his mentor’s stare silently challenging the truth of his claim then finally he nodded, satisfied. Not seeing beyond that initial lie, the first Max had ever spoken, to an event that would alter everything about their future.
Because no innocent female deserved to suffer at the cruel hand of another. The way his mother had suffered.
“You’re a good boy, Max. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The image faded away. Startled, Max had taken a stride forward to call Jimmy back when he came up against a wall of sudden cold. He glanced down at the strips of replacement flooring that gleamed new against the old, and curiously knelt to run his palm over the boards. He lifted his hand to find his fingers wet with blood and brains. He rocked back on his heels, swimming in sickness and horror. What had he done? What was he going to do now that everything that gave his life meaning, that protected and provided for him, was gone?
“Jimmy, don’t leave me here alone.” His own voice whispered hauntingly. “I don’t know what to do.”
The door opened behind him. Light from the hall fell where he crouched, eyes streaming, face twisted with misery.
“I figured you’d come here.” Helen crossed to him, placing her hand lightly upon his head. “You always looked to Jimmy for direction until you were able to find your own way.”
“I killed him. He saved me, gave me everything, and because of me, he died.”
Helen smiled gently at that forlorn claim. “Francis Petitjohn killed him for personal revenge, hoping to steal his empire. Jimmy’s own twisted greed and miserable, selfish life killed him. Any good in him came from what he felt for you. He loved you, Max. Right from the start. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself. You were such a lost and lonely boy. He knew about you and Detective Caissie, and he knew the choice you’d make. He couldn’t let you go. He could have killed you himself or had it done. But he loved you and chose to die so you wouldn’t have to.”
She drew his head against her and let him lean, as he rarely did, for comfort. “Is he rolling in his grave because of what you’ve done with his legacy?” the pensive housekeeper continued. “I hope so. But he’d be proud, too. Don’t look back, Max. There’s only pain and unhappiness there. Your future is upstairs with that woman who’d do absolutely anything for you.”
Anything but love the man he was now.
CHAPTER NINE
The soft mist upon her face woke Cee Cee from uneasy dreams. Dreams of faceless Chosen minions pursuing her through a labyrinth of hospital corridors. Of pushing a gurney that held Max Savoie beneath the drape of a sheet. Just as she managed to angle them inside the safety of an elevator and close the doors on their enemies, she pulled the sheet back to reveal not her lover but a mannequin with features molded to look like his.
She sat up with a gasp, heart still pounding. His scent quieted her fears. That unmistakable fragrance of masculine heat and bonding pheromones, as unique as any crime scene fingerprint.
Turning toward the open doors that let in the refreshing weather along with the cool wash of rain, she could just make out the silhouette of a figure at the porch rail. Cee Cee’s heart stumbled then kicked up a notch as she admired his long lines and lonely pose. She slipped out of bed, wearing just an oversized Saints T-shirt, and crossed the moisture-peppered floor to stand in the doorway. Filling up with the sight of him. His white shirt, damp and nearly transparent, molded to the muscles beneath it. His black hair plastered to his head, as sleek as the sheets on their bed. He didn’t move but she knew he was aware of her as she came up behind him.
He made no attempt to evade her when her right hand covered his where it rested on the railing. His fingers slowly spread, inviting hers between them.
“I’m sorry.”
In lieu of more explanation, Cee Cee simply leaned into him, resting her cheek upon his broad back. Her other arm slipped about his waist in a loose circle, palm riding his slow, even breaths. For a long moment, he didn’t move, then his voice rumbled like the distant thunder.
“Whatchu sorry about, cher?”
“For taking things for granted.”
Another lengthy pause then a prompting, “What things?”
She sighed then just let go of all the confusion. “I’m so used to you getting me. You’re the only one who ever has. You’ve always been one step ahead, knowing what I want, what I need. I’ve never had a connection like that to anyone else. Not to the father I idolized, not Babineau who’s had my back on the street for years, not even to Mary Kate who shared all my secrets. None of them understood the things I kept in my closet.”
Silence, then a huskily intrigued, “What do you have in the closet that you only shared with me?”
She chuckled, giving him a squeeze. “Not a literal closet, Savoie.”
“Oh. Forgive me for thinking naughty thoughts. You tend to inspire them, sha.”
Her arm tightened about him as he lifted their joined hands to his lips to give hers a light stroke. “It’s where we locked away our fears, our darkness, our pain. We’d just started to do some serious housecleaning together when—I lost you.”
“You haven’t lost me, Charlotte. I’m right here.”
“I know you are.” Her voice hitched slightly. “It’s just so hard, Max, to be with you and still feel so far apart, like I’m standing on the outside again. I tend to forget that I’m not the only one lost. That’s why I’m sorry. I want us to be in this together, not standing separate and alone. I don’t want to lose you, Max. I can’t go through that pain again.”
Max turned, releasing her hand to cup her cheek in his palm, thumb brushing away the tears threading through rain drops. His features were drawn in dramatic plays of light and shadow, eyes bright, the only splash of vivid color upon that stark palette. The sight so breathtaking, hers abandoned her. She held herself still and left herself open, something she’d never been able to do with anyone but him. She didn’t try to hide her vulnerability. Or her longing. And was rewarded by his quiet vow.
“I’m not going anywhere, Charlotte.”
Cee Cee’s head tipped back, offering heart and soul as Max bent to claim her lips with a fierce certainty. His grip hauled her up tight against him until her feet left the floor. Insecurities scattered. He carried her inside, toeing the door shut without lessening the hungry pressure of his kiss.
The second he broke away from her lips, her hands were busy with his shirt buttons, hurrying down them, peeling wet fabric from his hard frame to send it to the floor. He scooped off her damp T-shirt and discarded it impatiently. Cee Cee trembled. His hands found and molded the firm weight of her breasts. His head lowered for a taste of those chill-tightened peaks.<
br />
Her fingers clenched in his hair as everything fell away except the heat of his touch, the scorch of his attention. Her words tumbled out, thick and rough with need.
“Oh, baby, I’ve missed you. I want you.”
“Then you’ll have me, sha.”
He laid her back on those restlessly tangled sheets and after a brief second, covered her with his deliciously familiar form, skin on skin. And he was kissing her again, eyes open to watch her expression with that unblinking intensity she adored.
Her arms and legs twisted about him. His palm scooped beneath her, lifting her hips. Her soft cry welcomed that first thrust. And for just a moment, the earth stilled in its rotation then began to move forward again.
There was nothing, however, still about Max Savoie.
His urgent hands, his feverish mouth, his impatient sex, all eager to please and hurry their satisfaction. But she’d waited too long to be rushed. With one strong move, she was on top, pinning his wrists and his exquisite ass to the bed.
“Let’s make this a slow ride, shall we?”
The deep purr of her voice brought a sassy grin to his face. The long slant of his eyes grew languid. “You have the reins, cher. You can whip me with them if you like.”
Her smile was pure torment. “Maybe later. Right now I’m in no hurry to get where we’re going.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
When she released his hands, his palms stroked warm and leisurely along her thighs, drenching her with pleasure.
“Just lie there looking so damn sexy I can hardly stand it.”
“I can do that, sha.”
As he watched her above him, all tempting, taut curves and appealing muscle tone, moving over him, hot and tight as a clenched fist, something wild and magical stirred within Max. That bond they shared flared hot. Sensation reached far deeper than surface delights as hearts beat together in a single forceful tattoo. The quickening of her excitement raced through him, stimulating, intensifying his own desires until it grew too difficult to remain a passive party. Pounding like their gasps for breath, like their sprinting pulse, like the urgent sound of flesh on flesh, a primal demand chanted with increasing fervor.
Take her. Claim her. Make her yours.
Gripping a handful of her choppy black hair, Max dragged her down to once again savage her mouth. Her flavor intoxicated. He couldn’t drink deeply enough.
“Ride’s over,” he growled, tossing her onto her back so he could assume the dominant role. Lost to the rapid approach of her own fulfillment, she clung to the headboard so it banged in time to his aggressive moves. Her body bowed and tensed and finally shuddered with splendid relief.
Max slowed, struggling to keep her at that quivering precipice by prolonging his own surrender. But after an agonizing moment, heat and power swelled, surging from him to her in a depleting wave.
And his rumbling groan of accomplishment was echoed by one triumphant thought.
Mine.
Peace, sweet and warm and deep, leeched into his very marrow as they lay entangled, breathing in each other’s breaths and sighs. Max pushed his nose into her hair, inhaling as his eyes closed. And on the slow exhale that followed, he finally found rest.
Calmed by her body’s satiety, Cee Cee listened to the soft beat of the rain as it entwined with the rhythm of her lover’s breathing. Her palm skimmed over the familiar textures of his skin, the reunion bittersweet. Because this was her Max. And then again, he wasn’t.
That desperate yearning for all still prowled unrequited.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A soft rain continued to fall, lessening the humidity of the previous weeks. Max sat out on the veranda watching daylight push away the clouds until the entire side yard glistened like jewels scattered over lawn and limb. The effect was calming, restorative, the same way waking to find his lover in his arms had been. Both brought tranquility to his troubled soul. He wanted to hold onto that feeling and knew of only one way to make that happen.
He had to go to Chicago.
His future and past were there. And he wanted them back.
He heard a step behind him and glanced about to see Giles carrying two cups of coffee.
“Mind if I join you, boss man?”
Max gestured to the chair opposite and gratefully cradled the warm cup placed in front of him. Giles’s presence added to the comforting mood that settled about him as they sat, looking outward, sipping in silence.
Until Giles mentioned almost casually, “Does she know you’re leaving?”
Giles’s ability to read him shouldn’t have surprised Max but it did. “'scuse me?”
“Have you told her you’re going north or were you just planning to sneak off?”
Put like that, the idea seemed shameful to even entertain. “I hadn’t decided.”
“Were you going to mention it to me or just leave me looking stupid with my dick in my hand?”
Max glanced his way, but all he got was a calm profile. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Sure you would, or you wouldn’t look so guilty and I wouldn’t feel so insulted.”
That brought a slight smile. “If I asked, would you go?”
“Charlotte already asked me.”
Again, that jolt of surprise at his honesty. “And what did you tell her?”
“That it’s not my decision to make alone any more. Any other time, I’d have your back. You know that. But I’ve got other obligations now.”
“And she says no.” There was no bitterness in that conclusion. He couldn’t blame Brigit MacCreedy for being unwilling to take the risk.
“Bree?” A lusty laugh. “She might try to convince me otherwise in ways I’d enjoy, but she’d never keep me from doing something I’d set my mind on. But the timing’s off. Not wrong, mind you. I’d never call such a blessing a wrong thing.”
Max blinked. “She’s pregnant.”
Giles beamed in response. “Gloriously, and with all the hormonal mine fields that go with it.”
Max grinned back, delighted. “Congratulations. You’ll be a good father.”
Giles sobered and nodded. “Yes, I will be. Not because I have to be, but because I choose to be.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s not mine, biologically, that is. In every other way, I’m proud to claim him.”
“Oh.” Max wasn’t sure how to respond to that bit of news.
Giles regarded him for a moment, trying to decide on how much to reveal. “His father was Daniel Guedry, that idiot who lost his life trying to take yours.” He briefly recounted the assassination attempt made by Brigit’s young lover, who was trying to impress her by killing a supposed enemy of her family.
Max placed a hand to his chest, feeling a knotted scar beneath his shirt. And for just an instant, he could feel the burn of those silver bullets tearing into his body, feel the scorch of a fireball bursting all around him as he leapt from the vehicle an instant before it exploded. Then nothing.
“How did I survive?”
Another chuckle, this one filled with wry amusement. “Alain Babineau. Can you believe it? Life has a pretty damned strange sense of humor. You, saved by the man who’d love to see you dead. Me, with the lover of the man who almost saw it done.”
Max said nothing, but noted the irony.
“I vowed to raise her child as my own because I’ll love him just as I love her. With everything I have and everything I am,” he added so there would be no mistaking where he stood in case Max entertained any thoughts of retribution.
“A child isn’t responsible for the actions of its father,” Max said quietly.
“You told me that,” Silas interjected as he joined them on the porch, having just arrived with the smell of the city still on him, “after we had a rather vigorous discussion about family.” He took one of the remaining chairs and glared coolly at Giles. “And why am I only hearing about this now? Second hand, at that?”
Giles shru
gged. “She wanted to tell you in her own way.”
“With what, a birth announcement?”
“Perhaps she was waiting until you found time for her, you being such a busy man and all. Or maybe she figured you wouldn’t take kindly to the idea.” Another elaborate shrug. “Guess you’ll just have to ask her. If you’re planning to hang around long enough to say hello, that is.”
Max looked between them, brow lifted. Interesting mood for the early hour.
Silas refused to be guilted. “My sister knows where I live, where I work, and what my phone number is.”
“As if,” Brigit purred, placing her hands upon his shoulders, “you are ever at either place or take my messages. Good morning, Brother.” She touched a cool kiss to his cheek and moved around the table to sit beside Giles. “You’re looking well, considering the events you neglected to advise me of.”
His reply was just as neutral. “Perhaps I didn’t want to upset you in that delicate condition you never told me about.”
“Like your own marriage and impending fatherhood that you never shared even knowing where I lived and my phone number.”
Max cleared his throat, about to step in as reluctant referee. But Brigit cut in too quickly.
“Well, let me be the better sibling and insure you’re the first to know of my wedding.”
Giles had been in mid-swallow. His startled inhale had him choking and coughing as he turned watering eyes to the enraged female beside him.
“What?” he wheezed. “I haven’t even asked.”
She skewered him with a look. “You don’t want to marry me?”
He managed to clear his throat to croak, “Of course I do.”
“Then what difference does it make who does the asking? You’ll be my child’s father, and I’ll have your name. And no one will have reason to be ashamed of either of us.” Her narrowed stare went back to Silas. “So do let me know, brother, when you have a convenient opening in your schedule, so we can plan the happy family event.” She shoved up out of her chair. “Excuse me. I need something decaffeinated.”
All three males blinked after her, then Silas turned to Giles. “Do you want to go, or should I?”
