by Nancy Gideon
Max passed him on the steps, saying, “Walk with me,” as he headed down the lane toward the massive front gates. Cale fell in beside him. He and Savoie had had an earlier go round about Max staying out of it. A two Alphas, one bone kinda thing that Max scoffed at until Cale confessed he’d never be any kind of man in his own eyes or in those of his soon to be growing family unless he saw things through on his own. It was his mess to clean up, his chance to make matters right. That was a stand Max could respect so he reluctantly bowed out. Leaving Cale to hope that wasn’t another mistake he’d have to live with.
“The kid okay?”
“Pretending to be,” Max told him. “He’s tough.”
“I need to bring that boy’s momma home to him.”
“Let’s place a call.”
Cale didn’t understand what he meant but was curious enough to go along as the gates parted. Savoie crossed River Road and headed straight into the thicket on the other side where the air grew clammy and close and the ground uncertain as the woods suddenly opened to the river.
“My father brought me here for our first and practically only father son talk.”
Max’s reveal startled Cale. “I didn’t think you remembered much of your past.”
“It’s coming back, a piece at a time. Never the piece I’m looking for,” he confessed with a toothy grin, “but I’m putting it together. It helped getting away where nothing was familiar but my bride.”
Cale grinned. “I bet.”
Max tried to look offended but couldn’t hold to his wry smile. “It comes back in dreams mostly, sometimes awakened by a scent or a song or a lovely string of pearls.” He fell wistfully silent for a moment, and Cale waited for him to continue. Finally, he chuckled. “We sure lucked out on fathers, yours a bully, mine a liar and a thief. But we learned from them so we’d never have to be like them.”
“Yes, we did.”
“The only truth he ever told me was what I’m about to show you. He taught me what I was. And he was right.”
Max turned to Cale, his eyes dazzling in the fading light.
“It’s beautiful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“You’ve been sneaking peeks at it all day,” Max told him. “Now it’s show time. I call it traveling, but those folks who believe in magic might say its astral projection.”
Cale eyed him skeptically. “As in pack light and leave your body at home. Yeah, right.”
Max taunted him with his smile. “After the things you’ve done this afternoon, don’t go all girly on me now.”
That had the desired effect. Cale straightened, his stance going combative. “I didn’t say I was afraid to try.”
“Are you afraid to succeed? Do you want to see your mate, smell her, touch her, possibly speak to her?”
“Those things are possible?” Cale’s attention sharpened. “Show me.”
“It’s tricky. You’re navigating a whole new world, one where all the things you’re used to don’t mean a damned thing.”
“I don’t need a history lesson. Just get me to Kendra.”
Max chuckled and shook his dark head. “It can’t be rushed or even controlled at first. You might not be able to identify where she is. She may not know you’re there.”
“Show me what to do.”
“Breathe”
“What?”
“Deep and slow. Close your eyes. Calm your mind. Do it!”
Cale took a full inhale, releasing it gradually as he obediently shut his eyes.
Max put his hand on Cale’s shoulder, gripping lightly. “Listen to my voice. I’m your anchor here. Don’t let go or you might not be able to find your way back.”
More creepy, scary shit, but to see Kendra, he was willing.
“Let everything fall away but the sound of my voice and the feel of my hand.”
He relaxed, breathing in through his nose and out through slightly parted lips.
“Concentrate on Kendra. Picture her. Take in her scent. That’s it. There’s an even stronger link now. Reach out to your child, to that part of you that’s in her.”
His exhalation shivered with longing. His child. From some hidden spot deep down inside him, he felt that faint, determined pulse. A heartbeat.
“Go to them. Open your eyes. Find them.”
Maybe it was beautiful, just like Savoie said, but Cale wasted no time appreciating the strangeness of his surroundings. Like the hunter he was born to be, he honed in on his target and . . . flew? He didn’t know how else to describe the sensation. Miles and minutes rushed past him in a blink as if on a bullet train moving at impossible speed, everything blurring except for that tiny point of reference growing larger, more clear. Kendra!
She and Tina huddled together in the back of a delivery van, their wrists and ankles zip-tied, sleeping restlessly in their uncomfortable positions. He tried to brake but ended up plowing through the wall of the van like a projected image, tumbling wildly until he found his center again.
Kendra . . .
He was next to her, so close he could see her lashes flicker, hear her breathing. His senses scrambled in odd combinations of depth and solidity. Could he touch her? He reached out, experiencing an icy shiver as his hand passed right through her. Damned creepy shit! He leaned over her to whisper her name. Kendra. Her eyes flashed open, bright and wide.
“Cale?”
He rubbed his cheek against hers and for an instant, felt the warmth of flesh on flesh. From her gasping reaction, she did, too. But when she reached for him, her gesture slipped through him as if he was water.
It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Tired, mussed, unharmed. Relief flowed thick and tangible. A quick glance assured Tina was equally fine.
A quick pitter-patter of new life controlled his focus. His shaky hand fit to Kendra’s slim middle, somehow feeling the miracle of that strong beat against his palm. His vision clouded and suddenly filled with a younger, softer, sweeter version of his own face, somber grey-green eyes, wispy hair more blonde than red, her mother’s heart-melting smile.
A daughter. He had a daughter!
Just as Pearl predicted.
“Keep her close.”
Kendra’s hand layered over his. For an instant, the contact surprised them both. He spread his fingers wide and hers laced through. Then, she faded, image dissipating like a fog.
“I love you, Katy! I’ll find you!”
He found cool grass beneath his palms. A sudden harsh cramping twisted through all his muscle groups.
“Easy,” Max soothed, the pressure of his hand keeping Cale on hands and knees. “The first landing’s always rough. Breathe through it. That’s it.”
Cale whipped his head around, stare intense as it fixed on Savoie’s. “Is it real? Is what you see true?”
“Yes. Or at least, an interpretation of the truth.”
He pushed back to crouch on his heels, his system shaking through a strange decompression. But his smile spread wide.
“I saw her. I have a daughter!” His features firmed. “There’s no way I’m going to lose them.”
Cale wanted to go again but Max warned against it as too much for a first time jumper. Tonight, Savoie had business in the city. Tomorrow they’d try again and this time, his focus would be on surroundings and clues to finding where they were.
Cale needed sleep, his exhaustion so heavy he couldn’t hold out against it. He hadn’t believed it possible to rest alone in the bed he’d shared with the female stolen away from him, but he closed his eyes and opened them to a new day.
A day that would bring the return of his family.
Or his own death.
Or both.
*
Kip Terriot couldn’t claim to be a tracker like his brothers. What he did have was the advantage of youth and a manner that didn’t pack the same aggressive scare factor when it came to dealing with cautious Uprights. When he approached them with an easy smile and wide blue eyes, they stopped to answer his questions. Had t
hey seen two women that morning, one small and dark, the other slender and fair, in the company of men either dragging them along or using force? He got plenty of concerned reactions but no actual help until an arthritically bent, aproned black gentleman emptying trash onto the curb for early morning pick up paused to scratch an iron gray head.
“I mighta. Dis morning. Coupla fellas in a hurry, hanging onto two white girls. They looked kinda scared. If I’da been forty years younger, I mighta stepped in, but they was gone ‘fore I could get a good look. Gots into a delivery van right over there.” He gestured to an alleyway then rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry couldn’t be more help.”
“A delivery van? Did you see a name or logo on it?”
“Nothing I could make out. But I seen it parked over by the Square, couple times a week. Could be somebody working around there might know them. Them girls in trouble?” When Kip nodded grimly, the old man sighed. “I hopes you find ‘em.”
Kip poked a fifty into his apron pocket. “Thanks.”
He trotted down to the Square where a few night owl tourists strolled the walks even though shops were closed. Several street vendors were packing up though most had gone home for the evening. The first few he spoke with had nothing to share. He’d almost given up until he approached a girl in Bohemian garb standing on an overturned crate taking down some nice sketches from the fence around the inner park. When he called out to her, she yelled back over her shoulder, “Sorry, closed for the night. Your face and your fortune will have to wait until tomorrow.”
That’s when he noticed a card table draped with sparkly scarves holding various crystals, now cold candles, a large deck of strange cards, and a battered cash box. A sign in the same bold pen and ink style as her portraits proclaimed “Mademoiselle Ophelia Sees All.” He hoped so.
She stepped down off the crate, turned, looking up, way up, and smiled. “But for yours, I’ll make an exception.”
Kip grinned because she was damned cute with her heart-shaped face, upturned nose, sassy red lips, and curvy figure all wrapped up in bangles and colorful flowing fabrics. Definitely more pixie than voodoo queen.
“I was wondering if I might ask you some questions, ma’am, if you have the time.”
“Ma’am?” Her flirty challenge made him blush. “I can’t be more than a minute older than you. Let me see your hand.”
Brows puckering slightly, Kip extended it. A shiver of heat coursed through him as her fingertip traced lightly along the creases of his palm. “If I could ask you—”
“Shh! I see a good heart, a long life, and a very healthy libido. Everything but your name.”
“Kip Terriot.”
“Well, Kip Terriot, Mademoiselle Phe will answer all if you’ll let me draw you.”
“I’m in kind of a hurry.”
She was already dragging out an artist’s pad and pushing him into one of her folding chairs. The tip of her pen scratched over the surface without her seeming to glance down at it.
“Your question?”
He explained his interest in the van while trying to ignore his interest in the artist.
“Oh, sure. I see it all the time. The a-hole driver blocks in my pick-up. I’ve had to report him more than once.” She set down the tablet to rummage in a huge crocheted bag that lounged at her feet like an old hound. “Here it is. His plate number.” She drew out another card and scribbled on the back. “And my number. I’m Phe. Ophelia Brady, but you can call me anytime.”
She picked up the pad and turned it to show him. The lines were few, capturing his profile, the curve of his ear, hollow of his throat. All the attention went to his eyes. And lips. He didn’t quite know what to say.
She wrote Ophelia and the date on the bottom, stripped it off the pad and quickly rolled it into a tube. She pointed the end toward one of the alleys leading off the Square.
“Third door, top floor. Your a-hole buddy either lives there or sleeps with someone who does.”
Kip took the drawing with a quiet, “Thank you. For the information and the picture. And the future.”
“Oh, that future isn’t set.” She winked. “Not yet.”
*
“Savoie, this is a surprise.”
“Carmen. It’s not a situation I expected to find myself in, either. But we’re in a position to do each other a favor. Are you willing to listen?”
“Perhaps. If you provide me with enough incentive. What do you have in mind?”
“Getting rid of Casper Lee. And getting paid to do it.”
Carmen Blutafino leaned back in his chair and studied Savoie over tented fingers. There were few individuals he despised more than the coolly sleek and deadly Max Savoie. The former mobster with his bitch cop wife had taken him for a cool quarter mil, cost him his family, and the services of a damned good dealer in Mac Creed.
Savoie was criminally androgynous. One never knew which side of the legal system he was standing on so Manny always approached him with care. But Casper Lee, no question there. The parasite was hungry to suck his business away from him. There was something just wrong about Lee with his smarmy smile and dead fish eyes. Manny didn’t care about sexual politics. He peddled in flesh so he had few hang ups in that arena. But Lee’s other alliances as they leaned toward Warren Brady . . . Now there was a problem.
Brady was a necessary evil, too powerful to ignore, too connected to oppose. His hand squeezed the throat of every entrepreneur in the city and its surrounding parishes. He was a clever but straight up criminal. Brady, Carmen understood and respected, even as he twisted under his controlling heel. Paying a percentage to keep the law off his back was bad enough, but he’d also harvested all the best criminal talent in New Orleans and charged a fee for the privilege of using their exclusive services. Paying to play in his own sandbox made Manny-Blu an unhappy boy. One willing to listen to an enemy he at least knew.
“You have my attention.”
Savoie provided that toothy Big Bad Wolf smile that always seemed to precede a nasty bite. As long as Lee had to deal with those sharp teeth, Manny welcomed a cautious alliance.
“You’re backing Lee’s fighter tomorrow night.”
“So? He’s a tough little guy and a good bet. Creed and I may have parted under less than honorable circumstances, but he’s a damn fine gambler. He doesn’t back losers. He’s made Lee a lot of coin with that boy.”
Savoie’s unblinking eyes went cold as green bottle glass. “Lee’ll make money this time, too. But you won’t see any of it.”
Manny sat up straight. “You have an inside source?”
“You might say Creed doesn’t like to see all his hard work tossed aside because Lee is a greedy, treacherous bastard.”
“So he asked you to talk to me. So Lee wants me to back a fighter he knows is going to lose. Why?”
“Because he’s going to put all his money, anonymously, on the other guy.”
“So you’re warning me not to bet?”
Again, that villainous grin. “No. I want you to bet big. Real big. And I’m going to back you.”
“So then I’ll owe you, is that it?”
“So suspicious,” Savoie drawled. “No strings, no debt. I have a messenger outside the door. Can he come in?”
Manny considered it then nodded, buzzing to free the lock. He didn’t expect to see Mac Creed, but his attention was quickly drawn to the large case his former dealer placed on the desk. He nodded for Creed to open it. Cash. Stacks and stacks of it.
“Untraceable,” Creed assured him.
Manny stared up at them narrowly. “What’s in this for you?”
“You have nothing I need at the moment,” Max assured him.
Creed was more direct. “I want a job. I want you to set me up to be your eyes and ears inside Brady’s organization.”
Slowly, Manny smiled. “Gentlemen, I think we have a deal.”
*
They were pretending to eat breakfast when the sound of bikes announced company. Cale, Oscar, Giles, an
d Bree met the trio of Terriots and Alain Babineau in the hall. The detective, looking as ragged as Cale felt, started toward Cale then turned, opening his arms to his son. Ozzy instantly filled them. Clutching him tight, Alain vowed, “We’ll get her back. We’ll get them both back. I promise.” With an arm still about the boy’s shoulders, he directed his news to the Terriot king.
“We’ve got the plate number and name of the driver. I put out an APB on the vehicle. Only a matter of time before something pops and we’re on them.”
Cale gestured toward the table. “Get something to eat, clean up, and get back at it. Time’s something we don’t have.”
As his brothers moved past him, each gave him a bump of the arm and the press of a hand on his shoulder. When Kip hooked him about the neck for a squeeze, something dropped out of his jacket to roll across the floor. Brigit picked it up and curiously unrolled the paper. Brows raised, she showed the portrait to Cale who turned to a blushing Kip with a frown.
Before he could jump to conclusions, Kip spilled. “I got the info from a street artist. She drew while we talked.”
Rico gave a quick arm pump. “Way to go, little bro. You weren’t too bashful to get a name, were you?”
“Ophelia Brady.”
Babineau wheeled about, the lines of his face as sharp as the ink slashes on paper as he met Cale’s gaze.
*
Around plates of French toast and boiled ham, Colin spread a map of the area, using his fork to show the sections they’d gone through during the night. The radius had rapidly expanded.
Cale listened and nodded and absorbed strength from his surrounding family but in the end, it was all on him.
Heartened by the sight of father and son together on the porch, Cale went up to shower and change. With Kendra’s pillow hugged to his chest, he stretched out on their bed, and with eyes closed, breathed in her scent. In a heartbeat, he went from bedroom to moving van where Kendra sat cross-legged on a tarp. Her wrists were raw from the ties.
She knew he was there. Her posture straightened, but she carefully betrayed nothing. For a brief moment, she stared right at him as if he knelt in front of her in the flesh. She rubbed her forearm. Thinking they’d hurt her, his anger flared again, making her image flicker, until he realized she was tracing patterns on the back of her hand and arm. Then, she reached up to draw a make believe ridge from brow to the back of her head.