by Nancy Gideon
Her voice calling to him. “MacCreedy?”
Turning toward her, the movement agonizingly slow, one eyebrow arching as he faced her. A blur of silver as her knife slashed cleanly across his neck. His eyes widening, filled with shock before going glassy. The front of his white shirt now red. The whisper of her name as life left his gaze, and he slowly dropped where he stood.
Her terrifying look into a future she couldn’t change.
What the hell was that about?
MacCreedy stood in the hall outside the door to Nica’s room, puzzling out her mercurial change of mood. A chill of gooseflesh crept over his skin at the recall of her fierce, feral glare, the urgent plea threading through her snarl. He rubbed his arms, pausing at the deep grooves she’d carved: four perfect crescents. A prickle of instinct told him that he’d just escaped a dangerous threat, only because she’d pushed him out of harm’s way. Part of him wanted to go back and demand an explanation. The other urged that he’d be wise to run for his life from the suddenly demon-possessed woman he—
He what?
Liked, he concluded, using her own word. The woman he liked to the point of unreasonable fondness. Which could get him killed if he wasn’t more careful.
Silas stopped into his room to retrieve his shirt, then went downstairs in search of caffeine and a cooler temperature. A glance at his watch told him it was nudging up to five in the morning. He went into the dining room, grateful to find a large urn of coffee warming. After pouring himself a cup, he glanced out through the French doors to gauge the weather and saw a figure seated on the veranda—Tina Babineau.
She looked up at his approach, her expression stark and eyes swollen, then quickly ducked her head to conceal her sorrow. Silas paused, his hand on the back of the chair next to hers.
“Mind if I join you? We seem to be the only two awake.”
“I don’t mind.” Her soft voice was slightly rough from weeping.
He sat at the table, leaning on his elbows, hands cradling the warm cup. Despite its humidity, the air was cool. Unfortunately there was no breeze to carry away the moisture. Just as there was no hope to alleviate Tina Babineau’s sadness.
Unless he gave her some. But would that be a kindness or cruelty?
“Alain still asleep?”
“I don’t know,” came her muffled reply. “He spent the night on the parlor sofa.”
“My partner’s an idiot.”
She said nothing.
“He worries about you living here.”
Tina glanced up at his cautious invitation to unburden herself. “It’s safer here. He knows that.”
“Safe from what?”
She looked away. “From things you wouldn’t understand.”
“I think I would.” He placed his hand lightly over hers, sending a gentle glimmer to spark along her nervous system.
Her huge brown eyes fixed upon him. “Does Alain know you’re—?” At his nod, she asked more warily, “And Max?” Another nod. “Cee Cee? Of course she would know. And your girlfriend, she’s a—”
“Shifter,” Silas supplied. “Yes. Like you and your son. Oscar and I have done a little talking about your situation.”
Her features tightened and her tone grew harsh. “I’m always the last to discover these things. No wonder I can’t protect him.”
“From what, Tina?”
“From whoever killed my parents. From whoever or whatever almost killed Max and Cee Cee when Oscar was taken from us. I don’t know what they want, only that they want Oscar. Even if Alain did still love us, he isn’t strong enough to keep us safe if they come for him again.” Wobbly tears filled her eyes. “I’m not sure even Max can stop them.”
Silas carefully took up one small, cold hand between his. “What if there was someplace you could go where you wouldn’t have to worry anymore? Someplace you’d both be safe?”
Her gaze searched his, desperate. “Does such a place exist?”
This was supposed to be quick and impersonal. A snatch-and-grab, not this quiet, impassioned coaxing. Not a baring of his own purposes, his own soul. But Silas couldn’t back away from the pull of her misery.
“I’ve come to New Orleans to find you, Tina. To let you know that you and Oscar aren’t alone. You have family.”
Her hand began to tremble within his grip. “Max is family.”
“I used to rock you in my arms when you were a baby. I used to sing you to sleep.” A smile flickered across his lips. “It wasn’t exactly a lullaby, but you seemed to like it.”
Tina stared at him. Then she whispered, “Your mama don’t dance, and your daddy don’t rock and roll.” Her voice broke and her eyes flooded up. “Who are you?”
“You were a baby when our mother took you to St. Bart’s. I called you Chrissy. I’m your half brother. And I’ve been looking for you for twenty-two years.”
There was a long silence, then Tina surged out of her chair into his arms.
Silas hadn’t realized how difficult and how wonderful this would be. She’d been two and a half years old when she was taken from his life. Yet the instant her arms went around his neck, a flood of fragile memories drowned him. She was family, and he loved her with the same fierce devotion he held for Brigit and Kendra.
Tina sat back at last, wiping teary eyes filled with amazement and confusion. “I don’t understand. Have you told Oscar that you’re his uncle?”
“No. We need to keep this between the two of us for now, Tina. I’m not sure who we can trust.”
“Max—”
“Not Max. Not Alain. Not Oscar. No one. You and Oscar are in danger here. I’ve come to take you someplace safe.”
Her excitement cooled to cautious sensibility. “Why would I leave here with you? I don’t know you. I remember a silly tune you may or may not have sung to me before—before I was given away. My family gave me away?”
The anguish in her voice twisted about his heart.
“Politics were involved; dangerous politics that I’ll explain later. Right now, I just want you to listen. I don’t want you to decide. Just listen.”
She slid back into her chair, looking wary yet receptive. “Go on.”
“You and Oscar are part of the Terriot clan. They’re powerful and well-connected. They have a compound in Nevada where you and Oscar will be protected, cared for, and honored.”
“Honored? What a strange word.”
“Think of our families like a feudal society. The strongest are showered with prosperity and respect. The weaker clans pay homage to them in return for protection and favor. Leadership over the family clans comes down through the bloodlines, generation to generation. And the Terriot bloodline leads to Oscar. That’s why he’s so important. That’s why he’s in danger. Once he’s within the Terriots’ circle, he’ll be out of the reach of those who’d kill or ransom him. He won’t be safe until then. Neither will you.”
He hated the quick spark of fear in her eyes, but would use it ruthlessly.
She swallowed hard and looked out over the fog-draped yard. “How do I know I can trust you not to be one of those I should fear?”
“You don’t.” That brutal answer got her full attention. “Don’t trust me. Don’t trust anyone. You can’t afford to. There’s too much at stake.” And then he lied to her so shamefully, it was all he could do to keep his gaze steadily fixed upon hers. “I have no agenda here. I’m a MacCreedy, not a Terriot, even though I share some of their lineage through my father. I have nothing to gain . . . except family. I’ve spent too much time searching for you to lose you both now.” His voice caught, and that unplanned snag was what convinced her.
She said, “Would you go with us to this place?”
“I would take you, yes.”
“Would you stay there with us?”
“I would. It would be my privilege to act on your behalf until you’re comfortable and confident enough to handle your own affairs. There are things you’d have to learn quickly for Oscar to take and hold his rightfu
l place.”
“And you could teach me those things?”
“Yes. I’d make sure you had all you were entitled to, all that you deserved.” And in doing so, he, Brigit, and Kendra would go from outcasts to royalty. Their lives would be filled with comfort instead of fear. And he would finally be worthy of his dreams.
So why did he want to throw up?
“What about Max? Would he be welcomed there?”
Silas gave a snorting laugh. “No, never. There’s too much bad blood between their families for him to ever be invited onto Terriot ground.” Seeing her distress, he softened that claim. “But maybe once you’re established there, you could bend their pride a bit. He is your blood, after all. It’s an old grudge. Perhaps the venom has gone out of it.” He smiled over clenched teeth. Hardly.
Tina leaned back in her chair, playing restlessly with the sash of her cotton floral dress. “What about my husband?” she asked hesitantly. “Would he be allowed to come with us?”
Silas blinked. He’d never actually considered that. “I don’t know. A few human mates live among the clans. It wouldn’t be easy for him, but I don’t think it’s impossible. Would he go?”
“No.” No hesitation. “No, he wouldn’t.”
He covered her small hand with his. “I’m sorry these decisions are so hard. But you have to make up your mind soon. Maybe it would be easier if you just considered what would be best for Oscar.”
What a shit he was, Silas thought as he held her gaze so earnestly. Where had he learned to deceive and connive with such aplomb? When had he decided to condone such despicable behavior? But he knew. It was when he’d stood with his mother’s blood wet on his hands. When he’d labored, dry-eyed, to gather up the pieces of his father so he could see him properly buried. When he’d been forced to become the head of his family, responsible for all their futures, when little more than a child himself.
But that didn’t make the bitter taste go down any easier.
He stood up and drank the remains of his coffee. Tina got to her feet, as well, looking uncertain for a moment, then she slipped her arms about his middle and hugged tight. Holding her head to his chest, he reminded himself that it was all about family. He couldn’t afford to look beyond that.
Not even when the electricity came on, illuminating the rooms behind them, and Max Savoie standing on the other side of the French doors, watching their embrace inscrutably. Silas dropped his gaze before Max could read the sentiments it contained, a truth that pounded hard and ferociously with every beat of his heart.
Try and stop me, you son of a bitch. I’m washing down that cold dish of vengeance with your blood.
The ride back into the city was long and silent. Nica’s steady stare had the hair on Silas’s nape prickling. She hadn’t met his eyes since she’d come downstairs clad in the seductive red dress, her hair braided back from features so brutally angular, they looked like fractures in stone. When his gaze lifted to the turbulence of her own, their eyes locked briefly in a scramble of emotions. Then hers lowered first.
She avoided him when they all gathered for a quick buffet breakfast, drawing Cee Cee’s curiosity when she glanced between them. Babineau spoke briefly to Oscar, who manfully contained his own upset, then nodded to his estranged wife before muttering that he was going to get the car. Silas found Cee Cee at his elbow, scowling after Alain.
“Asshole,” she grumbled. “See if you can make any headway.”
“I will.” In his own direction, not hers. He told Savoie, “Thanks for the invite.”
Savoie regarded him unblinkingly, then drawled, “Thanks for being such a considerate guest.”
The not so subtle reference to his and Nica’s rambunctious lovemaking brought a flush to MacCreedy’s face until Savoie grinned and turned to Nica.
She accepted their host’s hand and when he suggested they go jogging together someday soon, she returned his toothy smile with a “Yes, soon.”
Was she in New Orleans to kill Savoie? Silas wondered during their tomb-quiet drive. If so, should he stop her?
Could he stop her?
When Babineau pulled up in front of the Quarter House, MacCreedy stepped out to open the door for Nica, extending his hand to help her from the small backseat.
On the sidewalk he lifted her hand to his cheek and touched a light kiss to the base of her thumb. Holding his stare, she withdrew her hand, letting her fingertips trail down the front of his shirt, briefly bunching the fabric up in her fist. Then she let him go.
“Good-bye, Silas.”
She quickly turned away and went through the shadowed doorway.
MacCreedy looked after her, wondering if he was watching something better than any dream he’d ever held escape him.
As Nica headed past the front desk, responding to cheerful greetings from the always pleasant staff, a soft call of her name brought her up short. Perched on the edge of an antique chair was Lena Blutafino. She wore the big, concealing glasses and an elegantly tailored shorts suit of ivory linen, its plunging neckline filled with ropes of pearls.
“Hello, Lena. This is a surprise.”
Glancing nervously about, the buxom blonde asked, “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“Sure.”
Lena didn’t speak a word until the door to Nica’s apartment locked behind them. Then she headed for the sofa and collapsed on it, her hands twisting together. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation.”
“Good.” Nica went into the small kitchen to pour them tall glasses of sweet tea. “Sorry I wasn’t here. The weather kept me from getting home last night.”
“I want to leave Manny,” Lena announced with a burst of courage.
Nica sat next to her on the love seat. “Good.”
“But I don’t want any of his money. I don’t want Paulie growing up around all that . . . that stuff like I did. He’s a good boy and I want good things for him.”
“Any mother would want that for her child.”
“I’m just not sure how to go about it. I thought you might have some ideas.” Huge blue eyes, one with a hint of a bruise around it, gazed at her hopefully. “Though we don’t really know each other, you’re the only one I trust.”
She didn’t have time to get tangled up in this! She was on the cusp of the most important work she’d ever done, work that would launch her reputation as an independent. Work that would guarantee freedom for more than just herself. She had to stay detached, focused. It was bad enough with MacCreedy terrorizing her hormones until she couldn’t come up with a single simple plan to get rid of him. Now this.
Tears welled up, threatening Lena’s elaborate eye makeup.
Oh, hell. “I might have a few ideas.”
Lena smiled and reached for her tea.
Just shoot me now. “You’ll need your own money tucked away someplace safe,” Nica said.
“Getaway money.” Lena nodded, liking the sound of that.
“You said you had a lot of expensive jewelry. You could start by selling it off very discreetly.”
“Manny has people watching me. He keeps track of my things. He’d know if something was missing.”
“Okay, then we’ll have to throw up some kind of smoke screen to distract him.”
While Lena sipped her tea, her knees bouncing anxiously, Nica suddenly smiled.
“I’ve got an idea. I have a friend who could use a decorator.” She picked up her cell and tapped in a number.
“Detective Caissie,” came the growl on the other end.
“Chili? This is Nica. I think I found the answer to your problem.”
After an icy shower and quick shave, MacCreedy pulled on fresh jeans, a black T-shirt, and sturdy boots, then picked up a gray suit jacket and his sunglasses. The blinking message light on his landline caught his attention and he paused to push play.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve left four messages. You can’t dodge me that easily, Silas.”
He pressed stop. “Love yo
u, too, sis.” Then he was out the door, jogging down the stairs.
As he paused on the front steps to put on his dark glasses, a gleaming black town car slid up next to the curb. The darkly tinted back window came down soundlessly and Max Savoie gave him a narrow smile.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
Thirteen
A mobster wanting to take you for a ride wasn’t generally a good thing.
Silas opened the door and sank down on the black leather seat. “I’m on my way to work.”
“You’re going to be late.” Max nodded to his driver. The window went up, the door latches engaged, and the big car purred away from the curb.
Oh, shit. He was going to die.
They ended up down by the wharves in front of the huge, partially occupied Trinity Towers project, in which Savoie was a partner with Simon Cummings. Savoie left the car, striding to a corner of the main spire, where he keyed open a private smoked glass elevator that ran up the side of the building. He and Silas rode up in silence, both staring out over the city, postures deceptively relaxed, expressions impassive.
On twelve, the top floor, the doors opened to a huge unoccupied apartment, its main room facing a wall of glass that ran the width of the building. Max walked up to those floor-to-ceiling windows with Silas following cautiously.
“I built this tower as a haven for my clan here in New Orleans. Its walls will shelter them and their families. It’ll be the first time some of them have ever lived together under the same roof, the first time some of them have ever dared to stand upright like free men to protect their own children and give them a better life. This will be our fortress against those who think to take those freedoms away from us.”
Good luck with that.
MacCreedy glanced away, measuring the dimensions of the room, checking exits, searching for weapons. He had his police issue, but its bullets would never take down Savoie. Just as he could never take Savoie one-on-one, not if the rumors were true. And he suspected they were, or these frightened, outcast Shifters wouldn’t have accepted him so readily as their leader. Had he been brought here to discuss clan business and the nebulous hope of freedom?