by Nancy Gideon
But that wasn’t where Nica had come from, so he had to go slow and not frighten or overwhelm her. He could do that. He could do anything but let her go.
Slowly, he stretched out a hand to take one of the straps to her backpack. After a moment’s hesitation, she released it and let him put it on the bed behind him.
“Trust me, Nica. Let me be part of your life. Let me protect you. Let me be strong for you. Let me be whatever you need, whenever you need it. All you have to do is ask.”
Nica stood very still for a very long time, never looking away from the intensity of his stare. Finally, she said, “I need you, Silas. I don’t want to do this alone anymore. I need you here with me.”
He made a beckoning gesture with his fingers and she stepped into his arms. He simply held her until the tension finally left her shoulders.
“Silas?” she asked at last. “If we’re two halves of one whole, what do you get out of it?”
He heard the wealth of her doubts and insecurities in that simple question, so he replied, “You. I love you. I love having sex with you. And I’m going to love coming home to you.” He smiled, feeling her tremendous sigh as her cheek rubbed against his bare chest. A chest filled to bursting.
Then Nica pushed away and climbed onto the bed, pulling the backpack into the circle of her crossed legs. “In here is my whole life. My past. Everything that’s ever meant something to me. I want to show you.”
He sat on the edge of the bed while she worked the combination lock. When she upended the bag, he found himself looking at weapons and . . . junk. Broken bits and pieces, odds and ends of no value, except to her.
She handed him a chipped blue marble. “That’s Henry. I won that from him. He boasted that no one could beat him. I did.” She smiled softly as she took it back, rolling it in her palm before letting it drop. Then she picked up a yellowed ladies’ dress glove and held it to her nose. He did the same when she passed it to him. A faint fragrance perfumed the fibers, like the one on Nica’s skin.
“That’s my mother. And this is my father.” A valet parking stub from Michigan Avenue in Chicago.
Nica smiled as she showed a crumpled pack of cigarettes, saying, “Lottie,” and then a tube of frosted beige lipstick: “Mary Kate.” A plain gold cross with a broken chain. “Father Furness.”
Silas picked up a token for the St. Charles streetcar. “Who’s this?”
She smiled and took it back from him. “Amber.” Pointing to a stained cocktail napkin, “Jacques.”
As she identified the other trinkets that had belonged to her wild, young friends—a wad of gum rolled in its wrapper, a shoelace, a barrette, a pair of sunglasses with one lens missing, the tattered cover of a comic book—Silas saw them for what they were. Treasures.
He picked up an empty beer bottle, recognizing the brand. As he lifted a brow she reclaimed it, letting her tongue touch the rim. “So I could always taste you.”
The bottle fell among the other precious memories as he caught Nica’s face between his palms and pulled her into a deep kiss.
They used business as the means to explore the strange new link between them. Concentrating on an outside endeavor made it easier for Nica to allow MacCreedy’s mind free access to her own.
At first she fought against the intrusion, scared of giving up even a tiny slice of control. But once MacCreedy turned it into a game and a challenge, she cautiously invited him in.
It began with the deck he’d picked up at a novelty store down the block. He’d focus on a card and she’d pick it from his thoughts. Sensing her reluctance, Silas let her come to him rather than pushing the information upon her.
Their first exchange was nearly his last; her initial attempt sent a blast of energy jolting through him like an electrocution. His system was still twitching with it when he explained how their new connection could be used.
“I had a plan for tonight but this is so much better. They’ll never see it coming.” He smiled slyly as he wiped his bloody nose.
“What’s tonight?”
“A private poker game at Manny’s. And an opportunity for you to wear that red dress again. If we’re going to stay here in New Orleans, we have to clear out some of the obstacles in our way. We’ve got lots to do today, starting with a little surge protector control on your part.”
They spent the afternoon working the cards. Silas had an obvious gift for them, a psychic talent for reading them, a physical talent for handling them with speed and grace. She liked that about his clever hands. Nica immersed herself in his game, serious and saying little. And with every hour they spent together, she learned more about him.
In some ways, she and Silas were just alike. Manipulators, schemers with smooth surfaces over deep, turbulent waters. They were ruthless predators who’d let nothing get in the way of their end results. Hers was freedom. His was his family’s honor.
He’d managed to convince the Terriot clan that he was submissive, the NOPD that he was not only loyal but human, and the über-cautious Max Savoie that he was harmless. But as she watched him flip the cards, she could see exactly what Silas MacCreedy was: determined to win at any cost, but only to the limit of his convictions.
There was a big heart beneath all those glorious muscles. One that couldn’t take advantage of a mother and child, one that couldn’t cold-bloodedly murder despicable men, or blame a son for a father’s misdeeds. Integrity held him back from taking that extra step that she’d been forced to. That step beyond conscience.
And that’s what she loved about him.
Together, they gathered strength from each other. He was her steady moral compass. She was his heart to come home to.
And Nica began to believe there was nothing they couldn’t do.
Manny Blutafino’s invitation-only poker games, Nica learned, were the only time he invested his own funds at the table. The names of the players were kept secret, as was the location of the game until the last possible moment. Only two people were privy to the information in advance: Carmen’s right hand, who made the reservations and arranged security, and Carmen’s wife, who usually attended on his arm.
Babineau drove in silence to the parking garage of one of the pricey Central Business District hotels. Manny had sent him to pick his dealer up at seven. Silas purposefully hadn’t involved Alain in his scheme, to avoid having to choose between cop work and clan business. Accountability was one reason. Unresolved trust issues were another. Mostly, was the fact that Alain was married to Silas’s half sister and needed to come out alive.
Despite the danger involved Silas was relaxed and calm, but then, Nica knew he excelled under pressure. He’d kept himself and his family alive by balancing risks with a cool head and calculating reason, by knowing which alliances offered the greatest return. Now that scale had tipped away from the Terriots because of Savoie. And because of her.
She started when his hand settled lightly on her thigh, and her muscles bunched.
“Nervous?” he asked softly, looking straitlaced with his slicked hair and dark-rimmed glasses.
“Hardly. I’m a professional.”
He chuckled at her stiff reply, his hand kneading gently. “And you’re beautiful.”
The compliment rattled her, making her heart flutter, though her answer was wry. “I try to fit the part I’m playing.”
Since she wasn’t beautiful, despite what MacCreedy thought, Nica had taken extra care to appear elegant. The red dress he so admired lent her a long, sleek silhouette atop the killer heels. To accentuate that she’d pulled her hair up off her neck, securing it in a coronet of small braids and loose curls he couldn’t seem to keep his fingers out of. Imitation jewels sparkled at her ears and wrist, and a filmy scarf knotted at the side concealed the still visible scar of MacCreedy’s mark.
She’d been bold with her cosmetics, drawing heavy lines about her eyes and lips so they stood out in stark, dramatic relief. Even if she wasn’t beautiful, she was striking, and just the seemingly harmless distracti
on the evening required.
And as they rode up in the elevator, his hand at her waist, his gaze lingering over her all possessive and pleased, Nica shivered with unfamiliar delight. Because in his eyes, she knew she was lovely.
The huge suite with its panoramic view of the city featured a stocked bar and a buffet, but the focus was the big round table in the center of the room. Babineau took them to the door, then turned them over to Todd, the bulky security man from the Sweat Shop. Todd returned Nica’s smile, then pulled Silas to one side.
“Boss didn’t say nothing about you bringing your lady.”
MacCreedy leaned in to confide, “We had plans for tonight, and she’s been giving me grief about never taking her anywhere. Give me a break, man. I just moved into her place, and I’d rather be sleeping in the bedroom than on the couch. Put her to work. Give her something to do. Just don’t kick her out.”
Todd gave Nica a lingering assessment. “Not much to her. A little skinny and a little too old for Manny’s taste.”
“She’s done some waitressing. She can handle the drinks. C’mon, man.”
“Something special, huh?”
“A real animal in bed,” Silas confided with a wink.
Todd sighed. “Fine. Have her talk to Danny at the bar. Tell him I said it was okay.”
“I won’t forget this.”
MacCreedy returned to Nica’s side to whisper, “You’re in.”
With Nica chatting up the bartender, Silas sat down to get a feel for the table. He relaxed into it, letting distractions flow from his mind as the players arrived. Lena had filled them in on the guest list: Warren Brady, the police commissioner Simon Cummings, developer and mayoral candidate; Francis Petitjohn, supposed heir to Legere Enterprises International; Virgil Johnson, sports promoter; and some pretty-boy actor whose name Silas had forgotten. Men with lots of money to burn and favors to offer.
Carmen Blutafino arrived with a bevy of spectacularly endowed working girls instead of his wife. He was all smiles as the gracious host.
MacCreedy glanced over and caught Nica’s unguarded expression, and alarm spiked through him. He crossed over to her under the pretext of getting a bottled water. He could feel her tension as he placed a hand against her rigid spine.
“Nica, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She turned away from the room, her body swaying into him. Her voice was low and shaken. “That man over there. I recognize him.”
“Does he know you?” MacCreedy asked calmly.
“I doubt it. I was seven years old at the time. He’s the one who brought us down to New Orleans, then betrayed us. The tall one with the dark hair.”
Warren Brady. The police commissioner.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be able to do this, or should we stop now?”
Her posture straightened, then she gave him a narrow smile. “Game on.”
MacCreedy nodded and returned to the table as the others took their places.
“Our dealer, Mac Creed,” Manny said.
“Good evening, gentlemen. The game is five-card stud.”
Twenty-four
Over the first four hours, luck fell evenly among the six players.
Manny was generous with the alcohol while touching little himself, and talk was as loose as the women who paired up with the men. After carelessly losing fifteen thousand dollars on a single hand, the actor, who seemed more interested in the endless flow of Dewar’s and in getting a lap dance from his companion, excused himself to visit one of the bedrooms. MacCreedy wondered how much the fool would be willing to pay to make sure the secret filming Manny would have arranged for wouldn’t go to the press or his high-profile wife.
Manny’s orders were to let the cards fall where they might until the alcohol level was high and inhabitions low. Silas dealt by rote and covertly watched Nica.
Something was different since they’d gotten into the car at her apartment. She’d said little during the trip.
Nica?
Her gaze flickered toward him, her eyes overly bright. Her faint smile didn’t quiet his concern, especially when she was quick to look away.
“I’d like to call for a short break,” Silas announced as Cummings raked in a good-sized pot. “A fifteen-minute stretch.”
Commissioner Brady and Johnson, the entertainment broker, took the opportunity to guide their lady friends into private corners while Cummings, Petitjohn, and Manny Blu went to select cigars. Silas caught Nica’s elbow, steering her out onto the balcony and closed the slider behind them.
The night was cool, yet Nica’s skin felt on fire.
Hawthorne was close.
“I’m fine,” she protested as MacCreedy tried to put his arm around her. She pushed away, swaying slightly as she walked to the railing.
“You’re not fine. If you’re not going to be able to do this, I need to know now.”
Her shoulders squared up. “I’m not going to fold on you, MacCreedy. Don’t worry about me.”
“I am worried.” He stepped up close behind her, blocking her in with the brace of his arms as he gripped the rail on either side of her. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, then pressed his lips to her smooth throat. Her pulse was racing like a high-performance engine.
“I’ll see the job through,” was her curt response.
“I’m not worried about the job, Nica. I’m worried about you.”
Her quick sidelong glance called him a liar. He couldn’t continue with his plan without her and they both knew it.
Silas frowned and enfolded her in his arms. “If you want to go, we will. No questions asked. Okay?”
Slowly, her hands moved to cover his. She forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. We may never get another chance like this. It’s just a headache. I can deal with it.”
He lifted one hand to his lips. “It’s not about the job, Nica. It’s about our future. We’re doing this for us.”
“Then we’d damn well better do it right.” She straightened his bow tie, her fingertips stroking down the lapels of his tux jacket.
Silas leaned toward her, but she evaded his kiss to slip back inside, leaving him to frown after her.
The players drifted back to the table to continue the game. As T-John began to sit down, a hand stayed him. He glanced up and his face went pale.
“Max.”
“Francis, thank you for holding my chair for me, but I’ll take over now on behalf of LEI.”
Petitjohn hesitated, stiff with shock and fury as Savoie smiled at Blutafino.
“Unless, of course, Carmen has any objections.”
Manny showed his teeth. “Welcome to the table, Max. You’re looking well.”
“As they say, the rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.” He took the seat and glanced up at T-John. “Good night, Francis. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Petitjohn managed a quick nod. He cast a frantic look at Manny, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. Finally, he turned and exited the suite. As the elevator doors closed he was on the phone making an angry call, most likely to cover his ass, which Max’s return left hanging.
“I wasn’t aware you were a gambler, Max,” Blutafino said, nodding at Silas to begin the deal.
“I like a good game.”
Manny introduced the way-too-drunk-to-see-straight actor and the sports entertainment mogul and was about to continue when Max drawled, “I already know Mr. Cummings and the commissioner. I look forward to taking your money this evening, gentlemen.”
Savoie’s presence definitely put an edge to the mood. He played a relaxed, rather conservative game while Cummings, Brady, and Blutafino grew more aggressively careless in their agitation. Soon the pot size was considerable and the actor withdrew, retreating back to the bedroom with two of the women. After watching close to eight grand from his pocket being scooped toward Cummings, Virgil Johnson also folded, thanking the other players for the education. That left a very tense trio and Max Savoie.
Nica, are you ready?
Nothing.
He glanced up in search of her. She stood at the end of the bar, clinging to its edge, her face pale as ice and shiny with perspiration. Her eyes closed as she wobbled on her high heels. A shaky hand lifted to press to her temple.
Nica?
Her eyes opened, focusing, locking on his gaze. Game on, hero.
MacCreedy dealt the cards, never lifting his attention from the deck, his movements smooth and economical. As each one sailed across the table, he sent the image to Nica. Jack of hearts, two of diamonds, seven of spades. Just as quickly, Nica conveyed the information to Max through the minute hand signals Silas had taught her that afternoon. The original plan had Silas sending the signals, but using a third party lessened the danger of discovery. And Max went from being an adequate player to an unbeatable one.
With shrewd bets and folds, soon the table’s wealth was split between him and Manny. Brady and Cummings dropped out to watch, like buzzards waiting for fresh carrion.
Max studied the cards he’d been given, his features betraying nothing. He pushed a stack of chips into the center of the table.
Manny took a long drink before seeing the bet and raising it. His available cash was dwindling, and Max was sitting on a mountain of it.
Very carefully, Silas selected the cards from the deck for each player. When he called them out telepathically to Nica he was met with a strange static, as if the station he was listening to had suddenly gone out of broadcast range.
Nica? Nica!
Silas . . . Si, stay with me.
Her voice was faint and distorted.
She was sitting on one of the couches, slumped forward as if she’d had too much to drink. Tendrils of her hair had come loose and trailed to the carpet.
Max assessed his hand, then matched the pot and raised, slowly and deliberately.
Nica!
She didn’t move. MacCreedy couldn’t reach her; it was as if she was moving farther and farther away. To pursue her in that unstable psychic plane would require all his concentration and drain his energy. He’d have nothing left. He’d have to break cover.