Captured by Moonlight Read online

  Cee Cee pushed him, sending him back

  a few quick stumbles.

  “STEP UP, SAVOIE. Take me if you want me. Take me if you can.” She shoved him again, but this time his feet stayed planted. He had her wrists in his hands, but let go when she tugged. “Coward,” she threw at him. “Come on.”

  She pushed again, and this time, he dragged her up against his chest, holding her there with his superior strength, with the intensity of his gaze.

  She smiled. “Come on, big, bad mobster boy. King of the Beasts.” Her gaze was heavy lidded, her mouth pursed and ripe. “If you want to put your mark on me, you’re going to work for it.”

  Her elbow hammered into his ribs, giving her just enough time to slip away and put the couch between them.

  And just like that, he changed. His posture altered, becoming sleek and fluid. His gaze gleamed, centering on her with a focus that was preternatural in its stillness. Danger oozed from him in palpable waves.

  This was what he was when she wasn’t watching. This was the deadly predator whose name created fear in men who let nothing scare them. Quick. Terrifying. Brutal beyond belief.

  And hers, if she had the courage to claim him.

  ALSO BY NANCY GIDEON

  Masked by Moonlight

  Chased by Moonlight

  Available from Pocket Books

  The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

  Pocket Books

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Nancy Gideon

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department,

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  First Pocket Books paperback edition August 2010

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  Cover design by Min Choi

  Cover art by Craig White

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4391-4965-2

  ISBN 978-1-4391-5542-4 (ebook)

  For Dr. E.

  Thanks for the insights and honesty!

  Captured

  by Moonlight

  Prologue

  THEY FOLLOWED HIM like ghosts.

  Quick. Silent. Gliding almost invisibly along the damp dock. Hunting like dark, deadly pack animals through the mist rising off the river.

  He ran, a man already consigned to death. They were slick and stealthy as they cut through the shadows like moonlight. He stumbled, knocking into crates, falling to his hands and knees, struggling for the strength to drag himself toward refuge. Lights danced ahead, burning like fireflies in the fog. Distant music teased above the raw tear of his breathing. If he could get to one of those places where humans gathered, he just might survive his colossal stupidity.

  If it looks too good to be true . . .

  He watched the edge of darkness for movement, gathering for a sprint across open space—though they’d be on him in a second. His legs shook so weakly, he’d be lucky if he made it a few yards.

  Why hadn’t he taken his brother’s advice to proceed with care? Because along with that colossal stupidity came spiteful pride. He didn’t want to be like his big brother, owned and obedient, leashed like those who worked the docks. Those who groveled to the lethally elegant Max Savoie. So he took a risk on a deal that seemed so sweet. And now his brother would be tearfully murmuring, “I told you so,” over a casket probably paid for out of Savoie’s deep pockets.

  It wasn’t loyalty toward Savoie as much as it was ignorance that kept him silent while they’d pounded him with their questions. Silent except for the screams, while they were breaking his fingers and more. At first he hadn’t understood, through the pain and the choke of his vomit, what they wanted to know. But when he tried to tell them that, it only got worse.

  He should have guessed it was Savoie they were after. They had the same sleek strength, that same arrogant grace that set Savoie apart from the dockside clan. But by the time he realized what name would put an end to his suffering, he couldn’t say it through his split lips and broken jaw.

  Then a careless moment of theirs put a gun close to his nearly crippled hand. He held them off, keeping them at bay, with their red-gold eyes and quicksilver movements, until he’d escaped.

  Or had he?

  At some point in his uncoordinated stagger down the wharf, it occurred to him that there was no way he’d gotten the drop on these lean, merciless killers. If he’d managed to escape, it was because they’d let him.

  For all his scathing criticism, after refusing to humble himself to ask for a job, he had to run to Savoie. He was the only power in New Orleans who could stand up to these brutal demons.

  But he had to reach Max, before he could plead for sanctuary.

  And that’s where they wanted him to lead them.

  Part of him, the part that was battered and smashed and moaning in agony, urged that he take them wherever they wanted. He didn’t owe Savoie anything. There was a world of difference between the minute-to-minute existence he eked out on the streets and that sprawling mansion where Savoie lived in mobster luxury. Savoie, with his designer suits, thick bankroll, and wet dream of a human girlfriend. Savoie, who made his brother and those like him stand taller, prouder, for once acting like men instead of beasts as they rallied around him.

  So, maybe he owed him something after all.

  He crouched, his blood dripping on the concrete as he scanned the swirling shadows. Through his swollen lids, he saw wolven silhouettes slink low between the cargo crates and metal bins, shapes that stretched and bunched and rose upright to walk on two legs instead of four. Stalking him as if he were some kind of trembling rabbit.

  Well, this rabbit was going out with a roar.

  He swayed to his feet. Instead of trying to reach the distant sheltering lights, he backed up against the river, gripping the gun in his mangled hands. Realizing that he wasn’t going to run, they emerged from the curtains of mist, eyes glittering, sharp teeth gleaming. He pointed the pistol at the nearest one and screamed out with the effort of pulling the trigger.

  Nothing. Just an impotent click.

  They moved in, aggressive and fearless, closing off every direction except one. He looked behind him—such a long way down to the black surface of the water. But he was a strong swimmer, he thought with a feral smile. It was better than letting them tear him apart, leaving his pieces for his brother to put together. He turned and stepped into the darkness.

  And in the middle of that long, cool fall, as the water rushed up to embrace him, something inside his head blew apart with a sudden shock, like being shot.


  He hit the water and sank without a sound.

  One

  MAX SMELLED HER perfume. Voodoo Love.

  The scent drifted to him on the balmy night air long before he heard the sound of a big block engine rumble through the security gates. He inhaled deeply, drinking it in, letting it tease his senses as Charlotte came closer, up the driveway, into the house, then her footsteps in the front hall, and up the curving stairs. Slow, weary steps. He lay in the darkness, letting her come to him.

  She moved quietly about his room, fumbling without the lights. He watched her undress, the efficient movements not as quick as they usually were. Her gun, her shield, her ankle piece, her cuffs, her cell, laid out along the dresser top in a no-nonsense row. She paused with a sigh, then began to lever out of her boots.

  “I’d planned to meet your flight.”

  She gave a slight hop of surprise, and was silent for a moment too long. No sassy reprimand for startling her?

  “I had a change of plans at the last minute. I left a message for you.” Defensive and cool. Not exactly the reunion he was expecting.

  “I got it.” Short and uninformative: Change of plans. I’ll be back late. “I wanted to pick you up, but I didn’t know what time you were getting in.”

  “I took a cab. No big deal.” She started down the buttons of her shirt. His shirt. She’d said the feel of silk against her skin would make him seem closer while she was away.

  “I was looking forward to welcoming you home.”

  “Sorry.” Still prickly.

  “No big deal.” His reply was inflectionless, as if it really wasn’t.

  “I was only gone four days.”

  “They were very long days. And very lonely nights.”

  “It’s not like I didn’t call you.” Defensive and now almost irritated, she turned her back on him.

  Yes, and their conversations had been as brief and impersonal as her message. He’d learned more from the tone of her voice than from her Spartan words.

  She let the shirt slide off her slumped shoulders, then shimmied out of her jeans, leaving both on the floor. He’d missed the unintentional mess she left in her wake, unthinkingly rather than thoughtlessly. She made a long, tough silhouette. Lean muscle, dangerous curves, and sleek bronze skin. The need to touch her, to have her, spiked like a fever, but her cool mood made him careful.

  “It’s not the same thing, talking across time zones.” He thought that sounded reasonable enough to slip in a little gruff emotion behind it. “I like you here, with me.”

  “I’m here now.” There was just enough bite in that to make him frown.

  “No,” he corrected, his voice low and seducingly soft. “You’re over there.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come over here to me.”

  She hesitated, then approached the sheets they shared more often than not. Her walk was full of prideful, independent attitude, which made him smile. If she made things easy for him, he wouldn’t crave her quite so desperately.

  She paused at the side of the bed, fists on her hips, her tone confrontational. “Close enough?”

  “No.” He put out his hand. “Down here so I can welcome you properly.”

  Whatever had her so edgy didn’t keep her from seeking him out in the darkness. Her fingers slid across his palm. He enfolded them gently, bringing them to his lips before tugging on them. She sank down onto the mattress into a kiss that greeted her with sweet familiarity, wooing her into temporary compliance. He didn’t try to stop her when she straightened. If she needed the separating space, he’d let her have it. For the moment.

  “I missed you, sha. I wish I could have gone with you.”

  “It’s no—”

  “Big deal. So you said. Still, I wanted to be there for you. I would have canceled my meetings if you’d asked me to. I was worried about you being alone.”

  “Is that why you sent an emissary in your place?” Her question jabbed like a thin, sharp blade between the ribs. Then she let her temper slip. “How dare you, Max? How dare you send someone to spy on me? If you can’t trust me out of your sight—”

  He touched his fingertips to her lips. “That’s not why. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “So you sent some clumsy goon to follow me? I was on to him before the plane left the ground. Give me some credit, please.”

  “I do, detective. I wanted you to know he was there. Just in case.”

  “In case what? I was mugged during the funeral?” She tunneled a hand through her short, spiky hair in exasperation. “It’s warm and fuzzy of you to be so paranoid, but totally unnecessary. Stop it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  His mild reply didn’t convince her for an instant. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need or want you to handle things for me.”

  “Can I just handle you, then?”

  A soft laugh, an improvement. “You drive me crazy, Savoie.”

  “And you love that about me.”

  Her hand squeezed his. “Yes, I do.” She glanced around the dark room curiously. “What’s that smell? It’s really nice.”

  He snapped on the light, and she stared at the spectacular bouquet of deep crimson roses mixed with other tiny fragrant blossoms on the nightstand.

  “Are these for me?” Her voice was small and a bit shaky.

  As she reached out to touch the velvety petals, a sudden tightness filled his chest. He cleared his throat and tried for nonchalance. “I was going to give them to you at the airport, and probably would’ve gotten all misty and emotional. Thank you for saving me from that embarrassment.”

  She glanced at him, all misty. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

  Trying to keep from getting what she cynically called gooey, he shrugged. “I’ve never given them. I wasn’t sure if you’d like them.” Her arms whipped about his neck, her face burrowing into his shoulder, and he held her. “I guess you do.” He breathed her in on a satisfied sigh. “Welcome home, Charlotte.”

  “I’m so glad to be here.” Her shoulders gave a suspicious hitch.

  He drew her in closer, his cheek rubbing against her hair. He figured she was ready to let it out, and started gently. “Was it very difficult?”

  “I hadn’t seen or heard from her in over twenty years.”

  Twenty years since her alcoholic mother had abandoned her child and her cop husband. It took a fatal heart attack to bring them back together—a little too late.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  She squirmed but still answered. “I didn’t expect to feel anything except maybe anger. I don’t know what I would have said to her if I’d made it there in time. She had another family. A husband in insurance sales, stepkids, grandkids.” She choked a little. “I met them. They were nice. They wanted me to stay at their house, but…it felt a little too strange. I wish I’d asked you to go with me.”

  That reluctant admission came hard, and there was no way he was going to let her regret it. He kissed her brow tenderly.

  “Next time you won’t have to.”

  “I’ve run out of family to bury, Max.” She took an unsteady breath and he could feel her reining in her amazing control. Not quite managing. “I’m so tired.” And finally, the extremely gratifying, “I missed you.”

  He turned off the light, then cradled her against him. He’d thought of nothing for days but a passionate homecoming, had hungered for it and for her. But that would have to wait now. She was a tough, tightly wrapped woman, not one to let go of very much. So when she buckled, even slightly, he was quick to console her. Just being there for her, having her arms curled about him and her breath feathering against his throat, was enough. He’d waited twelve years to have her the first time. He could wait a few more hours.

  “Close your eyes. I’ve got you.” As she relaxed, he kissed the top of her head, whispering, “Sleep well.”

  And as she slept deeply and dreamlessly, he lay awake and alert, dividing his concentration between the feel of h
er beside him and the sounds of the night.

  Because his caution was much more necessary than Detective Charlotte Caissie knew.

  IF COMING HOME was falling into Max Savoie’s arms, returning to work was her grounding back to reality. A grim, often brutal reality, but the only one she’d ever known. Charlotte endured all her colleagues’ condolences, then focused gratefully on work. She understood death a lot better than she related to the living, which was why she was so good at her job. The New Orleans Police Department had somehow managed to get through four days without her, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or a bit insulted. The city was only slightly less demanding than her lover, and she was fiercely possessive of both.

  Leaving Max asleep under the covers was a sacrifice she hoped the Eighth District appreciated.

  Her desk was buried under an avalanche of paperwork and a sad little plant someone had left with a sympathy card but no water. Before her butt even hit her chair, her phone was ringing.

  “Caissie.”

  “Charlotte, it’s Dovion. I’ve got something down here that might interest you.”

  Welcome back.

  FROM DEVLIN DOVION’S intriguing John Doe, whose brain seemed to have exploded without any physiological cause, Cee Cee was drawn into a parade of nonpressing but time-consuming matters. She touched base with several informants, talked to the team that had taken the call on Dovion’s gray-matter scramble, and stopped into her commander’s office to get the all-clear for firing two rounds into an escaping murderer. She was meeting her partner, Alain Babineau, after lunch to shuffle through their caseload, then her only goal was to slide under those soft sheets again and get naked with a certain criminal element.

  As she entered the squad room, she was so surprised to see Max Savoie sitting on the corner of her desk that she simply stood there, her jaw hanging open.

  “Looks like you got company, Caissie.” Junior Hammond, who was always snapping at her heels in search of a grade raise, bumped her in passing. “I’m on my way to check for outstandings, to see if he’s wanted for anything other than some afternoon delight. Might as well take advantage of a bird in the hand.”