by Nancy Gideon
“Silas!”
Cale smiled at Brigit and waved off her exasperation. “It’s all right, Bree. Like you said, it’s not his fault he’s a dick.”
“Get presentable,” Silas ordered. “We’ve things to discuss.”
Cale jerked free and snapped off a mock salute before heading for the stairs.
Silas turned to his sister with a frigid, “Don’t forget what he is.”
Her reply was equally frosty. “Why don’t you see what he is instead of what he was through no fault of his own? He’s our cousin’s mate, our family.”
But Silas didn’t relent. “Your new family has you forgetting the old.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing. I just refuse to let the past keep me from living for the future. Do you think all those who died would prefer that you let their corpses drag on you like chains? Let them go, Silas.”
His reply broke her heart.
“I can’t.”
“He saved me and my child from drowning in the dark after we were run off the road last night. I’d think after what you’d been through yourself, you’d be a little more grateful.”
“What?” Shocked, he noticed her less than perfect appearance. He looked to Cee Cee who’d joined them inside. “Why am I’m just hearing about this?”
His partner took his arm firmly and directed him across the hall into the parlor where she laid out the suspicious and potentially deadly happenings. He blanched, but didn’t ponder over which of their enemies was behind the attack. He had only one question.
“Why didn’t she call me?”
Cee Cee found that as impossible to answer as his earlier question. Instead, she asked, “Do you think we’ve been made? First the attack at the docks, now this. When collateral damage becomes family maybe it’s time to consider scaling back.”
“No,” He snapped, his response as unmovable as a highway T-rail. “We step it up. We consider everyone a potential leak and use that to our advantage. We push harder to get inside, to get beneath their defenses on every level. We have to find out who’s running the show.”
“And why do I get the unpleasant feeling that I’m going to be involved in this?” Cale’s drawl drew their attention to the doorway where their guest had heard that last bit of conversation. Freshly showered, he’d dressed comfortably down in jeans and his hooded jacket.
Silas smiled thinly. “We need to talk.” He gestured to the doors to Jimmy’s office. But as he moved past Cale and into the hall, he murmured, “Thank you.”
Now that hard stare grew suspicious. “For what?”
“My sister says you saved her life last night.”
A short laugh. “No big deal. Did you think I’d just walk away to save myself?”
Their eyes met and briefly held. Then Silas delivered a tightly controlled, “You have before,” and strode past him.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Strong hands settled upon her shoulders for a gentle press, giving Cee Cee a start. She’d been so involved in her brooding she hadn’t heard Max come up behind her in the parlor.
“As bad as all that?”
She blew out a breath. “Worse, if you can imagine. The outside threat is bad enough when those on the inside aren’t about to explode.”
“Our new friend from the West?”
“Umm. Unfortunately, he’s not the one I’m concerned with.”
Max didn’t push for more explanation, making her absurdly grateful. Instead, he touched a kiss to her brow. “Do you think I could steal you away this morning for a little field trip.”
“Business or pleasure?” Their gazes mingled, and the heat tendered by the brush of his lips began to spark and burn.
“Regrettably the former. Genevieve wants to see where I grew up. I’m afraid I don’t know quite where that is, but suspect you do. Would you mind?”
“Not at all.” It would give her a chance to vet her uneasiness regarding his long absent relative. And spending time with him was more than just a perk. But the destination required she give him warning. “We’ve been there together before, Max, when you were looking for the truth about your past.”
“And what did we find?”
“Terrible things. Things your mind had hidden from a terrorized child.”
He smiled grimly. “Then perhaps it’ll be willing to give them up again.” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, singling one out to rub between his fingers. “This is the only one I haven’t found a use for. Recognize it?”
Cee Cee nodded.
“Perhaps it’ll open more than the front door.”
The sound of heavy boots in the hall distracted them from one another. Cale, wearing his gorgeously-detailed leather jacket approached, helmet in hand. He hoisted it with a wry greeting.
“I’m off to earn an honest wage.” He rubbed his empty earlobe. “Take care of that for me.”
Cee Cee touched the large diamond she still wore. “I will.”
His features disappeared behind the tinted face guard, but he supplied a thumbs up before heading outside.
“Dare I ask what that’s about?”
Cee Cee shrugged. “You could if I knew.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
They rode in the big black town car with Giles at the wheel. Max explained to a faintly disapproving Genevieve the necessity of his bodyguard’s presence after the possible attack on his friends the night before. She arched a doubtful brow that the human would be of use in such a situation but said nothing.
They shared little conversation during the long drive, the three of them together in the wide back seat. Genevieve, ever composed, watched the passing scenery with mild interest as it melded from modern city to generic suburbs to sparsely populated rural thickets and swamplands. Cee Cee concentrated on Max who sat between them staring straight ahead. His impassive features gave away nothing of his state of mind.
When she slipped her hand over his, his fingers curled tight with tension.
The small cottage stood much the same as when they’d left it, on the outskirts of a dying village, protected behind a listing fence, sad and abandoned to unhappier days.
“This is where you and my sister lived?” Genevieve’s dismay escaped from her careful neutrality.
“Until she died. I was around five when Jimmy Legere took me in.” Max recited what he’d been told. He regarded the shabby surroundings without a flicker of recognition as he wrestled with the gate that opened to an uneven stone walkway. Though in decline, the property hadn’t gone to complete ruin, the patchy lawn mowed, the exterior free of vandalism.
“Mrs. Pelletier across the road keeps watch over the place,” Cee Cee explained, disappointed when the name seemed to mean nothing to Max. “Her son maintains it.”
“Why bother?” In her classic suit and dressy heels, Genevieve picked her way gingerly to the porch as if poverty was contagious. If her observation stung her nephew, he showed no sign of it. He fit the key from the ring he carried into the tarnished lock and swung the front door open.
Slightly parted curtains let a weak sunlight filter through filmy glass, illuminating the despair of his past. Max took in the humble surroundings with their dusty patina of neglect and tried to imagine the life of a lonely five-year-old and the oppressive circumstances of a desperate mother trying to protect her child. He’d hoped this link to his childhood would stir the fog from his memories, that his aunt’s familiar features would resurrect those of his mother. But instead of sparking similarities, Genevieve’s stylish presence warded off impressions of her less-fortunate sister and her designer fragrance suppressed any remnant of his mother’s scent. Whatever had happened here in these empty rooms had faded like the fabric on the platform rocker Cee Cee set in motion with the light push of her hand.
Max watched that gentle movement as enthralled as he’d been by the pearls she’d worn. Both things held significance but he couldn’t find it through the veil cast over his mind. Tamping down his frustration, he went from room to room, the to
ur taking less than a handful of minutes. He searched from grime-coated floor boards to the occasional piece of dilapidated furniture for a clue, a whisper, anything that might suggest he shared a past with this place. Nothing. And his disappointment echoed the regret Charlotte tried to hide.
“How awful,” Genevieve murmured at last. “I can’t begin to imagine fleeing to such a place to have and raise a child on my own. What a wretched existence for such a passionate soul. To fall so low in the name of fickle love.”
“She must have felt she had no other choice,” Cee Cee offered on Marie’s behalf. “Her family dead, discovering her lover’s deception.”
“She could have come to me. I would have given shelter. I’d have provided her with,” she waved a hand, “better than this.”
“Why didn’t she?” Max asked quietly.
“What?” Genevieve looked to him, perplexed by the question.
“Why didn’t she feel safe coming to you for help?”
“I don’t know. We weren’t what you’d call close, but we were family. I would have done anything for her. For you, Max. If only I’d known. Perhaps she thought I’d died with the rest.”
“I guess we’ll never know.” Max sighed heavily. “There’s nothing for us here. Let’s go.”
He started for the door with Genevieve following. Cee Cee remained in the room’s center, the toe of her high heeled boot rubbing across bare flooring.
“Detective?”
“There used to be a rug here,” she mused. “A big oriental carpet that the neighbor recalled being quite expensive.”
“Maybe she sold it or pests destroyed it,” Max suggested. An uncomfortable sensation clenched in his stomach as his gaze outlined where such a rug would have lain.
“I don’t think so,” Cee Cee murmured. “I think it was put to a different, more frantic use by a mother and son who had something to hide. Something to do with red shoes. Isn’t that right, Max?”
His breath caught and held to suppress the sudden sickness rushing into his throat on a bitter tide. He closed his eyes but the image surged, a sea of red spilling down over shiny leather shoes. Blood. Everywhere. Leaving its stain on a child.
A hand gripped his arm, cutting into the flash of memory like a scream. He took a quick step back from the gruesome vignette as a concerned voice called, “Max, are you all right?”
Max blinked and the moment disappeared. Genevieve looked up at him, her expression tender with empathy. Smiling, he shook his head and swallowed hard.
“Fine. I’m fine. Just need some fresh air. Let’s get out of here.” On the ramshackle porch, he sucked in the clean morning breeze and let it out noisily, grateful for the comforting arm his aunt circled about his waist.
Cee Cee closed and relocked the door, watching the two of them walk toward the street where the town car sat so conspicuously. Was Genevieve offering support or merely hurrying Max away from what she didn’t want him to rediscover? Something had happened. She’d seen it strobe lightning bright in his gaze for just a moment. But Genevieve’s intrusion had chased it away. On purpose? For what purpose? Did she fear if he remembered on his own she’d lose all influence over him?
What did she want from Max? Were her goals any different from those who’d strapped him to their torture table? Was she the same evil in a more pleasing package?
They’d reached the car when another thought struck her. Cee Cee studied the house across the street, wondering why the curtain lay still. Shouldn’t the ever curious Mrs. Pelletier be peeping out from behind them?
“I’ll be just a minute,” she called as she rounded the vehicle and trotted up to the house to knock. Nothing got by Marie Savoie’s nosy neighbor. She’d watched over frightened mother and child, had stored their belongings, and guarded their empty home. Perhaps she’d seen something, knew something. Perhaps those meager possessions held a clue. They’d stuff them in the car’s big trunk and sort through them back on River Road.
She knocked. No answer. She tried the knob but found the door locked.
Undiscouraged, she held up a finger to Giles to have them wait while she circled the tidy cottage to rap on the back door. If the elderly woman was immersed in her shows, she might not have heard her.
Again no answer and only silence from within when Cee Cee pressed her ear to the thin glass. No blare of the television. She continued to the small brick patio and tried the slider, also latched. She cupped her hands to look inside. A part in the flowered curtains revealed a small dining area that opened into the living room. No flicker from the TV, no movement at all.
Cee Cee stepped back. Maybe her son had driven her into town for church or perhaps she was still in bed. Making a return trip her priority, she returned to the front yard and stood studying the front window with its motionless drapes. If she stood on the brick that walled in a drooping flower box . . .
A tap of the horn pulled her attention away. Genevieve motioned impatiently. With a quick glance back at the house, Cee Cee sighed and headed for the car.
Away from what that part in the drapes would disclose.
A spill of TV guides, an overturned snack tray, and one foot clad in a bright, crocheted slipper stretched out on a braided rug.
CHAPTER TWENTY
While Giles went to gas up the car, the trio had coffee in a diner filled with dusty memorabilia and the scent of grease. Sammy Kershaw wailed from an ancient jukebox. Cee Cee took advantage of the moment to learn more from Genevieve.
“Tell me about Marie and Rollo.”
Genevieve stared into her cup, revolutions of her spoon drawing eddies of creamer into the dark brew. “They weren’t meant to be. My sister was promised to that animal Bram Terriot. He was young and ambitious then, hungry to extend his grip on the clans by seeding heirs to link the Houses together. Marie was to be his rightful queen. She was terrified of him. But the agreement between our families had been drawn up, and had it been consummated, we would have matched the Guedrys in power and influence, and been important allies for the Terriots. But then she saw that handsome scoundrel, Rollo Moytes, and she couldn’t look away.”
What began as a youthful flirtation was the catalyst that destroyed two families.
“How did they meet?”
Genevieve sighed. “Regrettably through me. He and I had an understanding, you see. We were to be mated to bring respectability to his reputation. He was as wild and unpredictable as I was quiet and consumed with my work. We were as unsuited as he and Marie were flint on steel. She went out and about with him pretending to be me so I could remain at my studies. We were practically identical back then with only eleven months separating us in age. It seemed a harmless ploy until Marie and Rollo began to take it seriously. I’ll never know where she found the courage to defy our father, but she did. The two of them disappeared, leaving our families to Terriot’s.”
“How did you escape it?”
“My friends at school hid me from those beasts. By the time Bram’s taste for blood was quenched there wasn’t a male, female or child of our lineage alive except my sister and me. And you, Max, the son she bore.”
“You never looked for them?” Cee Cee asked.
“I couldn’t. I was young, afraid, hiding behind a name that wasn’t my own. I didn’t have the means or connections, and by the time I did, they’d vanished. And then, years later, I heard rumors of the Prophesied One rising up amongst the clan in New Orleans, and I knew from the stories told it had to be Marie’s child.”
Max spoke up suddenly. “What did you and my father talk about when you met in Baton Rouge?”
His question caught her off guard. “Why would you ask that?”
“Do you deny it?”
Displeased with his evasion, she met his stare with her own unblinking one. “No, I don’t. He contacted me, said he had information about you. He needed to escape some fool scheme or another and wanted my help in exchange for that news. Of course I went to meet him. At that point, I didn’t know Marie had . .
. died. I’d hoped to see her again, to tell her the many things I should have said before she was lost to me. So I went to Baton Rouge and I met with him. He told me about your circumstances, and I promised to arrange for Rollo’s safe passage to another country. We’d planned to meet again the next evening, but he never showed.”
“He died,” Max concluded tonelessly.
“Yes. I figured as much. So I returned home. And then I heard from that unimaginative Damien Frost about your capture. I made a promise to Marie’s memory that I would protect you, as she’d tried to. I kept it the only way I could.” She covered his hand with hers. His lay still beneath it.
“What did you do to me, Aunt Genny?” He approached the question smoothly, all silky predator, so she didn’t suspect the attack until he sprang. And when he lunged, he went for the throat. “Did you clear my mind to hide me, or to plant something in it so you could use me as your spy?”
Her lovely face abruptly paled. “What do you mean?”
“Is it you who’s been seeing through my eyes? Is that how you knew when to come here?”
Instead of answering his lethally quiet demands, she studied him as if she could see through that unblinking stare to the manipulator behind it. “How did you learn about this? Are they there now?”
“I have friends who’ve been under Chosen control, and now that I’m aware of it, I’ve been able to shut them out.”
Her hand gripped tightly. “How difficult it must be for you to resist. How strong you are.”
He pulled away. “Answer. Was it you?”
“No. Even if I’d wanted to insert some kind of control, your rescuers interrupted the process.” Her voice lowered. “Are you sure they’ve been blocked? They can’t discover I’m here.”
“Who?”
“Those who finance my various projects. Do you think your Dr. Duchamp would let me use her facility? If I had the proper setting, I could attempt a permanent block.”
“I can ask.” His tone didn’t betray that a deep, quiet and deadly quicksand lurked beneath the surface of his questions, waiting for her slightest misstep. But she was so careful, so convincing.