Seeker of Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  “Personal then.”

  “Yes. Not me, personally, but a friend. I owe a debt, and in settling mine, you can satisfy yours to me. You aren’t obligated in any way. You’re free to say no and get back on the first train north with no hard feelings. Your work is valuable. I wouldn’t want to compromise it in any way.”

  Compromise. That was the last thing she expected to hear from the razor-edged warrior. Susanna didn’t know much about Nica Fraser except that she’d succeeded when no other could with an unmatched deadly skill and cunning. But this softer side was a new facet to her, one that perhaps came with settling down with a mate. A wistful pang twisted through her, but it was pushed away as she turned back to business.

  “Why does your friend need a geneticist?”

  Nica’s shrewd gaze assessed her for a long moment. “Whatever I tell you goes no farther.”

  “Of course.”

  “My friend is close to a human who was critically injured and has no chance of recovery. This friend of mine is bonded to a Shifter male and through that bonding process, her own life was saved because of the regenerating qualities passed to her during the mating ritual.”

  “Your friend is human?” Surprise gave way to fascination.

  “It’s complicated. Let’s just say she and her mate both bring interesting DNA to the table, and because of that, she thinks these properties could be used to heal her friend. Given all the research you’ve done, do you think that’s even remotely possible?”

  Susanna blinked. What Nica suggested was a shocking bit of science fiction with huge moral consequences. It was one thing to tamper with genetic traits within their own species, but to dare cross those lines artificially . . .

  “I would need samples from her and her mate, and the human.”

  Nica brightened. “You think it can be done?”

  “In a lab, maybe. In actuality, I don’t know. I’m not sure it should even be tried. There are implications far beyond what any of you have considered.”

  “But you’re willing to find out?”

  Susanna drew in a shaky breath. Her thoughts swelled with intriguing possibilities, expanding until her mind could barely contain them. Could she?

  Should she?

  “No promises. I’d like to sleep on it first.”

  The door to the office burst open. A huge figure filled the frame, backed by the blaring pulse of a heavy metal mix.

  “Nica, I need you on the floor. How much longer are you gonna be?”

  Even before Susanna looked around, even before she heard his booming voice, she recognized the unmistakable scent that scrambled all her senses. She sat paralyzed with shock as the large male’s gaze touched upon her and held. For an agonizing moment, she feared he knew her, but then she realized he somehow recognized her not for who she was, but rather what. What she was, was not one of them.

  “I’ll be just a minute, Jacques,” Nica assured him, her intuitive gaze snapping back and forth between them.

  “Who’s your friend?” It was more demand than request as displeasure furrowed his brow.

  Susanna stood, locking her knees to keep them from shaking. Her smile was as cool and impersonal as her tone. “I’m Susanna Duchamps. Nica and I have known each other for years. She was kind enough to help me find a place to stay when she heard I was visiting New Orleans.”

  At the sound of her accent, his posture tensed. “And where are you visiting from, Ms. Duchamps?”

  “It’s Doctor. Illinois.” She met his stare unblinkingly, challenging him to make more of it.

  “Suze, this is Jacques LaRoche, my usually well-mannered employer.” When her curt tone failed to shame him, Nica sighed. “I was just giving her directions to Silas’s old place. She’s going to crash there for a couple of nights.”

  Unable to read anything in his employee’s stoic glare, Jacques turned back to Susanna with a thin smile. “Enjoy your stay in the Big Easy, Dr. Duchamps.” Without taking his eyes off her, he backed from the room and let the door close behind him.

  Jacques LaRoche may not have remembered her face, but he recognized her kind. He’d been in the North and he knew she was of the Chosen.

  And that could make Susanna’s stay all kinds of difficult.

  From his place behind the bar, Jacques’s narrowed stare followed the petite female as she skirted the busy tables, keeping her eyes cast low and her bag clutched close. It was impossible to ignore her.

  Outside on the city streets, she wouldn’t be a novelty with her tiny stature and delicate features. The designer clothes would allow her to blend in with the tourists flooding the Quarter now that the weather was turning cool in the North. She could pass for human, but not so easily as a Shifter. Their females were sturdy, curvy, athletically rather than intellectually inclined. They didn’t look as though a harsh glance could break them in half.

  What are you doing in my city, Dr. Duchamps?

  And why had his best waitress invited her amongst them?

  “She won’t cause any trouble.”

  Jacques didn’t take his gaze from the female in question as he growled, “Says you. What do you know about her?”

  “I know she came down here at great risk to herself because I asked her to do a favor for me.”

  “That makes her your responsibility. I don’t want her kind in here. I don’t take in strays.”

  Nica laughed and reached across the bar to lightly pat his rough cheek. “Yes, you do. We’re all strays here, and you’re just the big softy who scoops us all up.”

  Jacques was smiling ruefully at that title when the deep brown eyes of the woman across the room lifted to connect with his stare. And he felt again the same jolting shock he’d gotten when he first saw her, as if cardiac paddles had jump-started his heart.

  Reason enough, even without knowing where she’d come from, to make him wary.

  As she slipped out of sight, he turned to Nica, his features grim. “Don’t bring her here again. Consider that a favor to me.” He nodded behind her. “Table six is waving for you.”

  Nica studied him for a silent moment before she picked up her tray and got back to work.

  His place, his rules. Not too much to ask of the strays he’d taken under his wing.

  Jacques went back to polishing his bar top until the wood gleamed like satin. His place. Pride in that accomplishment filled him, nudging out the uneasy feelings the Chosen female had stirred up. Nica was right. They were all strays here in New Orleans, the place where misfits were swept to be out of sight, out of mind, and kept out of trouble. And they’d been complaisant, scared, and isolated for far too long. But perhaps not for much longer.

  Or at least that had been his hope until the fire.

  It had been almost three months, and the insurance company and arson investigators still hadn’t cleared the way to reopening the Trinity Towers. The urban reclamation project that was to have been their sanctuary had almost become their funeral pyre. It stood unoccupied, another of Max Savoie’s promises gone up in flames, this time literally. Jacques had had two whole days living within those walls, pretending his life had gotten miraculously better before reality singed those dreams. And where was Savoie now? Not here, seeing to the interests of his clan. He was too busy settling his own affairs.

  Jacques threw the bar rag into the sink behind him. Those dreams were like the lovely Dr. Duchamps, tempting but out of reach for someone like him.

  He’d been happy with what he’d worked to carve out for himself until Savoie showed up with his glorious promises. He’d managed to remake his life upon the uncertain shadows of his past. A good life. His own business. A decent day job. Respect. Security. What more did a man need? Even a man who wasn’t by definition a man at all?

  Then Savoie got him wanting more.

  “Hey, Jackie. Busy night.”

  Jacques poured a beer for Philo Tibideaux as his friend settled onto one of the bar stools. “Not complaining. How’s yours been?”

  “Quiet,�
�� Philo grumbled as if wishing it were otherwise.

  Philo was one of those people who had changed drastically when Savoie stepped in with his big talk and bigger trouble. The carefree amusement of the lanky redhead’s world had been torn away in an instant when his brother was murdered. There was no more laughter in his eyes, just anger and a cold ash of emptiness. Even his appearance had evolved from shaggy disregard to a close-cut, hard edge of nerves and fury that made Jacques tense just being around him.

  “Seen Savoie tonight?” Jacques asked.

  At the mention of Max’s name, Philo’s lips curled. “Not around here. Him and his new boy have moved on to greener pastures. Could have told you that was coming.”

  Jacques shrugged, but he feared Philo was right. Maybe Savoie’s attentions had turned to a new focus, one that didn’t include an interest in his adopted clan. Or in Jacques’s concerns over the appearance of a Chosen emissary from Illinois.

  In the not so recent past, Jacques could have discussed his misgivings with Philo, who had formed a security group to deal with the threat of outsiders. But Philo’s Patrol had taken on a certain paramilitary tone that made Jacques uneasy with his confidence. It was something he should have discussed with Max, but Max wasn’t here, and his promises had become as mercurial as his legend.

  So Jacques poured himself a glass, clinking its rim against Philo’s in a companionable gesture as he glanced toward the conspicuously empty table at the back of his club. Screw Savoie. He didn’t need dreams. He already had everything he wanted.

  Except a way to soothe the ache resurrected by the mysterious female from the North.

  That longing for things he couldn’t recall.

  Two

  Susanna? I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Are you all right?”

  Guilt assailed her at the unexpected shake of panic in Damien Frost’s voice. “I explained everything to you in my note.”

  “You explained nothing. ‘I’ll be out of town for a few days. I’ll call you’? All I could think was that it was happening again, the same as with Pearl.”

  “Oh, Damien, no. I’m so sorry. I never considered . . .” Her heart twisted as she considered it now, her partner going through the same agony she’d endured when Pearl had been taken from her. During that awful time, Damien had remained beside her to keep her focused and sane. “I’m fine. I’m truly fine. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Of course I’m worried,” his gentle tone broke. “What possessed you to just run off without a word to me? This isn’t like you, Susanna. Not at all.”

  Again, all she could do was apologize, feeling worse as she listened to his ragged breathing. “I’m sorry, but I had to make this trip and I knew if we spoke, you’d talk me out of it.”

  “Out of what? What are you involved in?”

  “I can’t tell you, Damien. Nothing dangerous.” A necessary lie. “Nothing that will compromise us.” Another lie, greater than the first.

  “Where are you? Can you at least tell me that much if I promise not to interfere?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Is it something I’ve done?”

  The distress in his question tormented her as she assured him, “It’s not you. You know better. You’re my one true constant. You’ve made everything in my life possible.”

  “Then why are you treating me this way? As if I can’t be trusted?”

  Susanna drew back behind her caution. “It’s to protect you and Pearl. For no other reason.” That had been true at first, but now other issues had come into play. Other more personal, even selfish reasons. “I’ll be gone just a couple of days. It’s for a research opportunity, one that may never come again. I’m safe. I’m sorry, that’s all I can say.”

  “What am I supposed to tell Pearl when she asks for her mother?”

  Susanna’s will almost broke, but she held firm. “Tell her I love her and am thinking of her always.”

  “And if something should happen, if she should take a bad turn, how can I get ahold of you? Your number is blocked.”

  She shivered at the thought of her greatest fear. “I’ll check in frequently. If there’s an emergency, I can be home in a matter of hours. That’s the best I can do.”

  He sighed in frustration. “And hopefully that will be good enough. What am I supposed to do, Susanna? Wish you well on this mysterious journey?”

  “Yes. Could you do that?”

  His tone evened into its practical cadence. “All right. I wish you well and a speedy return home.”

  “Thank you. I knew you’d understand.”

  “I don’t. I think this is reckless and unwise of you, but it’s done and what I think obviously didn’t enter into your planning.”

  She cringed beneath his cool censure. He’d done so much for her. This act of secrecy was an unworthy response to the freedoms she’d been given. “Of course you matter,” she said quietly. “I’m doing this for us. I’ll be able to explain better when I get home.”

  “Make it soon. You have obligations here, where you belong.”

  Obligations. He couldn’t have chosen a less persuasive word. “I’m well aware of them. I won’t disappoint you. Good night, Damien. Give Pearl a kiss for me.”

  The call disconnected abruptly on his end.

  She closed her phone and sat unhappily in her borrowed room. She’d brought fear and anguish and upset to her companion. She’d provoked him to emotions he rarely displayed: anger, irritation, even possessiveness, a shameful betrayal on her part.

  She’d lied to him. And to herself.

  She’d come to New Orleans not just to settle a debt of conscience, but to escape the smothering press of her life in the North. The favor asked was an excuse to slip out from under those oppressive obligations so she could have the chance to breathe. The chance to feel. Things forbidden in her stringent world. To be what was born within her seven years ago when she’d allowed herself to taste freedom, never guessing how she’d hunger for it every day and night since then until she was emotionally starved.

  But control that appetite she would. She had to, because these delicious sensations were only temporary.

  Her life was in Chicago.

  But, she’d just discovered unexpectedly, her heart was still where it had always been.

  Here in New Orleans, with the man now called Jacques LaRoche.

  She paced the small apartment, exhausted yet too keyed up to rest.

  When she’d first stared at those tickets to Louisiana, she should have experienced fear, not excitement. She should have given the danger to her family, to her position, to her safety precedent over any obligation she might have felt to a mercenary who’d just been doing her job. She should have thought of the delay in her own work while traipsing off on some ill-conceived adventure. Being adventuresome was not a desirable trait in a Chosen citizen.

  But to see and experience what life could be if she dared embrace it . . . A life denied her in the rigid North. A life of emotion.

  Those feelings ran rampant now, thrilling and terrifying her.

  New Orleans was everything her life in Chicago was not. It exploded with sensory temptations. Standing at the open window, she let the sensations drift over her like the caress of a lover’s hands.

  The warmth of the evening air seeped in to stimulate her soul. The city’s heart beat with energy, with its sultry mélange of cultures and music. Its aroma enticed her. There was nothing to smell in her clinical confines in the North. Here, every inhalation was a potent potpourri of flavors, laced with a tang of salt and an earthy sense of history. Rich, deep, beckoning odors, not all of which were pleasant. The intensity overwhelmed her as she breathed in and savored the olfactory sensation.

  Only once before had she felt so alive, so eager to embrace a new awareness with all five senses as they stirred restlessly within her. She’d been young then, too naïve to know caution, to understand the power of such emotions while caught up in her desperate wonder. She hadn’t thought of conseq
uence then. Now, she couldn’t afford not to.

  She stepped away from the window, but left it open to invite in the tease of nightfall. She used the Spartan bathroom to shower away the stale drag of travel, then returned to the bedroom, determined to unwind. But how could she close her eyes and deny herself the joys that seduced her?

  The circling of the ceiling fan moved the silk of her pajamas against her skin in an unbearable ripple, creating shivers of memory.

  Making Susanna think of his hands upon her.

  Jacques LaRoche.

  She hadn’t expected to see him here. She hadn’t wanted to know where he’d gone, fearing she couldn’t resist the need to follow. Seeing him in that doorway had shocked her system almost beyond recovery. But over these past years, she’d learned to rebound quickly without betraying any personal impact. She’d had to in order to protect those things that mattered most.

  Jacques LaRoche. That wasn’t who he’d been when she’d known him.

  Stretching out on the big yielding bed beneath the cool, rhythmic pulse of the fan, Susanna shut her eyes and allowed herself to picture him at the Shifter club. Big, bold, dangerously magnetic. She struggled against that fateful pull of attraction, but finally gave in, at least for this private moment. Her sigh trembled with complex longing as she superimposed the image she’d carried in her heart of the first time she’d seen him.

  He was the first shape-shifter Susanna had ever met up close, and despite her outcries for equality between Chosen and Shifter kind, he’d scared her to death with his rough intensity. Chosen males were refined and gracefully made. Her Shifter bodyguard was built like a fortress instead of a cathedral, all blunt, sturdy fortifications of muscle upon a massive utilitarian frame.

  The fit of his black one-piece uniform had done little to disguise his blatant power as fabric strained to contain broad chest and wide shoulders. Even his features seemed hewn from granite by fierce, chopping blows instead of artful strokes, each line strong and squared from jaw to heavy brow. Upon that brutal facade, his full lips seemed overtly sensual even when unsmiling.