Prince of Power (House of Terriot Book 2)

by Nancy Gideon

  For three days, calls went unanswered. Knocks on the door were ignored. They talked, laughed and loved, watched TV game shows curled about one another. Colin finally came to his senses before they started painting each other’s toenails.

  Time to leave the magical world they’d been enjoying and get back to the real world one.

  “I don’t want to go,” Mia complained, standing on his doorstep, nibbling at his lips.

  “Then we should talk about you bringing your things over.”

  He knew the second reality hit. Her posture stiffened. The glaze of passion ebbed from her eyes. She studied him like a problem she didn’t know how to solve.

  The honeymoon was over.

  Seeing his concern, she went up on her toes to kiss him long and lavishly before pushing away with a gruff, “See you later, dreamboat.”

  His confidence rattled like the patio gate, coming between them with an odd sense of finality.

  He stepped back inside and checked his phone. A half dozen calls all from the same person. Frowning, he cued up the first.

  “Colin, this is Susanna LaRoche. I need to see you as soon as possible to run a few more tests here at the clinic. Bring someone with you. It’s best you not drive yourself. I’ll explain when you get here.”

  “Maybe you’re pregnant,” was Rico’s suggestion, making Colin wish he’d taken a cab instead of calling his brother.

  “There’s no danger of it looking like you.”

  “It’d have had a chance at a personality, at least.”

  Colin tried to hold onto his smile, but panic just kept rising, telling him it was something bad, something too dreadful for over the phone. Which was why he asked Rico instead of Mia to go with him. He couldn’t stand the thought of being less in her eyes again.

  They met with the doctor in her office. Like the lady, it was neat and attractive, and invitingly warmed by photos of her little family. After waving them into the chairs on the opposite side of her desk, she cut to it with a surgeon’s precision.

  “I’ve run a number of tests because I wasn’t sure what we were dealing with.”

  “A Guedry terrorist attack,” Rico butted in angrily. “It’s their style.”

  “But the attackers themselves were from here, from the New Patrol,” Colin added quietly. There was something terrible behind her kind gaze. He didn’t know if he was ready to take the full brunt of it, but more afraid his courage wouldn’t hold if he had to wait. “What did you find?”

  “Something in your chemistry that I’ve seen before. Something those I worked for in the North were developing when I managed to get away.”

  “Something worse than what they’ve already done?” His short laugh was bitter.

  “The silver was their delivery system to get the chemicals into your system while it was in shock. They knew we’d be so busy trying to fight off the initial trauma, we wouldn’t be looking for anything else.”

  Colin swallowed. “But you looked.”

  “I did. Because I know them.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I’m not quite sure, but knowing where it comes from, it’s not going to be anything pleasant.”

  “Like what they’ve done so far has been a picnic?”

  “Something foreign is inside your body.”

  “To kill him?” Rico spoke up after shaking off his surprise. “Is that what the bastards plan to do?”

  “Perhaps, or to control him. There’s no way to tell unless I do further, much more invasive tests.”

  “What are we looking at?” Colin demanded. “How much time are we talking about?”

  “I don’t know. Some of their serums attach to the body and lie dormant until awakened by another stimulus. Others begin an aggressive attack against the nervous system, alter brain chemistry, begin breaking down the organs.”

  “How will we know?” Rico’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “I want to start testing immediately.”

  That took Colin like a gut shot. “Now?”

  “I’d like to get you prepped. I have a room ready.”

  “No offense, but I just got out of here, and I’m not ready to check back into Hotel Hell.”

  Susanna came around her desk to sink down next to Colin’s chair. His arm tensed under the gentle press of her hand. “I know you’re scared. But you’ll be safer here than out there where you might hurt yourself or others.”

  Check out anytime you like but you can never leave, right?

  He stumbled to his feet, chair screeching back. “No, thanks.”

  She rose, expression steeped in empathy. “I know it’s a lot to absorb after all you’ve been through. Let me help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Yes, you do. The longer you wait, the more time it has to get control of you.”

  “And you can take care of it, fix whatever they’ve done?”

  “I can’t promise—”

  “Then you’ve got nothing I need.”

  "Col, you wanna talk about it?"

  "No."

  "I think you should have stayed."

  "I don't care what you think. It's not your life."

  "You should call Cale and-"

  Colin whipped the steering wheel so sharply the T-bird's tires scraped the curb. Slamming the vehicle into park, he turned to glare at his brother.

  "Mind your business and keep your nose out of mine! Out."

  Rico didn't move. "Colin, you don't want to be alone."

  "Oh, because you've always been such a wall of support for me to cling to? You wanted to see my world crumble, now you have. Show's over. Get the hell outta my car."

  "Where are you going?"

  "It doesn't matter. It's a dead end." He stretched across Rico's lap for the door handle, gave it a yank, and his brother a hard push with his forearm. Rico gripped his gloved hand without thinking then realizing what he held, immediately released him, only darkening Colin's mood. He managed a lopsided smile as he withdrew his ruined hand. "It's better this way. Go on. I need some time to get on top of this, and I don't need a babysitter."

  Rico hesitated. "You gonna be okay?"

  His smile twisted. "The million-dollar question." He sighed. "Go on, Red. I'll be fine."

  "Right. You got my number. If you need me, call me."

  Alone with the news he didn't know how to handle and the sound of his own ragged breathing, Colin drove aimlessly through the city.

  They'd put something inside him.

  Something growing, something spreading even now. Was he a danger to those around him? An unexploded bomb? Could things get any worse? A raw laugh. Careful what you wish for.

  He'd let fear and grief gnaw away in him for far too long to indulge in it now. He realized that the moment he pulled up in front of his little pretend home. If he went inside, eventually Mia would show up whether Rico talked to her or not. And then the rerun of the past week would begin to play. He couldn't put either of them through that again. He'd heard that old song of misery and hopelessness and regrets one too many times. He didn't want to hide. He didn't want to cry and scream and wail.

  He wanted to howl.

  And where better to do that than New Orleans with Bourbon Street just a block away.

  Colin knew how to have a good time and where to find one. He was a prince, after all, and what else did he and his brothers have to do with all their money, their looks, their reputations, and time on their hands? But for all his drinking, dancing, fighting and sexy times with the ladies, there was always that edge of control, of a thinking man's restraint put in place by Abel Conroy to keep him centered and prepared to meet whatever might came his way.

  Until that morning. There was no way to prepare for the news Susanna LaRoche had given him.

  He reeled from doorway to doorway, drunk and unguarded, buying rounds for the house, singing karaoke with housewives from Nebraska who grabbed his butt and tucked their phone numbers behind his fly, had wolf whistled and ov
er-tipped a blur of exotic dancers but refused a la carte services. He was a mated man now. He might have gotten on stage with them, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe that’s where he’d gotten the g-string around his neck

  Finally, the day and his recklessness wore down. Because there was no future with the female he desired above all others, he sat on the curb, expensive boots skewed in the littered gutter, his head in his hands, sobbing over the mournful song of a trio of street musicians until, concerned, they bent over him and asked if there was someone they could call for him.

  No. No one. No one could pull him out of his downward spiral. Until a pair of youthful panhandlers, thinking to help themselves, stumbled over his feet, falling into him with muttered apologies before hurrying on.

  And the sorrowful beat of his heart changed its rhythm. Becoming quick and fierce. A war drum.

  Sonuvabitch! They'd stolen his wallet.

  Disappearing into the crowd that had thickened along with the day's ending shadows, they ran from him, thinking they could hide. Thinking themselves safe. Colin smiled slowly, the gesture mirthless and terrible, sending the kind-hearted musicians scuttling away from him as he rose to his feet. To hunt.

  The Quarter was saturated with smells and sounds, of exotic foods and herbs, alcohol, and human perfumes. Music drifted from every entrance and passing car. Voices rose and fell in waves of merriment. Colin's focus narrowed, targeting two scents and the rhythm of rapid foot falls entwined with giddy laughter. He pushed his way along the banquette, driven by purpose, moving at a quick lope, eyes on the blur of humanity ahead, nose in the wind.

  He paused at the entrance to a darkened alley, the stench of garbage momentarily disguising his quarry. But there it was again, the tickle of their presence in the air, hurrying him forward in a low crouch.

  The boy and girl were hunched down behind a dumpster going through their stolen reward, whispers rising in excitement over the mother lode of cash and credit cards. Those voices stilling as his large shadow cast over them.

  "I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you."

  He could only imagine what they saw. Gleaming red eyes. Sharp white teeth. The girl shrieked and the boy instantly produced a puny blade. Colin slapped it from his hand and jerked the kid off his feet with the bunch of his fist in the boy's dirty jacket. Drawn up close to that monstrous visage, the tough guy started screaming, too.

  A blow to the back of his head sent Colin reeling.

  The kids weren't alone. As he staggered about, he found himself facing eight or nine hard-looking customers armed with pipes and knifes. Not tiny toothpicks like the boy had drawn but some serious carving tools.

  "Let him go," one of the group demanded as he stepped forward.

  Colin opened his hand and the boy dropped to rubbery knees.

  "Take off," the leader told the young pair.

  When the girl reached for his wallet, Colin growled, "Leave it, or I'll follow you into hell if I have to. But I’ll get it back. And I won't be nice about it."

  She left the leather but snatched up the cash, dashing after her accomplice like a rat down a sewer grate.

  Colin provided his new friends with a feral smile, watching warily as they began to circle. "They stole my wallet. I got it back. Nothing more to see here. No harm, no foul."

  "The only thing here that's foul is you, Terriot."

  Colin got a glimpse of a flame-tatted hand as a blade flashed toward his throat.

  "Where is he?"

  "Holding Two. Took four of us to stuff him in there. Been making one helluva a racket ever since."

  "I'll take it from here."

  "He hasn't been processed yet."

  "And he's not going to be. Open it. I'll take responsibility."

  "You can't just waltz him outta here without paperwork."

  "Yeah, I can. He'll be in my custody."

  "Where you taking him?"

  "Home for dinner, if he can walk. He's my brother-in-law."

  Alain Babineau observed the lone figure in the cell and sighed. Colin Terriot lay sprawled along the single long bench, one arm and leg trailing to the floor, bruised and bloodied face turned toward him, slack mouth allowing an ungodly noise to escape. He snored like a poorly-tuned lawn mower!

  The bang of the cell door brought one bloodshot eye open. The other was nearly swollen shut.

  "You tucked in all cozy for the night, or would you rather leave with me?"

  Colin sucked up his spit and dragged himself upright with a mighty groan. "Rather go with you than enjoy any more hospitality here."

  "You've had a busy night. Playing craps at Manny Blu's with a pair of his highest-priced hookers on your lap, drunk and disorderly, indecent exposure, public urination . . ."

  "I had a lot to drink."

  ". . . on the tire of the squad car . . ."

  "Better than in the back seat."

  ". . . and on Officer Gilroy's foot."

  "A lot to drink." His smile cancelled his repentant tone.

  "Roughing up a couple of pickpockets, brawling and busting heads. Three transports to the hospital and total amnesia from the others who look worse than you."

  "The kids stole my wallet. And that other bunch were trying to bust mine first."

  Alain grabbed his arm and hauled him into the corridor, noting how the two deputies, one sporting a huge lump on his jaw, stepped out of the way. Colin gave them a sloppy grin to earn return glowers.

  "You don't run a very friendly place."

  "It's not a hotel, and our city isn't your playground. If it wasn't for all the grief I'd get from my wife, I'd let you stew in there. I thought you said you didn't do stupid shit."

  "First time for everything."

  As they walked past the other holding cell where the three sullen, battered men who hadn't needed hospitalization hunched over their knees, Colin responded to their epitaphs with a raised finger and a smirk. Babineau smacked him on the back of the head and marched him along at a brisker pace.

  Once in Babineau's family car, the Terriot prince lost his attitude. He sat, shoulders slumped, leaning against the door, eyes closed.

  "Why are you toting around my family in your wallet?"

  "Is that a crime?"

  "Where'd you get the picture?"

  Colin slit an eye open and looked at the driver. "Tina gave it to me. Wasn't sure why at first, but now I know."

  When he fell silent, Babineau prompted, "Why?"

  "To remind me of the importance of family." A wry smile. "Like I needed a lesson."

  “You did tonight.” Alain studied him a moment longer then asked, "You okay?"

  "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

  Something in the way he spoke those words alerted the detective. That and the fact that his unusually compliant guest didn't question where they were going or make any calls.

  "I'm not bringing anything home to my family that I don't need, am I?"

  "No." Colin straightened. "You can let me out here."

  Babineau considered it then shrugged. "The wife would never forgive me. She told me to go get you. I don't dare come home empty-handed."

  "You're a lucky man, Alain." That first-name basis just slipped out naturally.

  “I don’t doubt that any more. Maybe you shouldn’t, either.”

  Colin had nothing to say.

  As they pulled up into the drive, Colin noticed a SOLD placard angled across the FOR SALE sign in the front. When he mentioned it to Babineau, he just grunted in response.

  “I like your place. Why the move?”

  “I liked it, too, but it got too small.” He paused then added more meaningfully, “Too vulnerable.”

  “Because of us.”

  “Goes with the family, I guess.” He put the car in Park along with conversation.

  The little house was empty, but something delicious simmering in a cooker supplied a warm greeting.

  “Where’s the family?”

  “Basketball game. We were watchin
g Oz play when I got the call from my deputy asking why some brawling, pissing thug had that picture in his wallet.”

  Colin’s conscience winced. “Sorry.”

  “Tina insisted. I’da let you cool off until morning, figuring you deserved it.”

  Colin said nothing, knowing he had.

  “Go clean up, or she’ll insist I take you to the ER. If I miss my dinner, I’m gonna be the pissy one.”

  Staring at his battered face in the bathroom mirror, Colin understood his brother-in-law’s concern. He was a mess.

  He was a mess. What the hell had gotten into him to be so impulsive? To do something so careless, so dangerous in a city that was not his own? He wasn’t among friends here, and only a stroke of luck rescued him from being an awkward embarrassment to everyone. That was Rico’s M.O., not his. He wasn’t one to run and hide under the guise of stupid shit when things got sticky. Or was he? Colin abandoned that question, his brain too sluggish for soul searching.

  But it had felt good. Cleansing. Cathartic. Tearing into larger odds with an unholy fury, he who was usually so cool under enemy fire. Just thinking about the bloody melee brought a prickle of aggression back to disturb him. Making him wonder if the excess of drink and the tenuousness of his future had sparked the situation. Or if had been something else much darker.

  They’d put something inside him.

  He switched off the light.

  Even tempting smells from the kitchen couldn’t overcome the allure of welcoming couch cushions. He’d thought to just take a load off, but the instant he sat down, he just kept sinking. Babineau was asking him something, but the words slurred together and eventually disappeared into a blanketing darkness he gratefully embraced.

  “Is he all right?” Tina Babineau asked as she studied her slumbering half-brother. It looked like someone had backed over his face with a moving van, but his rumbling snores sounded healthy enough.

  “Define all right as it applies to your family?”

  She gave her husband’s arm a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For this. I know it’s not what you signed on for.”

  Alain slipped his arm about her shoulders and drew her close. “I think it came with putting my name on the marriage certificate, for better or worse. Colin’s not so bad . . . usually.” A wicked chuckle. “He peed on Gilroy.”