by Nancy Gideon
She allowed a slight smile. “Good. The less they know of my plans, the better.”
“And what plans are those, Genevieve?” Cee Cee pushed. “I’m afraid before we continue I must insist on knowing.”
The two women exchanged strong-willed stares until Genevieve finally relented. “To see my nephew at the head of all, of course, as he deserves to be. And,” she stated with a chill, “to see every last Terriot dead.”
The bell above the diner’s door gave a cheerful jingle. Giles stepped inside, nodding to them. Genevieve waved them along with a pleasant, “I’ll take care of the bill,” as if she hadn’t just been discussing genocide.
As Max slid off his counter stool, she caught his sleeve.
“How did he die, your father?” she asked in a subdued tone.
“He lost his head. His body was sunk in the bayou.”
Seeing her shock, Cee Cee quickly justified, “He’d endangered everyone with his reckless and self-serving attacks on a local human family. He’d killed and been seen. He couldn’t be trusted.”
To Max, Genevieve asked, “Did you order it done?”
“I couldn’t,” he admitted, words catching in grief and anger, at himself, at Rollo. Though he’d been told the facts, he couldn’t remember the circumstances. “I should have, but I couldn’t.”
Her unreadable gaze moved to Cee Cee. “So you did it for him.” Was there accusation beneath her quiet tone?
“No, but I didn’t disagree that it needed to be done.”
Genevieve released Max without another word and reached into her pocket for small bills to pay the tab. “I’ll be along in a minute. You go ahead.”
Cee Cee turned on Max the second they were alone outside. “Why are you giving her so much information?”
His reply was as slick as black ice. “To see what she does with it.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
After dropping off both Max and Genevieve in the city, Cee Cee’s troubled thoughts drew her to the docks and Jacques LaRoche. She couldn’t in good conscience bring potential danger to his mate’s door without discussing it with him first. Especially after all they’d gone through to bring Susanna safely back to the home they’d made together here in New Orleans.
She found the bulky foreman supervising the unloading of a freighter. He waved her over while bellowing orders to his crew.
“'Morning, Charlotte. Hope you’re not bringing trouble my way 'cuz I don’t have time for it today. Hey! Be careful with that. Treat it the way you’d want someone to handle your mama!”
Smiling at his rough manner, Cee Cee synopsized her concern over their visitor and her request. The same uneasiness she’d felt reflected in LaRoche’s solid features.
“I’d be lying if I said I liked the idea.”
She nodded. “I don’t blame you. If you want no part of it, I’d understand.”
Resting his clipboard on his hip, he stared out over the Gulf, chewing on her message like it was a particularly tough cut of beef. Finally, his shoulders rose and fell heavily.
“I’ll talk to Susanna. It’ll be up to her. But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll ask Nica to sit in on any meeting they might have. Just to be on the safe side. She knows that kind better than we do.”
“Agreed.”
A sudden shout interrupted them.
“Yo, Chief. Where do you want this?”
The sight of the looming fork lift gave Cee Cee a nasty turn, but her attention diverted to its driver. A ball cap and dark glasses couldn’t disguise Cale Terriot’s amazing arms.
“Park it over there. And be careful. Treat it—”
“Like your mama.” A quick flash of his broad smile, and he maneuvered the load with a practiced ease.
So this was what Silas had been up to in their behind- closed-doors discussion. “New guy?” she broached.
“Yeah,” Jacques muttered, looking back over his invoices. “Showed up this morning looking for work with a recommendation hard to ignore.”
“How’s he working out?”
“Full of brag and bluster, but he pulls his weight and the crew likes him. Name’s Micky Terry. Silas asked me to take him on, no questions, so that’s all I needed to know.”
All Silas figured she needed to know as well, and that ticked her off plenty.
She liked the new Terriot king. Liked his brass and aggression and his ability to look beyond both to see reason. Brokering peace between the clans would be one step closer with the weight of his family on their side. She didn’t like the way her partner manipulated his cooperation as if he were little more than a street thug to be ruthlessly moved as a disposable pawn. But Silas was right about one thing. Cale could get them inside where they needed to be with a competent cool they wouldn’t find elsewhere. And he’d play their game without realizing a new, deadly competitor had just entered the field.
A coldly clever schemer who wanted all Cale’s family dead.
“Make sure no one has reason to think he’s anyone else.”
And as she drove past the supervisor’s trailer, her brooding stare brushed by the extended cab truck parked behind it without making the connection.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Plenty wondered about the strutty little guy with the confident air who showed up for that night’s tryouts. He wasn’t one of them, new on the docks, an outsider, a mystery. And no one could’ve been more pleased by the buzz than Casper Lee.
“You’re making an impressive debut, my friend,” he confided as he, Cale, and his three patrons stood at the entrance to the concrete hills and valleys of a skate park. The outdoor arena had closed to all but the invited. No spectators on this night, just competitors. “Let’s see if it survives the evening.”
Cale smiled and assured, “I’ll be the last man standing.”
Lee’s pale stare assessed him appreciatively as he stripped out of his leather jacket to an olive drab A-shirt that showcased his impressive upper body.
“We’ll see.” He gestured to the wide black band that tightly circled his left bicep near the shoulder, concealing the Terriot’s snarling wolf tattoo. “What’s this? A mourning band?”
“For my two brothers. So I don’t forget why I’m fighting.”
Lee’s gaze followed the liquid movement of his muscles during his warm up stretches. He leaned toward Silas to confide, “If he can match that arrogance in the ring, we’ll talk some more.” Then he moved on, joining a small group of observers at the edge of the rink.
Silas eyed the rough combatants. “Can you take them?”
Cale shot him a disdainful look. “A little late to be concerned about that, isn’t it?” he countered then moved into the glare of the lights, summoned for the first elimination.
A huge brawler stood in the center of the concrete bowl. His brutal build glistened under the lights. He observed his much slighter opponent with a mocking grin and a jeering, “Couldn’t you find someone his size for him to pick on? Maybe in a peewee league?”
Cale smiled good-naturedly, continuing to stride forward, his easy grace taking on a purposeful intensity. Before the hulking fellow could finish his laugh, a devastating uppercut sent him staggering. Cale followed with a tight spin, his elbow connecting with the dazed man’s head, making him stumble, clutching at his ear until another hard downward drive knocked him to his knees. Then, with an insulting swagger, Cale turned his back and started to walk away.
Roaring, the big man came at him like an enraged bull.
As the juggernaut lunged, Cale sank low into a side step to let him rush past. Then he drove his elbow down upon the base of the man’s neck, dropping him with the effectiveness of an axe. And he didn’t get up again.
The stunned crowd watched him calmly return to the sidelines without having broken a sweat. Curious whispers became anxious speculation. And those murmurs grew with each unconscious opponent dragged out of the arena in Cale’s wake. At the end of five rounds, he’d yet to be bloodied. And that fact didn
’t escape a smugly smiling Lee.
“Is our local talent boring you, Mr. Terry?” he called down from his vantage point. “I’d expected a little more enthusiasm.”
Cale quirked a smile at him. “I thought we were weeding out the weak links. Didn’t know I was supposed to put on a show.”
Lee chuckled. “You misunderstood then. I have plenty of good fighters. I’m looking for someone to dazzle the crowd.”
“Are you asking me to show off?”
“Please. Dazzle them. Better yet, dazzle me.” Lee waved him toward the court, daring him with baiting lift of pale brows.
All eyes were on Cale as he strode out into the bright pool of lights, across the ribbons and puddles of blood he’d helped scatter on the concrete. He scanned the faces of the already eliminated in the crowd and called, “Shall we get down to it, or do you want more of the same?” He grinned at the expected response and shot a quick wink at Cee Cee. He swept the remaining four competitors with a dismissing flick of his hand. “Do you want to wait while I take them down one at a time, or should I give them a chance, all or nothing?”
Silas went rigid at Cee Cee’s side. “Shit!”
Cale grinned and goaded, “Four against one? Do you like the odds? I’m betting they still won’t stand a chance.” Then his gaze leveled on the remaining fighters, his eyes going flat and deadly. “Care to prove me wrong?”
The four stood uncertain until Cale beckoned with his fingers, his contempt too great to ignore. Finally, they came forward, eager to damage the loudmouth outsider.
“Silas, stop this,” Cee Cee insisted.
But Nica answered.
“No. Don’t.” And at the sound of Cale’s low, provoking laugh that same look of icy confidence in his eyes mirrored in hers. “He’s got this. He’s going to take them to school.”
Expression unconcerned, Cale let them back him up against one of the high-banking curls. Just as they were about to make a move, he made his, turning to dash up the steep ramp, using the momentum and height to launch a high, agile flip and twist that landed him at their backs. Then he tore through them like a Category 5.
With precise, devastating moves and quicksilver speed, Cale made it look easy, a cat toying with confused and rapidly exhausted mice, dropping them one by one.
He dazzled—punching, chopping, sweeping, dodging with an almost playful exuberance. Wowed by his skills, the crowd of not quite peers was wildly entertained and amazed. And they cheered.
Casper Lee joined in, lifting Cale’s bruised and bloodied knuckles in the air to proclaim, “Last man standing. But,” he mused, “worthy of being champion?”
Cale took the bait. “What do I have to do to convince you?”
“You bested this lot with your tricks and fast foot work, but can you hold your own where it counts? Where the odds aren’t in your favor? Are you ready to raise those stakes . . . Gunslinger? Or are you all talk?” His pale eyes swam with a sudden lurid red light.
“That’s not what we agreed to,” Silas called out.
Cale motioned him to be quiet, his own eyes taking on that same preternatural glitter. Smiling, he said, “I’m here to please. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
Lee rubbed his index finger across a small cut on Cale’s jaw then put that bloodied digit to his own mouth, sucking it clean. “Good.” Then he shouted, “Bring a collar!”
Cale recoiled suspiciously.
“No!” Silas strode into the arena. He flung his cousin’s leather jacket at him and declared, “We’re done here. You wanted an audition, we gave you one. You wanted to see him in the ring, you got an eyeful. But we don’t put it on the line for free.”
Amused by his use of “we”, Casper indulged Silas with a narrow smile. “I don’t believe you make the rules here, Mr. Creed. You’ve got to pay to play.”
“I told you, I don’t gamble. I bet on sure things.” He jabbed a thumb at Cale. “He’s my sure thing, and he doesn’t fight unless I can make a profit. Not ever. Those are my rules.”
Casper glanced at Cale, brow arching. “And whose rules do you want to play by? His?” His voice lowered. “Or mine?”
Cale held Lee’s stare unblinkingly then finally said, “His. For now. Because I said I would and I keep my promises.”
“You want to see him fight,” Silas interjected, “name a night. Put him on the card. After I place our bets, he’ll give you the show you want to see. Not before for cheap thrills.”
Lee stiffened at that, and Cee Cee feared her partner had pushed too far. If the whole deal crumpled now, she didn’t know if they could rebuild it.
But after Lee’s narrowed eyes lingered over Cale in a thorough sweep, he finally nodded. They couldn’t mistake the threat in his soft, “I’d better be impressed.”
“You will be,” Silas promised, pushing Cale to get him moving toward where the ladies waited.
As they left the concrete arena, a cry rose up, small at first then rising with an increasing fervor.
“Gunslinger! Gunslinger!”
Cale slipped on his coat without looking back. His head filled with another shouted accolade from what seemed like a very distant past.
“Our prince!”
“Our king!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Run, Max! Run!
Max jerked awake, the abrupt movement setting the porch glider into a motion as frantic as his heartbeats. It took several long, cleansing breaths for him to grasp his situation and to expel the putrid scent of the swamps from his nose.
The night lay quiet and cool, humidity passing along with the rain. He’d come out on the porch, too restless to seek company inside. Oscar had wished him good night hours ago, and the big house had settled into silence. Yet his thoughts continued to prowl, circling without destination or purpose. Because the woman who put all into calming focus wasn’t there.
No use denying it. He relied upon the fiery detective with her passionate heart and grounding presence.
Since she’d given herself to him in that glorious re-bonding, she consumed his every moment. Max found himself straining to catch the sound of her laugh, the hint of her scent, a glimpse of her exotic features. Just her nearness quieted frantic thoughts and urgent fears. Her briefest touch, her fleeting glance hurried anticipation for what the night might bring, and even now had him shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat as he glanced again at his watch.
It was late. Where was she? What were she and the MacCreedys and their new-found ally doing that required furtive exchanges and ever deepening secrets?
He had no problem with her job. Despite the danger and the frequent moral conflicts that arose, he couldn’t imagine her doing anything that suited her as well. Pride swelled when he considered the scope and consequence of her occupation, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to support her if he could.
So what bothered him like a burr embedded under his skin if not the badge? He stared unhappily toward the end of the drive and the distant gate that separated them, musing over the similar barrier that remained in place whenever those sultry dark eyes lifted to his.
With a single glance, she conveyed a wealth of experiences denied him. Though busy building new ones, he’d never understand the true depth of their relationship because, for all intents and purposes, he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t rescued her from Jimmy Legere’s terrorizing thugs. He hadn’t earned her fragile trust or claimed her for the first time in the fierce way of their kind. He couldn’t compete with the man she remembered, the one she adored. And he would always feel like second best.
Unless Genevieve Savorie kept her word.
“Thinking deep thoughts, boss man?”
He glanced up at Giles St. Clair and smiled, glad for the distraction.
“'fraid they’re only as deep as a puddle.”
“Still deep enough to drown in if you fall in face first.” Giles moved to the rail, hand reaching for his pocket then coming away empty, fingers twitching for the cigarettes he no longer
smoked.
“Cold feet?”
“What?” Giles looked surprised then relaxed into a grin. “About getting hitched? No. I’ll feel better when I have her lassoed good and proper.”
But something gnawed at his friend.
“Been doing some thinking,” the big man mused.
“'bout what?” Nothing he’d like, Max gathered from the way Giles suddenly avoided eye contact.
“That after we tie the knot, Brigit and I’ll spend some time with my family.”
“Honeymooning on the Bayou? I hadn’t guessed that would be her dream destination.”
An agreeing chuckle. “First a week at that clothing optional place next to the family friendly one Babineau and Tina went to in the Islands when they were hiding out. She brought me back brochures.” His grin flashed wide then faded. “Then I’ll take the summer off from school. Hell, another few months won’t matter at my age. We’ll stay at my mama’s until the baby comes. That’s what I’m thinking, anyway.”
And he sought Max’s blessing.
Brigit’s auto accident had shaken Giles more than he’d admit. Max had recognized the unabashed terror in his eyes when he and Charlotte had brought the soaked, bruised and bloodied pair home. They couldn’t tell which direction that danger had come from, but one thing was certain, it knew where to find them. And if Giles wanted to hunker down within the isolated circle of family, Max couldn’t blame him. Nor would he hold him to any of the obligations that made him hesitate now.
“You do what’s best for you and yours, my friend. Whatever you need, however long it takes, wherever you need to be. Things here won’t fall apart in your absence.”
Relief evident in his features, Giles chided, “Well, I’d like to think there’d be some minor inconvenience.”
Max returned his smile. “We’ll manage somehow.”
“It’s not decided yet,” Giles continued, looking uncomfortable now that his plans had been revealed. “Just something I was knocking around.”
“Let me know when I’ll need to hire a dozen or so to try to replace you. Temporarily.”