by Nancy Gideon
“No.” Another strong voice spoke from the doorway behind Row. As he stepped aside to give their youngest sibling room to join them, Kip addressed Bram with a fierce growl. “You killed my mother.”
Without a flinch, Bram sneered. “She should have kept her legs together around that weak blood, boy.” Head snapping back from the flash of a stunningly hard blow, he laughed, wiping at his lip. “Finally. Perhaps you’ll be a worthy Terriot yet. Is it your plan to kill me, pup? Have you finally found a spine?”
“You plotted to murder those who once looked up to you!”
“Once,” Bram growled, narrowed eyes flashing. “Then they turned to him,” he jerked his head toward Cale, “the runt of the litter who dares stand in my place. How did that turn out for them? For her?”
That last drawling insult brought a flame of retribution into Kip’s cheeks. Though fury quaked through his tall form, he held fast to his composure as he looked to his brother. “He can’t be allowed to live.”
Cale vowed, “He won’t.”
Bram’s laugh boomed. “And you’re going to handle that, weak little boy king? Or will you give that pleasure to this child, if he can find the stomach to finally act like a prince? Who among you groveling curs has ever had the courage to stand up to me? Who?”
Cale ignored those slurs to regard his youngest brother. “Kip, he’s taken the most from you. It’s your right. If you don’t take it, I will. He ends here, now.”
The youngest prince considered the weight of that offer, his opportunity to stand strong before those he’d failed in the past with his hesitation, his chance to redeem those weaknesses with one swift act. But instead he replied, “No. I have what I came for.” He lifted the phone that had recorded their father’s damning words. “When they hear this, our people will know they were never his priority.” As Bram sneered at his supposed softness, he added, “I’ll give that honor to one more deserving. His information led us to Lee and helped expose those who’d used our father against us. He helped bait this trap.”
Bram’s smirk froze as a familiar figure entered the room.
Joseph Fraser’s glare ripped through Bram Terriot the way the tyrant had torn his own father’s life from him. Hatred threatened, but he overcame it to speak respectful words to Cale, his nephew’s brother, their king.
“I’ve done you and your family an unforgivable wrong. I believed those who said my father would find no justice until I destroyed everything Terriot. I was a fool. My father lives on in this boy,” Fraser continued proudly, his hand pressing Kip’s shoulder, “and in his brothers and sisters. You protected them when I thought only of myself. You can lift this clan from the stain of Bram the Beast. But my pain, my family’s pain, can only be cleansed in his blood. I’ve no right to expect mercy. But I beg you, my king, don’t deny me the right to avenge my family.”
Cale nodded toward their father, expression hardening. “He breathes his last in the next minutes. We’ll sink him in the bayou and let vermin consume his soul without release. He has no place amongst our ancestors.” He toed Stephen’s still form. “Neither of them does.”
“My son, you don’t mean that.” Bram paled, alarmed by the thought of a mortal end without redemption. But the clan’s new king never wavered, not in harsh stare or strong words.
“I’ll show you the same compassion you’ve taught us with every blow from your hand, with every act of cruelty you’ve shown others without a thought to their suffering. You end here, now. Let it be by the Fraser family’s hand so those they’ve lost can rest in peace.” He nodded to Joe, declaration rumbling.
“Send him to hell with my blessing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the middle of a surprisingly warm early afternoon, Max purposefully made their meeting very public, brunch at the crowded Court of the Two Sisters. A fitting place considering its depth of history, one as filled with promise and despair and resurrection as their own.
As he seated his mate at one of the iron café tables beneath trees, sky and small swooping birds seeking crumbs from buffet plates, his hands lingered on the strong set of her shoulders. Bending low, cheek pressing the modest wave of once aggressively spiked, black hair, he breathed her in, savoring the unique blend of Voodoo Love and her own irresistible pheromones, made that much more potent by the link they’d made between them. Possessive desire stirred, as strong as the Mississippi’s current, as suddenly fragile as their future dreams. His. Forever and always.
As her palm fit to the rugged terrain of his face, fingertips charting the familiar ridge of cheekbone, ear and the curl of dark hair behind it, he forced himself to straighten before she intuited his tension. Assuming the spot across from her, he smiled as their chatty server provided coffee for him and water for both.
A shadow of sadness and uncertainty crossed Charlotte’s features once they were alone. Their selections from the elaborate buffet inside remained untouched. Max pushed his own worries aside to reach for her hand. She clung, not for rescue but for the support effortlessly provided.
“What is it, sha?”
“I called Atcliff out.”
Max listened without reaction as she detailed the conversation then replied, “Trust your instincts, Detective. They’ve only failed you once.”
Red lips pursed reluctantly. “Yeah? When was that exactly?”
“That time we stood on Jimmy’s porch and I asked who was on your boot heel. You saw danger instead of safety.”
An unladylike snort. “I saw what you wanted me to see. A challenge I couldn’t resist once I realized you’d saved our lives at the risk of your own.”
“But you, sha,” he countered quietly, “rescued my soul.”
As she fell into the intensity of his gaze, small frown lines furrowed her brow. Before he could second guess her mood, Cee Cee turned to her brunch selections of thick turtle soup, chicken and andouille gumbo, sweet potato salad, catfish roulade and fresh fruit, skipping over each of those rich offerings after a taste to pick at the colorful slice of King Cake with her fingers. Max remained silent, allowing her to regroup before gently returning to the emotional issue.
“Can you trust him to stand by what he says he’ll do? Will he walk away and stay away, or is he throwing smoke to give himself more time to secure what he has?”
“I wish I knew. Part of me wants to believe he’s still the hero a little girl looked up to.” A bitter laugh. “The way I looked up to my father.”
“Your father was a hero, Charlotte.” His unlikely argument had her blinking up at him in doubtful surprise until he explained, “He chose the hard road when the easy one was laid out in front of him. The same way you always have. And you’ll be the same kind of example for our daughter to follow.”
She’d started to smile then winced sharply.
“Charlotte?”
She gripped his hand, pulling him halfway across the table to fit his palm to the side of her belly. At his puzzled look, she smiled mysteriously and whispered, “Wait for it.”
He jumped in surprise as a ripple stirred beneath the silky fabric of her boldly patterned black-and-red top. He waited in suspended-breath amazement for the next subtle wave then grinned wide. Their child, like her mother, wasn’t one to remain silent.
Glistening dark eyes met his. “We’ve got a fighter.” She twitched and let out a shaky breath. “And she packs quite the punch.” Brows quirked at Max’s expression. “What?”
“I think she was giving you your answer.” His long fingers laced tight between hers, forming a gentle fist. “Be a fighter. Do the right thing, for the city and for her. You need to be inside the department. Take his deal, with prejudice. See it for what it might be, just a way to get around you. But you’re smart and will always be one step ahead to hold him to his promises.”
“I love you, Savoie.”
“Good.” He kissed her knuckles then released her to address his Duck à l’Orange. A smile slipped free as she finally took up her fork with enthusias
m. Because he could put it off no longer, he said, “I might be late tonight. An unexpected opportunity has come up at work.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll tell you more in the morning. No use getting hopes up prematurely.” Until after he played out his cautious hand.
Cop’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Max?”
“I won’t be breaking any laws, Detective. My word on it. So, can I finish this nice lunch with the irresistible mother of my child, or do you want to interrogate me?”
After a fierce examination, she proposed, “Food first. I’ll have the handcuffs ready later.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Max observed as she enjoyed her meal, imprinting every line of her face, every inflection of her voice upon his heart, knowing he might never enjoy this perfect Heaven again.
But they would have it, his wife, his child, his people. That well-deserved future would be theirs.
Pushing away from her buffet plate, Cee Cee groaned. “I want to put my feet up and sleep the afternoon away.”
He provided a tender smile. “Do not tease me with that image, or neither of us will get any work done.”
Cee Cee was about to suggest a hedonistic trip back to the Towers as he stood to pull out her chair, but negated that suggestion. “Work it is.”
Max’s cell rang. With a regretful glance at the screen, he grumbled, “I have to take this. Have a good afternoon, Wife.” Brushing his lips against her cheek as she used his solid shoulder to gain unsteady feet, he smiled then turned his attention to the caller.
Cee Cee sighed. Back to their separate lives.
She wound her way through the endless loops of the buffet line and the dark interior of the restaurant, now standing room only, grateful to suck a deep breath when back in the sunlight again. Distracted by thoughts of the afternoon delight that might have been, she began a slow walk back toward the District office, a wave of tourists practically carrying her across the first intersection.
Just as she reached the broken curb, a vehicle swerved into the crosswalk, incurring shouts from alarmed pedestrians. The rear door flew open, a large figure reached out, and Charlotte Caissie disappeared inside.
– – –
Max waited until after Cee Cee was out of sight before he turned his attention to his call.
The low purr of his aunt’s voice sucked the oxygen from his lungs, replacing it with fire. “Michael tells me you want to talk.”
“Indeed, I do. Your games are getting too dangerous for those around me. I want them to stop.”
“You know what I want.”
“Enlighten me.”
He could hear her harsh inhale at that bold drawl and allowed a slight smile. Their stalemate was wearing on her, too.
“Your father’s letters,” she bit out.
“All this,” he drawled, “for an old love letter to your sister?”
“And the one he wrote to you,” she snapped. “You have them?”
“I do.”
“Bring them with you.” A distracted pause then her low, vile chuckle. “I just picked up something you’ll want to exchange for them.”
Charlotte!
“Where is she?” Aware of startled looks from those around him, he lowered his voice to a soft growl. “If you’ve harmed her—”
“She’ll be close by. A bit of insurance to make sure you don’t break the rules. Perhaps you’ll be able to take her home with you, a happy family once more. That’s up to you and whether or not you behave. Sunset. Don’t be late. Or foolish. Come alone.”
The connection ended before he could ask for an explanation.
Heart battering against his ribs, Max cued his mate’s phone. Nothing. Not even voice mail. After running outside to anxiously scan the street, not seeing her confident figure striding through the crowds, he rang Babineau who advised he hadn’t heard from her and promised to see she called him back. Max knew she wouldn’t.
The bitch had her.
He’d had one job, just one—to keep the love of his life safe. That he might not have a chance to apologize for his miscalculation ate through him like paint remover, stripping away the glossy surface he’d spread with best intentions to leave a raw truth. He’d failed her. Failed them. And he had one slim chance to make that right.
Hope battled dread as his cell chimed again. He snatched it up with a curt, “Savoie.”
A beat of silence, then Philo Tibideaux’s wry, “Am I interrupting sumpthin’?”
“What is it?” Max snapped, striding through the crowd. A path cleared as if his mood created a negative energy force field.
“Seeing how we’re almost family, I told the Terriots I’d fill you in on today’s doings.” And before Max could protest that he had enough issues of his own at moment, he led with a sucker punch. “The Terriot king is dead.”
Jerking as if he’d stepped on a live rail, Max blurted, “Cale? How?”
“No, no. The crazy one. Bram.”
As Max restarted his circulatory system with a gulping breath, Philo rattled off his and Rico’s plan to integrate new Terriot recruits into the Patrol with the old king’s spies where they’d discovered Bram’s trap in time to foil it. Permanently. When he’d finished, Tibideaux waited for the expected congratulations . . . or at least a grunt of acknowledgment at their success, then growled, “Well, there. Now ya know. I’ll letcha get back to . . . whatever.”
Max’s thoughts began to clear, growing still and sharp again.
Like family . . .
“I need your help.”
– – –
With Tibideaux on his way to the River Road house, Max went up to the bedroom he dreaded entering. Because she wasn’t there and might not return to bring color and joy and meaning back into his once black-and-white life.
He passed on a shower, fearing to lose the scent he might never inhale again that still lingered on his skin. Changing into more practical clothing, he pushed emotions away with the strength from a lifetime of lessons learned. Then reached into the closet where he and his mate kept all their secrets and drew out two envelopes. The first, addressed to his mother over twenty years ago, had spoken of the fatalistic love and unfulfilled dreams of Rollo Moytes and Marie Savorie that had nearly destroyed two powerful clans. The second, stiff and yellowed with age, the one addressed to him that he hadn’t had the courage to open, he carried to the edge of the big, lonely bed where he sat to finally read it. Its seal gave easily. He withdrew the single sheet written in a script he recognized from the first.
This message was to him, the son Rollo hadn’t known he’d conceived when Marie fled his determined pursuit. By the time he’d found the home she’d made for herself and her child, Max had been rescued from the swamps by those who’d inadvertently . . . or perhaps, he finally admitted to himself, purposefully killed his mother. The kindly neighbor who’d lived across the dirt road from reclusive mother and child had held the letters in trust for the boy who’d become a man in search of his past. A past Max now had to visit again to save his future.
He opened the brittle paper and began to read.
– – –
A robin’s egg-blue BMW parked at the front steps. Tibideaux met Max’s frown with a careless smile and a glib, “I brought reinforcements.”
Philo, Cale and Rico waited in motionless silence as Max traveled the length of the long front porch and back. The harsh lines of his face and cool green stare betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
“Where do you want us?” Cale asked at last. “You can’t go up against that bitch alone.”
Max stopped to regard his friends. “She’ll know you’re there. Can’t risk that. I’ll deal with her. Alone. I appreciate what you’ve done and are willing to do, but this is my family.”
“You’re wrong there,” Tibideaux drawled. “We’re all family, Slick. Some fancy ass big shot told me that once. Oh, yeah. It was you.”
Max didn’t smile but he didn’t argue, either. Trust didn�
�t come easy to him, especially in matters so close to the heart, but there was no disputing that these three had earned it over and over again. He’d demanded it from them, and the time had come to reciprocate.
“I go in alone. If she senses you, she won’t hesitate to kill my mate.”
“We’ll be like the wind,” Rico promised, grin easy, stare ice cold.
“There’s a turn off about seven miles from where I’m going. Take it and loop around back. You’ll have to hoof it in. She’ll have men watching the perimeter.”
“I hope so.” That sassy grin got really pointy, really fast.
Cale’s stare flickered, silver to red. “Is it your plan to kill her? There’s no way I’m up for letting her go free. You asked the price of my loyalty once. This is it. I want her.” The Terriot king subconsciously flexed his bite-scarred hand.
“Not at the cost of my wife’s survival.”
A slight bow of his head. “Agreed. That means you trust her to keep her word?” Cale challenged. His battered façade spoke to how well that had worked out for him.
“No. I don’t trust her at all. But she won’t risk what I have falling into another’s hands.”
“What’s that?” Tib asked for all of them.
“The past. And most likely, the future.”
– – –
The orange Camaro barreled down I-10, a fierce reflection of Max’s take-no-prisoners mood. It was fast and it was hers.
He no longer saw Rico’s flashy convertible in his rear view. He didn’t need to. Feeling their energy and support with every beat of his heart, he trained his focus on what lay ahead. The end . . . of Genevieve Savorie or everything he loved.
As he left interstate for back roads, the lowering sun became a constant goal to beat as it eased down toward the tree line. Closer but not near enough. His foot pressed down harder, giving the shocks and springs of the gutsy vehicle a workout.
Aggression poorly camouflaging his worry, Max concentrated on his mate. He reached out, using the psychic connection they shared upon mating, he King of Beasts to her supposedly fragile human, searching for her unique signature.