by Nancy Gideon
Cee Cee turned away from the window to thump her palm against his broad chest. “You’re gonna make a damn fine attorney, Giles.”
“Hopefully before I’m retirement age.”
Though he’d worked hard to purge the accent from his voice, his Cajun heritage claimed Giles St. Clair’s soul. He made a quick sign of the cross, murmuring, “Dieu bénisse,” as he touched fingertips to the glass. Falling in step as her long strides carried her down the hallway, he asked, “Where to?”
She’d started to say “work,” which would have kindled a true argument when her phone pinged.
– – –
The last thing Max expected was a text from Mary Kate Malone with an invitation to dinner.
The first time he’d seen Charlotte’s best friend, she and his wife had been teens, cruelly abducted by order of Jimmy Legere to put pressure on Cee Cee’s cop father not to testify. Having finished a job for Jimmy on the docks, Max had come upon them by accident, two terrified girls in the hands of rough, uncaring men who’d ignored the order not to molest them. They’d done far worse than that. Max had tried to go about his business, as they were none of his, but the pleading blue eyes of one and the fierce bold snarl of the other made demands upon a soul he’d thought lost in the swamps where his mother had died.
By the time his conscience got the best of him and he returned to put a bloody end to the miscreants, both girls had lost their innocence and nearly their lives. For years, he’d watched from a distance as they struggled to put that ugliness behind them. Neither could. His fascination with the detective’s fierce daughter was rivaled by a need to earn forgiveness from the bubbly cheerleader turned quiet, avenging nun.
Together, he and Mary Kate, now Sister Catherine, had come to the aid of women and children victimized by violence—she, offering a safe place to stay and sustenance for body and soul, and he, a harsh judgment ending the threat of those who’d terrorized them. Few things had touched upon the battered heart of the attack dog Legere had crafted him into, but the vulnerability of those unable to protect themselves was one of them. Charlotte Caissie was the other.
Mary Kate and Charlotte, two sides of a once shiny coin tarnished by evil intent, both reborn with very different convictions. Mary Kate provided, Charlotte punished in an effort to rid themselves of their relentless demons. Works still in progress he’d do everything in his power to see to fruition.
Even if it meant sitting across the dinner table from Philo Tibideaux.
The ping of his phone as Charlotte messaged her acceptance had him quickly echoing with his own before setting his cell aside to regard the unexpected visitor on the other side of his polished desktop.
Byron Atcliff wasn’t one to betray emotion. The tic in his lean cheek spoke volumes. “So, this is how you protect her?”
Instead of protesting that unforgivable failure, Max went into attack mode. “What I’m wondering is how the details of our plan were available to those who’d use ′em against us.”
Hard eyes flashed. “Explain.”
“They knew she’d be there. They knew I’d be there. This was no random act. It was planned in advance.” Max let that sink deep before demanding, “Who else knew? I think it’s understood that I’ve no damned reason to endanger my wife and child for anyone’s agenda.”
For a long moment, Atcliff remained as still as Andrew Jackson’s monument in the Square. “I’ll find out,” he promised.
“Do that. And do let me know. I think we can both agree this situation has grown too dangerous considering what . . . and who is at risk.”
“Are you asking for official protection?”
“From you and yours?” His thunderous laugh exploded. As Atcliff’s glare slit dangerously, he amended, “Do what’s necessary on your end to keep her safe on the streets. I’ll make my own arrangements . . . that I prefer to keep to myself.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want her pulled off the job.”
Until that instant, Max thought that’s what he wanted. Funny how his aversion to agreeing with the police captain opened his eyes to the true situation.
“No,” he amended in both word and mind. “The streets are better when she’s on them, until she decides to make that change.”
“Even at the risk of your child?”
“If you think she’d risk the life of that child for anything in this world or beyond it, you don’t know her. That baby is safer than she’d be in the Federal Reserve.” A pause for emphasis then he added, “Is this going to be a problem?”
Atcliff pushed out of his chair. “Not to me, no. I run my shop as I see fit. You do the same with your home, and we won’t have an issue. I think it’s been proven that we can’t cooperate even though forced to co-exist in her life.”
“Agreed.” Max waited until Atcliff reached the door to softly drawl, “Mind telling me what happened to the officers you assigned to shadow her?”
Without turning, he fired the answer like a shot. “Yes. I mind.”
The door closed quietly behind him.
– – –
Philo Tibideaux worked out of Jacques LaRoche’s old trailer on the docks but lived in the walk-up apartment that had belonged to his brother, Tito. His old friend had encouraged him to move into Savoie’s high rise complex on the riverfront, but Philo didn’t like to be crowded. Or controlled. Following LaRoche’s suggestion felt like a bit of both.
Savoie’s immergence as their leader had brought the deadly Trackers from the North into their territory. After they killed Philo’s misguided though innocent brother, he’d lost his desire to follow the supposed savior of their kind. Instead, he formed his own group to police the docks and keep his men and their families safe. His Patrol began as a shifter Neighborhood Watch but had expanded far beyond those goals into a paramilitary force to be reckoned with. Through them, he kept an ear to the ground and a finger on the pulse of their world. And a wary eye on Max Savoie.
Like most, he’d thought the rise of the Promised One would bring those good times legend foretold a-rolling in. So far, he’d seen death and threat and fear. He’d had enough of all three. Only the softening presence of Mary Kate Malone kept him from acting on his worries more aggressively.
The vivacious blonde cheerleader he’d once admired from afar had infiltrated his world while tutoring his brother when they were teens. She was the one bright spot in their hand-to-mouth struggle to survive. Damned if Tito hadn’t had a magical way with the horn, a skill his big brother hoped would lift them out of their bordering-on-illegal livelihood. Tito thought Mary Kate was an angel. Philo knew she was. An angel far and above his reach even though he’d occasionally catch her eying him with what he didn’t dare call interest.
What could a gorgeous thing like Mary Kate Malone see in him?
There must have been something he’d missed because there she was when Tito died, holding his hand, drying his eyes. And there at his door again when her system of beliefs began to crumble. He’d asked no questions, held no expectations. Just seeing her every day, scenting her as she slept behind the closed bedroom door, was enough. Until it wasn’t.
She’d taught Tito how to read music. And she taught him how to love again.
No other force in Heaven or on Earth could’ve convinced him to open his home to Max Savoie and make nice with him at their table but, unfortunately, to him Mary Kate was both. It was their first time entertaining as a couple, and he’d be hanged if he’d be the one to ruin it. Baring his teeth in what might be mistaken for a smile, he invited Savoie and his cop inside.
Mary Kate rushed to embrace their guests with the enthusiasm he lacked, crying, “Come in! We’re so glad you’re here.”
Savoie caught Philo’s eye. Yeah, right.
Arm-in-arm, the two friends headed for the small kitchen area that was separated from the rest of the living space by different types of flooring. Only the bedroom and bath had the privacy of walls.
Savoie extended a carrier of imported dark
beer as a peace offering. Checking the alcohol content, Philo decided to be the better man and accept it with a nod, concluding that as long as nobody died, the evening could be endured.
The first thing Cee Cee noticed was the absence of blankets on the end of the sofa, indicating shared covers in the other room. As she made that deduction, Mary Kate replaced the expected blush with a sly grin as she looped her arm through her friend’s and winked.
That wasn’t the only thing winking.
“Oh. My. God!” Cee Cee snatched up her friend’s left hand to admire the small but feisty diamond on her third finger. “When did this happen?”
“Last night. All by itself.”
“And,” Philo grumbled, “a helluva lot of persuading.”
“So,” Cee Cee demanded, ignoring him, “do you have a date?”
“June. 2035.”
Mary Kate gave her betrothed a swat. “We haven’t gotten that far. But we wanted you two to be the first to know.”
The fact that Philo didn’t flinch had Cee Cee squeezing him tighter to offer, “About damned time.”
His chuckle warmed the chill in the room.
“You know,” Cee Cee pseudo-whispered, “she’s had an eye on you since high school.”
Philo regarded the blushing blonde, eyes wide. “What?”
Cee snorted. “You think she was giving away those lessons outta the goodness of her heart? She was doing it because of those tight jeans you wear.” At Mary Kate’s aghast look, she put up her hand. “Honest truth.”
“That was a long time ago,” Philo said quietly. “We aren’t those folks anymore.” He regarded Max for a long moment before stating, “’cause of you.”
A sudden thunderhead of protective fury, Cee Cee squared off between the two of them, glaring up at her best friend’s love. “Max had nothing to do with that.”
“Sure, he did,” Philo argued, tone still quiet. “’cause if he hadn’t stepped in when he did, you and Mary Kate wouldn’t be here in this room.” He looked to the former Mobster with ego-crushing sincerity. “And I think it’s time I got over myself to thank you for that.”
Max regarded the extended hand with a surprised blink then gripped it for a quick shake that Tibideaux ended with, “How ′bout we break into them brews?”
– – –
Helping Mary Kate clear the table, Cee Cee volunteered at the sink to dry while her best friend washed. As she toweled the inexpensive stoneware, she couldn’t help comparing that simple task to what had finally been accomplished. Mary Kate Malone had wiped the past away and was ready to store it out of sight. Finally.
“So, ring and all,” she mused.
Mary Kate slid her a glistening side eye. “He said he’d been planning it since the first time he saw me.”
Cee Cee snorted. “Who’da thought he was a romantic.” She winced at the well-placed elbow. “Good. It’s time you moved on.”
Clutching a plate to her chest, her friend inhaled deeply and let it out on a gust of past hopes and fears. “Yes, it is, but I’ve still got a lot of housecleaning to do. Things to put right . . . with you, with Max . . . and family.”
“Family? I didn’t think you had any.”
“Surprise!”
Cee Cee turned, leaning her hip against the lower cupboards to scrutinize her friend more closely. “Good or bad surprise?”
“Good, I think. Or it could be when I find the courage to share it. Lots of things have changed, Lottie. They sort of evolved after you brought me to Dr. LaRoche’s clinic to recover from my . . . injuries.”
Cee Cee’s heart clutched at the reminder of how close she’d come to losing her dearest friend again. Max had rescued them the first time. Susanna LaRoche, with her unique treatments and knowledge from the North, provided that second miracle, saving not only Sister Catherine’s life but her immortal soul from an act her vocation could never absolve.
Mary Kate blessed her with one of those sunny smiles that lightened the darkest moment, the heaviest heart. “Any courage I’ve ever managed to find, I’ve gotten from you. I’m counting on you to catch me if I fall.”
“Always.”
Mary Kate turned back to the dishes, leaving Charlotte with an irresistible mystery.
What family?
– – –
“Hello, Warren.”
Startled by the familiar voice at his ear, Warren Brady’s distracted aim nearly ruined his expensive shoes. Genevieve Savorie was the last person he’d expect to encounter in the men’s room at the Old Absinthe House where he’d been absolving his guilt with a potent drip of 136-proof Pernod in a heavily shadowed corner of the 200-year-old bar.
Growling his displeasure, he pushed past her, heading to the sinks to wet paper towels for damage control. The sight of his daughter guarding the door didn’t lessen his annoyance. Or his fear.
“This is a new low, even for you, Genevieve.”
“I recall we’ve met in less savory places than dark rooms on Bourbon Street.”
Her censure didn’t improve his mood. “Why are you here?”
“I thought you might like to see Olivia.”
A glance stabbed toward the stoic female as he vigorously washed his hands. “I see her. So, what else do you want?”
“I want to know what possessed you to make such a colossal mess of all my hard work,” Genevieve purred. “Explain how being neck deep in a criminal investigation encourages my faith that you’ll be of any use at all.”
“They have nothing,” he snapped. “Just manufactured and illegally obtained evidence. I’ll be cleared of all charges.”
“That’s supposed to absolve my misgivings?”
He spun to glare at her. “What do you know about what goes on here in my city?”
“Why, Warren, I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
A chill rode through him, turning his response into an attack. “You think that priest is helping you?” His laugh provoked a tightening of her exquisite features. “He’s in their pocket, Genevieve. He has no loyalty to you or your plans.”
Her inhale held a poisonous hiss. “What’s between me and Michael isn’t your concern. His isn’t the face on every news channel with a caption of corruption beneath it!” A deflating sigh. “We had plans for you, Warren.”
Had. The connotation drained his arrogance. “I’ll clean up my own mess. I’ve already got plans in motion.”
“Hmmm. Still, I’ll have Olivia keep a close eye on you to make sure it’s my agenda you’re devoted to. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
He gave his daughter a long, reassessing look, as a danger instead of a liability. Olivia had always been the wildcard, the impulsive, self-destructive half of the two children he’d been entrusted to raise. Like him, her goals were far from humanitarian. Ophelia was the altruistic one who’d tried to be a moral compass where no Magnetic North existed. Ophelia, who’d had the bad fortune of falling in love with one from the faction he planned to suppress or eliminate. At least there were no more illusions between them, though an annoying fondness and respect remained. But that wouldn’t protect her from becoming collateral damage. Warren Brady looked out for Warren Brady.
Olivia returned his appraisal, the cold, dead stare that of a predator, her smile a display of teeth promising a vicious bite. No trace of fear or fondness remained. “It’s good to be home, Daddy. The only thing missing is Phe. But then you certainly burned that bridge, along with her mate’s family.”
He turned from her without comment.
Genevieve watched the interplay with bored amusement. “She’ll help you tidy up. If you can’t be of value to our cause, there’s no reason to keep you alive.”
“I will be, Genevieve. I’ve always been your right hand.”
Her mouth pursed. “Flatter yourself if it helps get things done. Our plans must be above reproach if we’re to assume control in this city. Even a swamp filled with vile creatures needs a leader. If not you, I’ve another in mind.”
T
hat undercut his prideful confidence. “Who? Who could give you everything I’ve promised?”
“Keep those vows,” she warned in answer. “You’ve got one chance, Warren. Use it wisely.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They stayed late. All the beer disappeared, Cee Cee grumbling about not getting a taste. Since Giles had dropped her off, she drove them home in the Camaro. After several miles of silence, she ventured, “That went well. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Making it easier.”
“Making what easier?”
“Saying I’m sorry.”
His smile flashed in the darkness. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, sha. I’m the one who’s overreacting.”
“What’s so terrible about being an overprotective male?”
He took a breath and plunged in. “It terrified me when communications went dead.”
“Max—”
His words gushed on. “The things that went on in my mind . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry. What are we going to do?”
“Get you home so my heart rate can get back to normal. I spoke to Atcliff.”
Cee Cee’s hands whitened on the wheel. “Oh?”
“I assured him that you’re willing, able and eager to return to duty.”
Her jaw loosened then shut on a breathy, “You did?”
“Lesson learned, Detective. You’re the best judge of your own limitations.”
She considered that for a moment then claimed, “I wasn’t worried. I knew you were there.” She flashed him a soft glance. “You saved Dr. Jones. And as soon as the investigation is complete, we rebuild Bright Haven for Women so she has work to return to when she recovers.”
He smiled then turned to the road ahead. She sounded so confident, he couldn’t darken that hope with doubt.
Genevieve Savorie couldn’t be underestimated. She had resources and money and motivation. And she had what they did not. Time. Time to plot and plan and discover their vulnerabilities. Charlotte was his strength, but also his weakness, his Queen to be protected at all costs if the match of skill and strategy was to be won. In allowing her to return to the streets, he was exposing his flank as well as his heart.