by Nancy Gideon
He greeted her with frosty neutrality, but she found an unexpected ally in the Nordic blonde who smiled into her lens as she asked, “Mrs. Cummings, you have an interesting escort for today’s event. Care to comment?”
Max’s hand rose instinctively to push them away, but Noreen hugged onto his arm and dragged him closer.
“I’d be happy to,” she gushed. “Mr. Savoie is no stranger to our cause. He’s been a longtime benefactor. I’m pleased to announce that he’s agreed to fill a recently vacated spot on our foundation board. He brings savvy business acumen as well as compassionate insights to our group that have us very excited.”
“And I’m sure he brings a good deal of controversy, considering his past associations.”
Noreen never blinked at the reporter’s insinuations. “Exactly. We look forward to it. His past makes him the perfect spokesman. I applaud his honesty and bravery for stepping out on our behalf, regardless of his own personal discomfort.”
“Perhaps you and Mr. Savoie would agree to an interview to explain that connection to those who might be confused by it.”
Max stood stoically while Noreen beamed. “Of course, Ms. Crawford. We’d be delighted to have the publicity.”
Karen was so stunned, she almost let them slip by before demanding, “When would be convenient?”
Max glanced back, allowing a thin smile. “Call my office. My assistant will set something up in the next few days.”
Euphoric to the point of hyperventilation, Karen turned to her cameraman to ask if he’d gotten all of that on film when the real story almost slipped by her.
After Noreen leaned up to press a kiss upon the taciturn former mobster’s cheek and went to join her scowling husband, another woman took her place on his arm. A tall, curvaceous female the reporter would have thought to be his detective lover, until she looked again.
And almost wet herself in her excitement.
Bright, stick-straight red hair escaped an oversized scarf. White pancake makeup glowed beneath the huge dark glasses concealing the identity of one who could only be the scandalous stripper mistress.
Karen grabbed her partner’s camera strap to haul him around, pointing to the couple heading for a sleek town car at the curb. The massive and very recognizable driver raced around the vehicle to open the rear door, handing the woman inside with deference. Savoie was about to slide in beside her when another figure emerged from the crowd.
Charlotte Caissie!
“Oh my God! Get me audio!”
The Amazonian detective evaded the driver’s road-blocking arm to come up on Savoie like the swing of a fist. They had a quick exchange of words too low to hear but when she tried to push around him to lean into the car, he took her arm none too gently to haul her away. Then her words were very clear.
“Fuck you and your sleazy whore!”
When his dark head bent to offer placating sentiments, her responding slap rang as loud as a gunshot. While he stood still and stunned, palm to his fiery cheek, she launched a huge wad of spit that splattered the tinted door glass shielding the focus of her fury from view.
“Charlotte, stop it. You’re making a scene,” Savoie growled low, aware of the attention they were drawing. “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”
“Don’t bother, you son of a bitch! If I see you there I’ll blow your cheating ass right off the porch!” Then she shoved through the gawkers snarling, “Get the hell outta my way!”
By then, the resourceful driver had a firm grip on his boss’s arm and was propelling him into the backseat so he could close the door on any further outbursts. He jogged around the vehicle and gunned it away from the curb.
Shivering with anticipation, Crawford looked from fleeing detective to speeding car. Charlotte Caissie offered the greatest danger to life and limb, so she snapped at the cameraman, “Let’s follow their car. I want to see where they’re going.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Where they were going was in a quick loop around the block, slowing long enough for Cee Cee to slide unobserved in back.
“Great,” Brigit grumbled. “My chance to be on the news, and I’m going to be immortalized as that sleazy whore.” She pulled off the scarf and wig, tossing it to Cee Cee. “How can you stand that thing? It’s like having an animal on your head.”
Cee Cee settled it onto her own, stuffing her dark hair under it before securing it with pins. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“You spit on my car,” Giles lamented.
“I’ll pay for the car wash.”
“Nothing but my loving hands touches my babies.”
“I hope that includes me,” Brigit teased. “I feel very dirty after my role as home wrecker.”
The two women traded coats. Cee Cee tugged off the trousers she wore and wriggled her tunic down to serve as a substitute for the short black dress Brigit wore. With hurried swipes from her compact, her bronze skin became kabuki pale. A slash of red lipstick in place, she finally regarded the man between them.
“Ouch!” She stroked his abused face gently. “Sorry. I wanted it to look convincing.”
“I was convinced, Detective.”
“It was your idea after all.”
He grinned then swiveled to look behind them. “Are they following?”
“Not yet,” Giles replied, nudging the big car up against the curb across the street from Carmen Blutafino’s neon-flashing Sweat Shop. “They won’t miss us in this thing.”
They waited, car idling until Crawford’s little import raced by then quickly maneuvered into a parking spot a block up.
“Show time.” Max gave Cee Cee a hard kiss that effectively smeared her lipstick before he leaned across to open the door.
“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a smile.
Then she made a show of scrambling from the car to totter in her high heels on the uneven sidewalk. She didn’t check for Crawford and her camera. She could feel their invasion of privacy crawling on the back of her neck. She tried to shut the door on Max as he shoved his way out, making a nice little show of domestic drama.
“Get back in the car. Don’t be a fool,” Max threatened, gripping her arm.
After a bit of realistic push and pull, Cee Cee broke free and darted across the street. Forced to wait for a taxi to pass, Max ran after her, catching up just outside the main door.
“Don’t be like this,” he murmured, trying to console her as she started weeping. “It’ll blow over soon.”
“I’m tired of waiting! I’m sick of you always kissing up to that bitch. If you want me, be with me. You can’t have us both!”
Max released her and took a step back, his posture stiff, tone cold. “You knew the deal, Chili. Don’t try to make this into something it was never meant to be.”
“What have I got to lose, huh? What?”
A cuttingly concise reply. “Everything.”
With a wretched sob, she broke away from him and ran to the door, leaning into the big eavesdropping bouncer to cry, “Keep him out, Todd. Keep that bastard away from me.” Then she disappeared into the dark entryway.
When Max moved to follow, Todd stepped in front of him to bar the way, the former mobster’s dangerous rep making him cautious but no less determined.
“Sorry, Mr. Savoie. Just walk away for now. You know girls. She’ll come around soon enough.”
Max whirled without comment and strode back to his car, getting in with a slam of the door. He smiled as they roared by Karen Crawford who hurriedly pushed her cameraman back into the shadows of a doorway.
“It’s in your court now, sha.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Cale, in his guise as Micky Terry, was kicking back after-shift brews with several others on his crew. They’d picked the Sweat Shop at his suggestion since most avoided their usual watering hole Cheveux du Chien because of Philo’s falling out with its owner, their boss. The dancers were supple, the music loud and the drinks suitably relaxing as they
traded stories with a pack-like camaraderie that made Cale think of his brothers. And then he asked about the tattoo.
All four of his companions bared their forearms to display the tribal black and red wolf’s head trailing flames.
“Nice! What’s it for? Some kind of club or something?”
“Something,” T-Ray Roux agreed with a mysterious smile. T-Ray had been showing him the ropes that day. Built of muscle upon muscle topped by the thick fringe of a bleached blond Mowhawk, Roux made it his business to know everyone’s business so Cale figured he was the go-to for information. But he proved annoyingly closed-mouthed about Philo Tibideaux’s Patrol.
“Oh, I get it. Something the new guy can’t know about. Fine. Keep your fucking secrets to yourself. You won’t hurt my feelings.” He scowled into his beer until they all laughed and punched at him playfully.
“It’s not a secret,” T-Ray told him. “It’s a symbol of something a newbie wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” Cale leaned in to whisper, “It’s not some kinky sex thing, is it?”
That got him another laugh, and after the four exchanged glances and shrugs, T-Ray confided, “It’s nothing to joke about. You might say it’s a matter of life and death.”
Cale’s brows lifted. “Whose?”
“Ours. Our clan. Our kind.”
Lamar Poe said little on the job and less off it. Lanky, dusky-skinned with deep, somber eyes, he looked for that dark cloud around any given silver lining. His faded tee shirt read “I’m just a Poe boy from a Poe family” with an equally gloomy Edgar Allen featured on it. But he filled with Apocalyptic glee when it came to their purpose.
“We call ourselves the Patrol, and we protect those who can’t protect themselves.” He went on to paint a heroic picture of their volunteer group, formed by Philo Tibideaux to watch for preternatural threats from the North and be ready to stand against them.
Cale listened with interest as they spoke of the Trackers who’d killed Philo’s musician brother and had snatched Jacques LaRoche’s female along with Max Savoie right out from under his nose. Their efforts to find out if their returned leader was friend or tainted foe ended with LaRoche, along with MacCreedy’s deadly female, killing five of their members and forever fracturing the bond between their supervisor, LaRoche and Philo, their foreman.
“Who’s this Savoie? I keep hearing his name.”
“Claims to be the leader of our clan,” Roux grumbled. “Could be he is, could be he ain’t, but he ain’t one of us. They did stuff to him up there in the North, played with his mind, maybe turned him. Don’t know. Hard to get close to him.”
“Turned,” Cale echoed. “How do you mean?”
“Them monsters, they get into your head, control what you think and do. Heard Philo talk about what they done to LaRoche when he was up there. They cleaned his brain like they was hosing down a banquette.”
Cale sipped his beer and listened to them. An uneasy feeling churned in his gut.
Trusting those outside his own clan was an unnatural phenomenon. The Terriots isolated themselves on their mountain, always bristling and on guard against outside influence. He knew about those called the Chosen, but they were like ghost stories to keep the young wary and on their toes. Silas contended that his clan was too unstable to draw the elitists’ interest and that was fine with Cale. But now he wondered if allying with New Orleans would drag them into something they should stay clear of. And he wondered as well if he was inviting that danger right to their bosom embraced as a friend named Savoie.
Finally Roux regarded him with a cynical smile. “Why we telling you all this? You be closer to him than any of us.”
Had they found him out so soon? Careful not to overreact, Cale demanded, “What are you talking about?”
“I seen you rubbing up on his female at a club the other night, something a smart man might rethink if he wants to go on breathing.” Then his narrowed gaze slipped over Cale’s shoulder. “And speaking of.”
Cale followed his pointed stare to where Cee Cee entered the club in her flashy stripper guise. And he jumped out of his seat with a quickly muttered, “Back in a minute.”
She’d told him to meet her at the strip joint and to bring his pals, but she hadn’t told him why. Now the consequences of what he hadn’t known were tightening around his neck like his enemies’ hands. One thing to be employed as a spy and quite another to be played as a fool. And the latter notion steamed up a temper hotter than anything served up at his clever new family’s table.
He strode up to Cee Cee, prepared to demand an accounting, but she surprised him by throwing herself on his chest with a wail of distress. He put tentative arms around her as she whispered, “Just go with it.”
Go with it right into the mouth of hell and collapse of his clan? Not a chance.
A damned fine actress, her tears streaked the dead white makeup, her impressive breasts jiggling with the force of her sobs as she pawed at him for comfort. So he went with it, stroking her, murmuring soft assurances while his co-workers went pop-eyed, mouths hanging. He motioned for them to give him a moment as he told the grasping female rather tightly, “Let’s take this outside.”
She went with him, still blubbering, getting her face paint all over his dark tee shirt. As he led her past Todd who stood guard at the club’s entrance, the bouncer muttered, “Enjoy. It’s your funeral.”
Cale guided her to the end of the block and turned her into a darkened doorway. Then his hand curled around her neck, thrusting her against the iron grillwork covering the door.
“What kind of game are you playing with me?”
His fierce in-your-face snarl startled a flicker of alarm. Then Cee Cee realized though he might be furious, he wasn’t a threat. His palm pressed against her collarbone to restrain her. His fingers put no pressure on her vulnerable throat. His purpose wasn’t to harm or even scare her. It was to show with aggressive Alpha intensity that he meant business. Business she could deal with.
“What’s this about?” she demanded with a steely calm.
“You tell me,” he growled, eyes narrowing into glittery slits. “It’s one thing to ask for my help. It’s another to blindside me with your lies when it’s my ass on the line.”
She put her hand over his, not to pull it away but to let him feel her warmth and strength. “If you want to have a conversation, step back right now.”
Their stares held in silent challenge then Cale’s hand opened and he took that distancing step. He was angry but not out of control.
“What lies have I told you, Cale?”
He jumped right in, going for the jugular. “Why didn’t you tell me about Savoie? When I’m going into battle I want to know my enemy. I don’t need him sneaking up to stab me in the back.”
“Max isn’t your enemy.”
“Which Max are we talking about? The savior you’re all panting to follow or the traitor with Chosen fingerprints all over him?”
“He isn’t a traitor.”
Her quiet claim had him up close and dangerously personal again. “You know that? Well, I don’t. I’m not willing to stake my life or my clan’s future on your faith that after being on their table, having them inside his head, he’s not a problem.”
“He’s not.”
“I don’t believe it. Neither do you, or you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”
Cee Cee didn’t know what he saw in her expression, but it wasn’t the truth held in her heart. She had concerns, not fears. And she was dealing with them. But those assurances wouldn’t disarm this situation.
“I should have known better.” Cale turned away, head shaking, posture rigid. “I thought Silas called me here so we could work together. I thought we were going to put the past behind us.” His fist slammed against brick, leaving a bloody smear behind. “Playing me, like always. And me falling for it.”
“Cale, that’s not what we’re doing.”
He knocked her hand from his shoulder with a sharp sm
ack. “Yeah? That why every step I’ve taken since coming here has been in the dark? You couldn’t even trust me enough to tell me why you wanted me here to witness your little show. You don’t want my help. You want to use me as a distraction. You want to toss me, not just to the wolves so they can rip me apart, but me and my entire clan to those who hold their leashes. To hell with that. And to hell with you!”
“Problem here?”
Alain Babineau’s voice intruded. He’d followed their abrupt exit from the club, and now looked between partner and newly accepted half-brother-in-law checking for signs of potential violence in their tense expressions.
Cale glared at Cee Cee as he answered. “No problem. Not anymore. I’m outta here. I’m done.”
As he stormed off down the walk, away from the club and from all their plans, Cee Cee sagged back against the grill.
“Dammit, Babs. We’ve lost him.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Max sat back in his office chair, the surprise he’d felt when his visitor was announced not registering on his face. Even before he spoke, Max could feel the rage vibrating beneath Cale’s stoic surface as the new Terriot leader took the proffered seat on the other side of his massive desk.
“No more bullshit.”
“Okay.”
At his calm compliance, Cale’s eyes narrowed warily. He reassessed his approach with care. “Can I trust you?”
Max offered a bland smile. “'Bout as far as I can you.”
Again, not what Cale expected. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “I’ve been getting jerked off by your friends, and I think I need more than a nice meal to make up for it.”
Max’s smile twitched. “What do you need?”
“A little honesty for a change.”
“All right.”
Anger simmering down to a prickly resentment, Cale laid out his grievances the way he’d slap down a hand of cards. “I’ve been lied to, manipulated, used, beaten up, and played like a cheap piano until my keys are sticking and off key. Let’s get one thing straight. Me and mine, we don’t need you and yours. We like what we have, and we can hold it just fine on our own. We’re not interested in your trouble.”
