by Nancy Gideon
Jacques could just make out the sight of Nica and Susanna hauling Charlotte toward the bar. A thick layer of smoke poured like heavy white paint across the floor, then began to rise in an acrid mist, concealing both friend and foe. Protect their leader and their women. Those were his only thoughts. He refused to consider what he knew was the truth: that they had no possible chance of defeating this deadly and efficient enemy.
From out of the wispy fog came a cold ultimatum as a large figure all in black partially emerged, eyes glowing red.
“We’re here for Max Savoie and Susanna Duchamps. Don’t get in our way and you’ll live beyond the next few minutes.”
Max and Susanna. A fierce objecting growl ripped through Jacques. No way. He let the beast inside him go, feeling the aggression and ferocity flood his system, fueling his powerful muscles, sharpening his senses with a razorlike focus. His enemy had the advantage of strength but he was defending his home, his friends, his female, and that made him more dangerous than they expected. Surrender wasn’t an option.
Silas answered with a cold finality, hurling a low and deadly “Not happening,” along with a quick, tight pattern of shots that struck the challenger dead center, flinging him back out of sight.
And from around the spot where the one had fallen, at least a dozen leapt forward.
Jacques made his shots count, picking clear targets, aiming for head not chest, to kill not just to stop. From beside him, he could hear the methodical blasts from Silas’s pistols as he did the same.
But they were too fast and too many. Their meager defense was quickly breached as the savage creatures swarmed over the three of them.
Jacques never saw his attacker. A wrecking ball force struck him in the chest, caving in his rib cage, bowling him over onto his back. Choking on the thick smoke and his own blood, he managed to angle his pistol up to place a single bullet into the gaping jaws coming down for his throat. He struggled to push that sudden deadweight off him as he heard Susanna’s shrill scream. He had to get to her. Nothing else mattered. Not the agony of each tattered breath, not the huge swelling dizziness threatening to pull him down.
He got his feet under him, vaguely aware of his surroundings. He saw Silas engaged in brutal hand-to-hand with one of them before they toppled back and were swallowed up in mist. Unable to make a complete shift into his deadly form, Max grappled with another. And Jacques could see, where they crouched low and hidden, the glowing eyes of those who were too afraid to come to their aid.
He tried to shout out a rallying cry to them but only managed a frothy gurgle. Then he was driven to his hands and knees with one of the Trackers on his back, claws tearing through the side of his face and neck, fangs ripping into his shoulder. His ears rang as MacCreedy fired point-blank into his assailant’s temple before being taken down to the floor by the lunge of another.
Unable to draw a breath past the thick fluid filling his lungs, unable to see through the smoke and blood burning his eyes, Jacques edged toward the bar in an awkward crawl. Anna. Though he no longer heard her cries, he could scent her fear. Claws dug into the slick floorboards as his arms shook with the effort of dragging his shattered body just a few inches at a time. Anna.
Then light exploded through his head, followed by blessed darkness.
The three of them huddled behind the bar, helplessly listening to the sounds of their men locked in battle. Nica pulled the handle from her battered backpack. With a quick twist, she separated the hard plastic into two sections joined by a shiny length of cord.
Charlotte struggled to stand, desperate to go to the aid of her mate. Susanna held her down, terrified for the fate of her own. She shrieked in surprise as a huge figure suddenly appeared on the top of the bar, crouched low with feral eyes blazing and sharp teeth bared.
Nica swung with deadly accuracy, sending one of the handles circling about the Tracker’s neck. With a vicious yank, she snapped thin razor wire tight, severing his head in a fountaining spray. Susanna scuttled back as it dropped nearly in her lap, swallowing down her sickness as another sleek beast appeared above her. She grabbed the Louisville Slugger and swung with all her might, connecting with ravening jowls in a loud crunch of teeth and bone. Then, smashing one of the pitchers from under the bar, Charlotte drove the jagged edges into the creature’s throat, ending his threat as he flailed for balance.
A figure loomed up in front of them, hand flashing out to catch Nica’s wrist as she slashed with a wicked blade. Instant recognition and relief lit her eyes as MacCreedy released her and tucked in beside them.
“Where’s Max?” Charlotte’s voice cut like the blade in her friend’s hand.
“He went down. I lost sight of him.” His eyes shone with an eerie laserlike brilliance from out of his scratched and bloodied face. He was breathing hard, elbow tucked in tight against his side where his shirt hung in shreds. He did a quick check of his clip and the way his features grew grim told the bad news.
“And Jacques?”
Silas gave Susanna a long, unblinking look, then he shook his head.
The life went out of her in a sudden whoosh. Susanna couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe he was dead. Reeling and light-headed, she staggered to her feet, forgetting about all the surrounding dangers in her desperate need to see for herself.
The second she cleared the top of the bar, huge claw-tipped hands caught her by the elbows, dragging her off her feet and out of sight.
“Suze!” Nica started up and found herself looking into a pair of fiery red eyes.
Silas’s arm snaked around her, whipping her bodily behind him as their enemies were abruptly on all sides. He snarled low and fierce, bracing for a fight he couldn’t win.
“Stop!”
Max.
“Don’t hurt them. I’ll go with you.”
“Max, no!” With an angry cry, Charlotte surged forward only to have Silas catch her about the waist, holding her back as she spat and writhed, growling, “You’re not taking him anywhere, you sons of bitches. Max!”
Her wild gaze flew up to her partner’s.
“Mac, we can take ’em. Dammit, we can take ’em.”
When Nica saw the ferocious pride squaring up his stance and the way that perceived threat brought the half dozen Trackers to an immediate alert, she did what she had to do to save the situation.
“There’s a time to fight and a time to be smart. Si, be smart. We can’t win this one.”
When he remained unbending, she reacted quickly, gripping his hand and pressing his palm to her flat belly. At his questioning look, she explained softly, “Charlotte isn’t the only one expecting.” She waited for understanding to seep in, then urged, “Protect us.”
As she knew they would, his defenses broke before his love of family. Slowly, with an arm about each of them, Silas went to first one, then both knees, subduing a struggling Charlotte and hugging his mate close as he assumed the humbling position of surrender.
Out on the floor of the bar, Susanna saw Max Savoie take a similar posture, kneeling so his hands could be shackled behind him in cuffs of silver and a mask secured over his head with razor-sharp blades across the faceplate to keep him from shifting form.
Her gaze skipped over him to do a swift sweep of the smoke-wreathed floor and then her heart staggered.
His name tore from her throat, a wounded, bleating cry. With a quick wrench of her body, Susanna pulled away from the big Tracker who’d been holding her loosely, not expecting her to struggle. She ran, stumbling in shock, sliding in the blood, to fall to her knees beside the still form of Jacques LaRoche. He lay facedown in a pool of slowly spreading crimson, his life seeping out from a hideous gash at the base of skull.
All her sacrifices, all her suffering and sorrow had been for nothing. She hadn’t been able to save him after all.
Whispering his name over and over in dazed disbelief, she touched a trembling hand to the side of his ravaged face.
And began to sob as his eyes flickered open.
>
Jacques was confused at first, hearing his name chanted by a younger version of Susanna Duchamps. Only the name she said was Jack, not Jacques. As tears fell from her luminous dark eyes, those features altered slightly, becoming the familiar visage he loved.
He was on the floor. A loud buzzing roar in his head distorted the sound of Charlotte’s furious scream toward those who still huddled low and out of sight.
“You cowards! You fucking yellow bastards! After all he’s done for you!”
Jacques didn’t understand her rage but it hurt too much to wonder over it. Instead he concentrated on the lovely face hovering near his, on the gentle stroke of fingertips upon his torn features.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, weeping as if her world was ending.
He tried to say her name to comfort her and ease her sorrow but couldn’t form the sounds.
He saw her look up suddenly, her surprise evident at seeing the handsome male who’d come up behind her. An elegant hand reached down to her. His voice was soft and calm.
“Come with me and I’ll make sure they live.”
Jacques’s last conscious sight was of her hand reaching up to take the one offered.
Fifteen
The liar who’d ordered her lover killed regarded her with a benign smile.
“Have some more water, my dear. You need to hydrate.”
Susanna glanced from the proffered bottle to the man sitting opposite her in the sleekly expensive private jet. She hadn’t spoken since she’d been hurried aboard, struggling to suppress her shock and anguish behind an impassive front. Just as she’d been taught.
When she had control of her voice, Susanna asked, “What were you doing in New Orleans, Damien?”
He smiled again, a gesture she’d once believed sincere, but now knew better. “I came for you, of course.”
She made no comment as he reached across the table that separated them to twist the top off her spring water. Obediently, she drank, clenching her stomach muscles to keep the liquid down.
It tasted like blood.
When she didn’t ask, he chose to explain.
“I was approached by some security officers who said they’d been notified of your presence in New Orleans in the company of several suspected terrorists. Imagine my surprise.”
She’d have to imagine, because there was no trace of any emotion on the perfectly composed mask he wore.
“I assured them that you had no part in anything of a sordid nature, that you were doing research on a classified government project. That was rather difficult to sell since they were from the government and knew nothing of any such project.”
Susanna caught a slight flash of irritation in his mild gaze. He tried to hide it behind a flustered gesture. He’d not only been surprised, he’d been humiliated. And he was still furious.
“I was beside myself with worry for you.”
She disguised her snort behind a cough and took another small sip. Hydration was a good idea. She was thinking more clearly about the dangers of her situation.
“I had no idea, Damien. I would never compromise our work. You know that.”
A thin smile. “That’s what I told these very stern gentlemen. And of course, I was terrified for your safety. I agreed to help them find this vicious criminal they were after but only on the condition that I could come along to assure that you weren’t inadvertently harmed, you being an innocent pawn in whatever scheme they were plotting. I was only thinking of you and Pearl.”
He was only thinking of the potential damage to his reputation. She understood perfectly.
“How did you find me?”
“I activated the GPS in your phone.”
“I never thought of that,” she mused. “How very clever of you.”
“A desperate man employs any means.”
She took a deep, composing breath and did what was necessary to salvage her position. “How can I thank you, Damien? Again, you’ve rescued me from my own impulsive nature.”
Her apology seemed to appease him, but only for a moment.
“How long have you known he was there?”
His rapier-quick question slashed painfully in a surprise attack. She parried with an honest stammer. “I didn’t know. I’ve never known. I never even tried to look. It would have been . . . foolish.”
“And dangerous,” he supplied, the threat not terribly subtle.
“There was no danger. He had no idea who I was.”
Damien Frost studied her through those unblinking black eyes. The reptilian eyes of a cold-blooded creature. “And you made no effort to rekindle your relationship with him? Tell me the truth, Susanna. You know I’d forgive you anything.”
“No, I did not,” she said with just the right touch of indignation. “We had an agreement. You kept your end so, of course, I kept mine. I’m no longer a child. I am fully aware of my position and obligations. I would never do anything to jeopardize them. Or embarrass you. I owe you everything.”
“Yes,” he said with a cold pleasure. “You do. I’m satisfied with your honesty.”
Susanna didn’t relax at his assurance.
She would have to be very, very careful. She was returning to a world filled with enemies, with those who would rip her security from her and destroy the one thing she’d struggled so long and hard to protect: her daughter’s survival.
So she sipped from the water to hydrate, then pretended to fall into a restorative sleep. Only behind her closed eyes did she dare revisit the horror of the past few hours, of the sight of Jacques LaRoche sprawled upon the floor in a pool of blood that still discolored the clothing she wore.
But he was alive.
That was all that mattered.
And he would continue to live as long as she remembered how to play by the rules. Rules that might someday be broken with the materials contained in the bag she’d tucked beneath her seat.
Until that time, she would play the game under the wary supervision of Damien Frost.
To protect her future with the man and child she loved.
Jacques might have had worse days, but he couldn’t remember when.
The club was dark and silent, its doors closed for the first time since he’d opened them four years ago. Someone, probably Nica, had stopped the last of his blood from running out onto the floor, cleaned up his face, and bandaged his shoulder. He’d been dragged up into a chair, force-fed a lion’s share of raw meat to encourage healing, and left alone at his request. As soon as he could manage small, shuffling steps, he’d retreated into his office like a bear into its cave, taking a bottle of single malt to hurry the journey, hoping when and if he emerged, his world would have righted itself.
The leader he believed in was gone, tearing the substance out of the future he depended upon. The woman he loved had also vanished, betraying not only his dreams, but memories she’d somehow become entangled in. His best friend and trusted lieutenant blamed him for endangering them all, first by embracing Savoie and all he represented, then for opening their secret existence up to one of their enemies. And the Upright female he admired and respected had damned them all as cowards. He had no reason at all to poke his head out of his comfortable lair until the harsh emotional weather changed.
“You can’t make things better by hiding in here.”
The sudden intrusion of Nica’s voice was not welcomed.
Jacques opened a bleary eye to squint at her where she sat on the perpendicular couch. “Says who?” he grumbled, reaching down from where he lay sprawled upon the other part of the sofa for the bottle he couldn’t remember emptying. He stared at it for a surprised instant, then let it drop back to the floor.
“Experience,” was her pat answer.
“Well, my experience has been the harder you fight, the more you lose.” He closed his eyes, hoping she’d just go away. Wishful thinking.
“So you’re just going to sit this one out?”
“What difference does it make? Leave me alone, Nica.
”
“You’re a whiny drunk, LaRoche.”
He scowled. “And you’re a pushy bitch, Fraser. Get outta my office.”
“If I left, who’d you have to smack you back to your senses?”
“No one. That was kinda the idea. Where’s your loverboy?” he asked, to turn their conversation in a less personal direction. “Why aren’t you off bothering him?”
“He’s at the Towers trying to get everyone calmed down and settled in.”
Good ole MacCreedy. Stepping right up.
“Kinda like locking the chicken coop after the wolves finished their dinner, don’t you think? They got what they wanted. They won’t bother with us anymore.”
“He could use your help.”
Wincing at the sudden sharpness of her tone, Jacques hugged his arms about himself. “He doesn’t need me. He’s a smart boy. He’s got everything under control. Just ask him.”
“Want some cheese with that whine?” she drawled.
He hauled himself into a seated position, gritting his teeth against the pain stabbing through his slowly mending chest, to growl, “What do you want from me, Nica?”
“A little backup would be appreciated. I used to be able to count on you for that.”
Flinching from an even sharper discomfort, Jacques muttered, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Her eyes grew flinty. “This isn’t about me, Jacques. It’s about them. They count on you to give them direction.”
He snorted. “Yeah, some leader. Follow me, right into this dead end. They wouldn’t follow me across a room when I was depending on them to have my back. Probably the smart choice, considering.” He slumped back against the cushions, the fight and heart going out of him. “I don’t care where they go. I just don’t care.”
He braced for more of her right-to-the-bone repartee, deserving of her scorn. But he wasn’t prepared for her sympathy.
“She didn’t bring them here, Jacques.”
Everything inside him shuddered loose as she exposed that raw nerve he hadn’t realized was at the root of all his misery. “And you know this how?”