Hunter of Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  They were both furious, breathing hard, when a reasonable voice interrupted.

  “I’ll just put on some coffee.”

  Brigit stared after Nica as she went into the kitchen, wearing only Silas’s shirt. Then she blew up like a summer squall. “You dare speak to me like that when you’re defiling your promises by boning that—”

  His fingers pressed to her mouth as he growled, “Careful what you say to me, when you’re begging a favor because of your lover’s idiocy.”

  Brigit slapped his hand away and stalked over to the small window overlooking the rear courtyard. Silas stared after her, forcing his anger out with a hard blow of breath. There was little time for damage control.

  “Do the Guedrys know you and Daniel are together?”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “Do you think he was too ashamed to tell them?”

  “Brigit.”

  “No. I don’t think so,” she admitted sourly.

  “Good. If we’re careful, the local clan won’t make the connection, either.”

  Nica came out of the kitchen carrying two cups. “All you had was instant. Did you know you left your gun in the microwave?”

  Grateful for the distraction, he smiled at her as he took the cup. When she went up on her toes, he bent to kiss her slowly and thoroughly. She stroked his morning-rough cheek, then carried the other cup across the room to where Brigit eyed her malevolently.

  “Take it or wear it,” Nica said mildly.

  Brigit took the cup.

  “I’ll just pick up a few things while you two make nice.” She went to gather up the plates and bottles left on the coffee table from the night before, leaving the prideful siblings to work things out when she returned to the kitchen.

  “When did you last see Guedry?” Silas asked, his tone all business.

  “Yesterday morning. We had breakfast together.”

  “And he hasn’t called you or spoken to you? Didn’t mention any plans?”

  “No.” Brigit wrapped her arms around herself and sipped the coffee, nose wrinkling as she set it on the table. “How bad could this be for us?”

  “Fatally bad, if we’re not quick and clever.”

  She smiled faintly. “Good thing you’re both.”

  He scowled at the flattery and reached for his phone. Babineau’s cell went to voice mail. “Give me your room key.”

  She tossed it to him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Get your things. Is the room in his name or yours?”

  “His.”

  “You’ll stay here. Nica?” When she emerged from the kitchen, he told her simply, “See she stays here and out of trouble. You can knock her unconscious if you need to.”

  Nica smiled. “Only if necessary.”

  He went into the bedroom for the rest of his clothes and when he came out, Nica was waiting with his gun.

  “Will you be all right here?” he asked quietly while clipping it on his belt.

  “I’m not the one you should worry about.” Her brows knit for a moment. “Silas, why are there so many odd things in your oven?”

  He laughed and kissed her hard. “I’m not much of a housekeeper. Be good. Go put your clothes on so you don’t irritate my sister any more than necessary.” He slapped a hand on her bottom to hurry her toward the bedroom. Then he looked at Brigit’s stony stance.

  “I won’t be long.”

  She glared. “Afraid I’ll hurt your little plaything?”

  A snort. “Hardly, but you’d better be careful not to annoy her. We need to talk when I get back.”

  “Yes. We do. About several things.”

  “Try not to worry.”

  “I’m not worried about you.”

  A thin smile. “I know. I’ll be back.”

  “No hurry. Your bitch and I can get acquainted.”

  “Don’t call her that if you want to stay conscious.”

  And he closed the door behind him, doing all the worrying himself.

  A jangle of shower curtain rings and the sound of the water cranking off awoke Max. With an instinctive snarl of warning, he scuttled back, wobbling up onto his hands and knees to blink blindly at the vanity lights. He squinted up at the blurry silhouette that could only be Alain Babineau.

  “So that’s the thanks I get? A higher water bill and you snapping at my ankles? You’re welcome.”

  Max angled awkwardly onto his uninjured hip, slumping against the cheery flowered wallpaper, hugging his updrawn knees to fight off the sudden chills and the feel of being stripped bare. His voice rasped, low and dry. “How did I get here?”

  “I found you in an alley, full of holes in your fleabag form. I brought you here in my trunk. I’ll bill you if any cleaning is necessary.”

  “You saved my life.”

  Babineau looked none too happy. “Yeah, well, it was against my better judgment. I owed you. For Oscar.”

  Max accepted that with a nod.

  “It doesn’t make us pals or anything.” Babineau left the bathroom briefly and returned to toss a pair of sweatpants at Max. “I don’t enjoy the sight of you in your birthday suit before I’ve even had coffee.”

  After he left the bathroom, Max struggled to pull on the sweats. He twisted slightly to check out the pain in his hip and blinked at the evidence of mending bullet wounds, one in the fleshy part of his thigh and the other just above his pelvis. He remembered Babineau digging out the chunks of silver. Another made an in-and-out through his upper arm, just missing bone. Two more perforations were added to those already patterning his chest. Then the rest came flooding back. The unknown Shifter’s attack. The whoosh of flames as he changed into his animal form to escape through the bullet-shattered window. He should have died. Would have died, if the surly detective hadn’t removed the slugs when he did.

  He was still shaky and ill and so weak it took him ten minutes to climb to his feet. Leaning into the wall for balance, he made his way toward the sound of the television in the living room. Babineau was there sipping his coffee. He didn’t spare a glance toward his staggering guest.

  “You’re on the news.”

  Max glanced at the screen and stared at the sight of his car, mangled and smoldering, at the two body shapes on the ground shrouded by plastic. He heard the commentary through a sudden roar in his ears.

  “—local millionaire entrepreneur and his driver, Peter Dugan, have yet to be positively identified by the coroner’s office. An undisclosed witness called the scene reminiscent of a gangland-style slaying. Rumors of mob affiliations have been circulating since Savoie took over the vast holdings left him by his former employer, Jimmy Legere, himself the victim of violence.”

  “Any idea on who he was, and who wants you dead?”

  Suddenly Max’s heart began a frantic pounding. “Have you talked to Charlotte? Has she seen this?” More important, would she believe it?

  “I haven’t seen her, haven’t talked to her. Kinda had my hands full.”

  Max reached for his nonexistent cell. “Call Giles St. Clair. Leave a message for him to be here in twenty. Don’t tell him why.”

  “Who’s after you, Savoie?”

  “I need red meat, raw, and a shower. I don’t have time for your questions.”

  Babineau gripped him by the upper arm, just below the fresh wound. “Make time.”

  It would have brought most men to their knees, wailing. But Max was all fierce control, speaking coldly through bared teeth. “Get your hand off me right now, unless you think you can take me out. It would be a mistake you wouldn’t recover from. Step back, Detective.”

  Babineau shoved away from him. For a moment tension sizzled between them, then Max said, “I have to get to Charlotte. She might be in danger. We can get into the macho bullshit later.”

  He closed his eyes, then emptied his awareness to cast out a searching call. Charlotte?

  No response. Either he was too weak, or she was already . . . He was too weak. He wouldn’t consider any other explanation.


  Giles St. Clair was still reeling in shock as he pounded on Babineau’s door. What the hell could Charlotte’s pansy-assed partner say that was worth hearing when his world was crumbling?

  The door opened.

  “This better be good, Detective Babineau,” he growled.

  He’d barely finished when a figure walked toward him. His eyes widened incredulously.

  “Blink, Giles. I’m really here.”

  Max oofed as the big man snatched him up for a bear hug, laughing.

  “Crissake, don’t ever do that to me again! I was a half second away from getting my suit cleaned and my résumé ready.” He held Max away for a critical once-over. “You look like shit.”

  “So I’ve been told, but it’s better than the alternative.”

  “Damn straight.” Giles’s face sobered. “So, who do I have the pleasure of breaking into little tiny pieces? Or maybe I should thank them for not sending someone more efficient.”

  “Pete’s dead, Giles.” Max drew a shaky breath, then squared his stance. “I want to see his family. I need to assure them that I’ll take care of everything.” His stare chilled. “Everything.”

  Babineau said, “No, Max. I’ll be taking care of that.”

  Max regarded him unblinkingly. Dressed in borrowed clothes, living on stolen time, he still managed to convey a world of unbelievable hurt about to come down on some luckless fool’s head. “Of course, Detective,” he agreed smoothly. “That is your job.”

  “Max, if you take the law into your own hands, I’ll come after you,” he warned.

  “I would expect you to try, Detective.”

  “What about Charlotte?” Giles interjected. “Does she know you’re back from the dead?”

  “No that’s my next stop.” Max looked coolly at Babineau. “I appreciate your hospitality. I’ll be expecting your bill.”

  “Blow me, Savoie.” He knew when he was being shut out and it pissed the hell out of him.

  Max let Giles precede him past the glowering detective. When they were shoulder to shoulder, Max leaned over to press a noisy kiss on his cheek.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Babineau stumbled back, scrubbing at his face. At Max’s taunting grin, he snarled, “Next time I’ll leave you on the street.”

  Seventeen

  They stared at each other from across the room, like two female cats, each willing the other to make a move so a fight could ensue.

  “Where did he find you?” Brigit finally asked, her tone cool with disapproval.

  “In an alley where four men were trying to attack me. He stepped in to save me.”

  “Always quick to defend the lost cause,” Brigit sneered.

  Nica’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not the coward or fool you think he is.”

  Apparently that was the right hot button to push.

  “Don’t tell me what I think. Don’t talk to me about what my brother is or is not. You don’t know me and you don’t know my brother.”

  “Oh, I know him. Intimately.”

  Brigit laughed at her. “You’re the fool if you believe that. My brother cares for one thing only: restoring our family’s pride to keep his promise to our father. He’ll do anything to achieve that end—including sleeping with creatures like you. You must have something he wants”—she gave Nica a cold once-over—“besides the not so obvious.”

  “At least he doesn’t hide and allow others to take all the risks.”

  A slow, baiting smile. “No, he doesn’t. Because when he loves, it’s with everything he has. That’s the way he loves me. The way he loves Kendra. You think he has feelings for you? He’ll wash your memory off like sweat, because there’s only one future he’s ever dreamed of: having Kendra for his mate.

  “That’s why he’s sacrificed so much. So I can find the protection of a good match, and he can be worthy of the female he loves. My brother is clever, but he isn’t complex. Love and honor—there’s nothing else for him, except an occasional easily forgotten distraction.”

  Because she couldn’t remain in the room for another minute without giving in to the need to dig through MacCreedy’s oven stash of weapons, Nica went into the bedroom. But that was almost worse than listening to Brigit’s barbed words. Here, she could feel the truth of them. MacCreedy’s scent surrounded her. She could feel his touch on her skin, his breath soft upon her lips, his demanding strength possessing her body. But that was all she would ever have of him.

  She should have been grateful; she could go her way and he his without regrets. He wouldn’t try to stop her. Even if she might wish he would.

  Nica pushed up the window and leaned out to inhale the dawn air. She could hear the whirl of the street cleaner’s brushes, clearing the remains of the previous day. The same way Silas would rid himself of her memory.

  A sudden sharpening of her senses overcame her brooding, then a cab stopped across the street. Silas got out and her heartbeat quickened in traitorous response. He pulled out his wallet as the driver unloaded several designer suitcases from the trunk, then paid the man with a nod of thanks. And as the vehicle drove away, his gaze lifted to where she stood in shadow.

  He couldn’t have seen her. The room was dark, hiding her well. Yet he still knew she was there. The corners of his mouth curved slightly as he bent to assemble the luggage and wrangle it across the street. With the bags at the foot of the steps, he was searching for his key when a dark, nondescript car stopped behind him. The rear door opened.

  “No,” Nica whispered. “Don’t.”

  MacCreedy crossed the sidewalk and got in, then the car pulled away.

  “Dammit!” Nica grabbed for her bag and shouted behind her, “Your stuff is down on the steps. Bring it up and lock the door behind you. Stay put!” Then she was out the window.

  Instead of taking the fire escape down to the street, Nica went up. She raced along the rooftop, leaping from building to building, heart pounding frantically until she caught sight of the car. Then she took a settling breath, and became what she was inside. A predator on the hunt.

  Even in the car’s dark interior, MacCreedy could see the grim intention in the eyes of Savoie’s bodyguard, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. The woman beside him wasn’t as easy to read.

  “My first guess was Francis Petitjohn,” Cee Cee told him, “but he seemed genuinely surprised and annoyed when Max didn’t keep their appointment. Then my friend Dovion confirmed what I suspected. The other body in that car wasn’t human. And it wasn’t Max, either.”

  “So Savoie is—”

  “Really pissed off at you right now. You had to know we were tailing you, Mac. We were on you the second you left your apartment.”

  Charlotte Caissie was all professional courtesy, but Silas could feel the seismic tremors of a quake about to explode.

  “If you’d been paying attention, you would have known a flash of my badge would give me the name Guedry. Who’s the woman?”

  “My sister. She has no part in this.”

  “So what exactly is your part?”

  “Damage control. I just found out about it an hour ago. My sister came to me, afraid her lover had done something stupid to impress her. If that body is Daniel Guedry, I’d say he did.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe this story goes a different way. Your sister shows up a couple of days ago so you can coordinate your plans. Guedry is supposed to take out Max while you slip in and grab Oscar. Then either you take the Terriot crown, or you get it for Guedry in a nice little coup. Everybody wins. Except Max and Oscar.”

  “Could have happened that way, but it didn’t. One, I’d never trust an impulsive idiot like Guedry to get anything right, and two, I would never put my sister in danger. Ever.”

  “I’d believe that if you really are the solid guy I thought you were. Now I’m not so sure. Power and politics can screw a decent person up big-time.”

  People like Babineau, Silas thought, who might be playing patty-cake with Blutafino and Cummings in some dirty d
ealings?

  “I’m not interested in those things. I just want to take care of my family.”

  “Heading up the Terriot clan would do that, wouldn’t it, Mac?”

  He didn’t answer the question. “Where are we going?”

  “Neutral ground.”

  He didn’t understand until Giles pulled into the tiny parking lot behind St. Bartholomew’s.

  MacCreedy had never met Father Furness, the founder of the small church with its women and children’s shelter. He knew the priest had taken Cee Cee and Nica in, and that he was aware of the Shifter presence in New Orleans. He knew Savoie had sunk a fortune into the place because of both things.

  “Bring him,” Cee Cee told Giles as she started for the rear door.

  MacCreedy exited the vehicle and gave the mammoth Giles a warning look. “No need for unpleasantness.”

  “Not yet.” Giles waved him to follow the detective.

  St. Bart’s interior was simple, warm wood and cool, open space.

  When a figure emerged from the shadows Cee Cee’s steps faltered briefly, then she ran right into the arms of Max Savoie. They held on to each other for a long moment until Charlotte pushed away, slapping her palm against his chest.

  “Stop scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, sha.”

  “Are you all right?”

  His hand cupped her cheek. “Now, I am.” Then his cool stare lifted to MacCreedy. “What’s his story?”

  Cee Cee briefed him on what was said in the car. Max listened without expression, then asked, “Do you believe him, cher?”

  MacCreedy couldn’t hear her reply, and got no hint from Savoie’s stoic features. His future hung upon those whispered words.

  “Touch him and I’ll separate heads from shoulders.”

  And their futures now hung upon the words spoken loudly from the back of the cavernous room.

  Nica moved up the aisle, her pace swift and light, her expression intense. She jerked the support rods from the frame of her backback, letting it drop as she held foot-long batons in either hand. Immediately, Max guided Cee Cee behind him, his actions lethally fluid.