by Nancy Gideon
“No.” She blew out a breath and expressed what had weighed upon her mind since the Terriots had taken a knee at their front porch, bringing the fight to her and Max’s yard. “They look to you. They all do. And I know you, Max. You won’t say no. They’ll make you their figurehead. Just promise you won’t become their martyr.”
“I can’t turn them away, Charlotte.”
“I know. Just don’t be first through the door.”
CHAPTER THREE
Max Savoie was no stranger on the docks. As Jimmy Legere’s enforcer, he’d often stood at his boss’s back, a silent, Grim Reaper shadow warning of potential consequences. Since he’d discovered his kinship to those who toiled at the Mississippi’s edge, his presence sparked different reactions, welcome in some, suspicion in others depending upon whether they viewed him as savior or destroyer of their kind. None were neutral.
Though he could move like a ghost, unfelt and practically unseen, Max chose to let them sense his presence. Instead of his usual Armani, he wore casual chinos and a plain tee shirt beneath the long sweep of his black raincoat to signal this was no business visit. Work stopped as his red high-tops traveled the water-pooled concrete. No greetings hailed from the suddenly still and silent group, making him feel about as welcomed as a cargo of spoiled shrimp.
Philo Tibideaux exited the foreman’s trailer Jacques LaRoche had once made his home. Expression inscrutable, the tall redhead waited on the top step for Max to come to him. He let his visitor wait a long, rather uncomfortable minute at the foot of the stairs before offering a cool greeting.
“What brings you out in the light of day, Savoie? Ain’t seen you ’round for a time.”
Since no offer of a private convo inside was likely, Max got right to it. “Looking for Terriot. He around?”
“What’s your business with him?”
“Mine. Is there a problem?”
“Seems like one always follows you, doan it?” After a pause, he made a gesture toward one of the warehouses. “Last I seen him this morning, he were schooling some of the boys on how not to get dead next time you call for help. That gonna be any time soon?”
Max’s attention was already on his destination. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Do that.”
Philo’s low, parting growl met his back as Max strode to the building. He had no patience with Tibideaux’s posturing. The line had been drawn when Philo took leadership of the Patrol, the privately-run Shifter paramilitary group that policed the boundaries of their district. The redhead saw a challenge where none existed and, some day soon, they’d have to have a conversation about that, too. But not today.
The scent of blood and exertion met Max as he entered the dimly lit warehouse where two males grappled in front of a silently intense audience of about two dozen. Max paused outside the pooling light of a single bulb to observe before they noticed him.
Frederick Terriot had given Max a totally different impression the first time they’d met, that of a reckless, hot-tempered loudmouth whose fragile ego got in the way of his common sense. Since that occasion, Rico had taken a group of Philo’s guard under his tutelage and a cautious woman and child under his wing, maturing into an admirable example of a solid, reliable citizen in their tight-knit community. Though still loud and impulsive, he’d earned respect with every brutal scar on his hard body in defense of those he’d pledged to care for. Rueben Guedrey had seen something in him that Max had missed, and he had to thank the leader of the Memphis clan for spotting this priceless rough-edged gem.
The fellow Terriot was schooling had no viable chance to defeat him, but Rico handled him with care, pointing out strengths as well as weaknesses each time the poor fellow found himself tasting dirt. Instruction accompanied good-natured and often ribald encouragement, keeping the tone between the two Shifters competitive, not contentious. The sign of a true teacher. Max had no doubt that any of these males would follow their instructor into hell without question.
And Max feared they soon would be.
Catching sight of their guest, Rico grinned wide, barely ducking a fierce swing meant to put out his lights. Instead, he caught his student’s elbow and neatly took him to the ground, holding him there long enough to prove he wouldn’t be getting up before Rico allowed it. Then the redhead jumped up, bringing his opponent with him for a quick dust off and elbow bump before addressing their visitor.
“Hey, Savoie! Come to learn something?”
Max grinned. “Why? You know a good teacher?”
With a laugh, Rico dismissed his group and grabbed up his discarded metal band tee-shirt, slipping it on as he strode over. “Whatcha need?”
“The presence of your company, tonight out at the house.”
“Never say no to a meal. This business?”
“No, family. Bring yours.”
“Cale’s out at—”
Max cut off his misconception. “Amber and Evangeline.”
“Yeah?” He beamed. “They’d like that. Havin’ a shindig?”
“No. Just a small gathering.” Before he could ask, Max laid it out for him. “The Babineaus.”
The grin melted away. Rico was no fool. “Whose idea was this? Not sure it’s a good one.”
“I don’t necessarily disagree, but Charlotte wanted me to ask . . . before things got aired in public.”
That brought panic and anger into the mélange of Terriot’s fast-changing emotions. “Her past is no one else’s business.”
“Our circles are too small here in this city for them not to cross. Your mate’s been hiding from something that wasn’t her fault for long enough. She has nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Rico agreed, voice quiet, thoughts turning hopefully in the right direction.
“You’ve got yourself a fine family. Babineau wants a chance at that, too, and I guess he deserves it.”
Broad shoulders rose and fell. “Yeah, he does, after what he did for me. He’s not the bad guy here. Be easier if he was.”
Max pressed the only advantage he had, not liking it as he did so. “The only bad guy is Brady, and together we’ll bring him down. Don’t let him do any more damage than he already has.”
“Screw him.” Rico stabbed fingers back through crisp-cut red hair and paced another small circle before facing Max again. “I tell her first, and if she wants no part of it, that’s it.”
“Fair enough.”
“Okay then. What time?”
– – –
Watching their guests arrive—the Babineaus gathering silently in the parlor and the Terriots in the hall—Cee Cee questioned her wisdom. With emotions so high and raw, a civil outcome was no guarantee. She clung to her belief in the two women involved, both quiet yet strong, both guilty of nothing beyond circumstances they’d been too young and helpless to control. The same way she’d been when she first met Max.
Was that what this was about, this sudden need to put these two families together? A chance to pull two deserving souls from secrets and darkness into a world of acceptance? Or a way to make amends for not saving her best friend, Mary Kate Malone?
Cee Cee’s first impression of Amber James hadn’t been kind, believing the chestnut-haired beauty waitressing at CdC to be a gold-digger out to snag their clan’s new leader away from her. Cee Cee couldn’t blame her now that she understood Amber’s history, that of an unmated teen mother from a brutally abusive home. She’d bravely come forward to help place a truly evil man on the hot seat, putting herself and her child in danger, and was a grounding influence on Rico, one of their strongest allies. Amber James had grown in her estimation from that nameless victim needing sympathy to a strong female determined to protect her own.
“Thank you for having us, Detective Caissie. You’ve a beautiful home.” Tall and newly confident in her position at Rico’s side, Amber offered her hand and a hopeful smile, relaxing as the detective accepted both without reservation. Her grip was strong and so was the impression she made in the
fitted black sweater dress and sleek boots with heels high enough to bring her nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with her mate.
Oh, to wear heels again . . .
“It’s Cee Cee. And you have a beautiful daughter.” She smiled at a rather awestruck Evangeline, who at all of twelve teetered on the precipice of young adulthood. The girl stepped from the protective drape of Rico’s arm to offer her hand. A subtle cant of her gaze proved it was more likely to get a glimpse of Oscar Babineau in the other room than to be polite. But her words were far from frivolous.
“Thank you for taking care of that man so we don’t have to hide anymore.”
Then Amber placed her palm at Rico’s low back and gave a push. “Let’s go say hello to the others.”
As the newly aligned romantic pair moved forward, Max caught Cee Cee’s elbow to hold her back. At her quick look, he murmured, “They don’t need our help.”
Released from chaperone duty, she leaned into his sturdy frame to confide, “I think I’ll stick close in case there’s any arterial spray to clean up.”
Though he chuckled, his position was as primed and ready for interception as a Saints cornerback. Level heads couldn’t be counted upon when the emotional terrain was unstable.
As the two wary trios met in the middle of the parlor, surprisingly it was Rico who made the first overture, stepping forward with hand extended to the detective.
“Babineau. Thanks again for backing my brother when he came to my rescue. Mighta kept what few brains I got from leaking out.” The scar on his brow detailed the severity of that wound.
A firm grip and strong shake. “We were just there to back the real hero.” He winked at Evangeline who blushed prettily then cast a covert side-eye toward his stepson who stood awkwardly off to one side.
“We have a lot to thank you both for,” Amber echoed, shyly including Tina Babineau. “Especially for keeping Evie safe.”
Tina was the family core, drawing all sections together. Her son Oscar was nephew to the MacCreedys and Terriots, as well as half-brother to Max through their father, Rollo Moytes, in a story convoluted enough for a nighttime cable show. Small, shy, and delicate, Tina had fallen hard for the handsome detective who strove to give mother and child a normal life. Despite that past or because of it, she smiled at the other female. “You don’t have to thank us. We’re family after all.”
Evangeline made the first move, stepping from the curl of Rico’s arm to put both of hers about Alain Babineau’s middle. As she hugged tight, he hesitated for half a second before catching his wife’s teary nod then enfolded the girl in his first paternal embrace. Evie finally stepped back to announce proudly, “Now I have two dads who are heroes.”
When she extended her palm to a grim-featured Rico, it took a moment for him to force a swallow and reply, “Yes, you do,” as he engulfed that small linking hand with his own. “And we’ll always be there to protect you and your mama.” A quick, hard glance at Babineau, who quickly nodded. “Always.”
“Hey.” Oscar, a teenage duplicate of Max, took in the scene thoughtfully, “Does that make me and Evie almost brother and sister?”
All four adults came to a horrified Evangeline’s rescue to say at once, “No.”
– – –
Helen, housekeeper and kitchen wizard, appeared to announce the meal, and company moved to the elegantly dressed table. Talk gradually relaxed into everyday conversation that didn’t involve lives on the line or dangerous family secrets, until Babineau’s cell rang. With a glance at the screen, he rose with an apology to carry his business out into the hall.
Cop business, Cee Cee read in her partner’s nonverbal actions.
Though she hadn’t been called out to join him, her attention held on that open doorway, posture alerting Max, who leaned close to whisper, “What is it?”
She’d replied, “Nothing good,” when her fellow detective returned to put a terse end to the pleasantries.
“Brady made bail. He’ll be out in the morning.”
Amber’s wide gaze darted between them. “What does that mean?” Her hand gripped Rico’s with knuckle-whitening intensity.
“It means he has a very good attorney,” Max replied, tone low and lethal.
“It’s to be expected,” Cee Cee countered, watching Rico carefully. “He’ll have painted himself as a wrongfully accused pillar of the community who’s eager to clear his name and, therefore, is no flight risk. On bail doesn’t mean free. We police our own, and he’ll be carefully watched.”
Rico’s punishing stare cut to Babineau. The detective didn’t flinch. “They’re gonna offer him a deal, aren’t they? Sonuvabitch! After what he did to my family, no way he walks! He burned our home to the ground with our people still in it! The first person he’ll go after is my little brother, and then my mate. I believed you. I trusted you!”
Alain spoke with quiet deliberation. “Our instinct is to protect our ranks and the reputation of the force. If Brady goes down, the fallout’ll endanger every case he’s ever had his fingerprint on.”
“So, it’s easier just to look away and cover it up?”
“Yes.” Cee Cee’s reply rumbled like a streetcar filled with bitter experience. “But that’s not going to happen here.” She met Rico’s fierce stare without a blink. “Brady’s stink will fade in time, but if he gets away with just a slap on the hand our department’ll never escape cries of coverup. We can’t afford another PR disaster. There are good people in our district. If you can’t believe in them, trust me. Brady’s not going to skate. Not on my watch.”
Rico stood, bringing Amber up with him. With a regretful glance at Oscar, Evie rose as well as her father of the heart said with grim certainty, “It’s not about trust, Detective Caissie. I know you’ll do everything you can. But long as that bastard is breathing free air, my family might as well be behind bars. Now, if you all will excuse us, thanks for the dinner, but it’s time for me to get mine behind closed doors.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Detectives Caissie and Babineau stood across from the media frenzy on the courthouse steps, their stares targeting a confident Commissioner Warren Brady as he gave his first interview to Karen Crawford upon his release. They didn’t have to lip read to get the gist of the conversation. Innocent. Record speaks for itself. No doubts that the charges will be brushed aside so he can get back to work for the people of New Orleans. Blah, blah, lying blah.
“Great,” Cee Cee grumbled. “Now I have to put up with her smirky face everywhere I look for the rest of the day.”
“At least you won’t have to put up with his for much longer, Detective. Lucky you.”
The quiet voice spoken next to her ear had Cee Cee nearly jumping out of the sensible boots she was breaking in. She was too professional to send a betraying glance at the figure she only now sensed beside her. Turow Terriot could double for the Invisible Man.
“You almost scared me into prematurely delivering that useless decaf I have to drink,” she hissed.
A husky chuckle. “Kip asked me to keep an eye on our friend. Thought I’d be polite and let you know so you don’t shoot me.”
Having infiltrated Brady’s fortress home in the Garden District, the youngest Terriot brother had secured incriminating information that anchored the case against him before escaping with one of the man’s twin daughters. The commissioner was not a fan. After Brady’s attack upon their Lake Tahoe family compound, Cee Cee couldn’t blame the kid for his unwillingness to sacrifice more. As long as he didn’t compromise the case.
“Don’t get in our way.”
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
When she couldn’t resist a quick peek, she found the space Turow had occupied empty. A scan of the crowd pushing in behind her revealed no trace.
“Damned ghost.”
Babineau turned her way. “You say something?”
“Just talking to myself . . . apparently.”
She returned her attention to the grating tableau, a small sm
ile beginning to play about her lips. A man as vainly arrogant as Brady couldn’t resist flouting his superiority at every turn. If they stayed close and watchful, he’d provide them with what they needed to put him away forever.
Or the Terriots would put him down permanently.
From his elevated platform in front of the symbol of justice he’d dishonored, Warren Brady found himself in her sight line. He smirked to show he wasn’t worried.
You’d better be, you dishonorable bastard, because we’re going to nail you to that door behind you.
– – –
After the long trip from Baton Rouge, even the hope of a message from his queen couldn’t lift Cale’s heavy mood. Eager to speak to Turow, Kip had bounded up the steps, disappearing into the River Road house where lights blazed, and voices drifted toward him on the night air. The Terriot king followed more slowly, wondering how to avoid being social without insulting his hosts. He pasted a resigned smile upon his face as he crossed the threshold. Where he stopped, each muscle locking as air punched from his lungs.
For a long moment, he didn’t move, couldn’t move. Too stunned to process what he saw before him.
Then she spoke.
“My king.”
She came to him like those tempting dreams, so impossibly beautiful his head, then his eyes, swam. All he could articulate was a croaked, “Hey, baby,” before her scent reached him. Drawing it in like lifesaving oxygen, the stoic framework keeping him upright since that first blast had shaken his home crumbled like those ruined walls. He swayed. Small hands cupped his face then palmed the back of his head to pull him down to her shoulder. Quiet words whispered over his damaged soul like a breeze through Nevada pines.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
For long seconds, he just leaned. Her touch and embracing aura calmed the punishing chaos of his thoughts. Those fiercely maintained barriers retaining all the horror, shock and guilt finally surrendered.
Kendra Terriot held her mate, her king, her love, addressing his grief with tender concern toughened by a single truth. “This isn’t your fault.” When his head rolled in expected denial, she upped her insistence. “No one blames you.”