by Nancy Gideon
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Alain Babineau was not a happy man. They rode back to their little house in silence, but he could feel Oscar’s questioning stare on the back of his neck. The boy had seen the blood on the floor and had likely done the math to find Cale missing. He hadn’t asked about his uncle’s absence, yet. And Alain didn’t know what to tell him.
He was soul-deep weary of the conflicts his partner had brought into their lives due to her infatuation with Max Savoie. But, in fairness, it wasn’t all her fault. She had nothing to do with the fact that the gentle, sweet-natured woman Alain married turned out to be as much an aberration as Savoie. Nor was Cee Cee to blame for his stepson’s foreign DNA. Those were his problems, accepted when he’d opened his arms and his home to them. The two choices left him weren’t to his liking. Embrace what they were or let them go. Neither felt doable or natural.
Problem was, even knowing their differences, he still loved them and would protect them with his life. He just didn’t know if he could continue to live with them. The pain they brought into his heart and mind was all too familiar, too raw.
If only he could turn the clock back to those early days of innocence when he and Tina were simply man and wife and Oscar the son he’d give anything to claim as his own. But he couldn’t. That left dealing with what he had left. Or having nothing at all.
He pulled into his driveway, the headlights glinting off metal behind his darkened car port. Frowning, he shut down the engine and eased out his gun.
“You two stay put for a minute, okay?”
“What’s wrong?” Tina whispered, quick to sense his tension.
“Not sure yet. Just stay here. Lock the doors.”
He got out of their old minivan and circled around its rear bumper, aware of Ozzy’s face pressed up against the glass. His heart started beating faster in protective fierceness. He thought of that creature’s warning, and his nerves steadied into cold steel.
Then he saw the first few drops. Blood on the sidewalk leading up to his house.
“Don’t shoot me.”
The strained voice came from the shadows, instantly drawing his attention and the aim of his gun. After a second, Alain made out the shape of a motorcycle and the man slumped upon it, cradling his mangled hand to his chest.
“Cale?”
“Can I borrow your couch? And a bandage?”
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“Don’t be afraid. Don’t hold back. It’s beautiful. It’s what you are. Open your eyes and see.”
Max knew the voice. His father’s. Those words had guided him into an exciting new consciousness and, as he relaxed into the sofa cushions, he let them pull him free once again from his corporeal form. His father was right. It was beautiful.
Time, place and even dimension fell away.
Weightless and without form, colors, scents, voices played about him like gentle waves, rocking him, teasing for his attention. The temptation just to drift upon that sensory sea was so inviting. Just floating.
Like bumping up against a solid dock, he felt Silas steady him. Not just with the touch of his fingertips to Max’s cool brow but with the whisper of his essence.
"Focus, Max. Find her. Find Genevieve.”
He breathed in, drawing those elusive images and trickles of conversation closer, pushing through them like water in a pool, feeling them brush past his body in a warm ripple.
Genevieve.
He concentrated, catching her faint Glimmer, but it escaped him, coming apart before he could take hold and draw near. Another presence, this one pulling at him like an inescapable current. This one a memory.
“It’s all right. I’ve got you. Let go, Max. You’re safe. Let go.”
And because he trusted that voice, those words, he pushed out into that endless ocean. And was pulled toward another...
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“How could you be so foolish? You let your vanity get in the way of our work!”
“Do not forget to whom you’re speaking, Michael. This isn’t about pride. It’s about retribution.”
“Look toward the future. Isn’t that what you told me? How can we achieve our goals if you continue to cling to your grievances?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“It is if you destroy everything we’ve established just to have your pound of flesh.”
“Perhaps I should destroy them all. Troublesome beasts.”
“We need them, Genevieve.”
“We need them, or you need them? I think you take your role here far too seriously.”
“I don’t deny it. These people trust me. They rely on me.”
“Now who has the god complex? If they knew who you were, what you’ve done, they would turn on you like the pack of wolves they are.”
“No. You underestimate them. You always have.”
“Don’t be stupid. Stop playing the benevolent shepherd and remember who you’re here to fleece. You’re here to act on my behalf, not to crusade on your own. Rise above them, Michael, or sink with them.”
Max eased in closer so he could see them where they stood in Furness’s simple office, his aunt furious, still in her ragged, bloodstained clothes, leaning forward to intimidate. He followed the man’s gaze as it fell upon that photo wall of faces, the sturdy levee of all those he’d helped, and the emotions cresting within the parish priest filled Max with feelings of pride and humility and devotion. Warmth lifted and carried him high above the ugly shredding reef of Genevieve’s intentions.
Abruptly, Max was struck and knocked back as if by a powerful blow. Figurative feet going out from under him, the pull dragged him down into seething confusion. Genevieve’s energy force crashed over him in a tidal surge, sweeping him under like a tsunami.
He floundered, flailing wildly until a firm grip grounded him and a familiar voice gave him direction.
“Let go. Come back. Follow the sound of my voice. Come back, Max.”
Max gasped and sat up straight.
He blinked, disoriented, for some reason thinking he’d been underwater instead of safely seated on Jimmy’s couch surrounded by his friends. He gripped the hand Silas offered and held tight. And as soon as he was able, he relayed what he’d learned. Though danger was eminent, they weren’t without allies.
Max grew aware of one standing apart. Cee Cee remained separated from the other two, wrapped in isolating worry.
Their eyes met and held.
“That’s enough for tonight,” he announced, focus never leaving her.
“Perhaps we should stay,” Nica suggested, unsettled by the pallor accompanying her husband’s draining efforts to stabilize Max’s out-of-body journey.
“Make yourselves at home. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Max rose to his feet. The instant he wavered, even slightly, Cee Cee was there to support him. Her arm stole about his middle and she slipped beneath his arm. He didn’t cling, though he wanted to. He didn’t lean, though he needed to.
They walked side by side but not truly together, heading upstairs toward the room they shared and the secret they hadn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Without a word, Max went to shower away the sweat and tension of his confrontation with his aunt. Cee Cee might have followed if there’d been the slightest invitation in his cool, unblinking stare. There wasn’t. So she didn’t.
Instead, she lingered in their bedroom, truly terrified by how to explain the unforgivable.
She should have told him in her own way, at a time picked for its intimacy. Instead, he’d learned the news with the delicacy of a load of buckshot delivered at the hands of someone who meant to use that information to wound and threaten him.
She should have told him. She should have made the time instead of waiting for the right opportunity. She should have trusted the strength of the bond between them instead of fearing the stress would overwhelm him.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda no longer mattered. The sound of running water stopp
ed, and so did her mental excuses.
Squaring up her posture, Cee Cee sucked in a breath and waited, with all the anticipation of a service reprimand, for him to emerge from the bathroom.
He wore nothing but clingy athletic shorts. Not exactly the attire she’d expected for a somber confrontation. It took a moment for her to remember to exhale. Then, the air gusted from her in a shaky stream, her throat closing up tight around her unspoken fears and deepest desires.
Black hair damp and wildly askew, sleek, toned physique fresh scrubbed and dotted with moisture, shorts barely hanging onto his hip bones, he was every fevered sex dream she’d ever had. Those intense pale-jade eyes focused on her as if nothing else existed. A mysterious curve lifted the corner of his mouth into something not quite a smile. For a long moment, he didn’t move, remaining apart from her with that distancing reserve she never knew quite how to penetrate. Seconds ticked by that could easily stretch into minutes, even hours as he mulled over whatever worked behind his impassive stare. Her knees trembled.
I love this man. I can’t lose him now.
She swallowed down her pride, her doubts, willing to do absolutely anything, whatever it took, to hold onto to him.
“Max.”
“Are you happy about this?”
That’s all he said. No recriminations, no flare of temper, no regaling over her failure to be honest with him.
Was she happy?
Tears filled her eyes, skewing the sight of him when she desperately needed a clear view of his expression. A thousand things fought to escape her, but only one managed to whisper out.
“Yes.”
Cee Cee never saw him move. Suddenly, his arms were around her, crushing her to that gloriously bared chest, and all her panic just fell away.
“You should have heard it from me,” she whispered.
“That doesn’t matter now,” he murmured against her hair. His hands moved over her restlessly as if unsure of where to settle. Then finally held her away. “How long?” His palm pressed hesitantly to her belly, fingers spreading wide.
“Four and a half months, give or take.”
His gaze flashed up to hers anxiously. “And everything’s fine with you and the child?”
She smiled at his concern. “Fine on both counts.”
His eyes filled with warmth and wonder. His grin spread wide.
Was it possible to simply implode with happiness?
“I love you, Max. You’re going to be a father.”
His kiss, hard and fast, knocked the thoughts from her head and unleashed the joy she’d been struggling to release since she’d first heard the news. Then he pulled away.
“How? How did this happen?”
“The old-fashion way I suspect.” She couldn’t stop smiling.
“But you said you couldn’t have children.” He looked wonderfully dazed and delighted. “I don’t understand.”
“Our bond. It did more than just save my life.” She would explain it all to him later, going into the detailed theories Susanna had about their physiological joining stimulating her inert abilities to heal herself. But for now, for this precious moment, genetics wasn’t the important thing. She placed her hand to his rough cheek. “Are you happy about this?”
“Absolutely.”
He punctuated that reply with a long, drugging kiss, murmuring when he let her up for breath, “You are entirely too delicious for me to think of you as maternal.”
“Give it a few more months, when my feet are swollen and I’m waddling around with a quart of ice cream under my arm.”
“Even then,” he vowed.
Max slowly sank down to his knees to rest his head against her abdomen. His palm charted the growing mound of her belly.
“Our child.”
His voice rumbled with emotion. Her heart quivered in response.
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They lay together in the darkness, side by side. The afterglow of Max’s tender lovemaking wrapped Cee Cee in delirious contentment. She nestled into the crook of his arm as his free hand continued to caress her faint baby bump beneath the loose drape of her NOPD tank top.
“I suppose everyone knew but me.”
She couldn’t blame him for the irritation edging that claim. “Technically, you knew. The cat got let out of the bag on that day you and Susanna were taken.”
“Was I pleased?”
“If I recall correctly we were too busy fighting for our lives for you to comment.”
“So we’ve never really had this conversation before.”
“Nope. First time.” She put her hand over his and let it ride the lazy revolutions.
“Will you continue to work?”
“As long as I’m fit for duty.” She rolled up onto her side so she could see his face. “Why? Would you rather I didn’t?”
“I’d rather have you locked up here inside this room with me for the rest of our natural lives, baby or no. But that’s not my decision.” When her pointed silence demanded it, he finally said, “I trust you not to put yourself or our child in any unnecessary danger, Detective.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
He kissed her and smiling, she returned to the curl of his embrace.
They couldn’t avoid it forever.
“What are we going to do about your aunt?”
“Do?”
“I know how much recovering your memories means to you, but turning Cale and his clan over to be killed—”
He touched a finger to her lips. “I have no plans to do that. He’s our family now and under our protection.” When he felt her sigh of relief, he scowled at her. “Did you think I’d answer any other way?”
“No.” Misty eyes blinked determinedly and she burrowed in closer. “So how are we going to handle her? She’s going to be trouble.”
“Then she’d better expect some in return.”
“If you let her leave, she’ll never make good on her promise.”
“I find I’m suddenly much more interested in the future than I am in the past. Things are coming back on their own, maybe not everything and maybe not all at once, but,” he chuckled softly as if recalling something, “I’ve found it’s enough for me. How 'boutchu, sha? Will it be enough for you? Am I, the way I am now, enough for you?”
She rolled up and over to straddle his hips, resting her forearms on his chest. She held his face between her palms, pressed like something precious she meant to preserve forever. “Absolutely.”
“You’re sure?”
She grinned. “To quote our newest family member, abso-fucking-lutely.” And she kissed him, enjoying the vibration of his laughter beneath her. When she leaned back, smug and pleased with the way things were going, particularly where she had him clutched between her thighs, Max regarded her with one of his enigmatic smiles. Bemused, she prompted, “What?”
“What would you think about marrying me?”
She stared at him, as sucker-punched as he had been earlier. Finally, she manager a squeaky, “What did you say?”
“I asked if you thought it would be a good idea for us to get married. It’s not like it’s something we never considered. Charlotte? Do I need to start CPR?”
She managed to grab a strangled breath. “No.”
“No? You don’t want to?”
“No, we never talked about it.” Her head spun. Married? She couldn’t catch her breath. Maybe CPR wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Oh. I just thought with a child on the way, it would be a natural progression.”
His matter-of-fact reasoning brought her ping-ponging pulse to a near standstill. “Is that what you thought?”
“Yes,” he said carefully, wary now of her cool tone.
“For the sake of the child? Is that it?” She drew an indignant breath, expanding her glorious bosom. “Well, for your information, I’m fully capable of raising this child on my own under the name Caissie.”
He frowned at that, all at once possessive and
provoked. “No child of mine will be without the security of my name or without the benefits I can provide.”
“Newsflash, Savoie. I don’t want your stuff, and having your name won’t exactly open up the best doors.”
“Because I’m a bastard raised by a mobster?”
“No. Because you’re a bastard if you think the only reason I’d marry you is to make my child rich and legitimate.”
They glared at one another, stalemated until Max concluded brittly, “So you don’t want to marry me?”
Her mouth firmed into a stubborn line.
“You don’t want to become my wife as well as my mate and my love and my life for as long as I can draw a breath? You don’t want to be with me, to share with me this miracle we’ve created together?” As tears began to wobble in her eyes, he said very gently, “Are you saying no to all those things?”
She took a hiccupping gulp and muttered, “Geez, Savoie, if you put it that way.”
“I can put it to you anyway you’d like it, cher, as long as you say yes.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. What was that?”
“I want to marry you. I want to be your wife. And I want your stuff. Right now.”
“So your answer is yes?” he asked for the sake of clarification even though she’d started peeling down his shorts.
“Hell yes.” And she settled on top of him. “Now, put it to me the way I like it so I can say yes, oh baby, yes.”
As the passionate, fierce, exciting female he loved more than life itself moved above him, Max regarded his mate in an amazing new light. He’d grown familiar with her complex dimensions, with the roles she assumed so fearlessly that, despite what he’d told her, scared him to death. Those of warrior, avenger, defender of the innocent, which now included his clan. Toward that end she would give and give of herself with a frightening determination, without thought to herself. As his mate, he could accept those noble pursuits. But as wife and mother of his child, it was no longer that simple.
