Seeker of Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  “Sit.” Damien gestured to one of the hard straight-backed chairs. She settled into it without a sound. He sat opposite and regarded her through cold, black eyes. “I’ve decided after those dangerous doings in Louisiana that some alterations need to be made in our living situation.”

  She remained motionless, waiting for him to continue.

  “I’ve tried to allow you every freedom possible, Susanna. Now I realize that was a mistake. Those careless liberties have led to what could have been a disastrous event for both our careers.”

  “I’ve apologized for that, Damien. No harm was intended.”

  “I know it wasn’t intended, but it happened nonetheless. You could have been injured, even killed, and where would that have left your child? Your work? Our future?”

  She said nothing. He wasn’t interested in her response.

  “It’s time you took your position more seriously. There will be fewer distractions from now on. You will concentrate on your work and on your public appearances. I will, of course, be closely involved in both things. We’re a team after all, are we not?”

  She didn’t dare answer that. Her lack of expression had no effect upon him.

  “For your own protection, all your communications will be monitored, from the house and from the lab. Your work will be confined to the lab. I’ll be remoting your progress from here and we shall discuss your advances each evening. I’ll retain copies of everything for the sake of security.”

  Her insides trembled. How could she continue her work with Damien looking over her shoulder, poking through her studies? He wasn’t an expert, but he wasn’t a fool, either. He’d know immediately when she strayed from the proper path.

  Very softly, she said, “Whatever you think best, Damien.”

  Her agreement pleased him into a small smile. “You’ll find things will go much smoother without the distractions. And that brings me to the final topic I wish to discuss.”

  The way he approached it had her tensing, preparing for the worst.

  But she wasn’t prepared for how bad it would be.

  “Pearl will be moving into a dormitory at the Center. She can continue her studies there and her care can be regulated around the clock. Without the stressful stimulation of outside activities, I suspect she’ll be stronger in no time.”

  “Outside activities? You mean like school, friends, family, home? Are those the things you think harmful?”

  “Don’t you?” he countered mildly. “You know how fragile she is. She should thrive in a less-complex environment.”

  “Away from her mother, you mean.”

  “Susanna, that’s not what I mean at all. Of course you’ll be able to visit with her, as her schedule allows. You’ll be kept abreast of her progress in weekly reports.”

  “Weekly?”

  “I believe that’s fairly standard. My dear, I know you find this distressful, even punishing, at the moment, but you’ll thank me for it. Frankly, our associates have been asking why the child was still living with us, why she hadn’t been sent to be tested and assigned to a field of developmental study. We can only give her health as a reason for so long before they begin to wonder about the type of malady from which she suffers.”

  “What have you told them? Damien, what have you said is wrong with her?”

  He waved off her shrill demand. “I’ve said she has a bit of an immune disorder. Nothing exotic or alarming, but enough to explain her fevers. They’ll keep her comfortable without being too invasive. At least, for now.”

  The threat hung over her like a heavy club.

  “You don’t need to do this, Damien.”

  Her quiet petition fell on deaf ears. “It’s done. With Pearl out of the house, we can begin to concentrate on other things. Like having a second child. That should fill you with an entirely new sense of purpose.”

  What it filled her with was dread.

  Damien had never touched her beyond a chaste peck on the cheek. Since demonstrative affection was frowned upon, no one thought their relationship strangely devoid of physical interaction. Many Chosen saw intimacy as an obligation toward procreation. They would have been horrified if they knew how she and Jacques LaRoche approached it.

  Then she realized this wasn’t about personal appearances or safety or propriety. It was about her and her Shifter mate. Damien couldn’t erase what had happened but he was determined to do whatever he could to crush out all reminders. By removing their child from her arms. By replacing Pearl with his own progeny. By controlling every aspect of her days and nights.

  He was trapping her in a cold, soulless hell to serve his own selfish purpose.

  And seeing the flicker of horror she couldn’t quite hide, he smiled in satisfaction.

  Susanna stood looking down upon her sleeping daughter as emotions chewed like acid. Afraid she’d wake the child as her breath began a noisy hitching in her chest, she went to her own room only to stand in the doorway in dismay.

  All signs of color had been drained away like her lifeblood. The small blue bed pillows were gone. The plush red slippers she tucked her feet into during blustery winter evenings weren’t lying by the nightstand. The glass bottles she collected for the rainbow-colored stoppers were missing from her dresser. A green accent scarf, pink gloves, a yellow pin, all the little things she kept around her to brighten her existence, gone. Nothing remained but an unbroken field of sterility.

  She sat on the edge of her unyielding mattress, trying not to succumb to the anger and fear surging inside her, struggling to keep these oppressive gestures from beating all hope from her heart.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t let him take Pearl away. He might as well take her life.

  Had it come to that?

  As if in answer, a great surge of dizziness overcame her. All at once hot and cold, she huddled on the bed, as the impossible overwhelmed her senses. The scent of her mate. The heat of his body burning against her. The low thrum of his voice close to her ear, so close she imagined his breath blowing upon her skin.

  “Anna, call me. You need to call me on a secure phone. We need to talk. Please. We have to talk.”

  She heard the numbers and grabbed frantically for a lipstick, scrawling them on her arm in Barely There Beige.

  Then his essence was gone. No lingering trace for her to cling to.

  And her with no way to call him back.

  The doors to Cheveux du Chien were open and customers came and went in a weak trickle. Many were just curious and most kept a wary or embarrassed distance from the big man behind the bar.

  “Think you could manage to crack a smile in that granite face?”

  Jacques glowered at Nica. “No.”

  “Has she called yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then can I have the rest of the night off to go have an orgy of wild, kinky sex with my man?”

  “No.”

  “Well, thanks for nothing, boss.”

  As she started away from the bar with her heavy tray, Jacques called out to her. When she turned back, he said simply, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. For what?”

  He let out a harsh breath. “You have less at stake than any of them in here and yet you put it all on the line for us. I appreciate it.”

  “Enough to give me a raise?”

  A slight smile. “No.”

  “Okay then.” A wink. She rested the tray on the bar so she could cup his rough cheek with her palm. “I have everything at stake here and I’d have none of it if it weren’t for you. Don’t forget that. I never will. As for them,” she glanced behind her and curled her lip, “they’ve got a long way to go to earn any favors from me. Just thought I’d let you know some drinks may be spilled tonight.”

  He fit his hand over hers for a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for the heads-up.” Then, with more feeling, “MacCreedy’s very lucky.”

  “So I keep telling him. Gotta get back to work, boss. Tips to earn, drinks to fumble.”

 
Jacques grinned as he watched her sashay away from the bar, his tension easing a little.

  Why hadn’t Susanna called him?

  Maybe MacCreedy’s hoodoo hadn’t worked. Maybe he’d only imagined her scent, the sound of her hurried breathing, the sweetness of her hair brushing against his lips because he’d wanted to believe she was there. The way he’d most likely imagined her feelings for him.

  “Hey, how can I get a drink around this place?”

  “Ask,” he told Philo as he pushed a bottle across the counter. Then he grinned. “And pay.”

  “Ooh, that’s cold.” Philo laughed, taking a quick swallow before reaching for his wallet.

  Jacques scowled at him. “You know better than that. Your money’s no good in here.”

  “Thanks.” He took another drink as he studied his friend’s face, then gestured to his own cheek. “How’s that doing?”

  “Scars are fading. Doesn’t hurt.” Not like the other, deeper wounds.

  “I shoulda been here.”

  Jacques shook his head. “Wouldn’t have made any difference. ’Sides, you were where you needed to be.”

  Philo accepted that with a slight nod, but guilt still weighted his expression.

  “How many of your men did you lose?” Jacques asked.

  “Eight, last count, for burying. Six just disappeared.” He quirked a smile. “Funny, now that we got nothing worth protecting, I got more new recruits than I know what to do with. Probably just wanting an excuse to get a tattoo.” He mused for a moment. “Probably feeling bad about what happened to you.”

  “They should be, chickenshit bastards,” Jacques grumbled, popping a top for himself.

  “But not as bad as I’m feeling. I believed her, Jackie.” He heaved a deprecating sigh. “I fell for it, same as you.”

  “What are you talking about, Tib?”

  Philo took another drink and shook his head. “I believed her when she tole me she didn’t know you was here. She played the both of us like a pair of tambourines just to get us to rattle.”

  Jacques snagged Philo’s wrist as he was about to lift his bottle again. “Who? Susanna?”

  “Course, Susanna. Clever little bitch.”

  The pressure in Jacques’s hand increased until Philo frowned at it and him. “You’d best explain yourself right now. I’m in no mood for riddles.”

  “Well, riddle me this, Jackie. How come it is you fell for her like she was the Second Coming? That didn’t seem even a tad bit strange to you?”

  “Dammit, Philo—”

  “Was probably her behind kicking you down here to be killed in the first place. Then when we got something she wants, she’s back to cozying up to you, knowing you’d throw everything away to keep her safe. Knowing you’d take her in without heeding any questions, even your own. Why else would your brain stop firing the second you laid eyes on her? She’s your mate, whether you recognize her or not.”

  Jacques’s fingers went as slack as his expression, allowing Philo to pull away and rub at his wrist as he murmured, “I don’t believe you.”

  But he did. It made an awful sense. All of it.

  Philo was quick to grab him by the elbows when he took a staggering step back, knees starting to buckle.

  “Whoa, there.” He shouted over his shoulder, “Nica, take over here for a second while me and Jackie take care of some business in back.”

  After the first few stumbling movements, Jacques made a purposeful rush to his office and was heaving over his toilet by the time Philo closed the door.

  “You okay?”

  He flushed, rinsed, and spat in the sink. Stomach trembling, mind whirling like the water in the bowl, he collapsed on the couch with his head between his knees and hands laced over it.

  “You’re sure?” His voice was raw and aching.

  “She tole me herself.”

  “That she wanted me dead?” His tone cracked at that final word.

  “She didn’t exactly admit to that. She tole me not to tell you anything. Why would she do that ’less she didn’t want you to find out what she was up to? Why do you think she was here? Outta the goodness of her heart? After what she done to you, how could you think that?”

  He couldn’t force a coherent thought past the emotional upheaval. His mate. His mate, who’d used and abandoned him not just once, but twice.

  “You think she was after Max?” he asked aloud, but he was wondering other things. She was a Chosen physician. The research was what brought her to New Orleans. Research for what purpose?

  “Guess we’ll never know. It’s not like we can ask her.”

  Jacques said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Jackie. I shoulda said something. I was—I was afraid if you knew, you’d go north with her. I couldn’t let that happen. You’re the only family I got left.”

  She’d called him Jack.

  “Why do you call me Jackie?” he asked suddenly.

  “It’s your name. Jack Stone. Me and Tito thought it’d be a good idea to give you a new one so’s they wouldn’t know you was still alive.”

  The office door opened and he heard Nica’s brusque voice.

  “Philo, tend the bar.”

  He left without comment as she came to sit beside Jacques on the couch. Her hand eased across his shoulders.

  “He told you.” It wasn’t a question.

  But Jacques had one. He lifted his head and slowly turned to look at her.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Seventeen

  Nica gave him a sad smile. “Because I knew this would happen and I didn’t want to see your heart broken.”

  It wasn’t an answer, but again, it was. He dropped his forehead into his palm, eyes squeezing shut against the pain burning behind them.

  “How could she just throw me away and then come down here and pretend there’d never been anything between us?”

  Nica’s arms went about him, her head resting on his shoulder as she told him gently, “Sometimes to survive, we have to lie, first to others and then to ourselves. If we’re lucky, we get to believing them just to get from one day to the next.”

  “So it was all lies?”

  His soft lament had her embrace tightening. “I don’t think any of it was lies. I think it was necessity. If she’d told you the truth, would you have let her go?”

  He took a small, hurting breath. “No.” Then more forcefully, “No. Never.” His shoulders shook. “How could she do this to me if she cared anything about me? How could she let them bring me here to execute me? Wasn’t stealing my life enough for her? Did she have to try to end it, too?”

  Nica was silent for a long moment. “I don’t think she was the one behind it. In fact, I’m quite certain of that.”

  “So she and I are both victims? Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”

  “What do you want to believe, Jacques?”

  Before he could reply, his cell rang. A glance at the area code purged every quiver of emotion from him. “I have to take this.”

  Nica’s tone was tough but her eyes were tender. “Stay strong.”

  “I will.”

  As she stood, her hand stroked his jaw. “You have friends here who would do absolutely anything for you.”

  “I know. I have to take this.”

  As she closed the door behind her, Jacques took a deep, bracing breath, lying to himself about his ability to handle what was to come. Trying to believe it.

  He pressed Talk. “LaRoche. Or should I say Jack Stone?”

  Silence. Then a quiet, “You know.”

  “About time, don’t you think?”

  “Is that why you wanted me to call?”

  “No. This isn’t about us.” As a lie, it was a whopper.

  “Oh.” Her voice faltered, then firmed. “What then?”

  “We need to know where they took Savoie.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you can find out.”

  “I can’t. It’s too dangerous. If you knew the
risk I took just to make this call.” She waited for him to speak. Probably hoping he’d say something supportive and stupidly sentimental. When he didn’t, her tone changed, becoming cool and clipped. “I’ll see what I can do. It might take a few days.”

  “Do you think he has them to spare?”

  A pause, then an honest, “No, I don’t. I’ll find out what I can.” Another break, then a softly sincere, “Jacques, I’m so sorry I hurt—”

  He ended the connection and put the phone away. Time to get back to work.

  Time to start learning to lie to himself.

  The last thing Jacques expected was Max’s bodyguard filling the penthouse apartment doorway like a brick wall. They’d exchanged looks before, but never words. And their first were testy.

  “Is Charlotte here?” Jacques demanded.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “It’s either late or early, depending on your point of view. So I brought beer and breakfast.”

  “Let him in, Giles,” came a shout from the interior. “I haven’t had beer with breakfast since the academy. Sounds good.”

  The two big men each took a side of the hall so Jacques could sidle by, a low warning growl rumbling in his throat.

  “I’m not going to have to put down newspapers for you, am I?” Giles drawled.

  Jacques showed his teeth. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “I hope not,” Charlotte interjected, coming into the hall looking pale and as if she hadn’t closed her eyes. She greeted him with a fierce hug. “This place could use some bad behavior. Whatever you’ve got in there smells good. I hope it’s greasy.”

  “I never disappoint a lady,” he assured her, keeping his arm about her shoulders as he glanced back at Giles, his eyes flashing a quick glint of ruby red. Giles gave a snort, not impressed.

  “As much as I love macho bullshit,” Charlotte warned, “I’m not in the mood for it today, so keep a lid on it, boys.”

  “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

  Jacques stepped into the huge living area and stopped, stunned. “Wow. When are you gonna be on one of them fancy magazine covers?” He hadn’t been in the apartment since it was studs and wallboard. The decorator’s touch was awe-inspiring from the stone waterfall wall to the amazing floor-to-ceiling view of New Orleans. “You could get lost in this place.”