Hunter of Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  Compassion snuck in before she could guard against it. “I’m off in about fifteen minutes. Have a drink and I’ll take you home.” She was careful not to put any suggestiveness into that offer and apparently he didn’t look for any, as he nodded and headed toward the bar. Those strong shoulders, tall frame, and attitude really rocked his suit coat and jeans. And an unbidden chill rode through her as the image from her dream superimposed over it.

  She turned away and quickly began to collect glasses.

  Fifteen minutes later she leaned across MacCreedy’s arm to pick up his beer bottle, draining the last inch. “Time to go.”

  “Ready when you are,” he said.

  She’d been ready since he’d shown up at Cee Cee’s apartment alive and in one piece. Ready to be alone with him in the dark, to put her hands on his body, her tongue in his mouth, to rip off his clothes and mate with him furiously.

  Mate with him?

  She took a quick step back. MacCreedy intended to bond with another. And casual matings weren’t accepted because of the reproductive consequences.

  MacCreedy’s child.

  The image was so tempting. A beautiful little boy riding atop those broad shoulders, tiny, trusting fingers clutched in his hair, MacCreedy’s big hands curled protectively about little ankles.

  Common sense gave her a firm slap. A child with MacCreedy? Nonsense. Who would trust her with a child? A man like him for a husband, the blessing of a baby, were not meant for her.

  MacCreedy was headed for the door and Nica started after him, rattled by her thoughts. What was wrong with her? Maybe she just needed a good, quick kill and a change of scenery.

  But she was liking the scenery here just fine. As her gaze lingered over Silas’s body, lust began to rumble. Lust was good and honest, not like other sneaky emotions.

  Outside, the night was surprisingly cool. As they walked up the narrow alley toward the street where she’d parked, Nica’s awareness of MacCreedy’s silhouette against the streetlights intensified. The rhythm of his movements grew mesmerizing. Her heartbeat quickened, her senses sharpened, tightening like a bowstring until they quivered. Her grasp of time and place fell away. There was nothing beyond him, and her focus narrowed like a sighting scope.

  Now. Do it now.

  The words whispered through her, so cold they burned. She tried to shrink away from them, from the scorching pain, but the only way to escape was to obey.

  Kill him. Quickly. Do it now!

  Each syllable lashed along her nervous system, stinging, searing until she writhed inside. She dipped down, her hand snaking toward the top of the half boots she wore, slipping out the short blade sheathed in a pocket in the seam. In that feral crouch she moved up quickly, her steps soundless on the loose stones, yet he turned as if she’d called his name.

  His features were haloed by the lights, his brows arched in a question he wouldn’t have a chance to ask.

  Nica moved swiftly, her arm arcing with a blurring speed, wrapping about his neck with near strangling urgency as her mouth took his. Between frantic kisses, she panted, “Take me home with you, MacCreedy. Make love to me until I can’t think, until I can’t breathe, until I can’t remember my own name.”

  “Okay.”

  With her long legs cinched around his hips, her face burrowed against his throat, and her grip on his shoulders so tight it would have taken a tire iron to pry her loose, MacCreedy turned toward the street and caught a reflective glint off something lying at his feet.

  A discarded knife.

  He adjusted his arms about her, cradling her easily, and murmured, “I’ll drive.”

  Max opened his eyes slowly. Everything hurt, from the roots of his hair to his toenails, as if he’d been tumbled dry with a yard of bricks. He didn’t know where he was. He wasn’t sure what form he was in, until he tried to sit up and heard a very human groan of protest.

  He lay still, blinking slowly to soothe the scorch of his eyeballs, letting his surroundings ease into focus. Vaguely familiar objects emerged and he recognized the tools of the trade. A cop. A photo—his detective and her partner. Somehow, he’d ended up in Alain Babineau’s spare room. Naked.

  He’d have happily closed his eyes and let darkness reclaim him, except for the thirst. It baked his skin, tore down his throat, swelled his tongue as if he’d been staked out in a desert. To relieve it, he was willing to wake the agonies slumbering just below the surface.

  Taking a bracing gulp of air, he rolled from the couch into an uncoordinated fall to the carpet on his hands and knees. Sweet God! Pain pierced through him and his right arm and leg buckled, spasming with injury and weakness. He swayed there for long minutes, afraid movement would lead to collapse or a return to comforting blackness. Finally, coaxed by the tantalizing scent of water, he began a torturous crawl from the bedroom into the dark hall.

  What the hell had happened to him?

  Shaking from the tremendous waves of sickness, he inched along on forearms and knees, pushing forward with bare toes until he encountered the cool tile of the bathroom floor. He let his cheek press against it for a long moment so the chill would steady his spinning senses. When he tried reaching up to the sink his world nearly upended, so he stayed low. The commode lid was up, the sign of a man alone in the house. Chuckling to himself in anticipation of the look on Babineau’s face at finding him drinking out of the toilet bowl, Max raised up with a groan, then stared in dismay at the blue sanitized water.

  Give a guy a break . . .

  Turning to the tub, he hauled himself half over the side and stretched a shaky hand toward the faucets. An agonizing twist brought a cold jet thundering down and he scooped it up urgently, slurping out of his palm, splashing it on his face, drinking until the fever inside began to abate. Then he curled up on the bath mat and let awareness drift away.

  Silas let Nica go up the stairs ahead of him. No sense being an idiot about it. Now wasn’t the best time to have her at his back.

  She’d spent the short ride through the Quarter practically in his lap, her arms tightly about his middle, her head tucked under his chin. He angled around her to shift gears and listened to the panicked rasp of her breathing. He didn’t know what to do for her. He didn’t know what do to about her.

  But he certainly wasn’t going to let her finish what she’d planned in the alley.

  Instead of heading straight for the bedroom, Nica sat on the couch, tucking her feet up and hugging her knees to her chest. Not exactly an “I want you now” pose.

  “Coffee or beer?” he asked, draping his coat over the back of a dinette chair.

  “Beer. I don’t think I need to be wound any tighter.”

  Good thinking. He headed for the kitchen. Straightening from the refrigerator he turned right into her, her feverish eyes gleaming like black diamonds. It was all he could do not to drop the bottles.

  “Do you have anything to eat? I haven’t had a bite all day and I’m kind of shaky.”

  That was an understatement. She was in the middle of some kind of meltdown.

  “Why don’t you take these back to the couch and I’ll put something together real quick?”

  She took the beers and left the room, and Silas realized he was sweating. He let out a shaky breath and started rummaging in the fridge while keeping a cautious eye on the doorway. She’d want rare red meat, but could he afford to have her any stronger? He found some frozen cubed potatoes and tossed them into a skillet. While they sizzled, he began chopping up produce. After he’d scraped the peppers, onions, tomatoes, and mushrooms into the pan, his gaze lingered thoughtfully on the blade he held, then went to the knife block. He grabbed the set and hid it in the oven. As the vegetables sautéed he did a quick search of the drawers, cupboards, and dishwasher, adding anything that could perforate him before silently closing the oven door.

  Whisking eggs, shredded cheese, and herbs together, he poured the mixture into the skillet and watched it until it set. No sound from the living room. He unclippe
d his service revolver and put it in the microwave, then divided the omelet, slid half onto each of two plates, frowned at the forks but decided spoons would arouse suspicion, added hot sauce, and headed out with their meal.

  She’d taken her hair from its braid. Loose waves spun about her face and shoulders, making her look young and vulnerable.

  He smiled grimly. “Eggs and beer, supper of champions.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  He set the plates on the coffee table, then settled beside her. His gaze lit on the letter opener on the lamp table. He’d been using it to open his mail.

  “Let me get the light.” He stretched across her, turning the switch, then quickly palmed the opener as he sat back, tucking it down into the cushions behind him. “Dig in.”

  She ate ravenously while he picked at his own plate, thinking furiously. Bathroom: razor blades, mirror. Bedroom: free weights, the pillows, wooden lamp base, belts, his damn shoelaces. Hell, she could take him out with almost anything he owned, including the gummed flap of the return envelope for his electric bill.

  “Silas.”

  His attention leapt back to her and he held very still as her fingertips traced his jaw.

  “Don’t look so worried. I couldn’t hurt you.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” He smiled wryly. “I just believe in preventive maintenance.”

  She swayed toward him until their lips just touched. “But you couldn’t prevent this, could you?”

  “No. And believe me, I tried.”

  He sank into her kiss, forgetting about weapons in lieu of pleasures.

  Gone were the fierceness and fire as her lips parted beneath his, as if she’d surrendered herself to whatever this intense attraction was. She’d been afraid, this powerful, dangerous beauty—afraid for him, for his safety. That knowledge quickened a savage satisfaction more arousing than any of her direct overtures.

  She remained sweetly responsive, her mouth soft and receptive, her tongue touching his lightly, then withdrawing to invite his to follow. With one hand at the back of his head, her other explored him with slow, tentative strokes, across his face, around his ear, down his neck, to knead his shoulder. His body thrummed to life. His blood surged in a warm tide.

  “Let me stay with you,” she breathed into his kisses.

  “Yes. Stay.”

  “Si?” Her palms pressed to his cheeks so their gazes could meet. “Do you care for me just a little?” Her eyes sparkled like a starry heaven.

  “I care for you a lot,” he whispered.

  Her smile trembled. “Then kiss me some more.”

  His deep, dreamy kisses soon had Nica’s senses spinning delightfully. She relaxed, enjoying the textures, the heat, the taste of him. Drowning in those sensations until his hand moved to her breast. She slipped hers over his.

  “Silas?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  His eyes flickered open. “What?”

  Screwing up her courage, she said, “Make love to me.”

  He held her stare while she waited, breath suspended, for him to say something awful, like, What? There’s a difference?

  Then his mouth lifted in a sultry curve. “Just waiting for you to ask.”

  He carried her down the hall to his bedroom as she buried her face against the warmth of his throat, and laid her down on the bed in the dim room.

  Then he slowly took off his clothes opening his shirt a button at a time, letting it slip gradually off his shoulders to slide down strong arms. Toeing out of his shoes, then bending to remove his socks so the light played over the muscles of his back. Straightening to open his jeans, easing them over hipbones until his impressive erection was freed, pushing them down his long legs instead of just letting them drop. Stepping out of them and straightening slowly so she could appreciate every bold line and powerful curve of his body.

  Nica swallowed convulsively. He was the most glorious thing she’s ever seen, solid, strong, breathtakingly male.

  And then he leisurely undressed her. First with his eyes, then with his hands.

  When he stretched out over her, balancing on toes and palms so only the heat of their skin was exchanged, he looked into her eyes. “Where would you like me to start?”

  A wild fluttering began in her middle and spread until she tingled all over.

  “Kiss me. Everywhere.”

  He started with her forehead, just a light brush of his mouth. Then her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her chin. Gentle touches sweeping down her neck, along her shoulder, down her sensitive inner arm to suck on her fingers. Restless and wanting, she pulled him up to satisfy her hungry lips.

  “You’re distracting me, Nica,” he murmured with a nip at her chin. “You’ve given me a job to do. Let me finish.”

  He started up the fingertips of her other hand, up to her wrist and elbow, continuing that sensual journey until anticipation had her trembling. As her nipples ached for attention, he rolled her onto her stomach and lifted the heavy curtain of her hair so he could start at the nape of her neck and travel down the sleek slope of her back. By the time he reached the dip at her waist, she was pushing up onto her knees so his tongue could slip along the crevice of her backside to plunge deeply into her wet and ready core. But only for a maddening instant. Then he was nuzzling down the backs of her thighs, licking behind her knees, nipping down her calves to suckle on her toes.

  Never had she been so agonizingly aware of her body, of each curve, each hollow he lavished with attentiveness. Even the arch of her foot, the taut pull of her Achilles tendon felt sexy and aroused. By the time he turned her onto her back her skin was alive with sensation, and when he pressed his lips to the smooth mound of her sex, she moaned and tried to trap him there with her legs. His hands on her knees, he continued up her quivering belly to pay homage to each breast, while her heart pounded madly and her senses spun.

  “Now I know every inch of you by taste and scent,” he whispered, and she was lost.

  She wanted him so much, she thought she might die of need. Not for the carnal urgency pounding to be satisfied, but for this gentle sharing and trusting. She’d never trusted another soul enough to allow herself a moment of unguarded pleasure, and she didn’t want it to end. She wanted to lie here with him forever.

  His head rested on her shoulder, his breath warm against her throat. His hips adopted that same languorous rhythm as his weight settled over her, rocking in that easy, seductive motion. Primal. Irresistible.

  Her eyes met his, so beautiful, like molten quicksilver. She could lose herself in them for a lifetime.

  “What else can I do to please you?” he asked.

  “Don’t let me go.” He had no idea how huge that request was.

  “I won’t.”

  Her body began to move beneath his. “Make me forget everything but you,” she challenged.

  “I will,” he promised, sinking deep to claim her.

  Sixteen

  A flurry of knocking dragged Silas up from slumber. He squinted at his alarm clock. Not even four a.m.? Muttering obscenities, he started to sit up and discovered what he thought was a tangle of covers were actually arms and legs. Sleek, strong, sexy arms and legs.

  Nica was entwined about him, sleeping soundly. But she wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t get to the door.

  He began to extract himself and her hand rose to grip the back of his neck. He brushed a kiss over her cheek, whispering, “It’s all right. Go back to sleep.”

  “Silas, don’t go,” she murmured, her eyes flickering open.

  He kissed her eyes closed. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right back. Go to sleep.”

  He hurriedly pulled on his jeans, closed the door to his bedroom, went to look through the peephole—and gave a heartfelt curse as he undid the locks.

  “Brigit, it’s not even daylight.”

  Her hug nearly strangled him. “Silas, you have to help me. I might be in terrible trouble. Please say
you’ll help me.”

  He pulled her inside and secured the door, then peeled her off him to find out what had her in such a panic.

  “Calm down, Brigit. Calm down. I can’t help unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

  She stepped back, gulping for breath, her features stark and pale. The tears on her face appeared to be real. And Silas began to frown.

  “Bree, what happened?”

  “I told him to wait. I told him not to do anything stupid.”

  “Told who?”

  “Daniel.”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “We’ve been together for months now,” she snapped in irritation. “Don’t you ever pay attention to anything that involves me?”

  “Bree, the only thing that changes faster than your affections is the weather. How do you expect me to keep up with every warm front that moves in?”

  When she began to cry, Silas brought her into the protective curl of his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Bree. What did Daniel do? How can I help?”

  “I think he killed Max Savoie,” she sniffed.

  Silas went completely still. “What?”

  “He got impatient because you were taking so long to act. He wanted us to be together. He figured if Savoie was dead, he could use the boy to bring down the Terriots. He wanted to make me his queen, to take care of me.

  “I haven’t seen him since yesterday. When he didn’t come back, I got worried and turned on the news. It’s everywhere, all over the television. My God, Silas, they’re going to be coming for us!”

  Silas set her away from him. “Daniel who?”

  “G-Guedry.”

  “Guedry? Daniel Guedry!” he roared. Their mother’s lineage, the proud family that had turned their backs on Therese MacCreedy’s disgraced children. “What the hell have you done? You’re damned right they’ll be coming—from all sides, and they’ll tear us apart! How could you make such a foolish alliance?”

  At his harsh words, her teary eyes blazed. “For us. For you! I was afraid if you—”

  “What? You were afraid if I took power, you wouldn’t be able to control me as easily as you could someone you were leading around by the dick?”