by Nancy Gideon
His could be like this, too. If he was willing to surrender what had come before it. The bigger question was would Charlotte? He feared that answer was no. And that returned him to the reason for his visit.
After sending Pearl to her room to tend her homework, Susanna settled on the sofa, curling now bare feet beneath her as she fixed a studious gaze upon him.
“What do you need, Max? If it’s possible, it’s yours.”
“Information. I need to know what is possible.”
“To the recovery of your memories?”
“To the recovery of my life.”
“Tell me what you’ve remembered.”
Max regarded her for a long, wary moment. Could he trust her, this female from the North? Did he have a choice? He took a breath and revealed everything, from the woman he believed was his aunt to the bits and pieces that had been coming back since his visit to the estate. And most difficult of all, of his relationship with the tenacious detective. As he recounted these things and answered Susanna’s questions, he rubbed at his brow where a mild throb began to gather into a massive pressure.
“What was done to you wasn’t a total implantation, or you wouldn’t have any flashes of your past at all,” she told him. “Over time and exposure to the things you know, more of it should return. Perhaps enough for you to reconstruct a fairly accurate background. You’re a highly developed individual, Max. I don’t think they knew how unique, or they’d have taken much greater precautions to see you didn’t escape them.”
“What about the work you’re doing? Is there anything in your research that could apply to my situation?”
“In what way?”
“On a genetic level. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Mapping out the genetic codes for our species? You’ve used it to repair Mary Kate, to stabilize your daughter’s health. You’re unwrapping secrets hidden from our kind for generations.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling against the tension. “Is there something in those discoveries that you could use to patch the damage they did to me?”
Susanna studied him carefully, as if beneath her microscope. “It would be highly experimental, even dangerous.”
“What exactly are you working on, Doctor?”
As Susanna opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by a soft voice from across the room.
“Mom, don’t tell him.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They both looked in surprise to a somber faced Pearl, Susanna slightly embarrassed, Max agitated.
“Pearl, why would you say such a thing?” Susanna insisted.
The child’s laser-bright stare remained fixed on Max. “He knows. Ask him.”
“Max?”
The pain in his head was now migraine quality, pounding between his temples, making his stomach roil dangerously. But he fought through it because the intuitive little girl was right. He did know. He’d known since Nica’s warning.
So he voiced his greatest fear. “Do you think it’s possible that they let me go?”
He’s not what he seems.
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you do. I know your daughter does. Did they tamper with me somehow? Like they did with Nica? Is there a way to know for sure?”
Now Susanna’s gaze was sharp with caution. “You’ve been having headaches? Persistent thoughts?”
“Yes. More and more frequently.”
“Now?”
“Especially now.”
Max could see her recoil as if something dangerous had reared up in front of her. But Pearl knew no such fear. She approached him without hesitation even when her mother cried out, “Pearl, stay back.”
A small hand touched to his cheek, fingertips pressing lightly to his brow. Again, Max felt that surge of energy sizzling behind his eyes, piercing though his mind like a white- hot spear. Then the pressure was gone with a suddenness that made him gasp.
“Are they still there?” the girl asked quietly.
“No,” he whispered. “What did you do?”
“I told them to leave, that I could see them.”
Susanna grabbed her slender arm and pulled her into a protective embrace. “Pearl, I told you not to do these things.”
“But Mommy, you said we were safe here.”
Susanna hugged her closer, staring warily at Max. “We’re not safe anywhere, baby. You have to be careful. You can’t let them know what you can do.”
“What can she do?” Max asked.
When Susanna hesitated, Pearl leaned away to reassure, “It’s all right now. They can’t hear us.”
Max looked to the scientist expectantly.
“She’s a pre-cog, a Seer. And more. How much more, I’m not really sure.”
“What did you see, Pearl?” Max asked gently. “The same thing you saw the other day?”
She nodded, studying him with interest, not alarm. “Someone else is looking through your eyes, hearing through your ears.”
The casual way she said that stunned Max. “All the time?”
“No. You’re very strong. It’s difficult for them. That’s why you feel it, here.” She tapped his temple.
“Can they read my thoughts?” He looked between the two of them, anxious and horrified.
“No,” Susanna answered for her daughter. “Remotely, they can only look out, not in. They can manipulate thought but they can’t read it.” A slight smile. “How that frustrates them.”
“Can I block it?”
“Maybe. If you were sedated.”
“No.” He’d had enough of that. “What do they want?”
Susanna regarded him with candid concern. “To control the leader of the New Orleans Shifter clan. To learn as you learn about our strengths and weaknesses. To get information that could help them and harm us. To discover what I was about to reveal to you.”
“I’m their spy.” How much had they found out using him as an unwitting conduit? He paged back through the conversations he’d had, weighing the potential dangers. “For whom? To what end?” He thought rather feverishly of that gentle voice and consoling touch. The one that stirred memories of his mother.
“I don’t know.”
Then another idea occurred to Max. One that roared to life in response to being used as a pawn to harm those dear to him. Panic gave way to a fierce objecting fury. They were fools if they thought he’d let such a thing go unanswered. They’d forgotten who he was, just as he was remembering.
He spoke softly, ferociously. “Can we turn their tricks against them?”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
During the course of an uneventful day, Cee Cee’s thoughts continued to stray to a certain Shifter with a sultry, green-eyed stare. Imagining how he was spending his time, how she would prefer to be spending hers. But when evening settled, it was game on and wistful daydreams fell away.
She, Nica and Silas followed the QR code directions to an exclusive fitness club where style was more important than stamina. They were led past darkened areas for spinning and Zumba classes, threaded between high tech circuit machines into the empty ladies locker room. Nearing the steam and sauna rooms, the scent of chlorine grew pungent. Their stoic guide opened the door to the pool area.
Fashionable guests gathered poolside, drinking cocktails and placing bets. The pool itself had been drained to house the evening’s entertainment. With Silas carrying an imported dark beer that cost him more than a porterhouse and she and Nica sipping over-priced waters, they elbowed for position at the shallow end where they were quickly approached by a grinning O’Leary.
“Here to let us try to win our money back?”
Silas returned his smile. “That’s not the plan. What kind of ticket do you have tonight?”
“A double bill. The last match is a four-way tag team.”
Silas looked over the professionally made program he was handed and talked odds with the diminutive bookie while Cee Cee swept the crowd for familiar faces. No sign of Todd amongst the designer spectators.
Once MacCreedy placed conservative bets, she tapped O’Leary on the shoulder.
“Could you tell me if a fighter named Boze Reading is here tonight?”
“Can’t say that I’ve seen him.”
“We talked to him after the last fight about potential sponsorship but never heard back from him.” She kept her inquiry casual, hoping to get a feel regarding Reading’s death, but O’Leary played it close with a nonchalant gesture.
“Them boys come and go. Some are just in it for the quick buck then move on.”
“I didn’t get that impression from him. He seemed pretty serious about long-term plans.”
O’Leary shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell ya. I see him, I’ll tell him you was looking.” He gave her a closer scrutiny. “You thinking of getting into the game or just out for fun?”
She winked. “I’m in it for the fun, but my friend here is looking for an investment.”
Silas tuned in to their conversation with a cautious, “Just feeling it out for now.”
“Thought you was a sporting man,” O’Leary teased.
“I only gamble when I can win.”
“It’s not much of a gamble then.”
Silas smiled. “Exactly. I don’t see the sport in losing money. Think you could hook me up with someone who could show us the ropes?”
“Might could.”
Cee Cee leaned in. “Reading mentioned a Casper Lee. Is he the one in charge?”
O’Leary’s demeanor altered slightly to one of wariness. “I’ll let him know you was asking.”
Silas reached into his jacket. “Let me give you my number.”
“Oh, Mr. Lee won’t have any trouble getting it.” He grinned again and tipped the rolled-brim hat he was wearing. “Good luck with your bets.”
The night’s play itself was gratifyingly violent for the fancy gathering. Again, the slick production maintained that veil of mystery when it came to what viewers actually saw. And it was more apparent to the trio that those engaged in combat to near death were pumped full of unnatural aggression. By the conclusion of the first bout, the pool bottom and walls were slick with blood, and Silas was counting his sizable winnings.
Nica nudged his arm. “Maybe you should retire, lover. We could live off the spoils quite comfortably.”
“I’m quite content living off you,” was his reply.
A soft throat clearing.
“I understand you were asking for me. I’m Casper Lee.”
The rather effeminate voice didn’t prepare Cee Cee for the physical presence of the Shifter behind them. His hair was a shock of white blond above heavy brows and ruggedly sensual features. A double-breasted blueberry-colored Prada jacket civilized the formidable bulk of his body. His handshake was as cushiony as his full lips but there was nothing dainty about the searing pale blue of his stare. That cut like a surgical knife as he said, “I’ve taken in one of your stage shows, Ms. Pepper. You are remarkably flexible.”
Silas offered his hand with a robust, “Mr. Lee, we were admiring your operation here. Quite unique.”
“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Creed. I regret I never had a chance to appreciate your skill at Manny’s tables.”
So Lee did have his number if he already knew his name. He smiled with an easy charm at the third member of their party. “I don’t believe I know who you are.”
“No reason you should,” Nica murmured smoothly, testing his strength with a tight squeeze of his hand. He didn’t wince. “I’m Monica. Mr. Creed’s banker.”
He pulled back his hand, flexing his fingers as he chuckled. “I would hate to default to you on a deal.”
“You have no idea,” Silas drawled.
“O’Leary said you might be interested in investing in this little venture. Is that true?”
“Interested, yes. But I’d need more information.” He glanced at Nica. “To satisfy my loan officer.”
Lee looked about at the raucous crowd, smiling with satisfaction. “It’s too unruly here to talk business. Can we get together tomorrow? At the Sweat Shop, say two o’clock? Familiar ground. I have some matters to go over with Mr. Blu at lunch. We could have a drink afterwards. Or would that be awkward?”
“I have no problem with that.”
“I confess to having one,” Nica murmured dangerously.
Silas stroked her arm. “Play nice or stay home.”
The sound she made was suspiciously like a growl. Lee seemed more amused than alarmed as he agreed, “Tomorrow then. Enjoy the rest of the show.”
After he moved away through the crowd, glad-handing and grinning, Nica voiced her reluctance.
“I don’t like the idea of you going back inside that place, Si. Blu is crazy dangerous, and we don’t know what part he plays in this.”
“And we won’t know unless we take the risk. Besides, I’ll have you to protect me.” At her sniff of irritation, he regarded Cee Cee with a new and annoying deference. “You don’t have to go. I’d totally understand if you chose not to.”
“Don’t be an ass, Mac.”
Satisfied with her response, he mused, “I’ll talk to Babineau, see if he can be on hand if there’s any unexpected play.” Then he was smiling as O’Leary approached. “Hey, thanks for the intro.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Or let him fool you,” the diminutive man warned. “Casper’s a shark when it comes to business. He’ll swallow you whole if you stop swimming, or if he scents blood in the water. A shrewder man I’ve never met.”
“Any advice?”
“When you talk to him, have a plan ready. He appreciates initiative but hates to have his time wasted. He don’t like folks who come to him expecting him to make them money. You got a fighter in mind you want to promote that will bring him bank, then he’ll listen. Otherwise, you’d be wise not to bother him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The increase in crowd volume as the next round began made it impossible to continue conversation, so the little man simply took Silas’s money with a nod and walked away.
Cee Cee leaned close to her partner to shout, “Reading is dead. We don’t have a fighter.”
Silas allowed a narrow smile. “I’ve got someone in mind.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The apartment was dark when Cee Cee gently closed the door behind her. The sight of Max’s suit coat draped in a neat fold over the back of the couch made her heart skip with both anticipation and caution.
Tell him.
She had no agenda in keeping silent about their child. Not now that Susanna had assured her that all was well health-wise. Her worry was for Max and his ability to handle the news. It seemed an unfair burden to drop, the delicate fate of an unborn upon one who was basically just learning to walk on his own. Did she have the right to deny him this opportunity to find out who he was? She wanted the return of that knowledge as much, if not more, than he did. There was such depth of history she longed to share with both mate and offspring. So much insight in that life lived that father could share with child.
What if he left and didn’t come back? The dangers couldn’t be underestimated. Could she risk her baby losing its father without ever seeing him smile, without ever hearing his voice, without ever knowing his protective and loving touch? Which depravation was worse? Max his past or their child its father’s place in its future? There was no easy answer.
But soon the choice would be out of her control. Her clothes were already restrictive. There was no way he wouldn’t notice once she went from Spandex to yoga pants and big shirts. Or fail to feel her body changing now that they’d been intimate.
With a sigh, she took off her own coat and shoes and moved on silent stocking feet to the bedroom. She could just make out the shape of him beneath the covers. The curve of one bare shoulder gleamed enticingly.
His voice was whiskey-warm and just as soothing.
“Come to bed, sha.”
Her conflicts dropped along with her dress. She stepped away from both easily.<
br />
Max scooted over, drawing her down with the light clasp of their hands into the warm hallow his body had occupied. Opening one arm wide to invite her up against him to share more of that delicious heat. Her palm traveled across the crisply furred plain of his chest. The presence of his gym shorts would be no deterrent if the moment progressed in that direction. But it wasn’t lust that stole about her like the band of his arm.
“How was your evening?” she murmured contentedly.
“The company was pleasant, the meal not so much. Yours?”
“I’m glad to be home.”
Home. Into the curl of his embrace. Riding the rock of his breathing.
“We need to talk,” she said at last, resigned to unburdening her spirit. But his fingertips touched to her lips.
“Not tonight.”
The deep vibration of his words stirred a shiver across her skin. “Oh? You have something else on your mind, Savoie?”
“Just this, cher. Sharing a moment beneath the covers without words. Just listening to each other’s heart beat.”
Everything inside her melted. “Sounds wonderful.”
“Close your eyes, Detective. I’ve got you.”
And having her became something Max Savoie hadn’t expected. She was something he hadn’t expected. Warm and soft yet tough. Razor sharp but still tender. A complex blend of opposites. Humbling and exhilarating all at once, her courageous strength twisted his emotions like damp wash in a wringer. Her devotion and love were the gentle breezes playing about them until they flew light, unweighted, and free. And her passion . . . The memory of her passion warmed across the surface and heated what lay below, making him burn from inside out with undeniable need.
The soft sound she made as she went boneless in sleep triggered a seismic protectiveness gentled by the feathering of her breath across his skin. The riot of his chasing thoughts quieted into deep, blissful peace. He focused only on her, inhaling slowly, letting her scent tease until he trembled.
Even though his mind was emptied of the past they’d shared, his heart knew her. Whether he found those memories or not, this was the woman he’d chosen for himself for all the qualities he’d rediscovered. Any doubt that they belonged together faded into insignificance as another priority arose.
