by Nancy Gideon
And that something amazed him.
Savoie moved with ability beyond the simple preternatural. He had an almost precognitive gift for anticipating Cale’s moves before he thought about making them. The way he flung off blows that would have crippled any other was almost as jaw-dropping as a speed that left Cale moving frame-by-frame in time to Savoie’s fast forward. The few hits Cale managed to get in were shrugged away like mild annoyances. Just the way he had Oscar’s.
“Sonuvabitch!” He stumbled back, eyes round with disbelief. “How the hell do you do that?”
Max’s smile was smug with confidence. “If I can’t drop you in three moves, I’ll tell you.”
Cale laughed, appreciating the lack of humility. “And if you do?”
“You tell me why you’re still here.”
As if caught in a slow motion tunnel, Cale watched Max’s fist approach like a freight train. If he’d had shoes and socks on, the impact would have knocked him out of them. He hit the ground in a defensive roll to find Savoie blocking his attempt to regain his feet. A lift of his knee clacked Cale’s teeth together. He heard a whoosh of sound, and when he opened his eyes he was face down in the wet grass with the rest of his water being poured over his head.
He rolled onto his back, sputtering, then shielding his face with palms up. Savoie was bent over him, haloed by the rising sun. He breathed out in wordless awe as Max asked, “You all right?”
With a groan, Cale ignored the hand extended to him. “I think I’m just gonna lie here for a minute, if that’s okay.”
Instead of straightening, Max sat on the grass beside him, waiting for him to gather his scattered wits as Oscar and Giles came down from the house. Giles was chuckling.
“For such a self-important little badass you sure do spend a lot of time horizontal. Do you need an ambulance?”
“A hearse,” Cale wheezed.
“In case you’re having trouble counting,” Max mentioned, “that was three.”
“I can count,” Cale confessed, “but I can’t answer your question. Talk to Silas. If he wants you to know our family secrets, he’ll tell you. If I gave 'em up without his say-so I’d be as useless as I feel right now.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. With most, I only count to one.”
A weak smile. “That doesn’t make me feel any less beat up.” He gestured to Oscar. “Kid, learn from him. I got nothing to show you.”
And that was the admission Max’s vanity had needed to hear.
“Are you going to just lie there and whine,” Max asked, “or come up for breakfast?”
This time when Max put out his hand, Cale took it.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The four of them were eating a companionable meal when Cee Cee and Brigit joined them. Under Max’s bemused scrutiny, Brigit went for Giles’s lips with a kiss hot enough to reheat his coffee. Cee Cee was more subtle. She moved behind Max’s chair, letting her fingertips sketch lightly along his shoulders. When she settled into the chair beside him, his gaze fixed upon hers and held for a long moment.
As if feeling the odd wheel, Cale pushed back from the table. “I’ve gotta pick up some stuff if I’m gonna to hang here for a while. Bree, think you could you show me where I can get some decent threads?”
She almost choked on her juice, her eyes going round and glassy. “You want me to take you . . . shopping?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Figured if anyone knew their way around the designer racks, it’d be you.”
She lifted a blissful gaze heavenward. “You are so on.” Her glance slid to her steely-eyed intended, “Want to go along to play chaperone?”
“As fun as that sounds, I’ll have to pass,” Giles rumbled. “Oz and I have got a date. The only parts we’re interested in are under the hood of that old Connie out there, right, Sport?”
Oscar beamed up at him. “Right.”
“What about you, boss man?”
Max finished his coffee before responding to Giles’s question. “I’ve got an early meeting in the city this morning. I was hoping the detective would give me a lift when she’s ready.”
Cee Cee pushed back her chair. “Since I don’t need a designer rack to go to work, I’m ready when you are.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the rack you have, cher.”
Max’s droll remark had Oscar snorting up his milk. But she simply smiled and rose up from the table. “Then let’s go.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The orange Camaro cut through the morning fog like a bright sun on the rise as it barreled into Orleans Parish.
“About that talk.”
Cee Cee glanced toward her passenger when he finally broke the silence between them. “What about it?”
“Still have things to say? I’m listening.”
She focused on the road as the sheets of mist peeled back to reveal the way. Her recent conversations with Savoie were like that partially hidden path, requiring instinct and guts to safely follow.
“You start,” she suggested.
After a moment of surprise, he asked, “Where?”
“How 'bout with your pissy mood yesterday morning? Yes. Let’s start there.”
His warm chuckle relaxed much of her apprehension, turning the talk from confrontation down a more pleasant avenue.
“Perhaps with an apology?”
“Hmmmm. I’m listening.”
“I was out of line the way I spoke to you. You didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry.”
“A nice start. A reason would be nicer.”
“I’m not sure I could give you a good one.”
Her profile sharpened. “How 'bout a bad one then?”
“Susanna can tell you what you need to hear. Talk to her.”
Cee Cee’s gaze jumped to him in alarm. “Is it something medical? Something I need to worry about?”
He smiled to calm her. “No worries. She can explain better and answer your questions.” Then he turned away to stare out the side window.
Cee Cee frowned. Why was he blowing her off?
Her need to pursue that question was tempered by her own unwillingness to reveal the truth she was hiding. If she pressed him, he’d circle to call her on her own evasiveness and now wasn’t the best time. She couldn’t be sure of his response to her news. Or of how protective he might become. Like tiptoeing through those first uncomfortable months of their relationship all over again, she didn’t want to make a misstep that could hinder the progress they’d made. Full disclosure would have to wait for better timing.
“I’ll talk to Susanna,” she said at last.
She could feel his relief, and that quickened concern over what the conversation might reveal.
“And the issue you wanted to discuss?” he prompted.
“Can wait.” But not for much longer.
She didn’t question his request to be dropped off at Saint Louis Number One, but when Cee Cee stopped the car outside the main entrance to the famed cemetery, she touched his arm gently to delay his exit.
“Do you want me to go in with you?”
“Not today.”
“Here to see Jimmy?”
Her remark held no hint of displeasure. Whatever she thought about the mobster didn’t spill over into her respect for what he’d felt for the man who’d raised and cared for him. Those complex emotions got stronger every time he returned to the house on River Road, and she intuited his confusion without voicing her own opinions. That generosity endeared her to him.
“Actually, I’m here to visit with my mother. It’s something I’ve put off, and it’s time to make amends.”
Her expression softened, dark eyes going liquid with empathy. “Call me if you need me. For anything.”
“I will.”
Her hand slipped behind his neck, drawing him forward into her impulsive kiss. She tasted of comfort and support and of a love he was just beginning to understand. Her cheek brushed his in a velvety caress as tender as her words.
“I’ll be thinking of you.”
“And I you, sha. Stay safe.”
He stepped out onto the sidewalk and watched her pull back into traffic, cutting a quick circle that took her to the neighboring district office of the NOPD. Probably for stale donuts, harsh coffee and fresh gossip. He missed her already.
The heavy wrought iron gate to Saint Louis Cemetery Number One had just opened for the tourist crowd. Clusters of photo-taking curious followed guides among the historical homes of the city’s dead. As they pushed close to leave tokens and press palms upon the frequently white washed tomb of Marie Leveau, Max paid slipped past, sure in where he was going. He paused briefly at a gleaming white stone crypt with only one name engraved in its shiny new plate. Jean-Jacques Legere. Beneath the name were the dates of his birth and of his murder by his cousin Francis Petitjohn who himself would never have the comfort of a monument surrounding him. Giles had provided that grim assurance.
Max continued more slowly down a path of uneven brick and gravel where real estate was guarded by spear-tipped fences, stone crosses, and weeping angels. His heart grew heavier with each step until they brought him to a weathered rose-colored vault with Famille Jean-Phillipe Guesnon Legere cut into the entablature. Beneath it, six crypts housed great grandparents, grandparents, mother and father. And set in the heavier base were two vaults, one inscribed Etienne Rene Legere and the other with more recent lettering stating Marie Savoie. Beneath her name, a space to add her son’s. Jimmy Legere had been many things, but when he made a promise to a grief-crushed boy to see his mama buried, he’d kept it.
A cement urn housing a lovely bouquet sat beside that newest addition. Max stared at it for a long moment, wondering who’d left it. Who’d known her favorite flowers?
How had he known?
“Gardenias and Lilies of the Valley. They won’t last long in this weather. They’re like her, delicate and deadly.”
Max jerked about at the sound of a familiar voice. His breath all but stopped at the sight of features he’d seen in dreams from childhood.
Run, Max! Run!
“It’s good to see you again, Max. Do you know who I am?”
“You look so much like her,” he managed at last.
“Who?”
“My mother.”
She smiled and Max’s heart spasmed. Genevieve Savorie, though her dark hair was fashioned in a stylish updo and her trim figure clad a chic black Chanel suit, was still the image of her sister Marie. Except for her hazel eyes. Marie’s, like her son’s, had been pale green.
“So you remember that much, at least. What else, I wonder?”
She took a step toward him, hand outstretched as he quivered inside with shock and indecision. Then her slightly teary gaze went from soft and hopeful to wide with alarm, warning they weren’t alone.
There were two of them, sleek, dark and silent, appearing suddenly, without a sound. One grabbed Genevieve about the neck and began dragging her away while the other rushed Max to make sure he didn’t interfere. Trackers. Deadly minions from the North. Max knew their kind. He’d tangled with them before.
But they’d never tangled with the likes of him.
Since their plan, at this point, was to abduct his aunt, not to kill her, Max concentrated on his own attacker first. Swiftly sidestepping, he gripped the back of the other’s neck, using the momentum of his lunge to fling him head first into the front of the marble vault, scattering the freshly-cut flowers across the ground. The deadly stranger shook off his daze all too quickly, glaring up at Max through feral eyes of blood red. Lips curled back from sharp teeth. Features transformed. What leapt at Max was more monster than man. And Max met him in kind.
Fast and clever, the other feinted to one side to draw Max off balance then struck out swiftly. Pain flashed along Max’s jaw as claws tore flesh, but he didn’t retreat, even when the Tracker targeted his throat with the next swing.
Those flaming eyes registered surprise, blinking then glancing down to see Max’s hand buried to the wrist in his chest. With a wrenching twist, Max jerked his trophy free, feeling its final beat within his palm. His assailant collapsed without a sound. Max let the useless organ drop, attention jumping to the rescue of his aunt.
They hadn’t gotten far. Genevieve had gone limp, using her unresponsive weight to slow her abductor’s retreat. Her eyes lit upon Max vaulting over a crumbling crypt, his approach swift and determined, his intentions lethal. And she smiled. The creature holding her curled his claws until they broke the skin along her throat to warn him to stay back.
But Max’s threat didn’t make her attacker jerk to a standstill. It was the sound of a cocking gun at the base of his skull, followed by an even more lethal drawl.
“One guess what kind of load this piece is packing. Let her go, or I’ll blow you to hell.”
As Genevieve crumpled to the paving stones, her assailant angled away from the fierce female who’d come up behind him. His eyes darted fearlessly from her weapon to Max Savoie’s dripping claws. Then, with nowhere to go, he used his own nails to tear out his jugular, effectively taking his motives for the attack to the grave he collapsed onto in a fountain of blood.
Max reached down to help a shaken Genevieve regain her feet, leaving it to the new arrival to dispassionately check the deceased before tucking away her ankle piece.
“So,” Charlotte Caissie murmured in a steely tone, “this is the woman who stole our past from us.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Detective. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”
Cee Cee’s stare never left the other female’s as she answered. “You should know by now that I have your back in all things, Savoie.”
“So you were spying on me?” Just the slightest tang of censure, considering the outcome.
“Absolutely. And I won’t apologize for it.”
“Duly noted.” His tone softened. “Genevieve Savorie, Detective Charlotte Caissie, one of my rescuers from your friends’ care in Chicago.”
“And much more than that, I gather,” Genevieve murmured, putting out a smooth hand. “It’s good to know he’s been well protected.”
“From all dangers,” Cee Cee replied, grasping those manicured fingers and giving them a brusque shake. She nudged the dead man with the toe of her shoe. “Saw these two sneaking in with the tourists and figured they were up to no good. Do you recognize them?”
Genevieve straightened her tailored jacket, and regarded the gory body without reaction. “They work—worked for me. I sensed someone following me, but I thought I’d lost them at O’Hare. Apparently not.”
“Are you all right?” Max wanted to know.
With a slightly trembling hand, she drew a tissue from her designer shoulder bag and pressed it to the small tears in her neck. “No real harm done. Thanks to you.” Her gaze flickered to Cee Cee. “To both of you.” Her stare returned to Max’s bloodied hand and face, her expression concerned. “And you?”
“Just a bit messy.” He wiped the stains from an already healed cheek and, with a grisly relish, licked away the evidence of the other’s demise like the animal part of him was before he continued.
“Father Furness asked me to meet him here. I wasn’t expecting you.” An understatement. Still unbalanced by surprise, and hoping for the steadying presence of Furness, Max looked beyond the two women, but saw no sign of the priest.
“I asked him to arrange it so I could speak to you alone and unobserved.” The unsettled doctor drew a quavering breath then added, “But that didn’t work out as I’d planned.”
The sound of one of the tours approaching interrupted them.
“I’d better tidy up here.” Max stared dispassionately at the Tracker’s body. “Tripping over these two wouldn’t be good for business.” He looked to Cee Cee. “Is your car out front?” At her nod, he instructed, “Take her there and wait for me.”
As Cee Cee took the other woman’s arm to guide her away, they saw Max use his incredible strength to slide th
e stone lid of a coffin-like tomb over far enough to deposit the body beside the original resident. Then he ran back for the other.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A sudden biting drizzle had begun to fall. Shaking moisture from his black hair, Max slipped into the backseat of the Camaro minutes later. Cee Cee glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“All taken care of?”
At his brief affirmative, Cee Cee headed directly to the Towers. She kept her curiosity about their silent guest to herself—for the moment. They pulled into the gated parking entrance that led to their private elevator to the top, taking conversation indoors and away from curious eyes and ears.
An increasingly composed Genevieve glanced about the luxe penthouse and nodded her approval. “Very nice. You’ve done well for yourself. Rollo told me you had, but with him, you could never quite take his words at face value.” She moved to the windows to appreciate the view of the city while Max and Cee Cee stood close in a unified, and cautious, front.
Max got right to it. “Are you here to see to your promise?”
She turned to regard him, a small smile curving her lips. “I came to see you, to get to know you.”
A short laugh. “Quite a trick that would be, seeing as how I hardly know myself.”
His cynicism didn’t discourage her. “But others do. She does. Michael does. What I’ve already seen has told me volumes.”
“So after this familial meet and greet then you’ll return my memories to me? Or was that a lie?”
His challenge didn’t ruffle her calm. “I’ve no need to lie. I fully intend to keep my promise. But you’ll need to return to the North with me to see it done, and I didn’t think you or your lady friend would be willing to trust a stranger to that degree. So I came here myself to relieve your fears.”
With their dearest wish and darkest nightmare.
“Why can’t you just do your hocus pocus here?” Cee Cee demanded. She had no reason to trust this elegant creature who had appeared so suddenly to place a claim on the man she loved. Genevieve Savorie had played no part in the brief life Max had shared with his mother. As far as she knew, Marie had never spoken of her to her son. Perhaps she hadn’t known her sister still lived. Perhaps she’d had reason, as Michael Furness suggested, to keep herself and her son hidden from her only remaining relative.