by Nancy Gideon
“My guess is they’re using Tibideaux’s Patrol to pipeline it,” Jacques mumbled unhappily.
Cee Cee shook her head, eager to relieve that fear. “We don’t think he’s involved.”
“If that’s the case,” Silas offered to test his theory, “they won’t trust him enough to slip any useful information his way. We need someone on the inside at the docks.”
“That didn’t work out so well for Boze Reading,” Cee Cee reminded him.
Silas shrugged. “Just saying.”
“So it’s not just Carmen Blutafino going for an underground illegals trade and a disgruntled Terriot prince trying to steal a new kingdom,” Cee Cee mused. “Now we’re dealing with a potential invasion from the North?”
“Looks that way.”
And never had Cee Cee wished more fervently for Max Savoie’s council, for his shrewdness and underworld connections. But those things were mostly lost to her now, and might never be recovered if they couldn’t turn this situation to their advantage.
“Well fuck us sideways,” she muttered. “Any ideas?”
“A few,” her partner offered, “that won’t be very popular.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The door opened a tiny crack, just far enough for an anxious once over.
“May I come in?”
For a moment, the space didn’t widen. A whispery voice offered, “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
“I might say the same, Sister.”
The barrier closed and after the rattle of the chain opened wide. Mary Kate Malone stepped back to wave him in, her quiet welcome underlined with contention. “That’s not who I am anymore.”
Max surveyed the tidy rooms and then the figure before him. He couldn’t argue her claim because he only remembered her as the ghostlike visitor in white robes who’d come to place a cool hand upon his brow while fever raged beneath it. This female, in her dainty floral dress and bare feet, her wispy blonde hair pulled back on the sides with tortoise shell clips, wearing an expression both combative and painfully fragile was not her. “So tell me,” he invited. “Who are you now?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to be pulled into whatever brought you to this door.”
He smiled slightly at her warning. “Does that mean we can’t talk as the friends we once were?”
“We were never friends, Max. Whoever told you that, lied.”
“Colleagues, then. Is that a more accurate term?”
She hesitated then reluctantly agreed. “I suppose.” She gestured to the living area. “You might as well sit down.”
Settling onto crisp new sofa cushions, Max picked up a definitive Shifter signature. Philo Tibideaux, he assumed from what Cee Cee had told him. His scent was confined to the common areas, not the bedroom beyond. Her guardian, for the time being.
“Did Lottie send you to argue her case? If so,” she told him, taking an adjacent chair, “you’re wasting your time.”
“She doesn’t know I’m here. I came because I think we’re alike, you and I. The world where we felt safe no longer exists, and now we have to decide how to start over and who to trust.”
“And you want me to trust you?”
His sudden loud laugh made her flinch and frown. He quickly explained to soothe her uncertainty. “I wouldn’t ask that. Not when I can’t trust myself. We’ve both been broken by things that were done to us through no fault of our own. I thought maybe if we pieced together the things we know to be true, we’d have a better idea of where we stood, together and alone. I’m not here to make judgments about our past or our choices or to assume to know what’s best for you. Can you believe that much, at least?”
She studied him carefully, the hard glint of suspicion leaving her stare in lieu of a tender hopefulness. “Yes.”
Another smile. “Good. I want you to believe the one thing that I know to be true above all others. I believe in Charlotte Caissie, that she loves us and cares more for our happiness and safety than for her own. That she would make any sacrifice necessary to protect us, even from ourselves, even if it meant letting us go. Do you believe that as well?”
Emotion shimmered in her eyes and trembled on her lips until she finally said, “Yes, I do.”
“Then we need to trust her to help us find the right path to follow. Agreed?”
More strongly this time, “Yes.”
“Excellent. So, Mary Kate, what do you know to be true?”
She didn’t hesitate. “That Philo Tibideaux is a man of honor who wants what’s best for those close to him and those in this community. Can you believe that and move forward having the same faith in him that I do?”
Her answer surprised Max and was harder to accept than he expected. He hadn’t gotten the same impression of the cocky militant leader. Yet he’d asked her for her trust and promised his in return, so what could he say except, “Yes, I will.”
His words brought a relaxation to her tightly-strung posture and finally, a smile to her face. She drew strength from their new alliance. But he couldn’t leave things at that tentative truce. He had to push just a bit farther.
“Susanna Duchamps. Can we agree, despite our differences, to leave our future in her hands?”
“Yes,” Mary Kate said without reluctance. “She’s a woman of science and compassion, a mother who knows what it feels like to suffer loss and fight for what’s right. I might not like the position she’s put me in by bringing me back to life through unnatural means, but I don’t believe there’s any malice behind what she’s done. I don’t know if I can say the same for Father Mike. I don’t know if there’s any forgiveness in my heart for the things he’s done or allowed to happen because of his lies. If you disagree with that, I don’t know that we have anything more to say to each other.”
Max reached beyond the brittle surface of that claim to take her small hand between his own. He pitched his voice low and smooth.
“Let’s talk some more.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Cale Terriot stretched out on the parlor sofa, eyes closed, nodding to whatever hammered through his headphones. His glance rolled toward the door when he sensed he wasn’t alone. He reached for his iPod and cut the sound but didn’t get up.
“Hey.”
Silas returned his greeting, adding, “Get your coat. We’re going out.”
“Out where?”
“On the town.”
“With you?” He didn’t move, assessing his cousin’s guise of thick rimmed glasses, slicked back hair and boringly uptight clothes with a disparaging, “Sounds like fun.”
“As my date,” Cee Cee amended, stepping from behind the tall Shifter.
There was nothing drab about the shiny black tights skinning long legs or tank top of pale floaty material that displayed her toned physique. When Cale blinked at the sight of her bright red wig, pale makeup and diva sunglasses, she added, “On the job. Chili Pepper and,” she gestured to Silas, “Mac Creed. We’ve been invited by one of the local mobsters’ leg breakers to join him for the evening. There’ll be drinking, dancing and groping.”
Cale’s brows soared. “I’ll get my coat.”
As he swung off the couch and stood, Cee Cee assessed his new look. He wore black jeans, boots and a charcoal gray vee-neck sweater that poured sleekly over his muscular chest and arms. His telltale Terriot red-blond hair had been dyed black and cut in an aggressive bristle. The fair shadow of his facial hair had also been darkened and ruthlessly trimmed into a thin mustache and chin-hugging goatee that made him look decidedly dangerous. Perfect for what they had in mind.
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” they could hear Brigit saying as she and a displeased Giles approached. “He’s my brother-in-law. And a human. Nothing to tempt bad behavior.”
“That dress is made for bad behavior,” Giles growled unhappily. She wore a black bra top and micro mini overlaid with a sheath of black lace that accentuated her every curve. He stabbed a finger at Cale. “You. Keep an eye on her.”
Brigit chuckled. “That’s kind of like the coyote guarding the fox at a chicken coop. Silas can babysit me. Like always.”
“But I like MacCreedy. If anything happens and I need to break someone’s knees, I’d prefer them to be your cousin’s.”
Brigit stroked her irritable fiancé’s chest. “It’s just for show, not go. I’m saving all that bad behavior for when I get home. I might be tipsy and easy to take advantage of.”
“Well,” he grumbled, “that’s something to look forward to.”
They all moved together into the hall where Nica waited wearing a mostly unbuttoned man’s white shirt over her skinny black jeans. She caught Cale’s arm and put out her hand, demanding, “Earring.”
Cale frowned, eyes narrowing. “No. It stays. I won’t be the only guy wearing a stud.”
“Big enough to be mistaken for a lighthouse beacon? Only a Terriot prince has that much compensating to do, Stud.”
Cale went rigid. Nica beckoned impatiently with her fingers. Sensing things were about to get contentious, Cee Cee reached up to slip the back off the earring. Cale gave a start but didn’t object, allowing her to withdraw the diamond and affix it in the second hole in her own ear.
“There. Safe keeping. All right?”
He regarded her stubbornly but finally nodded.
Crisis averted. Cee Cee took his arm and put herself between him and Nica the way she would two animals squaring off, neck hair lifted. “Behave or be left behind,” she warned.
Cale gave the assassin a narrowed glare and escorted Cee Cee to the door where he put on his leather jacket and growled, “Bitch,” under his breath without looking back.
Cee Cee dragged him outside, hearing the scuffle of heels on the marble tiles that could only be Silas wrestling Nica into submission.
The start to an interesting evening.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
With Silas driving Legere’s mammoth Escalade, they swung by to pick up Alain Babineau at his tidy little cul-de-sac home.
Cale beat Brigit to comment, “Dear God. Are the fashion police off duty?” when they got a look at his neon purple and lime green silky shirt and silver skinny jeans. Babineau just grinned and explained, “Raided Vice’s undercover wardrobe. Pimp enough?”
Brigit winced and averted her eyes as he sat down beside her. “All you need is a feather boa and snakeskin boots.”
“I knew I forgot something.”
As the detective started to get up from the back bench seat, she grabbed his arm firmly and ordered, “Drive!”
“Let him wear that gaudy earring,” Nica suggested from the front.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
They rendezvoused with Blutafino’s bouncer, Todd, and his vacuous blow-up doll date—Mitzy, Bitsy or Trixy—at a lively downtown hotspot. After introductions all around, they found a table just off the dance floor. Talking over the pounding beat was impossible but conversation wasn’t their purpose. Being seen in Todd’s company was.
Silas scanned the room and nodded to a corner of the bar. Cee Cee followed his lead, spotting Casper Lee’s blindingly white hair. He was seated where he had a clear view of the action, his hand on the knee of a barely legal club boy.
Over the infectious Island beat the DJ was spinning, Cee Cee leaned close to Cale to shout, “Can you dance to this kind of music?”
“Mama, I can dance to any kind of music.” He dropped his jacket over his chair and put out his hand for hers. Pushing their way out onto the strobing floor, Cale bumped up against her to mouth at her ear, “Detective, any warm-blooded male with a pulse would have his hand on your glorious ass. May I?”
“Knock yourself out.”
His fingertips sketched over that tight sheen of Lycra before cupping a taut globe for a squeeze. “What kind of workout do you do to get that kind of muscle tone?”
She put her face up close to his. “I beat the shit outta guys who grab my ass.”
He laughed out loud and let loose his broad, toothy grin.
If he’d convinced her earlier that he could move when it came to fighting, the way the Terriot king owned the dance floor impressed the hell out of her. Strong, fluid, sensual, he held the attention of everyone who saw him grinding and raising the roof in time to the pulsing beat of Sean Paul’s “So Fine”. And that, he was. His stare never left hers, shooting him to the top of the hot and sexy scale. And not just the ladies noticed.
They worked up a healthy sweat before returning to the table several selections later where Silas had poured shots to get the mood boisterous. Cee Cee met his gaze and nodded.
Cale glanced up at his cousin with brows lowered as Silas cozied up close laying a familiar hand on Cale’s hip.
“We’re going to the men’s room.”
Cale sidled away to open a more impersonal space. “I don’t go to the can with other men. Especially when their old lady is looking for an excuse to stab me.”
“She doesn’t need any excuse. Just walk.”
Cale followed him around the dance floor until they reached the hall leading to the bathrooms.
Still in sight of the bar, Silas murmured, “Don’t react,” and curled his hand behind Cale’s neck, his thumb grazing intimately across his cheek and ear. “Look up at me the way you were looking at my partner.”
Cale’s gaze lifted slowly and held until Silas bent to whisper against his ear. “I need you to do something. You’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t like it already. You’d better take a step back and tell me what the fuck you’re up to.”
Silas complied, smiling slightly. “See that white-haired fellow at the end of the bar?” At Cale’s affirmative, he said, “I need you to get friendly with him.”
“I’m a friendly guy, but I think I need you to explain that a little better.”
Silas hadn’t missed the way Casper Lee was handling Cale with his attentive stare. “We need his cooperation.”
“Are you asking if I’ll take one for the team?” Cale drawled. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“It’s not like you don’t have a reputation for banging anything that moves.” There was more than just a hint of ill feeling in that claim.
Cale’s squint narrowed dangerously. “That’s not quite true. I’ve kept my banging confined to females of my own clan. I’m somewhat discriminating. These days Kendra prefers I keep my zipper up when she’s not around, and I plan to oblige her. Why don’t you roll him?”
“He’s not staring at me.”
“At least he has good taste.”
“Just flirt with him.” Silas gave him a push forward.
Shooting him a sour look, Cale wound his way toward the bar, kicking up his swagger a notch. He slid up to the rail to order another round for their table then leaned back on his elbows against the glossy wood, well aware of how his sweater pulled taut across his chest. He felt more than saw Lee’s approach.
“So you’re Creed’s fighter.”
Cale took his time in acknowledging the question and the man. Finally he swiveled his head to coolly study the other male. Everything about Lee hit a wrong cord, from the contrast of fleshy smile and ice-cold eyes to his intrusion inside the boundaries of Cale’s own personal space. He could almost feel the man’s accelerated breathing as he said, “I am.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Casper motioned to him. “Come with me.”
“I’m waiting for drinks. I haven’t paid yet.”
“I’ll take care of them.” And he walked away, assuming he’d be obeyed.
“If he’s heading for some dark corner so he can grab my crotch, I’m gonna kill you MacCreedy,” Cale muttered under his breath and followed.
Lee waited for him just inside the door to a large, dimly lit storeroom, shutting it behind Cale when he cautiously entered.
The sudden isolation made Cale jumpy enough to growl, “What’s this about?”
“I’ve got some decisions to make, and I wanted to get a look at yo
u.”
“Here I am.”
“A good look.”
“You can see everything you need to see in the ring tomorrow night.”
Casper smiled at his response. “Not good enough, I’m afraid. I’m investing my time and my reputation on an unknown. I think that calls for a little cooperation, don’t you?”
“I’m the soul of cooperation.”
“What’s your name?”
“Gunslinger.”
A chuckle. “Your name.”
“Micky Terry,” Cale told him without missing a beat.
He stood very still, letting Lee reach out to take his hands and check his knuckles much the same way Cale had with Oscar. Something about his touch was slightly repellant. Maybe the chill, the smooth feel of his palms or the gleam of his manicured nails. Or the way those soft fingers stroked over the backs of Cale’s hands down to the tips of his own.
“You’ve done some fighting.”
“I’ve done a lot of fighting. I forgot to bring my resume.”
“Just bare knuckled or with weapons?”
“With just about anything you can imagine.”
Those roving hands moved up to test the swell of his forearms and biceps. “In what forms?”
Cale deliberately misunderstood. “Kung Fu, Kendo, Muay Thai, kickboxing.”
“As what form?” Lee clarified.
“Both.”
“To what degree?”
“Whatever’s necessary.”
Lee wet his lips. The intensity of his stare unnerved in its anticipation. “To the death?”
“If necessary.”
He prodded Cale’s shoulders with a surprisingly strong grip then eased behind him to chart his deltoids. A predator himself, he didn’t like the vulnerable feel of someone at his back.
“You’re small but you seem very fit. Let me see.” Lee caught the hem of Cale’s sweater to whisk it off. A sharp intake of breath, then a light touch tracing along the marks on his back. “Who had you beaten?” he whispered.
