by Nancy Gideon
“Nica, no. There’s no need for this,” Silas called, seeing everything about to go to hell in a hurry.
“Come here to me, MacCreedy.” Her stare was riveted to Savoie’s.
Giles wedged a pistol under Silas’s chin, taking that decision from him as Max moved smoothly toward the aisle.
The batons Nica held sprouted deadly blades from both ends. She leapt onto the seat of one of the pews, then raced forward, jumping from back to back of the benches.
“Nica, stop!” MacCreedy caught Giles’s wrist, angling the weapon away and quickly wrenching it from his hand. He ejected the clip and threw both pieces behind him.
He’d taken three steps when the tenacious Giles snagged him by the elbow and whipped him around, bowling him into the tiers of lighted prayer candles, scattering them like campfire embers. Before Silas could get his balance, he saw Nica launch her attack like a dark, graceful bird of prey.
In midleap she circled her leg about Savoie’s neck, using her momentum to pull him off his feet. By the time they both went down, she’d used the crook of her knee to spin around him, coming up astride his chest, blades raised high for a killing downward stroke.
“Miss Fraser,” came a booming voice. “The rules of this house still apply to you!”
Bringing the blade tips down to rest against Max’s throat, she challenged, “What are you going to do? Make me say twenty Hail Marys?”
“It didn’t help when you were twelve. I don’t suppose it would do any good now.”
The blades retracted. With a grim smile Nica bounded to her feet, using Max’s sternum as a stepping-off point. “You still have no sense of fun, old man.”
“You still have an irreverent mouth, little girl.”
Max was instantly on his feet, his eyes glittering dangerously. He and Nica exchanged the same combative looks as Giles and Silas, but they all backed down as Father Furness moved into their midst.
Furness was like no priest MacCreedy had ever seen, a vigorous man with a stocky build and a brawler’s stance. Silas got the impression that if words hadn’t stopped the fight, Furness would have waded in to knock heads together.
Eyes that had sparked with ire were now warmed by emotion. The priest held his arms open wide in welcome, but Nica shied away to cross to MacCreedy.
She eyed his torn and singed T-shirt. “Looks like I got here just in time to keep you from becoming a burnt offering.”
MacCreedy took her arrogant chin between thumb and forefinger and said sternly, “I wasn’t in any danger until you arrived, determined to stir it up. You should have listened to me. I told you to stay with my sister.”
She tossed her head to escape his grasp, her haughty tone disguising how his chastisement bruised her. “I’m not very good with the listening thing. I prefer action.”
“They weren’t the right actions to take. I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me.”
She glared at him. “It would have been a very short one, MacCreedy. Sorry I interfered.”
When she spun away, Silas caught her wrist and tugged her back around so that they bumped against each other. He saw confusion rather than anger on her face, and his temper softened. He bent so that his mouth brushed her ear. “Thank you.”
The heat of both breath and sentiment caused her to shiver. Her gaze was unguarded as she told him gruffly, “You scared me when you got into that car.” Her hand turned so that their fingers laced briefly together, then the attitude was back as she faced the others in the room.
Silas didn’t know what to make of her. He was angry that she’d flouted his instructions, yet humbled to think she’d risk so much for him. He was always the one sheltering others, not the other way around—until now. He felt mystified. Gratified. Aroused.
“Monica, introduce me to your friend,” the father said.
“Detective Silas MacCreedy, Father Furness.”
“Detective MacCreedy?” His surprise became acknowledgment. “I knew your mother’s family. I was very saddened by your loss. They’d be pleased to see what you’ve become.”
Silas’s gaze dropped; he was suddenly too ashamed to accept the compliment.
Would they view all he’d done with pride? He was everything they’d given their lives to keep Oscar from becoming. A slave to the Terriots’ will, instead of master of his own. Why hadn’t he seen that until now?
The truth staggered him, but Nica’s supportive arm about his middle helped him recover. She was staring up at him through those deep twilight eyes, uncertain of what was wrong.
Then Max came to place a hand on his shoulder.
“We need to talk.”
Nica immediately bristled up, but Silas smoothed his hand over her hair and murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave with him,” she whispered fiercely.
A faint smile. “I won’t.”
They walked a few yards, then Max said, “You didn’t know of Guedry’s plan.”
“No. My sister would have told me if she’d been aware of it.”
“Will your girlfriend try her hand in his place?”
“I hope not.”
“Would you be able to do what’s necessary to stop her?”
Silas’s gaze lingered on Nica a moment too long before he admitted, “No.” He didn’t differentiate between a physical or an emotional barrier.
“She’s dangerous.”
“She’s . . . misguided.”
“And you’re in love with her.”
That conclusion stunned Silas speechless.
Max grinned wryly. “I remember the double-barrel impact when it hit me. There’s great comfort in knowing she would do anything for you, but also a great price.”
MacCreedy looked wary. “What price?” Obligation, commitment . . .
“Trust.”
Silas snorted. “It couldn’t be something simple? Like a kidney?” Did he trust her? No. Could he? He wasn’t sure. Love her? He didn’t even want to consider that complication, yet once the seed was planted, it grew.
Thankfully, Max changed the subject. “Will the clans come after you because of Guedry?”
“If they make the connection, yes.”
“I can protect you.”
A laugh. “You couldn’t protect yourself.”
“There’s strength in numbers. I would make as powerful a friend as I do an enemy.”
“I’m not your enemy.” It felt so strange to say that, to believe it.
“Then you can trust me with the truth about why you’re here. The Terriots didn’t send you after Oscar, did they?”
“No. They wouldn’t have been so delicate about it. They sent me to learn what I could about the politics and law enforcement in the city.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“So they can expand their territories by eliminating or assimilating the competition.”
“And what have you discovered?”
“That corruption goes deep, and power could be easily purchased. The police commissioner and Simon Cummings are in thick with Manny Blu. They create a vulnerable doorway to the city that the Terriots would exploit.”
“And you’ve told them this?”
“No.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t it get you what you want more quickly? Just as my death would?”
“You think that I want to deal with them? With those sons of bitches who killed my family?” Silas walked in a tight circle to get on top of his rage, his hands working at his sides as if his parents’ blood was still damp upon them. Then he stopped and turned to Savoie. “I think New Orleans already has the leader it needs. What it doesn’t have is political leverage with the clans.”
Max studied him for a moment. “Perhaps you could fill that position.”
Silas reared back at the suggestion, laughing harshly. “No. Not me.”
“Why? You know the clans—how they think, how they work. You come from a respectable lineage. You’re smart, you’re dedicated, you could teach me
, and we could work together.”
“Respectable? They consider me the son of a traitor. I’d be dead. And so would those who count on me to protect them. I can’t risk any more. I won’t.”
Max smiled mildly and placed a hand on his arm. “Think about it. You’ve been without a home for too long.” Then he turned away.
It should have been easy to dismiss Savoie’s request. Silas should have brushed it off as sheer insanity. He should have chuckled at the ridiculousness of him in such a position. Except there was something so intrinsically right about it. Silas drew a tight breath, appalled, panicked, tempted.
“Max.” When the other turned back, MacCreedy said quietly, “There’s something you should know about Charlotte’s partner, Babineau. He’s taking money from Cummings. Money I think comes from Blutafino.”
Clearly shocked, Max shook his head. “I don’t believe that. He’s the last person who would ever take a bribe.”
“You have his family. You’re stepping on his self-respect. Good men have gone bad over lesser things.”
“I won’t believe he’s a dirty cop.”
“Perhaps, he’s a misguided one,” Silas suggested. “Think about it.”
Max nodded thoughtfully and returned to Cee Cee, put his arms around her, and rested his head on her shoulder.
Was that love? Silas wondered. Was that trust? A restless need squeezed like a fist inside him—the longing for someone to lean on, to share his burdens, his cares, his doubts. After carrying them alone for so long, that would be heaven. A distant concept that, like forgiveness, was out of his reach.
His gaze went to Nica, assessing her slender but strong build, the firm set of shoulders that might support his troubles. She met his tentative look unflinchingly.
Was he resting his future on all the wrong things? Could he trust this savage, unpredictable female, any more than he could Savoie’s suicidal optimism?
“You’ve been in the city for weeks now,” Furness told Nica, “yet this is the first I’ve seen of you.”
“Why would I come here? To rehash the not-so-good old days?”
“To talk.”
“You had years to talk to me, to tell me the things that I needed to know. You kept silent and let me learn those truths elsewhere. We have nothing to say to each other now.”
Father Furness sighed. “You have every right to say those things. I didn’t take care of you as I should have. I was afraid, and I waited too long to tell you the truth. And I fear worse things will happen if I don’t let these secrets go now. That’s why I wanted you all here. Come back to my office. I have a story to tell you.”
Eighteen
Legend called them the Ancients. Mystical, magical beings able to change shape from humanlike form to that of a wolven beast, to manipulate the psyche, and to astral project. Power made them arrogant. Greed made them crave dominance of their own kind through perfection, until generations of careful selective breeding split their race into two groups: the Chosen, sleek, delicate intellectuals with amazing mental abilities; and the Shifters, fierce shape-changers used as weapons by the elite. Two parts of what was once a whole.
Max, Silas, and Charlotte sat in Father Furness’s modest office as the priest paced and told his tale, revealing his purpose in New Orleans. Nica stood apart from them, her mood withdrawn and wary.
“I’m here to do more than save the immortal soul. I’m involved in a struggle to protect a race from extinction.”
“These Ancients still exist?” MacCreedy frowned. “My mother told me that was a fairy tale.”
“That’s the story we wanted told.”
“We?” Charlotte asked quickly,
“Very few of the original species survived with their genetic markers intact,” Furness continued. “Unlike that of Shifters, where the male carries the dominant gene, the genetic code of the Ancients is passed on by the female. From your mother, Max. From Monica’s mother. From Tina Babineau’s.”
Silas was slapped back in his chair by that news. Tina’s mother? His mother?
“Through those genetic traits,” Furness went on, noting MacCreedy’s reaction, “came the strongest of both sides: the mental talents plus the ability to shift shape.”
Max thought for a moment, then concluded, “So Nica and Tina can pass them on, but Oscar and I can’t.”
“That’s right. The species has dwindled dangerously. I’m part of a preservation movement.” He explained that through his work at St. Bart’s, where Ancient children had been cared for along with humans, he’d established the means to observe those special offspring.
“For what?” Max demanded, suddenly suspicious.
“Abnormalities. Like Ben Spratt, where uncontrollable aggression takes over.” The mild custodian had been exposed as a killer in the case Cee Cee had been working when she and Max first got together. “Or an equally dangerous psychosis. The fear of having these powerful, nearly unstoppable beings going unchecked divided us into two factions: one that seeks to destroy them before they endanger and expose us all, and one that wants to use them and develop their unique abilities.”
“Like they did mine,” Nica said softly. She’d silently come to stand behind MacCreedy’s chair. She couldn’t mistake the alarm in his gaze as it lifted to hers, as he saw what they’d all seen when looking at her. A freak.
“And which group do you belong to?” Max asked the priest.
“I don’t take sides, Max. I want to protect our kind. My purpose is strictly to monitor, to record, not regulate. And to keep those who prove dangerous safe from themselves and others. I’d like your help.”
Max recoiled. “As what? Lab animals?”
The priest chuckled. “No, of course not. I’d just like a genetic sample for our study. We use no names, just a coded entry. That will be cross-referenced with an equally anonymous code from whomever you procreate with, and so on with their offspring.”
“I’ve heard of such studies,” Nica drawled with contempt.
“These are in the name of science and preservation, not self-interest or greed,” Furness promised.
“I have no great faith in your word, priest.” She bristled, her attitude made pricklier by the way Silas still stared at her in mute distress.
“Why would we want to do this?” Max challenged. “Why should we care?”
“Because it involves all of you. Because Carmen Blutafino is part of a growing black market specializing in harvesting those with specific genetic markers.”
“The women were chosen for a reason.” Cee Cee mulled over her previous conversation threads, tying them together into a dreadful new pattern. “He’s using Shifters to pick up females identified as having those markers. Manny probably has no idea why they’re so valuable. He’s just filling an order and making a buck.”
“So,” Max summarized with a scowl, “it’s more than just the Trackers from the North we have to worry about. There’s a whole new underworld element targeting our kind.”
“You can ignore the problem until it involves you or someone close,” the priest concluded, “or you can get proactive now. Talk about it and let me know.”
After he left, Max let his head drop back on the chair and groaned, “Like I need another problem.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, then looked at Cee Cee. “Any comments, sha?”
Charlotte was deep in thought, her analytical cop brain clearly whirring. “How do they get the DNA samples? Clinics? They wouldn’t have the manpower or the reason.” Her gaze lifted to Max’s. “It must be through the police lab.”
That got MacCreedy’s attention. “So who’s getting the information? Who’s giving Manny the list?”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Someone on the inside.”
Silas nodded grimly, afraid he already knew. A human cop with a reason to hate Shifters: Babineau. “Then we set a trap to flush him out. Dangle bait he can’t resist.”
Charlotte suggested, “I can have Dev put Chili Pepper’s DNA sample in the system, sub
stituting Nica’s for mine. That should stir up some interest. We can watch to see who taps into the info and where it goes. My guess is, it’ll lead back to Manny, and possibly to other black market links.”
Maybe, maybe not, MacCreedy mused. If it was Babineau, he’d recognize the ploy for the trap it obviously was. But if it wasn’t . . . “Babineau and I are ready on Manny’s end. Nica can stay close to you.”
Max smiled and took Cee Cee’s hand. “The advantage of having a dead boyfriend is that no one expects him to show up.”
Cee Cee grinned back. “I’ll get Dovion to hold off on IDing the bodies in the morgue.”
“And we’ll set up a nice little surprise.”
Cee Cee looked to the silent member of their group. “Nica? Are you in?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
After Cee Cee and Max left, Nica assessed the situation critically. MacCreedy had changed the instant he learned she was an Ancient. He looked at her differently, as if the knowledge unsettled all he thought he knew.
“When did you find out?” he asked cautiously.
And suddenly she wanted him to know. To understand the things she’d shared with no other.
“I always knew. I wasn’t like everyone else. When I stayed here Father Furness tried to convince me I could be, but that was a lie. I never heard a truth spoken until it came to me in a dream.”
It had started as a teasing in her subconscious, she told him, like someone whispering in her ear, softly, seductively, things that made sense when nothing else seemed to.
Regarding the priest: He’s lying to you. He knows what you are. He’s trying to keep you for his own purposes.
Regarding her gifts: You are more, Nica, more than this, more than them. They fear your strength. They won’t let you discover your potential.
About her future: You could be the best. They would all look up to you. You could be free.
That was the key word. She’d never known freedom. She’d never been in control of her situation, of her life, and at twelve she’d already seen how harsh the world could be when others made choices for her. She was young, angry, frustrated, and alone. All those things made her susceptible to believing the promise in those dreams. She could become powerful enough to direct her own fate.