by Nancy Gideon
While Tina stared in sticker shock at the bill, Brigit leaned in to advise the chic sales associate that she was a guest of Max Savoie’s and he’d asked that the purchases be charged to his account. Proper payment for his slinging her brother through a set of glass patio doors.
The entire experience was gratifying on an embarrassingly petty level until the two of them left the store. To find Giles St. Clair waiting.
Wordlessly, he took the parcels from Brigit in one hand and held her elbow firmly as he started walking them toward the exit.
“Looks like you’ve had a profitable trip,” he remarked in a deceptively friendly tone. “Did you ladies enjoy yourselves?”
“I certainly did,” Tina gushed. “I’ve never been in a place like that. Imagine paying as much for four outfits as our last car!”
“Hmmm, imagine.”
“I didn’t know people lived like that.”
“Real people don’t” was his mild rebuke.
Brigit’s defense was taken up by a surprisingly protective Tina, who swatted his arm. “Be nice, Giles. Just because you don’t appreciate glamour is no reason to condemn it. If I had even a pinch of Brigit’s style, I’d want to show it off, too.” She shot her newfound sister an appreciative smile.
Show off. Brigit refused to wince at that unflattering truth.
Giles made an uncomplimentary sound. “There’s nothing wrong with your style. Some people don’t need flash to draw attention to themselves.”
Score one for the big guy. At least he didn’t punctuate his opinion with a glance in Brigit’s direction.
“How did you find us?” Brigit asked to turn the topic, wondering if he had a GPS device planted in the car.
“Where else would you shop?”
He made it sound so logical. So subtly censorious. What reason did he have for being annoyed? He had nothing at stake and apparently nothing to prove. Had she hurt his ego by so easily slipping his guard? He needed to get over that, the sooner the better.
On the street side of the parking structure, Giles asked Tina for her keys and told the two of them to stay put while he brought the car around out of sympathy for their feet, since they’d had to park in the nosebleed section. There was no mistaking the glint in his stare as he met Brigit’s innocent gaze. He was royally pissed off.
“I don’t think Mr. St. Clair likes me,” she remarked to Tina as they waited for their ride.
“Giles? He likes everyone. He’s such a sweet man. Ozzy thinks the world of him.”
“ ‘Sweet man’ and ‘on-the-payroll killer’ don’t quite describe the same person.”
Tina looked away uncomfortably. “He’s always been good to us. And I don’t think he does those kinds of things anymore, now that he works for Max.”
They stood together for another moment of silence. Feeling she owed Tina for jumping in on her behalf, Brigit decided to be a little sweeter herself, asking with genuine interest, “Does Ozzy know we’re related?”
Tina flushed. “I haven’t told him yet. He’ll have questions, and I’m not certain how to answer them. There’s so much I don’t know about my past, about your family. Our family,” she corrected shyly.
“I could tell him if you like,” Brigit offered. The things she could tell him. Things that would haunt his dreams. But, of course, she wouldn’t. Being a Terriot, he’d find out those things soon enough. She was surprised by a pang of sympathy.
“I think Silas wants to talk to him when he gets back.”
“Probably better coming from him.” Silas would know how to spin the unpleasantness into something family-friendly.
A sudden shivery finger of alarm traced over her like a chill. Senses alerted, Brigit casually scanned their surroundings for the danger she felt in every nerve ending.
The sidewalk was crowded, the street filled with slow-moving traffic. No one seemed to be paying them any particular attention. Yet the tingle of immediate peril intensified.
Brigit scented another of their kind close by, could practically taste the heightened adrenaline of a predator lying in wait. She took a step back into the shadow of the parking garage, her breath quickening. She reached out instinctively for the other woman’s arm, about to warn Tina to be on guard, when she saw the battered minivan emerge with Giles at the wheel. She never thought she’d be so glad to see her watchdog.
Relieved, she hurried them both around the other side of the vehicle and quickly slid into the backseat next to her mountain of excessive purchases. She bit her lip to keep from urging Giles to get them away as fast as he could.
They traveled through the business district. After keeping a close eye on the street behind them, Brigit was finally convinced that no one was following them.
Perhaps the danger she’d felt wasn’t directed at her. Perhaps it was residual nerves from two days on the run. What reason would the Terriots have to pursue her here in New Orleans, under the protection of another clan? That would be insanity.
She leaned back in the seat, let her breath out in a shaky gust—and noticed Giles’s gaze on her in the rearview mirror, filled with unasked questions.
One thing was for certain. Her driver was nobody’s fool.
Desperate to place a call to Lake Tahoe, yet knowing she should wait for Silas’s return, Brigit distracted herself by putting away the new clothes. The pleasure she’d gotten from buying them had faded next to the continual chafe of worry—and, more annoyingly, the sting of Giles’s disapproval. Not used to men finding fault with her appearance, she refused to consider him. That brought her unhappy focus back to her cousin.
Would Kendra suffer for it once they discovered what she’d done? Knowing how impulsive and uncontrollable she was? Kendra wasn’t the type to scheme or keep a secret or wish harm to anyone. That was Brigit’s specialty.
They’d have to be aware of her actions by now. When her escorts didn’t call in with news of her demise, when they failed to return at all, the truth would surface.
Maybe staying inside the protective surrounds of the estate wasn’t such a bad idea. At least here she wouldn’t be jumping at shadows.
To escape her restlessness with her own company, Brigit followed the sound of male voices out onto the side veranda. There she found Giles and Oscar playing basketball by the massive carriage house filled with luxury cars. Schoolbooks were strewn on the grass next to a boom box blasting seventies rock.
From the cool darkness of the porch, she studied Oscar Babineau. Her nephew. The title had no particular feelings attached to it. He was a stranger to her. Sentimentality wasn’t something she shared with her brother.
He was a good-looking boy, tall for his age yet lanky, the way Silas had been as a preteen. She could see the resemblance to the Guedry side of her family in the dark hair and eyes, but his signature scent was unfamiliar. From the way it permeated the house, she knew it was Savoie’s even though she’d never met him. And probably never would, if the whispered things she’d heard during lunch were true. Savoie was out of the picture. That left only one very large obstacle to her free rein.
The afternoon had warmed to an unseasonably sultry temperature. Giles had shed his button-down shirt, and the sweat-dampened T-shirt he wore clung intriguingly to his torso. His shoulders and arms were a slick landscape of muscle, carrying Brigit’s gaze on a thrill ride that left her slightly breathless. Nothing was sexier than power, and Giles St. Clair thrummed like a high-performance engine. Despite his size, his movements were quick and smooth as he maneuvered around the boy to launch an effortless layup. Then he was flipping the ball back to Oscar with ribald words of encouragement.
She smiled as she watched them, man and boy. Though Giles had a good foot of height on his opponent, he laid back, giving Oscar room to move and advance, pressing just hard enough to make the boy work for every inch he gained. It recalled her to those rare occasions when Silas managed to coax their father from his books for a rough-and-tumble one-on-one. Man and boy together.
She ru
thlessly squashed the thought. There was no comparison here. Giles St. Clair was a human and a hindrance, an interference to overcome. Her stirrings of mild interest came from lengthy abstinence. Lusty habits were nothing she apologized for, but please . . . a human?
Giles was wiping the perspiration from his brow with his forearm when he caught her cool gaze. The ability of his sudden wide grin to make her pulse stumble increased her irritation.
He thought she was attractive—all men did—but she wasn’t flattered. Her looks were from genetics, not of her own merit. Just a tool to wield toward compliance and control, nothing more.
And one she wouldn’t hesitate to use on him.
four
“Go to the inside. He’s bigger than you, but his size makes him clumsy,” Brigit said.
The unexpected advice made Oscar falter as he glanced up to see her standing at the edge of the court. His hesitation gave Giles an opening to slap the ball from his grip and execute a slam-dunk.
Giles swaggered as he recovered the ball from out of bounds. “Clumsy, eh?”
Brigit sniffed. “Even a girl could get by you. In heels.”
“I don’t think so, little girl.”
She put up her hands. “Let’s find out.”
Giles stared at her in her designer sweatshirt and skintight jeans, at her four-inch chunky heels and acrylic nails. He grinned and passed her the ball.
Most men would have treated her delicately because of her gender, but Giles moved in fast, becoming an immediate wall. Instead of being intimidated, she went low. When he crouched to counter, Brigit shot up under his outstretched arm, rolled across his broad back, and, with one impressive jump, hit two with a net ball.
“Wow!” Oscar shouted as Giles straightened, shutting his gaping jaw with a snap. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“My brother taught me.” Brigit flipped the ball to Giles, who managed to catch it before it bounced off his chest. “Our best friend wanted to be a cheerleader. I wanted to be Kobe Bryant.” She winked at the boy. “There’s more to me than perfect hair and a keen fashion sense.” Her gaze cut to Giles.
Who blinked.
Lesson learned.
The ring of his phone distracted Giles from the deliciously taunting sight of a flushed and gloating Brigit MacCreedy.
Charlotte Caissie wasted no time with small talk. “He’s asking for you.”
“On my way.”
Giles studied Brigit narrowly as he called to the boy, “I’ve got to go into the city for a bit. Why don’t we see if Miz MacCreedy is as smart as she is agile? She can help you with your homework until I get back. Up for that challenge, Bridget?”
She turned to Oscar. “What’s the subject?”
“Geography.”
“You’re in luck. I’ve been everywhere. Let’s take your books inside and let Mr. St. Clair go about his business.”
Giles hesitated, wondering if he was underestimating her again. But she looped an arm around the boy’s shoulders after he’d retrieved his textbooks, and they started toward the house in amiable conversation. Could he trust her to stay put?
Unfortunately, he had no options.
Giles nodded to the unsmiling sentries in the private wing of the rehab facility that had been streamlined for the study of Shifter genetics and headed toward the end of the hall where Charlotte stood in conversation. The woman in nun’s regalia gave him a nasty start. Had things gotten that bad? His pace quickened in alarm.
As he approached, the sister quickly hurried away, but not before he got a glimpse of her shockingly scarred face.
“Charlotte,” he murmured as his gaze followed the figure retreating with a pronounced limp, “are things worse?”
A hand on his arm brought his attention back to the detective. Her smile flickered with hope. “No. He’s aware, and he’s asking for you.”
“Can I go in, then?”
She nodded, entered a code into the high-tech locking mechanism, and stepped aside so Giles could enter. She didn’t follow, though he knew she’d be watching from the observation room next door.
Seeing his best friend confined was always painful.
When Max Savoie had assumed Jimmy Legere’s mantle, Giles had expected nothing would change. He couldn’t have been more mistaken. The inherent decency in Max, suppressed in Jimmy’s shadow, had been brought to light by his love for a most unlikely woman, Charlotte Caissie, the police detective determined to destroy him. Giles had seen in Max’s actions that it was possible for a bad guy to change, if not overnight, then at least over the long haul. In his often stumbling path toward redemption, Max had brought a jaded and cautious Giles with him, first as employee, then as friend.
And there was nothing Giles wouldn’t do to thank him for that rescue.
The figure on the other side of the heavy viewing window moved with a frenetic restlessness, making Giles think of the aimless wild things caged at a zoo. Gone was the lethal grace, power, and sleek Armani of the man who’d controlled an empire. Instead, a feral creature prowled the small space as if seeking whom he could devour.
Max paused, instantly aware of the company. Eyes that had been feverish in fury and confusion now fixed on Giles with an unnerving steadiness as they both approached the separating glass. When Giles’s hand pressed against that barrier, Max fit his own to its imprint.
His voice cracking slightly, Giles asked, “Do you know me?”
Max studied his face for a moment. “Giles.” He slumped, brow against the glass as he whispered, “I know you. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes. I work for you. I’m your friend, and damned pleased that you remember my mug.”
Max backed away, shaking his head. “Is this another trick? Are you one of them? I can’t tell. I can’t trust what I see anymore.”
Ignoring the rules, Giles keyed in the code to open the door that separated them, quickly closing it to lock them both inside. He put up a staying hand to the monitor, where he was sure Charlotte was cursing his foolishness. Then he turned toward the wary Shape-shifter and extended his hand, palm up.
“It’s Giles, Max. See for yourself.”
His hand was taken in a near-crushing grip and brought up to Max’s face. Glittery green eyes turned molten red and gold as Max sniffed along his palm and fingers, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Giles didn’t pull away.
“It’s Giles,” he assured quietly. “You’ve always trusted me with your life. Trust me now.”
Max fit the palm to one lean cheek, his eyes closing as he murmured, “I do.”
Giles snatched him up in a crushing bear hug, a laugh of relief shaking through him. “You gave me a scare, boss man. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. I didn’t want to lose that dental plan.” He lowered his voice. “I would never let anyone harm you. That’s more than my job. It’s my promise.”
“What is this place?” Max whispered against his shoulder. “Who’s watching?”
“You’re here for your own protection, until your memories start to come back. Everyone here is a friend. That’s Charlotte watching. You share everything with her. Remember?”
Again the head shake. “I feel like I should, but I don’t.”
Giles gave him another fierce squeeze. “It’s all right. It’ll come back. Fate wouldn’t have such a cruel sense of humor to make me the only person you recall. And just to warn you, I’m gonna be expecting a really big bonus for doing both our jobs.”
When Giles took a step back, Max seized him by the upper arms, claws digging deep as he growled, “Don’t leave.”
“I won’t. Let’s you and me talk for a bit, the way we used to. All right? You have to let me go first. If they think you’re going to hurt me, they won’t let me stay.”
Slowly, he was released, and Giles was able to draw a thankful breath. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll tell you all I know.”
Over the next hours, Giles talked and Max listened, clearly struggling to absorb what he heard. Th
at he was raised by a shady mobster for whom he did terrible deeds without question. That his torrid affair with a police detective led to the fall of a criminal empire and to his own freedom. That in uncovering the mysteries of his past, he discovered a clan of abandoned Shape-shifters who insisted he was their prophesied leader. That to save them, he’d surrendered himself to their enemies in the North, who’d used him for tortuous study. And that by the time Giles, Charlotte, and Jacques LaRoche rescued him, his memories had been stripped away. Memories of his life, his love, his purpose.
“Does any of that sound familiar to you?”
Giles tried not to react with disappointment when Max shook his head.
“It’s like hearing a story of someone else’s life.”
“You don’t remember anything? Any sights or sounds or feelings?”
“I feel someone close, like that person is part of me, but it’s just a feeling. Sometimes it gets so strong it’s like something inside me is trying to break right through my chest.” He put a hand there as if to restrain that pressure.
“That would be Charlotte. She’s your mate. You share a bond with her.”
“Charlotte,” Max said softly. Then he sighed. “I don’t know her.”
“What about anything from when you were in the North? While they had you on their table? What’s the last impression in your mind?”
Max closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he concentrated. “My mother.” His gaze shot up. “My mother was there.”
“Your mother’s dead, Max,” Giles told him gently, but that didn’t seem to discourage him.
“Not my mother. I thought it was at first. She told me something. Something important.” He pressed his palms to his temples as if to squeeze the memory out. Then he went still, finally turning to Giles with a firm “She told me she could bring my memories back.”
Spending the day with Tina Babineau told Brigit everything she needed to know about her half sister. She had no close family ties. Her human husband had disowned her and her son. She lived on the charity of her son’s half brother, in fear and loneliness, with only the servants in the big house for company. With both Savoie and Silas away, she was stripped of protection and vulnerable.
