by Nancy Gideon
Brigit was about to rise when Nica came to join her at the table. They exchanged cool assessments.
“I’m sorry our family troubles are taking him away,” Brigit said at last, and she was. Deeply.
“I envy his connection to his family. It’s something I never had. I’d never stand in the way.”
Her sincerity made Brigit even more uncomfortable as her gaze lowered to her sister-in-law’s trim middle. “You’ll have your own to think of soon.”
Nica placed her hand on her midsection and, just like that, thawed. “I’d have never thought motherhood was something I’d look forward to. I wouldn’t have seen myself as the nurturing type.”
“What’s changed?” Brigit asked, suddenly desperate to know.
“Silas changed everything about me. He gave me a sense of stability I never knew I needed. He has such faith in me, in us. How could I fail him?” Nica looked down at her hand, at the ring she wore, and smiled ruefully. “How hard could it be?”
“I wouldn’t know. I have no maternal instincts. Mine are all for self-preservation.”
Nica laughed, but not unkindly. “And you believe that? I saw you with Giles’s little sister. There’s nothing wrong with your instincts.”
Could Nica be right? Was there a chance that Brigit could have those dreams, too?
“Aren’t you afraid?”
Her intensity had Nica considering the question thoughtfully. “I should be. I should be terrified at the thought of bringing a child into our world, into such uncertainty and danger.”
“But you’re not.” Brigit could feel her calm, her contentment, and puzzled over it. “Why?” What was the secret? Perhaps if she knew, she could make different choices. It wasn’t too late.
Nica smiled. “Because there’s nothing I won’t do to make sure this baby has everything I ever dreamed of, every chance both Silas and I were denied. That’s why he’s going into a lion’s den, to pull their teeth so our child will never have to feel their bite. Isn’t that why we take risks and defy odds, so we can leave behind something better than we found?” Another chuckle. “Listen to how philosophical I’ve become. Si must be rubbing off on me in more ways than the soon to be obvious.”
They were silent for a moment, each growing more comfortable with the other. Finally, Nica asked, “And what about you? Are you and Giles . . . ?”
“No,” Brigit said too quickly for Nica not to hear the catch of pain in her voice. “That’s a dream that won’t come true.”
“I’m sorry.” The genuine regret almost undercut Brigit’s courage when Nica said, “Strangely enough, I could see the two of you together. So, what then? Are you staying here in New Orleans?”
Brigit took a big breath. “No. It’s time for me to clean up one last mess. I’m going to see about making that better future for my family.”
In the end, it was so quick, Brigit never had time to rethink her strategy. She placed a call, asked for Isaac Thorne, gave her name, and in under three seconds, he was on the line.
“This is a surprise.”
“Get ready for another one.”
One-on-one, Giles viewed Brigit, Max, Jacques, Silas, Nica, and now his extended family the same way he would anyone else, for who they were, not what. But the moment he cleared the doorway of Cheveax du Chien and moved into the Shifter club, he was the object of intense scrutiny, as if he were the unnatural one, the one who didn’t belong among this alien population.
Gathered as they were in a cluster of their own kind, the patrons of LaRoche’s place could no longer pass for human. They were unashamedly preternatural, from the ruby glint in their eyes to their odd stillness and intensity. Even in Boyd’s company, Giles didn’t belong. Only one thing could coax him to invade their privacy.
He hadn’t expected Brigit to come running, not after the tense way they’d parted, but he searched for her with an eagerness to get beyond those unpleasant moments. It was Louella who came flying down the steps from the office. Her youthful face flushed with a confusion of gladness and apprehension as she gazed up at him, hoping for the best, waiting to hear the worst. He smiled and opened his arms. “All’s well.”
At those encouraging words, she flung herself upon him, squeezing tight. When she turned to Boyd with equal enthusiasm, Giles started toward the stairs.
“You just missed her.”
He glanced toward Nica, brow lowering at her statement. “What do you mean?”
“She’s not here.”
The overwhelming sense of loss staggered him. “She went with Silas?” His thoughts were already racing ahead. Lake Tahoe wasn’t that far. He’d hop a charter and might even beat her there. Not that he was chasing after her. He just wanted to see her, to have an opportunity to explain—
“No. Silas left earlier.”
“Did she go back to the house? I told her to stay here, where it was safe.” Irritation replaced his alarm. Couldn’t she just once—
“She’s gone, Giles. She made a call, and someone picked her up.”
An unsettling panic had him gripping Nica’s arm tighter than he’d intended. “Did you say something to her?”
Nica scowled at him and tugged away. “No. We had a very nice conversation. Our first. We talked about family and children and dreams that don’t come true.”
Don’t come true? Then Giles got it. “Nica, did she say where she was going?”
“Not exactly. She said something about taking care of some mess she was in. Does that mean anything to you?”
It meant everything.
Brigit was turning herself over to the Guedrys.
twenty-two
Brigit had met Rueben Guedry only once, but he’d made a lasting impression as someone totally uninterested in furthering that association.
Daniel had brought her to some extravagant fund-raising party shortly after they’d gotten together. He’d wanted her to meet the family, and she’d been naively excited by the prospect, by the idea of someplace to belong. Her generous lover had lavished her with a designer gown of crimson and gold that made her glow like a low-burning flame. He’d indulged her with a spa day, to be waxed, buffed, glossed, and styled, and had draped her with glittering jewelry. He’d strutted about the eclectic company with her proudly on his arm, and she’d felt like a queen . . . like that goddess Giles always likened her to. Until Daniel had brought her up to be introduced to his cousin.
Rueben Guedry had swept her with a brief coal-black stare and drawled, “There’s no reason for me to learn your name. There’ll be another to replace you before I have the occasion to recall it.” And he’d walked away. She’d never been so humiliated in her life. It had taken all Daniel’s persuasive powers to keep her from pouncing upon that rigidly straight back to choke him with her flashy rope of diamonds. Rueben didn’t have much use for small talk, Daniel had told her with placating kisses.
And she had no use for Rueben Guedry. Until he’d become, upon Daniel’s death, the power driving the entire clan.
Unlike the Terriots’ comfortably sprawling wooded compound overlooking the serenity of Lake Tahoe, Rueben’s perch was a fitting high-rise of impenetrable reflective glass and cold steel in the heart of Memphis, and everyone, from the doorman and cleaning crew to the executives housed on its thirty-seven floors, answered only to him. The top three floors were his, serviced by a private elevator. He lived there, worked there, conferenced there, and if one were unlucky enough to be summoned before him, there was a fifty-fifty chance of never being seen again.
Brigit wondered what her odds would be as Thorne escorted her to the top.
Rueben’s corner office had a breathtaking view of the city with the Mississippi River winding behind it. There was nothing to distract from it but the man, himself.
He didn’t look like an executive, wearing jeans, a checked cotton shirt, and a solid necktie with an expensive suit coat. He didn’t sit behind a desk. He sprawled casually in one of the eight leather club chairs situated around a low coffe
e table made from a slab of gleaming dark wood. The only things on that glossy surface were his crossed Tony Lama–booted feet, a glass of sweet tea, a dove-gray Stetson, and an all-business Glock.
Though tall, dark, lean, and dreamily gorgeous, just like all the Guedry males, Reuben projected none of Daniel’s warmth in the stern set of his chiseled features, nor welcome in the black eyes that followed her approach unblinkingly. He didn’t stand.
“Miz MacCreedy.” His voice was no less dangerous for its soft drawl.
“I see you had reason to remember my name after all.”
“Yes, I did.” Without taking his gaze from hers, he said, “You can leave us, Isaac. The lady and I have some personal matters to attend to. You’ll know when I need you.”
At the sound of the shot, Brigit assumed.
Isaac withdrew without comment, leaving the two of them to stare each other down. No offer was extended for her to sit, so she remained standing at the far end of the table, struggling not to sweat. She’d be damned if she’d let him see she was afraid.
“Miz MacCreedy, you have been a considerable pain in my behind.”
“I’d say I was sorry for your loss, but you don’t appear to be grieving.”
“No. You’re right about that. Though I found Daniel to be an impulsively hormonal fool who would have driven our fathers’ business into the ground with his love of excess and equally useless women, I was not eager to take his place. I do so now because it’s expected of me, not because I enjoy it.”
“I would think someone with your effusive charm would thrive on all the social interaction.”
He betrayed no reaction to her cynicism. “I am a direct man, Miz MacCreedy. Let’s get right to it, shall we?” He picked up the pistol and leveled the barrel right between her eyes. “My cousin is dead because of you, and I intend to drop your bitch ass where you stand.”
Isaac Thorne loitered in the next office, awaiting the dramatic announcement that Rueben’s business with the pretty redhead was concluded. Her death wouldn’t bring Danny back, so Isaac didn’t feel one way or the other about it. But Rueben liked to make statements, and this one was going to require a cleanup and perhaps a new carpet. Something in stain-resistant Berber. Isaac would have seen to the situation with a more hands-on efficiency by simply changing form and ripping out her heart to send back to her brother. But Rueben was fastidious, if no less lethal, preferring to keep his distance and his clothes clean with the impersonal approach. To each his own.
As Isaac waited, nudging the little white ball from Rueben’s putting green around with his toe, he got a call from the front desk, announcing that some unexpected envoys had arrived. Figuring that Rueben, being a man of few words, would have his discussion wrapped up by the time the elevator reached their floor, he told the security guard to show them up.
Perhaps the day was going to get interesting after all.
Isaac settled behind the desk Rueben never used—something about keeping whomever he was talking to in full view—and listened for the report of the gun. The elevator arrived first. He thought about alerting Rueben but decided it might be a plus to initiate the newcomers to the Guedry clan’s negotiating skills right up front.
Isaac assessed the two visitors with their accompanying escorts. The big one was human. The smaller Shifter, surprisingly, deferred to him.
“To what do we owe this unannounced visit from New Orleans?”
The human smiled easily. “Thought it was time we introduced ourselves, since you left our city without that courtesy. My name is Giles St. Clair, acting for Max Savoie. And you are Isaac Thorne.” Not a question.
“Do we know each other?”
“We’re going to.” Though his tone and manner were amenable, there was an edge to his stare that said different as he gestured to the putter leaning against one of the straight chairs. “Do you mind? I never get a chance to practice.”
Isaac waved an agreeable hand.
Still smiling, Giles picked up the club, weighing it appreciatively, before lining up one of the indoor practice balls. “I understand Rueben Guedry is here. I’d like to speak to him before I get back to my business with you.”
“He’s in a meeting, but he shouldn’t be much longer.”
A careful lineup, a gentle tap, and the ball rolled along the artificial green to settle in the cup.
“What do you want to discuss with Rueben?”
Giles guided another ball onto the fake grass. “He has something of mine that I want back.”
“And what might that be, Mr. St. Clair?”
“Not a what.” He squared up his stance without lifting his gaze. “A whom.”
He swung with perfect form. Not at the ball but at the huge lantern jaw of the security guard behind him, dropping him without a sound. Boyd was on the other startled man before he could react, taking him to the floor.
Giles thrust the end of the putter into Thorne’s throat, pinning him against the back of his chair. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy golf. Where’s Brigit MacCreedy? Don’t tell me a lie. I know she’s here.”
The putter bobbed upon the movement of Thorne’s Adam’s apple as the pale-eyed man gestured toward the adjoining door.
“Thank you. And this is for putting your hands on her.” Giles took a one-handed swing, clipping Thorne in the temple to drop him like a stone. “T, secure them for me while I go discuss some things next door.”
“Shore thing, Rob-E.”
At the sound of the opening door, Rueben called, “I’m busy here, Zac,” without taking his eyes off the woman who stood frozen at the far end of the low table.
“I’m afraid your colleague is unavailable at the moment.”
Brigit waited until Rueben’s gaze canted to the side before she dared draw a breath and risk a look. Her knees went weak at the sight of Giles armed with a . . . golf club? Her heart took a leap, soaring into a triple-gainer dive.
Giles! He’d come for her!
And was walking right into his own death.
Because the gun barrel remained unwavering, she made no move or sound that would return a more purposeful attention to her.
“I’m sorry,” Rueben drawled after noting the blood on the end of the putter. “Did I miss a tee time?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re not the brother.”
“No,” Giles replied to that casual observation. “If I were, you’d be dead already. But I’d like to talk with you before we get down to some serious violence.”
“And I’m interested in what you have to say, why?”
“Because if you pull that trigger, you’ll be in the middle of a war I guarantee you won’t survive.”
Dark brows lifted. “A war with whom, if I might ask?”
“New Orleans.”
The Guedry leader indulged in a bit of a smirk. “I think I can take you and your city, even though I’d be getting a little bit ahead of my own plans. Do you work for Savoie?”
“I do. And so does her brother. Neither of us would look kindly upon you killing her over your cousin’s stupidity.”
Rueben’s eyes narrowed, and Brigit saw the quick move toward violence just a step away. She couldn’t let things go in that direction, not when preventing such a confrontation was the reason for her surrender. So she spoke up.
“There’s no need for Mr. Savoie to involve himself in my business with Rueben. We were just discussing terms when you interrupted. Please apologize and go back to New Orleans so we can finish.”
“Terms?” Giles blinked, allowing himself a brief glance at her. “He was about to blow your head off.”
The quick caress of his blue-gray eyes made her pulse flutter. But she couldn’t weaken. Not now. Not yet. Not before she had the concessions she needed from the head of the Memphis clan. She’d accepted the danger when she made that call to Thorne, and she couldn’t back away from it now. Not when she had yet to play the precious card that would allow everyone to walk away alive. The timing wasn’
t perfect, but the threat of that steady pistol was too great to ignore. Especially now that she had more than herself to protect.
“That was a misunderstanding,” she assured Giles. “I’m certain he wasn’t about to murder the mother of the next Guedry heir.”
She wasn’t sure who was more stunned, Giles or Rueben. Both went slack-jawed. Rueben recovered first. “You and Daniel—”
“Did not have a platonic relationship. We were mated in every sense of the word. I didn’t have the chance to tell him he was going to be a daddy before he went and got himself killed.”
Because watching Giles process that information was too difficult, Brigit kept her attention fixed on Rueben. He hadn’t lowered his gun, but she could see a lot of shrewd activity going on behind his speculative stare. Time to press her case.
She put her hand to her middle, stating what Susanna had told her. “It’s a boy. You said yourself that you didn’t want the responsibility of leading your clan. You’ve got this unpleasant business regarding Daniel’s death to atone for. What better way than to take his child under your protection, to act as his guardian until he comes of age? Think of how you could spin this. Grieving uncle generously sponsoring dead cousin’s child to preserve the integrity of the Guedry line of succession. How selfless and heroic that would make you sound, sacrificing your own ambitions for the sake of a rightful heir. Only we would have to know the truth.”
As she’d known he would, Rueben weighed her words thoughtfully. She’d counted upon his pragmatic manner to keep both her and her child alive. The Terriots might have slain her immediately as a political threat, but Rueben, first and foremost a businessman, took his time to consider her as a potential asset.
“You won’t be insulted if I insist tests be run?”
“I would insist, so there’d be absolutely no question.”
