by Nancy Gideon
Row’s intensely blue stare met his. “Teach us.”
– – –
After her partner spent most of their shift in interview while Cee Cee started the paperwork, Babineau stopped at her desk to update her. Instead of delivering the down low, he just gaped at her. She scowled. “What?”
“Woowee. Lookit that shiner.”
Heart doing hurdles, Cee Cee rummaged in her desk for a seldom used mirror. “Oh, shit.” Her partner was right. Over the course of the day, the bruise on her cheek had invaded tender flesh around her eye, turning it into a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Savoie is gonna throw a hissy fit.”
Fearing he was right didn’t brighten her mood. “Shut it, Babs. This isn’t the first hard knock I’ve taken.”
“It is with baby on board.”
Shit! Shit, shit, SHIT! If she could beat him home, she could do damage control. But they still had one more stop to make. No time to primp and pretty. Or hide unwelcomed evidence.
For once wishing she carried a war chest of face paint instead of her Sig, Cee Cee switched off her computer and tugged on her coat. It refused to meet over her middle. The inevitable shopping trip was the only thing she dreaded more than emotional roundy-rounds with her mate.
To distract from both inevitable cases, she asked her partner, “Think Leo’s info’ll lead to something useful, or he just stringing us?”
Babs shrugged. “Doan know. Seemed right chatty in interview ’til that high price briefcase showed up. So much for getting the little puke to play ball. If even half what he hinted at pans, and we can tie any of it to Brady,” his tone fell into a rough growl, as it did every time the newly-arrested commissioner’s name arose, “I’d be happy to fashion a noose.”
She had no desire to protect Warren Brady from whatever slow-boiled on her partner’s back burner. Though her city didn’t need another scandal, it’d be weathered better than a crooked public servant taking advantage of their trust.
That brought thoughts back to their recent collar as they walked to the car.
“This whole deal stinks on so many levels,” she muttered. “Illegal adoptions are lucrative, but they don’t leave corpses and bring in high-level players like Brady. There’s got to be more. It’s tied into the clinic. I can feel it like a sharp ache in a bad tooth.”
“You wanting to go back there now?”
His hesitation made her eyes narrow. “Got better plans?”
“No. Not unless you’re just using it as an excuse to postpone Savoie getting an eyeful of that shiner.”
Cee Cee groaned at the reminder and gave him a shove. That wasn’t what she was doing, though it did fit in nicely with her desire to avoid the scene to come. “Call it a hunch, Babs. That good enough for you?”
“Your hunches are better than a Quarter fortune teller.”
– – –
Bright Haven for Women was just another storefront on a rundown side street. Broken pavers in various states of upheaval led most folks right past it while watching their step rather than the surroundings. Above the uplifting graphic of a rising sun, the faded message on its door offered safe, confidential and, most importantly, free care to mothers-to-be, pre-and post-natal.
In her guise as Shondra Thomas, a single housecleaner in her eighth month, Cee Cee had laid the groundwork for Leo Pomarelli’s capture with the help of the clinic’s organizer. Who was more than willing to help after numerous patients had gone missing or turned up on Medical Examiner Devlin Dovion’s table minus their prematurely-delivered babies. What they needed was a link and a reason.
The investigation disturbed Cee Cee on every level from cop to expectant mother. Dreams of dark shapes tearing the child from her womb left her reluctant to close her eyes. The tussle with Pomarelli heightened those premonitions into a churning nightmare. The sooner they solved the case, the better.
Stepping away from it never occurred to her.
They’d missed something, some common denominator linking her and the other victims to a purpose they’d yet to discover. What did they have in common beyond the obvious?
A quiet step behind them brought both detectives about in defensive readiness.
“I got your call.”
With her crisp diction and brusque mannerisms, Susanna Duchamps LaRoche would never pass for a native of their city. From her background in genetic engineering to the scars on her shoulder marking her as a shapeshifter’s mate, like Cee Cee, her interest in their case was deeply personal as well as professional. Her brilliant mind provided a valuable resource, but the health of her hybrid child was the doctor’s consuming motivator. On that point, she and Charlotte Caissie were closely aligned.
Susanna hadn’t hesitated when asked to consult, curiosity and a sharp anticipation evident in her eyes as she was brought up to date before they entered the modest building where Dr. Kinesha Jones, the clinic’s founder and usually its sole professional, welcomed them. The 50-something, handsome and rather harried-looking black woman with her sensible crepe-soled shoes and thick glasses shared their concern for the clinic’s ties to abduction and murder. Though she openly objected to hiding those concerns from her vulnerable patrons, she’d agreed to include an undercover Cee Cee among them.
Astute eyes widened at sight of that telltale bruise.
“Are you all right, Detective Caissie?”
Cee Cee smiled as they headed back toward the cluttered office. “Just a professional hazard.”
The woman’s concern didn’t lessen. “You need to be more careful. You’ve more than yourself to consider now.”
Shades of Savoie.
“It’s a priority, Dr. Jones.” Cee Cee avoided her partner’s pointed stare. Geez, give a working soon-to-be momma a break! Steering conversation in a less personal direction, she gestured to Susanna. “Dr. LaRoche is our consultant. She’d like to take a look at your client records, strictly and professionally confidential, if you’ve no objection.”
“Considering what’s at risk, I have none.” She gestured to banks of scuffed file cabinets. “Sorry. We don’t have the funds to go electronic. So many needs, so many in need. Donations just don’t stretch far enough.”
Susanna knew exactly what to look for. After studying the files of both the missing and victims, the geneticist voiced her thanks, expression giving nothing away until the clinic’s door locked behind them.
“Well?”
Susanna nodded. “As you suspected.”
Babineau looked between them, brows lifting. “What?”
At Charlotte’s nod, the doctor explained, “They’re not after babies to sell on the black market. They’re looking for a very specific genetic type.”
“Shapeshifter?”
“No.” An elegant hand pressed Cee Cee’s shoulder. “Detective Caissie’s and my child’s type. Shifter, Chosen, Human hybrid.”
Alarmed widened those blue, blue eyes. “For what purpose?”
The women exchanged sober stares. Charlotte’s reply whispered of her own investment, “We have to find out. As quickly as possible.”
They wished the doctor a good-night and climbed into Babineau’s weathered police issue. When he turned the engine over but made no move to put it in gear, Cee Cee glanced at his perfect profile.
“Something on your mind?” He’d been distracted for some time, and it chafed on her nerves.
A ragged laugh. “No. Nothing. It’s . . . personal.”
Instead of shrinking in horror as she once would have, she glanced at her watch. “Looks like we’re off the clock. Spill.”
At her command, he made a half-turn toward her, pretty-boy features locked in indecision before downloading. “You and Savoie, whatchu are, whatchu do. Ain’chu worried?”
Cee Cee laughed easily. “About our relationship? Only every other second of the day. Why?”
“Bringing a little one into the picture, doan that . . .” He blew out an aggravated breath.
It hit like a slap upside the hea
d. “You and Tina? Is she—”
Babs blushed, shaking his head. “No. That is, not yet. I’ve been thinking on it.”
A snort. “If you don’t quit thinking and start doing, you’re going to be too old to gitter done.” Then, she softened her tone. “Is it the species thing?”
“Some. And all the craziness lately. I worry ’bout the timing being right.”
“We’re not talking an engine block here, Alain. What does she think?”
Color heightened in his smooth cheeks. “We . . . we haven’t actually talked about it.”
A smack to the side of his head startled a blink of surprise. “Why’re we sitting here? You need to talk to her.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s complicated, Ceece. There’s things she doesn’t know . . . things that might make a difference.”
“What? That Evangeline James is your daughter? Don’t look so surprised. I am a detective. All you have to do is look at those baby blues.”
His expression confirmed her guess. She’d done the math. He’d have been starting out on the force, a time when an indiscretion with a young witness on his watch would make a black mark he couldn’t afford. She sighed. “Tina’s no fool, and there’s nothing wrong with her eyesight. She’s just waiting to hear it from you.”
“I just found out about it myself!”
Kicking her partner up a notch in her unvoiced opinion.
“Tell her that. If I know her, she’ll accept the situation and any way you want to handle it.” She squeezed his shoulder, firm grip telegraphing her certainty. She could see wheels turning in the right direction.
“Should I talk to Amber first? Or Rico?”
Hot-tempered Rico Terriot had made the former Cheveux de Chien bartender and her preteen daughter his top priority, and if not mistaken, Amber his mate. They lived a floor down from her and Max’s city apartment in the Towers high-rise to keep them out of a vengeful Warren Brady’s reach. The situation might be volatile but . . . ahhh, romance.
“Think I’ll talk Max into hosting a little house party out on River Road. Plenty of room there for private conversations. And no place for you to run. I’ll set it up for tomorrow night.”
“I don’t know, Ceece.”
“Your choice.”
He faced front and put the car in gear. She was about to call him on his cowardice when he murmured, “Set it up.”
She smiled to herself. “Will do.”
– – –
Going to the office never occurred to Max until he was showering off the exhilaration of the day. An unexpected, enjoyable day in simpatico company.
Growing up isolated and ignorant of his kind, he’d never known pack-like comradery until Charlotte Caissie led him across the threshold of Cheveux du Chien where, after a rocky start, he’d been embraced by the Shifter club’s owner Jacques LaRoche. Learning what he was from him, Max had found a place to belong.
Time had no meaning as he’d run the woods with the Terriots. The scent of the earth, the heat of exertion, the brotherhood of the pack; things he hadn’t known he needed until the wild freedom of what they were when running together unleashed him. Hours lost meaning. They’d hunted and challenged, at one with the land, air and sky, basic beings driven by uncomplicated joy within the security of their number. He hadn’t experienced such exhilaration . . . since his father taught him secrets seldom shared with another.
The day had been more than simple fun. He’d been pushing the brothers, testing them, gauging their abilities. And they’d far surpassed expectation. If he had to go into a battle he wasn’t sure he could win, they were who he’d want at his side.
But would they be enough?
Frowning over that question, he’d just started down the stairs when he heard the unmistakable roar of a big block engine. The initial leap of his heart sank into the uncertainty of their situation, something she’d avoided, and he feared. He’d rarely placed boundaries on their relationship, not that she’d abide by them. Taming his bold mate was never his intention. Her independent nature had drawn him from first glance. He’d never ask her to change or suppress those things that defined her, those things he adored.
But he’d been having dreams . . .
She blew into the hall like a Louisiana squall, changing the temperature, the very air around her. Cold, lonely old rooms suddenly filled, becoming the home he’d desired but had never known before her. Just as his smile began to unfurl, he saw that gloriously discolored eye. Barometric pressure took a nosedive.
She paused, like that afternoon’s prey sensing fast-approaching doom, then strode boldly forward, saying casually, “Hey, Savoie. Your office called wondering if I knew where you were. Did you enjoy your day out with the boys?” Just like that, she flipped the need for explanations onto him. His clever cop.
“Indeed, I did. Thanks for encouraging me to play hooky.”
He waited for her to come to him, which she did without hesitation despite how fast her heart churned. He could hear those anxious beats, as loud as her footsteps. Because she was braced, waiting for him to make a big deal out of it, Max decided to let that conversation slide . . . for the moment.
“And your day, sha? Any progress in your case?”
“About that,” she began, coming up to him but stopping just out of reach. “I need a favor.”
“Ask. Whatever I can do, it’s yours.”
She regarded him with a squinty intensity then tested, “Just like that?”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
Without blinking, she announced, “I’m going to ride you all night long like a Six Flags rollercoaster.”
Heat exploded through his groin. “Sounds delightful. Shall we have dinner first, or would you rather jump right on the tracks?”
A smile quirked about her ripe, red lips. “I am kinda hungry. Eating for two, you know.”
“Sustenance first then on to other amusements.” He extended his arm. “Shall we?”
– – –
Over an exquisitely prepared cut of veal, Charlotte broached her request on behalf of Bright Haven for Women. His reply was immediate. Anything they needed. What she needed was him, always and forever. But first to see if the coast was clear.
“Where’s our guest this evening? It’s not like him to miss a meal.”
“I believe he went to Baton Rouge to visit with his brother’s family for a day or two, the ones who lost their parents.”
“Good for him,” she murmured mostly to herself. Cale needed to come to terms with his guilt, and she needed the house to herself and Max for her own purposes.
Taking advantage of his generous mood, she tendered the Babineau issue. Max listened, expression growing wary. Finally, he voiced his misgivings with a blunt, “Why are we hosting this bit of familial drama when it’s none of our concern?”
She pounced on that. “Of course, it’s our concern. You said it, family. Tina is yours, Alain mine.”
“And family should keep their noses out of each other’s business.”
“We’re not interfering.”
He cut down her argument with a terse, “You’re offering our home for an episode of Jerry Springer. How is that not a bad idea?”
“It’s neutral ground for adult discussion. We stay out of the way.” She scowled at him. “And when did you start watching reality show reruns?”
Max colored slightly and turned his attention to the broasted potatoes. “Jimmy liked daytime TV on occasion.”
That earned a hearty laugh. “I can see that old bastard cozied up to the television with his bedroom slippers and Wall Street Journal, shouting at Judge Judy.”
He offered a faint chuckle before asking with the directness of gunpoint, “And you think this expansion of their family is a good idea considering the timing?”
Cee Cee went cold all over. “Don’t you?” Was he having second thoughts about their own?
“I don’t believe it’s up to me to have an opinion one way or another.” A heavy groan. �
��But if you’re set on us providing the venue, I’ll make sure all sharp objects are out of reach.”
Cee Cee drew a combative breath before seeing a quirk tug at the corner of her husband’s mouth. He was teasing her, and she was not amused.
“So,” she concluded, “you think I’m foolish for caring about their future happiness.”
“No. I think you’re wonderful, but their happiness is up to them, not us. However, if you’d like to have friends and family over tomorrow evening for a meal and conversation that happens to stray into territory that is none of our business, you will allow me the privilege of removing us from that arena. Agreed?”
Unable to argue his logic and secretly thrilled to bail on potential drama, she nodded. “Agreed.”
“It pleases me that you care so much for them.”
His quiet words sank soul deep, making her reply equally transparent. “Who we love is the measure of who we are. Dev Dovion told me that. I didn’t understand then. I do now. We feel responsible for the things in our past and for the direction of our future. That’s who we are. I don’t want that to change.”
With a deep breath and all the enthusiasm of wading into a melee of drunks on a Friday night, she jumped into the real issue on the very elegantly set table. “I don’t want to change who you are, Max, and I hope what I am is still what you want for the long haul.” Before he could speak, she hurried on. “I’ve never cared what anyone else thought of me or wanted from me. Not until you. If you need me to be something else, someone else, I can try if it’ll put your mind at ease and let you sleep easier. I can’t bear for you to be miserable.”
The first glimmer of dampness in her eyes brought him around the big table to crouch at her side so they faced one another directly. His stripped-bare honesty clutched her soul.
“Charlotte, who you are is who I love. I’d never demand that you change.” His voice broke, her heart with it. “All I ask is don’t be the first through the door in every situation. That’s my weakness, my fear, not yours. Is it too much to ask?”