by Nancy Gideon
As he resumed his seat at the blackjack table, he was relaxed and in control of his deck. He flipped the cards with crisp efficiency, noting, Ace of hearts, eight of clubs, three of diamonds, queen of clubs, as each settled facedown on the table.
He knew what the cards were. He’d always known. He figured some sort of fancy OCD imprinted the order in his subconscious as he shuffled. He’d always been good with numbers.
But no one was that good.
He studied the stacks before the players at his table. Ace of hearts, eight of clubs, three of diamonds, queen of clubs. Each card seemed to hold an energy from the last gaze that touched on it. He could feel it. He could read it as if the card had become transparent.
Because of the gift he’d inherited from his mother.
He spent the rest of the evening, into early morning, testing that theory. He never made a mistake—not once. By the time he rose up from the table to wish the players a good evening, he was able to look straight down through a deck of fifty-two and correctly identify each card in order.
A neat parlor trick that would keep a .9mm slug out of his gray matter.
What else could he do? he wondered, as he cashed in for the night.
The novelty wore off as he walked back to his apartment, the weight of Nica’s humiliation dragging on him. She hadn’t deserved to be treated that way. Especially not by him.
She’d taken him by surprise. Her suggestion had blanked his thoughts so completely, by the time he gathered them up again, his instincts had run away with him. Bonded to Nica. He’d blazed to life at the notion. The challenge of building a life with her, of having her beside him, at his back, in his bed. In one lightning strike, he’d seen the future he’d give anything to claim. And lost it just as quickly.
Just as well. His destiny was already in motion.
A destiny that met him at his door with a soft cry and silky arms about his neck.
“Oh, Silas. I’ve missed you so.”
“Kendra?” he managed as he looked over her pale blonde curls to meet his sister’s contented expression. There, it seemed to say. Now all is as it should be, the three of us together.
As much as he wanted to be angry with her for orchestrating this, a wave of tenderness swept over him for the little girl he’d loved, for the young woman he’d yearned for. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, resting his cheek on the crown of her head.
His sister sighed before saying, “Silas, Kendra needs to talk to you. I’ll go in the other room so you can be alone.”
Brigit’s tone sounded serious, and Silas stepped back and tipped Kendra’s lovely face up. He hadn’t seen her for over five years, and her beauty still staggered him. Her dark, doe-like eyes were red from weeping. “Kenny, what’s wrong?”
“Something awful,” came her small voice, and instantly he got her over to the sofa and sat close beside her, her cold hands pressed between his.
“What’s happened?”
She looked suddenly shy with him. “Bree said it was all right for me to come. She said I should ask for your help.”
“Of course it’s all right. I’ll do anything I can for you. You know that.” When she was silent for a moment too long, staring at the sight of their overlapping hands, he prompted quietly, “Why are you here, Kendra?”
“I’m one of the few eligible females of the Terriot line,” she began softly, refusing to look up at him. “Because of that, I’ve gained favor in the House these last few years.”
“Someone with your intelligence and beauty would be hard to ignore.” It wasn’t flattery, just fact.
Then her gaze lifted, and he could see the fear as she told him, “It would have been easier to be ignored.”
“Has anyone harmed you, Kendra?” His voice was calm, but an eerie blue light flickered in his eyes.
She clutched at his hands. “No. I’m under Bram Terriot’s protection. No one would dare. You saw to that for me.”
He relaxed slightly. “So what are you afraid of?”
“Do you remember Bram’s son Cale?”
Silas smiled fiercely. “Oh, yes, I remember him well. How’s his eye?”
“I think his vanity pains him more than the injury. He’s never gotten over how you shamed him.”
“He’s a brute and a bully, and he deserved to be taught a lesson.” The repercussions had been well worth it.
“Apparently he’d like to teach you one, as well. When he learned you had a fondness for me, he asked his father’s permission to take me for a mate.”
Silas felt violent objection, protectiveness, and outrage. But not the possessive insult he’d expect.
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’m scared of him, Silas. He’s little more than a beast, and I know he means to hurt me to get back at you. I’d rather die than live in misery bonded to him. You won’t let that happen, will you? Please, promise you won’t let him hurt me.”
He quickly pulled her trembling figure close. “No, of course not,” he murmured, his mind whirling frantically.
What was he supposed to do? Challenge the savage? Stroll into the Terriot stronghold and kill him? He would do those things if they would keep her safe, but they would only make him dead, leaving her at the vicious elder Terriot’s mercy.
But Kendra’s plan didn’t involve fighting.
“Take me as your mate, Silas. He won’t be able to have me if I belong to you.”
He reacted with practical argument rather than delight. “Kenny, I have no standing in the Terriot court. Cale would just have me killed and take you anyway.”
She looked up through those huge damp eyes. “Not if you bring them something they want, first.”
And he felt Brigit’s clever noose cinch tight about his neck.
She went on, “Bree told me about your plan to take that boy to them as an offering. She said they would deny you nothing. You could ask them for me.” When he was silent, her confidence faltered. “She said you still cared for me. Was she mistaken?”
He stared into her eyes, looking for some hint of guile or cunning. But there was only the innocent plea of a frightened girl. He had no defense. “I have loved you my entire life, Kendra. And I will love you for the rest of it.”
With a grateful cry, she collapsed against him. “I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”
He was sure she’d try. She was pleasing, gentle, caring, and agreeable. Her mind was sharp and her tongue could be as well, when provoked. They’d been inseparable friends, sharing everything. It would be a good alliance and a satisfying relationship.
But she would never be Nica.
He patted her hair. “You need to get some sleep. You’re safe here. I’ll take care of everything.”
She nodded, believing him totally. She relaxed against him, her body soft, her scent light and delicate. And as her eyes drifted shut from sheer exhaustion he simply held her, while inside, a terrible panic shook through him.
After her breaths had quieted, he carried her to the bedroom, where he was certain Brigit had been pressed against the door, listening. When he laid Kendra on the bed, his sister asked, “Should I leave?”
He glanced at her in surprise and said quickly, “No. I’ll take the couch.”
Brigit gave him a puzzled look but said nothing. She followed him out into the living room, trying to gauge his mood. “You’re not going to strangle me, are you?”
“I should spank you the way I did when you were five,” he said, resigned.
“I knew you wouldn’t let her be taken against her will by that barbaric pig. You’re doing the right thing, Silas. We can be together, a real family again. It’s what our parents wanted for us.”
Was it? Would his sweet, loving mother wish him to use her other child to further their success? Would his noble father want him to take the freedoms he’d given his life to protect, and give them away for a prison of security and comfort?
Would they want him to take the wrong woman to be his companion for life out of ob
ligation, rather than desire?
When Brigit pushed into his side, his arm enfolded her without hesitation, but his quietness clearly bothered her.
“This will make you happy, won’t it? It’s what you’ve always wanted. We’ll be safe, and I won’t be such a burden to you.”
“You’re not a burden,” he told her softly. “I love you, Bree.”
“And you love Kendra.”
“I do. I love you both.”
The very same way. As sisters.
A cool, dry morning brought tourists and city dwellers by the score to indulge in café au lait and hot beignets under the awning at Café du Monde.
Nica slouched in her plastic chair, not hungry, pushing the plate of fried, confectioner’s-sugar-coated dough toward Cee Cee.
At the moment, life in general sucked.
She’d met Cee Cee at the medical examiner’s office to provide a mouth swab and blood draw. One of the few humans aware of Shifter existence, Devlin Dovion was fascinated by the detective’s tale of genetic markers, and agreed to upload the substituted sample under the name Lenore “Chili Pepper” Charles into the DNA database. He also promised to keep tabs on who accessed the information, just as he’d agreed to delay ID of the mystery victim from the car fire. From there, they went to breakfast.
Charlotte had the glow of a woman who’d spent the night being thoroughly and exhaustively satisfied by the man she loved. And Nica resented the hell out of it. Her own evening had been spent slapping away the grabby hands of intoxicated customers, and lying on the floor of her condo, staring out through her skylight. She didn’t dare sleep for fear of the dreams. Her system was shivering with tension, which meant things would happen soon. She always knew when it was coming, like a radar weather warning.
She didn’t want to discover her reason for being in New Orleans, but she was restless and ready to move on. Anxious to complete her job, pack up, and disappear, quickly to be forgotten. Never to be missed.
“Thanks for saving us a seat.”
Nica’s gaze flew up as Alain Babineau and Silas joined them. Her glance met Silas’s briefly before each of them looked away.
“Morning.” Cee Cee used her foot to push out a chair for Babineau, then looked up at Silas. “Geez, Mac, you look like shit warmed over. Up all night?” Her eyes cut to Nica meaningfully.
“Tall man on a short couch. I’ve got guests.”
Nica’s attention sparked. Guests? Plural? She sipped her coffee, resolved to betray no interest.
“If it gets too bad, you can bunk over at my place,” Babineau offered.
As Silas filled them in on his encounter with Francis Petitjohn, Nica glanced his way. He’d put on dark-lensed glasses and it made her uncomfortable, not being able to tell where he was looking. He wore a turquoise V-neck T-shirt that set off the tan acquired on his trip to the bayou and the powerful swell of his arms. His jeans were tight over muscular thighs and rolled into cuffs above white tennis shoes. He looked so damned hot, her eyeballs felt scorched.
Guests sharing his bed . . . she dragged her mind back to his words. His sister had just lost a lover, so it was probably another female. And she could think of only one he’d ever mentioned. Her coffee suddenly tasted like sludge.
“Lena Blutafino is stopping by the Towers for another visit,” Cee Cee was saying, “and I think it’s time for a little more girl talk. Nica, are you coming?”
“I can’t. I’ve got an early shift. In fact, I don’t think I’ll be in New Orleans much longer. A job offer I’ve been waiting for should come any time now, so I don’t want to make any plans. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some errands to run.”
She shoved back her chair, nearly knocking over a waitress with three trays stacked up her arm. Murmuring an apology, she waited for the way to clear, which gave Silas time to stand, as well.
She stared into the impenetrable blank of his aviator sunglasses, her expression stoic. You had your shot, big guy. Don’t you dare complicate things now.
He simply stepped aside to offer her an exit, which she took gratefully, making very sure not to touch him in passing.
Cee Cee watched the interplay with interest. MacCreedy’s gaze followed Nica’s arrogant stride as she wound between the tables and dashed across Decatur. Placing the bottom of her foot on MacCreedy’s very nice butt, Cee Cee gave him a push.
“You should probably go after her. She wants you to.”
Silas hesitated, then said flatly, “No, I don’t think so,” in answer to one or both things. He resumed his seat and took off his sunglasses to rub his eyes.
If he’d looked like crap before, he now felt as if he’d been scraped off the bottom of someone’s shoe. A size eight currently making quick time along the edge of the square.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cee Cee said into her coffee cup. “I’m surrounded by idiot men.”
For the dozenth time since she’d begun her shift, Nica went all hot and cold and shivery. She had to stop and brace herself against the back of a chair until the swelling nausea went away.
“Hon, you look like you’re about to toss your breakfast,” Amber scolded, relieving her of her tray. “You need to go home. Jacques don’t want you here when you’re sick.”
Nica wiped her brow with the rag from her back pocket. She was seeing double. “I’m not sick. I told you, it’s a migraine. I get them sometimes.”
“Is your migraine that six-three worth of hunky boyfriend over at the bar, pretending not to be staring at you?”
Nica turned to look but could only make out a turquoise blur. “Oh, hell. That’s all I need.”
“You want me to ask him to take you home with him?”
“No. He’s got somebody else there with him now.” Had that choky little whine come from her? Could she have sounded any more pathetic?
If it had been loaded, Amber’s glare would have knocked MacCreedy off his stool, and possibly through the wall. “Bastard,” she hissed. Her arm around Nica’s waist, the buxom waitress steered her to the server’s galley, where she plopped Nica on a stool and forced her head between her knees. “You want me to have Jacques and Philo knock the stupid outta him?”
“No. It’s not his fault,” she moaned.
“It’s always their fault, hon. The boys’d be happy to do it for you. We take care of our own, sugar.”
That protective sentiment spurred a flood of tears and embarrassment, until Nica was finally able to control her reeling emotions.
Amber blocked her from view of the bar like a mama lion. “I know he’s a fine-looking piece, but there be plenty more out there that won’t go breaking your heart. You don’t need a man who makes you cry.”
“I’m not crying over him,” Nica sniffled, leaning into Amber’s shoulder.
Patting her shaking body, Amber murmured, “ ’Course not, hon. Cause he’s not worth it.”
Yes, he was. He was worth every tear, every cry that tore from her throat.
“I’m in love with him,” she mourned wretchedly.
Amber did more patting, her voice soothing. “I know, sug. With any luck, he’ll get hit by a streetcar over on St. Charles and have to drag his sexy, broken carcass into the gutter, where he’ll rot and have his bones picked clean by vermin. Then we can ride by and spit on him. That’ll make you feel better.”
Nica had to laugh. She sat back and pushed the sweaty hair off her brow. “Maybe I’d better go home. I’m not doing anybody any good here.”
“You want me to call you a cab, hon?”
“It’s only a few blocks. I’ll feel better when I get some air.” She stood up, feeling shaky but less light-headed.
“Nica.” Amber’s tone was serious. “You should let him know that two more of my friends disappeared. I’m really worried about them. Janie Webb and Tandy Barrett. They’re nice girls, not hookers. They wait tables at a club over in Algiers.”
Nica agreed to tell him, then nodded toward to back of the club. “I’m going to go out through the
alley.”
“If he tries to follow you, I’ll take out his kneecaps with that Louisville Slugger behind the bar.”
Impulsively, Nica gave her a hug. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Amber. Thank you.”
“You feel better now, hear.”
The minute Nica stepped from the dim, air-conditioned bar into the steamy daylight glare of the alley, everything began to whirl in huge, sickening circles. She groped blindly for the door, reeling into a stack of liquor crates. She would have fallen with them if not for the sturdy support of an arm about her middle.
“I gotcha. It’s all right.”
It wasn’t all right! Angrily, she attempted to pull free of MacCreedy’s hold.
“Nica, stop. You’re going to get hurt.”
“Too late for that. Leave me alone. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you.” She jerked away, stumbled, and fell hard to her hands and knees, her head feeling like it was about to explode.
His hands were gentle on her arms. “Let me get you home,” he coaxed. “You don’t want to pass out in this alley.”
The image of his bloated, maggot-ridden corpse in the gutter near the streetcar line made a semi-hysterical laugh come up, along with the beignets and coffee. Silas supported her until the spasms eased, then scooped her up in his arms. And that was the last thing she remembered.
Twenty
Nica slowly awoke cocooned in cool, dark comfort. She drifted in that gentle bliss for a while, unwilling to return to full awareness. Because then she’d have to reject the tender, healing stroke of MacCreedy’s fingertips.
She finally opened her eyes and discovered she was lying on her couch with MacCreedy’s thigh as a pillow.
His hand stilled. “Stay quiet,” he said in a hushed voice.
Good advice. She closed her eyes and sighed as his light caress continued. “How did I get here?”
“I carried you.”
“I don’t want you to stay.” But she was nudging into his touch, burrowing into the warmth of his palm.
“I don’t care what you want.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m not going to argue with you.” His thumb traced lightly over her lips.