by Nancy Gideon
She was considering staying at her apartment.
Just for a while.
She’d almost convince herself that it would be best for both of them, when she’d glance up and catch Max staring at her. And before he could shove his impassive mask back in place, she’d see the puppyish adoration softening his gaze and the small, hungry curve of his sly-dog smile. And she’d remember his heroic rescue of her in a dirty alley, with the low, seismic rumble of his voice claiming, “I came back because I smelled your perfume.” And his quiet vow of “You’re my every dream” that turned her impenetrable warrior’s heart into mush.
Then there were those damned flowers wilting on the nightstand, because tears came to her eyes every time she tried to throw them away. She even saved the petals that fell.
And if she were gone, who would have his back?
“You make me crazy, Savoie,” she grumbled now.
“What?”
He had his head in his huge closet, anxiously going through his GQ wardrobe before the cookout at the Babineau’s. He leaned back to regard her with lifted brows.
“The navy Prada pinstripe, I think. That should make them all feel inadequate as men and providers.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re not helping, Charlotte. I’ve never been to something like this before. Is there a theme?”
She looked blank. “A theme?” A huge laugh. “A theme! Geez, Savoie, did you spend all your afternoons watching the Lifetime channel?” When his eyelids drooped dangerously, she shrugged. “Beer, cigars, sweat, and softball.”
“Ah. Debauchery. Nice theme.”
“We like it.”
As he bent over to rummage through his bottom dresser drawer, she eyed his bottom, clad in snug knit briefs. She hooked a finger beneath the waistband to snap the elastic.
“This is a nice look.”
He glowered at her over his shoulder. “I’m sure the spouses and significant others would enjoy it.”
“Hmmm. Maybe too much. You’re one dish I don’t care to share.”
He snorted and grabbed loose khaki cargo pants to tug up over his long legs and very nice butt. “Let’s not tempt the unwise then, shall we?”
“Too late,” she murmured. She couldn’t help herself. Her palms skimmed up his ribs and she leaned in closer. He’d just gotten out of the shower. Moisture curled his black hair against the back of his neck and beaded on his skin. She caught a droplet with her tongue and chased it up to its place of origin near his shoulder. He froze.
“Detective, we’re running late.” His tone was steady, even if his breathing was not.
“They’ll wait. I’m bringing the beer. That’s always my job since I can’t cook worth a damn.”
“You can’t cook?” He slid quickly away and pulled on a black and gold Saints muscle shirt.
“Have you ever seen me indulge in any domesticity?”
He stared for a minute. “No.”
“There you go. I consider it a civic duty to help support my neighborhood take-out establishments.” She tapped his chest. “The Saints are a football team.”
“Oh.” He looked bewildered. “Should I change it?”
She patted him, chuckling. “Max, have you ever seen a baseball game?”
“No. I ran a search on the Internet yesterday to read up on it, so I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Just in case someone asks me a question. Fellas are supposed to know about sports, right?”
She traced the fleur-de-lis on his chest, because she liked the feel of him beneath the cotton. “Relax. After a few, the guys won’t remember what they’re playing anyway.”
He smiled faintly but still looked nervous. Then his gaze swept over her. She was wearing tight baseball pants that ended just below the knee and a sports bra. A dangerous expanse of toned tawny skin was left bare between. The ball cap perched jauntily on her head pictured a crawfish and the slogan “Shuck Me, Suck Me, Eat Me Raw.”
Max lifted an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re wearing? Do any of the spouses or significant others not want to run you over with their minivans, detective?”
“What?” She gripped the bill of her hat defensively. “I won this in a departmental shucking contest. I’m proud of it.”
“Dare I ask what you were shucking?”
She made a face. “You can ask.”
His smile burst sudden and wide, and before she could react he pulled her up for a long, wet kiss. Somehow in the middle of their tongue tangling, he managed to ease the hat from her head and toss it into his closet. When she finally rocked down from her toes, she kept her fingers locked behind his head.
“What was that for?” she panted.
“Thanks for letting me come with you.”
“You can come with me anytime. Actually, I prefer it when you do.”
He grinned. “And I let you kiss me with that mouth?”
“You let me do more than that with it.”
She snagged an oversized tee shirt out of her side of the drawer, and Max was pleased to see that it covered the way the snug pants cupped her butt. He didn’t want anyone in his dish, either. And it covered the bruises on her arms.
“Let’s go.” she said. “You’re buying the beer. And you owe me a new hat.”
THE BABINEAU FAMILY bought into a quiet neighborhood on a cul-de-sac with an easy commute to the city. A small house, a small lawn with a swing set, and a big mortgage. The detective had lots of plans for it and for his little family, including a garage and a family-room extension for a big-screen TV and ESPN. Modest dreams for a modest man. His pretty young wife, Tina, loved it because her son’s school was right across the street.
A huge gas grill had been dragged into the driveway, surrounded by a motley assortment of lawn chairs. The men loitered out on the concrete, while the women stayed in the shade of the carport.
Their hostess hurried down the sloped drive to meet them. “Cee Cee. Max, I’m glad you could make it.” Because she was intimidated by her husband’s bristly partner, she took Max’s arm and hustled him up to where conversation had stopped. “Have y’all met Cee Cee’s boyfriend, Max?”
Cold, sniper-scope stares fixed on him.
“Yeah, we know him,” Junior Hammond muttered.
Feeling about as welcome as a communicable disease, Max said, “I’ll get the beer.” Maybe if he was bearing gifts, they wouldn’t be so apt to lynch him under the basketball hoop.
When he set the cases down next to an ice-filled garbage can lined with plastic, Babineau gave a whistle.
“Imported. Are you trying to raise our standards, Ceece?”
She shrugged. “Max grabbed them for me.”
Again the cool glares.
The wrong shirt, and now the wrong beer. The day was going to hell fast.
Their dislike of him didn’t extend so far as to decline his offering, though. Even though it was only 10:30 a.m., the first case was quickly pillaged. When Cee Cee was drawn into an admiration society of a younger detective’s new Sig Sauer, Max hung back. He didn’t like guns. All he knew about them was that they were ruthlessly efficient in killing those he’d loved.
Then he spotted a familiar face: Devlin Dovion was basting ribs on the triburner grill. He was invited to all the departmental outings because no one made a better sauce, but he left the athletics to the younger men. A hit-and-run while he was tending a crime scene left him with rebuilt parts that worked better on some days than others. On the good days, he preferred not to push his luck. He looked strangely normal in his shorts, despite the scars crisscrossing his knees. His grillmeister shirt proclaimed “If you can’t stand the heat, get me another beer.”
Taking that as good advice, Max popped a cap with his teeth and carried it over to investigate the thick slabs of meat and bone.
“Anyone I know?”
Dovion grinned at him. “I leave my work at the office.” He took the beer and nodded at the label. “Nice. Better than we deserve. Thanks.”
Max lingered aw
kwardly, then finally asked, “Anything I can do?”
“You can chop up those vegetables for the sauce.” Dovion passed him a wicked chef’s knife, then watched in bemusement as Max sliced and diced his way through the peppers, onions, and tomatoes with rapid staccato that would have done K-Paul proud. “You learn that watching the Food Channel?”
The blade paused. Max frowned slightly. “I’m not sure we had a television. I don’t recall ever watching one.”
“No great loss there.”
“I used to help my mama in the kitchen when I was a boy.” Again he paused, surprised he’d volunteered the information.
“How old were you when she passed, Max?”
“Four, maybe five. I didn’t have a lot of time to gather up memories, so I hang on to the ones I have as tight as I can.” He scraped the veggies into the butter and spices Dovion had sizzling, and gave them a stir.
“At least you won’t starve to death waiting for Charlotte to cook you something. I’m not convinced she knows how to turn a stove on.”
Max didn’t look up from the sautéeing vegetables. “Good thing for me she’s got other talents.”
“I wouldn’t have thought compromise was one of ’em.” When Max glanced at him, he added, “You being who you are, and she being what she is.”
“It’s what makes life interesting.”
“Did you get your friend taken care of?”
Max stopped stirring. His expression was carefully neutral. “’Cuse me?”
Dovion regarded him with annoyance. “Charlotte doesn’t bend rules for anyone—except you. And I can’t think of any other reason why she might tell me a lie right to my face. That’s not going to become a bad habit, is it?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d hate to see a fine career diminished. Don’t draw her into what you’re involved in, Max. And I’m not talking about Legere’s business.”
“What, then?”
“It must be something, or you wouldn’t look like I was about to baste you over this flame.”
Max said nothing. His silence spoke louder.
“I’m not stupid, Savoie. I know there’s something…different about you and your new associates. As a scientist, I’ve been curious long before your handiwork started showing up on my tables, with that strange DNA and bite radius that can’t be classified. Someday soon I’m going to want those explanations.”
“I don’t know that I’ll have any for you.”
“Don’t force me to get them from Charlotte. Officially.” Dovion flipped the ribs, then gave Max a long, somber look. “I’ll let her know if any more unexplained cases come through. I’ll let her decide whether or not you need to know. Unless you want to talk to me now.” He waited a bit. “Didn’t think so.”
Max smiled faintly and moved away from the only person he might have enjoyed having a conversation with. He faded back, blending as he’d been taught until almost invisible. He observed how relaxed and comfortable Cee Cee was with her coworkers as they laughed over some joke. Pride in her warmed through him like the Tabasco Dovion was adding liberally to his sauce.
The last thing he wanted to do was pull her out of that packlike circle of camaraderie. And the last thing they were going to do was include him in it. Even Cee Cee was shutting him out, maybe or maybe not on purpose.
He couldn’t blame her for seeking out more congenial company. His had been far from pleasant lately. As he watched her interact with her friends, he understood how important that was to her, this chance to unwind and bond with those who had her back any day or night of the week.
He glanced at the resigned cluster of women relegated to the shade and saw their acceptance of it, too. He chuckled softly. He’d just joined the ranks of spouses or significant others.
When he stepped into their territory, they looked at him in alarm. If they hadn’t had anything in common before, they did in their immediate objection to him.
“Ladies, can I get you anything?” he asked with a polite smile.
Some murmured no-thank-yous. Some glared. One had the temerity to spit, “You can get the hell out of here.”
“Becky,” another warned in a whisper.
As if the woman’s angry words were going to send him on a rampage right in Alain Babineau’s carport? What kind of monster did they think Charlotte had brought into their midst?
He had his answer as Becky said fiercely, “We know who you are and who you worked for. Maybe you were there when Jimmy Legere had my brother killed. Maybe you were the one who saw to it personally.”
Very quietly, very respectfully, he told them, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for upsetting you. That wasn’t my intention.” He backed out holding the woman’s furious stare with the sincerity of his own.
Charlotte had been right to try to keep her affair with him separate from her daily life. To push his way in would only hurt her and frustrate him. He’d been wrong to cross that line, to ask her to do the same.
Dovion’s words haunted him. He should never have involved her in that business with Tito. He should have found another way, and would have if he’d been thinking clearly. That was the problem: It was a struggle to consider, to focus, to evaluate with this churn of raw emotions throwing everything out of proper proportion.
Things were fracturing between him and Charlotte. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix it, how to hold on. How to let go.
More weary than he’d ever been in his life, Max sat on one of the swing set’s plastic seats and rocked slowly to and fro with the flex of his knees. Where no one could see him, he let his shoulders slump and his head hang low as the familiar headache began to pound behind his closed eyes.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?”
The sound of Tina Babineau’s voice almost made him jump out of his sneakers. He hadn’t heard her approach. He glanced to where she sat on the next swing, facing the opposite direction.
“What is?”
“Being the outsider.”
He didn’t respond. What would this pretty little detective’s wife know about that?
She smiled wryly, as if she could hear his cynical thought. “My dad was career military. We moved every couple of years. New town, new school, new house, new everything. Just when you’d start feeling like you fit in, you’d be hauling the packing boxes out again. I’m the new face in this group, and I don’t know how to get them to like me.”
She could probably start by not sitting next to him.
“Is that so important? Them liking you?”
“It is to Alain.”
“Isn’t it enough for you just to be his wife?”
She smiled. “Now you sound like him.”
“God forbid,” he muttered. He looked at her lovely face, warm expression, and soft eyes. “What’s not to like about you?”
“They’re a tough group to break into. They trust each other with their fears and their pain. I don’t think they believe I can cut it.”
“I think you’ll surprise them.”
“You surprised them by showing up here.” Those quiet, dark eyes shifted away. “Inviting you was a bit of selfishness on my part.”
“So you’d have someone to play with on the swings?”
“It’s because of Cee Cee,” she admitted in a sudden burst.
“What is?”
“Alain denies it, but I didn’t believe him at first.”
Max went cold inside. “What?”
“That they are…were having an affair.”
“Were they?” Then softer, “Are they?”
She smiled at him. “No, it was just me being insecure. And now that I see you with her, I know he was telling me the truth.”
“There you are.”
The sound of Cee Cee’s voice had Max’s head snapping about before he had control of his expression.
She stopped with a jerk, startled by whatever she saw in his face. Her gaze shifted, seeing Tina Babineau’s hand resting familiarly on his thigh, and her tone cooled.
/>
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“You must not have been looking very hard, unless you thought I was inside stealing the silverware.”
She didn’t smile. “Tina, Dovion is looking for something to serve his ribs up in.”
The conscientious hostess, Tina was instantly up. Her hand touched lightly on Max’s shoulder. “It was nice talking to you, Max.”
He returned her smile guardedly. “Yes.”
After she’d gone, Cee Cee was instantly on him with a silky, “And what were the two of you so cozy about?”
“Just discussing spouse and significant-other things.” His bland tone suggested nothing more would be forthcoming.
She moved behind him, setting her hands on the tense line of his shoulders. She kneaded gently, then firmly, until he couldn’t help but moan at the pleasure.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” came her quiet apology as her clever fingers massaged the base of his skull.
His eyes closed. “Were you?”
“Once Benny starts telling a story, it’s hard to get away. It’s seems like you’ve found a friend, though.”
He made a soft sound of agreement, because words would have interrupted the soothing ripples made by her magic touch.
“What were you and Dev talking about?
“Cooking.”
She was silent for a moment, just working his tight muscles. Then came a surprisingly genuine offer. “We don’t have to stay. We can go, if you like.”
As tempting as that sounded, it wasn’t quite as compelling as the restorative enjoyment in her laugh as she hung out with her peers. “Then who would cheer you on in your athletic endeavors?”
“Unlike the rest of them, I don’t need an athletic supporter.”
He tipped back his head to catch her smile. The sight of it made his heart do a funny little flip-flop, and he was poignantly aware of how rarely he’d seen her actually happy with all barriers down. “We can stay.”
She came down for a slow, sweet taste of his mouth. “They’ll warm up to you, baby.”
“Sure. With torches, while Dovion turns me over a fire.”