by Nancy Gideon
He’d never asked to be a figurehead for his clan.
The near celebrity attention sparked intrinsic fear in Max Savoie, demanding a retreat to the anonymous shadows of his earlier years, where at Jimmy Legere’s back, nothing had been expected of him except obedience and unquestioning action. His opinions, his beliefs, his choices never entered the equation. A simple, linear existence well-suited to a sheltered upbringing beneath the constant whisper of unknown threat. Then Charlotte Caissie blew into his life like a Category Five. She’d uprooted his security, ripped away his self-protections to demand he choose between impossible opposites. Darkness alone or limelight together.
No real choice in the end. One he’d never regret making, anyway.
He might not always agree with her path, but Max honored her right to boldly walk it, just as she’d cautiously embraced the knowledge of who and what he was. If they could overcome those obstacles . . .
A child was hardly an obstacle and a clan war no small threat. To handle either, let alone both, they needed a united front, a single purpose. Considering all they’d survived together—the sacrifices, the triumphs—why hadn’t they found that common ground?
He breathed her in, seeking the comfort of her scent to ease his worries as she sat silently beside him. It usually worked. Not this time.
Her badge a shield to hide behind, it wasn’t the job, though she might pretend it was. Her work distracted from something deeper, something that scared her more than their varied commitments and causes. A faceless, nameless enemy was impossible to defeat.
The deeper question, the one that scared him to the marrow was why she didn’t trust him with the truth?
Welcome to the “By Moonlight” world!
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Nancy Gideon.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Nancy Gideon at NancyGideon.com
Cover Design by Patricia Lazarus
Interior Design by Florence Price
ASIN: B08DKGQV9G
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It’s been a loooong, wonderful twelve years since Max and Charlotte first teased with their complex and addictive storyline. Three books became four, then six, and finally, fifteen! HUGE thanks to all who’ve been on this wild ride with me, some from conception and those who’ve jumped onboard along the way:
My P.o.t.L Critique group who shared the highs and lows and in-betweens,
Micki Nuding, the editor who heard my pitch at a cocktail party and said, “Send it!”
My “Nancy Gideon By Moonlight Goodreads Group” for their support and excitement,
Patricia Lazarus of Lazarus Art, for her stunning covers,
Florence Price, my brilliant Virtual Assistant, for putting it together and keeping it out there,
Sandra Hoover, Alexa Nussio and Elizabeth Hinds for their spot-on Beta reads,
My cats and family who (im)patiently waited to be fed while I finished a chapter,
Friends and bloggers who encouraged me and got the word out there,
Retirement that allows me to sleep in later,
and,
The Readers, who make it all worthwhile!
Thank you for sharing this dream with me.
Table of Content
COPYRIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY NANCY GIDEON
PROLOGUE
Max hadn’t visited that dark portion of his past for a very long time. Why now? Because of the life his mate carried? Or were the dangerous shadows of unfinished business reaching out from a swampy grave, a reminder of things he’d rather forget?
A rocking chair’s familiar creak. He tensed and twisted anxiously in the throes of his dream. Icy fingers of caution and loss clutched his chest as eyes darted behind closed lids. Unable to deny his desire to look again upon the worn elegance of his mother’s features, he faced his dread the way he’d addressed his life, with a cautious, reluctant need to know the truth . . . of who and what he was.
Shadows, like those long-ago secrets, hung thick, revealing little of the dark head bent over the child Marie Savorie held in arms both protective and comforting. Max wished she’d look up to feed time-starved memories, craving the gentle curve of her smile and loving warmth in her gaze. He settled for the steadying croon of a voice from the past.
“What is it, Max? Another bad dream? They can’t harm you.”
As much as he loved her, then and now, he’d never quite believed that assurance. Bad things existed beyond the rusty gate imprisoning his youthful curiosity within their overgrown yard for the first five years of his life. He knew because he was one of them, a child of the unnatural world. All he’d wanted was to find his place within it. But his mother had hidden that knowledge from him, just as she’d kept the outside away for as long as she could.
“Mama, what’s wrong with me?” that small voice sobbed.
The rocker continued to complain as she stroked the child’s black hair. Her tender gesture failed to calm either boy or the man he’d become.
“Nothing’s wrong with you, Max. You’re perfect. They just don’t understand, so they fear you. That’s why you must be careful to never let them see the truth.”
“What truth?” he’d pleaded. “Mama, tell me!”
Low and soft, Max repeated from where he watched, decades away, “Mama, tell me.”
She brushed a kiss across the top of the child’s flushed brow then slowly straightened, turning toward Max Savoie, a surreal voyeur from the future she’d never see. Her gaze swam with tears like liquid silver before flaring bright, then hot.
Then red.
“Max,” she crooned, “you’re just like me.”
CHAPTER ONE
New Orleans’s City Park huddled in late night shadows. A kaleidoscope of shifting patterns swept paver stones best traveled in daylight as wind disturbed the heavy web of moss swaddling ancient oaks like tattered shawls. The squeak of unoiled wheels punctuated the quiet as a lone figure pushed her wobbly cart of meager worldly goods along the poorly lit path. Shoulders hunched against the night’s damp chill. The cheap cloth of a coat unable to close over a belly swollen almost to term provided scant protection. Weariness dulled her awareness of the world around her. Of the threat coming up swiftly from behind.
An arm snaked about her neck, jerking her off balance. Contents spilled from the cart. Apples and oranges bounced and rolled into the bushes as a quick pop of knuckles to cheekbone stilled her fight.
“Careful now,” a low voice rumbled against her ear as useless struggles ended. “Wouldn
’t want no harm to come to that bundle you be toting.”
“Please! Don’t hurt my baby!”
The fragile sound of her fear emboldened him to mock, “Don’t you go worrying none. That kid be worth more to my buyers than any future the likes a you’d give it.”
With a weak attempt to twist free, she cried, “W-what does that mean?”
“Just come along quietlike and don’t make me damage the goods. We gots somebody awaitin’, no questions asked, and I could use the payday.”
“Did you get that?”
Her voice had changed, suddenly low and crisp, and no longer speaking to him. Confusion wiped the smug smile from his face. In that instant of uncertainty, the female he restrained became anything but a victim, flinging her head back to bash his mouth and nose. Taking advantage of his tear-blind surprise, she twisted free, wrenching his arm up behind him and placing a kick to the back of one of his knees to drop him down upon them.
“Is that any way to treat a lady?” she snarled, snapping cuffs on her momentarily stunned assailant.
“Ceece? Everything okay?”
With a hand to the small of her back, Detective Charlotte Caissie turned to Alain Babineau as he jogged up, the earpiece he’d used to keep tabs on her bouncing upon the wide shoulder of his varsity jacket. She grimaced for his benefit. “These hormones are killing me. No man in his right mind messes with an expectant mama unless he wants her wearing his balls as earrings.”
“Ouch!” Her All-American handsome partner winced in universal male empathy. “Thanks for the head’s up.” He took over the handling of the low-level hood while she unstrapped the additional padding that had increased the illusion of vulnerability, but also protected her own slightly-rounded middle.
Glare darting between them, the thug recovered enough to threaten, “I know the drill. This is entrapment. You ain’t getting no charge to stick. My lawyer’ll have your nuts!”
Babineau smirked down at him. “We’re not after you, Leo. You’re a small fry. You got yourself two choices I can see. One, we let it slip that you’re cooperating with our investigation, a real blabbermouth, naming all kinds of names. You wouldn’t last a day back on the street.”
The punk’s bravado crumpled. Finally, he asked, “And two?”
“You cooperate. Point us up the food chain, and we protect your dumb ass. You’re just an appetizer. We’re after the main course.”
The partners waited while frantic wheels spun in the muck of Leo’s fear and greed. Greed won out. “What’s in it for me?”
Detectives Caissie and Babineau exchanged glances. She took the lead with a brusque, “Depends on whatchu got to trade, and what we think it’s worth.”
“My contact. Names, dates, places,” he offered with cunning desperation.
“You’ll wear a wire?”
He hedged at that. “I’d be dead man walkin’!”
“Not if you’re smart. You look to be a smart boy.”
He studied her like the beady-eyed rat they wanted him to become as she pulled off the scarf shadowing strongly cut, make-up free features. Taking in the aggressive bristle of black hair, multiracial skin tone, and hard dark eyes, he frowned as thoughts leapt beyond his precarious situation. “I seen you before,” he mused, head tipping slightly. “Not on the streets. Not without your face paint.” Realization struck like a slug from her Sig. “On the news. With Max Savoie.”
Babineau arched a brow in her direction. “You are a photogenic pair, Detective.” He smiled slightly at the rapidly paling criminal and jumped to take advantage of his alarm. “And just how you think Max Savoie’ll take to hearin’ you made rough with his wife? His pregnant wife. Were I you, I’d stop worrying about your bosses and consider what he’ll do.”
Fear of the NOPD came nowhere close to the threat of New Orleans’ notorious Mob henchman. Savoie’s name was whispered with the same awed terror as the Boogeyman. He’d been the cold, soul-devouring darkness at the back of Jimmy Legere’s empire, the whisper of ill-fated doom answering to his call alone, until a tough as nails detective had claimed his heart and his allegiance . . . according to reporter Karen Crawford and the news. Savoie now controlled Legere’s legacy, turning it from crime into a powerful business, allowing him to walk, bold as you please, into society soirees with the same unruffled chill he’d once maintained while wading in blood and retribution.
Max Savoie was someone no one with a brain or a prayer for a future messed with.
Voice shaky, Leo Pomerelli insisted, “Take me in . . . then we’ll talk.”
– – –
He felt her presence even before gates opened onto the long drive leading to their gracefully crumbling plantation house. Her essence teased up his nose, stirring awareness like a smooth stone dropping into a deep pond. Ripples of warmth and desire spread outward in eager little shivers.
She was home, and everything calmed in his complicated world.
He waited, still as the heavy antique furnishings, a large indistinguishable shape teased out by flames from the low parlor fire as the front door opened. Shoulders relaxed at the brisk staccato of low heels on marble tile. Her silhouette hurried by. The tap of footsteps paused, backtracking until she framed the doorway the way she did his life, with her strength, proud stature, and shrewd intuition. Her smile flashed in welcome.
“There you are.”
His reply rumbled, a rough caress. “Welcome home, sha. How was your day?” Those simple domestic comments steeped in intimacy relaxed the taut line of her stance.
“Same ole, same ole.” She entered the room with her long, confident stride, crossing to him as an end rather than a means to the rest of the day. Fingertips brushed over the bristle of evening stumble on his cheek on their way to cup the back of his dark head, drawing him down for a slow, reassuring exchange as vital to both their lives as oxygen. Finally rocking back, Cee Cee rubbed the hint of her lip stain off the slight curve of his mouth, adding, “Got a break in the case tonight.”
His fond gaze narrowed into glittery emerald slits as his thumb sketched along a small bruise beginning to bloom on the side of her face. “At no little cost, I’m guessing.”
“To us, no,” she assured him, catching his hand for a tender squeeze. “To his employers, plenty. It’s the break we’ve been waiting for.”
“Am I allowed to know what it involves?”
Treading carefully where their work was concerned was their unspoken rule. Straying into areas of conflicting interest had a bad habit of creating strained, or worse, estranged bedfellows. But his mate’s hesitation set all Max’s warning bells clamoring like the Cathedral’s call to Sunday service, urging him across that line.
“Detective?”
Cee Cee shrugged off his smooth prompt, gaze dropping to the vee of his white shirt as if fascinated by the sprigs of dark hair revealed by those open top buttons. “Just the job, Savoie. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Cher, your definition of ordinary encompasses a wealth of things that make my blood run cold.”
A husky laugh. Dark eyes flashed up to flirt with his. “Max, you’re the most hot-blooded man I know. Nothing scares you.”
“Except,” he drawled out low and lethal, “the thought of you in danger. Especially now.”
“We are not having this conversation.”
Her curt response frosted the air between them. As gradual as a glacial advance, his expression settled into unreadable lines, covering emotions he feared he could not control. “And just when do you think it would be appropriate to discuss the risks you take with the safety of my wife and child?”
A taut impasse ensued, testing fierce convictions and even stronger wills. Neither broke nor eased down until Cee Cee bit out, “Do you want to know what I think of your macho male posturing?”
“Please.” A tic jumped in his cheek. “Enlighten me.”
Chin hoisting to a prideful angle, her gun-sight stare targeted his. “I think,” she growled, “it makes me hot as he
ll.”
Max blinked.
Before he could move, strong fingers curled in the lapels of his jacket. A twist of her athletic body and the hard thrust of her hip upset their already precarious balance, dropping him onto his back atop the parlor sofa, her long, muscled frame astride him. Her mouth took his, bruising, hungry. Urgent fingers started down the buttons of his shirt until the sound of a raspy throat clearing from the hall froze them in place.
“As a courtesy to visitors, a closed door would be appreciated when that guest hasn’t seen his own mate for weeks.”
Cee Cee sat back, turning to scowl at their company. The displaced shapeshifter king who’d just lost his home and nearly his life, met her killing glare with a wry smirk as she grumbled, “Lucky you’re still on the mend. If you weren’t so delicate, this discussion would have a whole different tone.”
“At last. A reason to be thankful for being tossed off a cliff while my whole world was burning.”
Cee Cee caught back the apology forming on her lips. Sympathy wasn’t wanted or needed. Instead, she suggested, “Phone sex. Highly recommended in such situations. Preferably from the privacy of that very nice room you’re occupying upstairs.”
Cale Terriot’s wide grin cracked all the harsh angles of a face roughly hewn by pain and responsibility. His amusement rumbled. “Thanks for the advice. Think I’ll go make a call. ‘Scuse the interruption.” He waved a hand. “Carry on.”
Once the sound of halting footsteps on the stairs faded, Cee Cee turned back to the matter at hand . . . only to find it discouragingly deflated. An impassive stare suggested her attempt to derail their conversation was now back on track to nowhere she wanted to go. Max’s cool remark confirmed it.
“Shall we go up as well, Detective, so I can check for further bruising of the marital property?”
“Only if it’s for pleasure instead of business purposes.”
His failure to smile sank hopes of an enjoyable postponement of that conversation she’d been trying to avoid.