Remembered by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  “Will do, boss man.”

  Max stared at his sneakered feet, and began to frown.

  “Giles?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Do you know what the deal is with these shoes?”

  Giles looked down at the red Chucks and shrugged. “Don’t know. You’ve worn them for as long as I can remember. Maybe when you were a kid you had dreams of playing in the NBA.”

  “Maybe.” Max didn’t know what dreams he’d held as a child, but playing pro basketball wasn’t one of them.

  “I’d better turn in before the future Missus comes looking for me. G'night, Max.”

  “'Night, Giles.”

  Moving toward the door, Giles let his hand drop onto Max’s shoulder before leaving his friend to his thoughts.

  And more alone than he’d been since waking up in that locked room at the Institute.

  Max closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the glider, letting its motion in tandem with the monotonous night sounds gradually lull him into a fitful slumber.

  Where he saw red.

  At first, it was just a pattern, deep reds and golds and blues woven together in a bold geometric. Max was familiar with every repetitive angle and swirl. He’d played upon them for as long as he could remember. And then the design altered, beginning with just a spot that increased and spread at an alarming rate until it swallowed up the other shades. Red. Red like his shoes, his hands, the floor. Max watched the insidious progression in mute horror.

  What had he done? How had he done such a thing?

  “Hurry! It’ll be daylight soon. Max!”

  He glanced up through a glaze of tears to see a woman whose careworn expression couldn’t hide her beauty, even behind a mask of blood. She bent down to grab one end of the rolled rug.

  His mother, he realized with a sudden shock.

  Numbly, he stooped to grip the other end, struggling because it was so heavy with the awkward shape wrapped inside.

  “I can’t, Mama. I can’t lift it,” he whined.

  “You will. You must! If they find him, they’ll kill us both. They kill what they don’t understand. Is that what you want, Max?”

  “No, Mama,” he sobbed, terror doubling as a small dot on the front of her already stained dress begin to widen just above her breast, just like the circle on the rug. He stared, not understanding the significance. Her beloved features began to distort, to wither and rot and fall into horrible decay. Choking on a scream, he dropped his attention back to the body bundled in the rug, hugging his arms around it, straightening until it lifted off the floor. He could hear the scuffle of his mother’s feet as she backed toward the doorway, hauling the sagging burden. He fought to hold up his end.

  What seeped from the rug to discolor their floor wasn’t blood. It was water, dark, dirty, stinky water threaded with weeds and muck. His feet slipped and skidded in it, his red-stained shoes unable to find traction. The weighty load fell from his arms to thud on the slimy trail. And from out of the hasty binding something rolled free to bump against his toes.

  A head.

  The scream he’d been stifling broke loose, wavering high and thin and never ending as the features rocked upward. A familiar face. Not the one of the stranger who’d come to their door to take him away by force. The one he’d gutted, the one his gentle mother had ripped into with fangs and claws. These features were like his own, only older.

  Then the eyes opened, connecting with an eerie intensity to his own petrified stare. And he spoke.

  “Don’t forget the letters, Max. Read the letters.”

  “Max?”

  He leapt back from the light touch upon his cheek, causing the glider to bang against the side of the house. It took him a frozen second to recognize Charlotte bent over him in concern.

  “I’m sorry,” she was saying. “I didn’t realize you were asleep. Baby? Are you okay?”

  His arms snagged about her hips, pulling her in tight between his shaking knees so he could rest his head against her waist. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed her in. The feel of her fingers sifting through his hair, of her warm cheek brushing his, the strength of her body as she stepped her knees up onto the seat to straddle his lap and hug him tight made the nightmare fall away in fractured pieces. Until there was just the two of them wrapped about one another, slowly rocking.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  “I was dreaming,” he mumbled, still choking on the shock of it. “The rug wrapped around the body of the man we killed. My mama the way she looked when I held her in the swamps after she’d died. My father.” His voice broke and went silent.

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I pushed, hoping you’d remember something, anything. I wish it wasn’t all so terrible. I wish you didn’t have to remember any of it, Max.”

  The huskiness of tears in her voice had him straightening, shifting so he cradled her instead of the opposite. They sat like that for long minutes, rocking.

  “Tell me about the shoes, Charlotte.”

  “You said they symbolized a past you’d never return to, when you were helpless, defenseless to protect yourself and those you loved.”

  “Red from the blood of the first man I killed.”

  “From the first time you realized what you were and what you could do. That being different didn’t mean being powerless. I like the shoes, Savoie. I’ve always liked them because they set you apart from the rest. I admired you for that arrogance.”

  “I’m not arrogant.”

  She chuckled at his indignation. “Yes, you are.”

  The sound of a motorcycle approaching had her leaning back to add, “And speaking of arrogant, our guest is home.”

  “How did your evening go, Detective?”

  “Progress. Finally some progress.”

  “A reason to celebrate, then.”

  She stroked her thumbs along his dramatic cheekbones. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Something involving a quick good night to our company.”

  Cale shut down the bike in the drive and lifted off his helmet. He reached for his phone, apparently not noticing them there on the porch in the darkness as he said softly, “Hey, mama. Just got in. Sorry it’s so late. Just wanted to tell you how much I miss you before turning in. I’m beat. Doing some favors for Silas. Yeah, who’da thought he’d count on me. Like a brother.” He fell silent for a moment then concluded, “Gotta go. I love you, baby.”

  The light from the phone went out. Leather-clad shoulders rose and fell, then he began pushing the bike to the garage.

  “Let’s go to bed,” Cee Cee suggested quietly. “I don’t think he’ll miss our company tonight.”

  Hand in hand they entered the house and climbed the stairs.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Light from the swollen full moon poured through the glass doors leading out onto the balcony, burnishing every inch of Charlotte Caissie’s skin like liquid gold as Max laid it bare. She stood before him, proud, strong, lushly female with her tempting curves and enticing smile. He couldn’t wait to possess her body and soul. But he forced himself to take his time.

  He felt her mood heat as he appreciated her beauty with a slow, thorough stare. He watched her tremble in anticipation when he took a step to close the distance between them. Her eyes grow languid then impatient when still he didn’t touch her. He bent, his face tucking in where her long neck met very sexy shoulder, the one that bore the symbol of his desire, and her breath caught. Then stuttered from her when his deep inhalation was followed by the trace of his mouth along that sleek, already-healing angle.

  He dipped lower, nuzzling between her breasts, underscoring their fullness with his tongue. Kissing his way down her belly to the hot valley between her thighs. A brief flicker of exploration there encouraged a damp rush of welcome. He ignored the need to linger, choosing to adore her long legs with the stroke of palms and lips, all the way down to her bare toes.

  And he look
ed up from where he knelt at her feet as if in worship, his features all harsh lines and compelling shadows, eyes ablaze with that phosphorescent glow. His words shook through her like a rattle of approaching thunder.

  “You’re my everything, Charlotte. There’s nothing but emptiness before you, nothing but promise from this moment on. Fill my days and nights. Be the heart beating in my chest, the hope rebuilding my spirit, the dreams that stir my soul.”

  “I’d ask the same of you,” she whispered in return, cupping his upturned face, lifting him to her kiss. Taking him to their bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  No focused workout or cocky attitude for Cale Terriot on the fog-laced early morning. He leaned against the porch rail, staring out into the heavy mists considering choices as uncertain as the vague outline of the trees. A slight smile curved as Oscar Babineau settled at his side, mimicking his stance. After a minute of companionable silence, the boy tapped bruised knuckles.

  “Didn’t get these from a punching bag.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Other guy look worse?”

  “Yeah.” A slightly wider smile, but no greater animation. “All of 'em.”

  Oscar grinned then regarded him curiously. “What’s it like, your home?”

  Cale glanced at him in surprise then warmed to the question. “It’s beautiful. Green firs reaching to the bluest sky you’ve ever seen. Miles of trails through the mountains. Air so clean and fresh it almost burns your lungs. You feel so close to God you could reach up and shake hands.”

  Minutes passed before Oscar asked, “Think I could come out and visit?”

  “Hell yeah. Any time you like.” Then he thought a moment more and added cautiously, “If your folks don’t mind.”

  The boy sighed. “Mom’s kinda nervous about such things and my dad, Alain, he doesn’t care much for our kind, 'specially your clan after one of them broke in here.”

  “He wasn’t after you and he wasn’t sent by me. You don’t have to worry. Brigit took care of him.”

  At the sound of his obvious pride in that, Oscar went round eyed. “Really?”

  “Don’t ever underestimate your Aunt Bree. She’s hell in high heels.”

  “I heard your family are all thugs and murderers.” One guess where he’d heard that. The boy looked at him with mature intensity. “You don’t seem all that bad. Badass maybe.”

  A quick grin. “I am that.” Then he sobered. “I’m what I needed to be to survive. My family life was . . . difficult. Complicated.” And that sadness sank in again, so deep it nearly drowned him.

  “What about your family here?”

  “Silas and Bree? They’ve never been proud to claim the connection.”

  “I mean me and my mom? What do you call us?” When Cale stared at him, too stunned to speak, Oscar sniffed. “I’m not a child and I’m not stupid. I know Silas’s mom was my grandmother, and your father is my grandfather. And Max’s father was my father. You don’t get much more complicated than that. What I don’t get is why Uncle Silas never told me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t think we’d be anything you’d be proud to claim, a group of murderers and thugs and all.”

  “Oh.” Oscar glanced away, considering that before he murmured quietly, “I didn’t think we’d be something you’d want to call family.”

  Cale gripped his shoulder to turn him rather roughly so they faced one another. His voice rumbled low and gruff. “Well, you’d be abso-fucking-lutely wrong about that.” And he grabbed the boy to him fiercely, reveling in the hug’s quick return.

  After a moment, Oscar asked, “If you’re the Terriot king, does that make me a prince?”

  Cale palmed the top of his head and gave him a push away, laughing. “You are. And until I have a son of my own, you’re heir to our clan’s crown as the only second son.”

  Oscar’s unabashed response made him grin.

  “Cool!”

  A relaxed mood had settled between them when Tina arrived to pick her son up for school.

  “Hey, Mom. Uncle Cale was just catching me up on family.”

  “Uncle Cale?” She regarded her unacknowledged half-brother warily. Cale wisely held back.

  “Hey. And guess what? I’m a prince! How awesome is that?”

  She smiled hesitantly. “I’m not sure how much job security there is in being a Terriot prince.”

  “More today than before,” Cale assured her. “You’re both under my family’s protection. Silas should have told you that. Maybe he forgot to mention it.”

  “He must have,” she agreed, gaze upon his face as if seeing him for the first time. Studying the tough features, the scar that cut across his brow, the usually narrowed eyes now so wide and expressive, his sudden uncertainty warring with a yearning to reach out to her.

  “Don’t be afraid of me,” Cale petitioned quietly. “We’re not the monsters we’ve been made out to be. I don’t want anything from you other than the chance to get to know you. But if you’d rather I keep my distance, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Mom,” Ozzy began, ready to push his uncle’s cause. But he didn’t have to.

  Tina took two quick steps and was in Cale’s arms.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Cee Cee observed the tender moment from the seclusion of the dining room. She clutched at the arm Max scooped gently about her waist.

  “He worries you,” Max intuited. “Is that because you’re afraid he’ll bring trouble to our door?”

  “No. It’s because of the danger we’re asking him to walk into on our behalf.”

  His lips brushed her cheek. “He’s a big boy, cher. I doubt you could push him where he isn’t willing to go.”

  “Silas can.” She frowned recalling her partner’s grim assurances. “I wish there was another way but I can’t think of one.”

  “So, your problem is what?”

  “I like him, Max. He reminds me of you. Both of you have spent your whole lives struggling through the ugliest of circumstances to find one small piece of happiness to hold onto. You could have run from it or given in, but you didn’t. And now that you have that reward you’ve fought for, you’re pressured to risk it all because someone pulls unfairly at your heart strings. It stinks, Max. It’s not fair and it makes me angry to be a part of it.”

  “That’s what you think Silas and Genevieve are doing?”

  “That’s what I know they’re doing because I’ve done the same thing to get CIs to work with me. I tell myself its part of the job I do, but that doesn’t make it right.”

  Max’s lips pressed gently to her temple. “There’s no right answer, Detective, only the best you can do at the moment. He’s doing what he feels is right for him, and you have to do the same. We can’t always protect ourselves or each other from making hard decisions. All we can do is live with them.”

  “Could you live with it, Max?”

  She glanced up at him, desperate to know. Ever since Genevieve Savorie’s declaration that she would decimate the Terriot clan to avenge the loss of her own, Cee Cee had been asking herself what Max would do if he had to make that choice. Would he surrender Cale and his people’s future to resurrect his own past? His quiet answer gave her no true relief.

  “There are many things I’d be willing to live with, sha.” Feeling the subtle tension gather within her, Max assessed the slight figure standing with his new family out on the porch and continued carefully. “Would I sacrifice him for them? Yes, I would, and knowing what I do of him, he’d agree to it. For you? I would sacrifice the world for you, Charlotte, without a second thought. Are you asking because there’s a danger of either of those choices being made?”

  “No. Not at the moment.”

  Max had another issue to address. “How long can you play this game before you’re recognized as NOPD detectives? Terriot isn’t the only one standing out on very shaky branches. We have to consider your safety after that business the other night.”

  “We’re being as carefu
l as we can. Silas doesn’t have a history in New Orleans. Blutafino has no reason not to believe he’s who he says he is. Alain’s always been careful to keep his face out of the news for the sake of his family.”

  “And you? You’re not exactly low key in the media.”

  “Thanks to Karen Crawford,” she grumbled. “Your biggest fan.”

  Max began to smile. The sly lift at one corner of his mouth made her hopes leap expectantly as he murmured, “Perhaps we can use the nosy Ms. Crawford to our benefit. If she’s hungry for scandal, perhaps we should provide her with one, and at the same time, give you more freedom to move amongst Blutafino and his unlawful ilk.”

  Cee Cee liked the way his mind worked. She gazed up at him with an encouraging lift of her brow. “What are you thinking, Savoie?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  A field day for Karen Crawford. The right place at just the right time to catch the perfect story, one she’d been chasing with varying degrees of success for years. One that would make her fading byline sought after once again. Perhaps even outside the narrow reach of New Orleans gossip.

  She’d taken the Cummings assignment because she needed the work. Was desperate for it, actually. The photogenic state representative was speaking at a luncheon gathering for some of the city’s charitable foundations, his wife’s included. She needed an angle. The program was wrapping up so she and her photographer loitered in one of the exits where she hoped to score an interview with someone of political or social weight.

  And that’s when she saw her meal ticket.

  Seated at Noreen Cummings’ side was the last person she ever expected to see at such an event.

  Garbed in flawless dove gray Armani, Max Savoie listened attentively to the speaker while smiling slightly at something the politician’s wife whispered in his ear. Almost trembling, Crawford directed the cameraman his way.

  She waited, poised to pounce as the attendees filed out, chatting unhurriedly in their designer-garbed clusters. Dutifully, she grabbed for comments from some of the obligatory celebs but her focus was on one man only. And he headed straight for her with Noreen Cummings on his arm.