Rise by Moonlight Page 12

  Encouraged by the calm rumbling tone that invited without a hint of wariness, Cee Cee rested her head upon his shoulder and brought him up to speed on her investigation, omitting one thing only—her suspicion of her partner. That, she wouldn’t voice aloud until she had proof it was true. Instead, she relayed her conversation with Atcliff, bracing for the worst as he considered the consequences of what she proposed, as well as the dangers to herself and the child she carried. When he spoke at last, his tone brought a chill to the bath water.

  “Clever of you to include me in your scheme. Did you think I’d be so relieved to be on hand as you dangle yourself like a chicken leg above a swamp that I wouldn’t concern myself over the potential of that swift, devouring bite?”

  “You know I don’t allow anyone to nibble on me except you.”

  He wasn’t sidetracked by her hopeful attempt at humor. “And dear Uncle Byron agreed to this?”

  “Very reluctantly, and only if you were onboard.”

  His hands sought hers, threading fingers to curl hers within the protection of his much larger grip. “Did you think I would be, Charlotte?”

  “No.” Knowing her stripped bare honesty was always a surprise to him but this time, not a relief, she explained further. “But I had to ask. I saw what they did to those innocent women, Max, to their helpless babies. I can’t imagine the horrible things they plan if we don’t stop them. If I can save even one, just one, by exposing their network.” Her words caught in a painful hitch.

  Silence stretched out like the whisper of clouds across the moon above, casting shadows over her hopes until he spoke at last.

  “You are the bravest woman I know, the most fearless and compassionate in all you do. I wish I could,” he began, feeling her stiffen for the blow of his refusal until he continued with a reluctant, “but I can’t argue with what you propose. I agree it’s our best chance to stop them before they get even bolder. We have to stop them, or none of us will have a future.” He paused, silence lingering while Cee Cee caught her breath in stunned relief. Shorted lived as he advised, “I’ll be in talks with Reuben and Cale downstairs this evening.”

  A snort. “Sorry to miss that pissing contest.”

  His chuckle vibrated beneath her. “Indeed.”

  Cee Cee remained thoughtful for a moment then asked the ten-thousand-dollar question. “Can you trust them?”

  “In this, I believe I can. There’s no future for any of us if the North succeeds with its plans. Those who survive their purge’ll be slaves to their agenda.”

  “Which is?”

  “Bleak to non-existent for our kind.”

  Considering his assessment as the silky, scented water lapped about them, she asked, “How much am I not going to like what you three came up with?”

  “About as much as you disliked wearing that fetching Doris Day dress the first time we had dinner at Babineau’s.”

  “Ooooh, that much, huh?” A heavy of puff of breath. “You’ll keep me in the loop?”

  “Of course. I depend upon your ability to see through even the most attractively presented bullshit.”

  Slipping her hands from his, she rubbed her palms up and down the long, muscled line of thighs bracketing her with such protective and provocative strength. Worries lessened as his interest impressively rose. “I’ve never quite managed to cut through yours, Savoie.”

  “And it’s that mystery you find so enticing.”

  “That,” she murmured, hands scooping beneath his taut butt, “among other things.”

  “Any particular one of those things you care to address now that they’ve come up?”

  “Let’s start with the most immediate.”

  Water sloshed over the rolled edge of the tub as she squirmed about to settle slowly, snugly over the provoking issue rocketing so boldly between them.

  Her stare adored the fierce angles shaping his uplifted face, that look that said in no uncertain terms, “Mine,” with primal intensity as his hands palmed her butt then clamped tight to begin a seducing rhythm. Coaxing, teasing, encouraging, until finally demanding she take what he gave and acknowledge that consuming pleasure with increasingly rapid breaths and throaty moans of urgency.

  Her fingers tangled in the dark silk of his hair as he leaned forward, his lips stroking her throat, capturing first one overly-sensitive nipple then the other, lavishing them with licks and sucks and nips that sent tremors tightening through her core as his impatient length moved within her. Strong, bold, arrogant in its demands, like the man himself.

  Her world exploded. Thighs clenched. Her head fell back, breaths shuddering then abruptly punched from her lungs on the cry of his name. Charlotte closed her eyes as the sound of his deep, lusty groan flooded her with satisfying accomplishment. A damned fine way to flip off a truly a shitty day.

  Once they were dry and horizontal, relaxing within the centering circle of each other’s arms in their big bed, discussion continued, an intimate briefing to bring each other up to date on conversations, plans and worries while drawing a grounding strength from one another. Why had they foolishly denied that steadying power? Cee Cee finally expressed the question aloud.

  “When did we stop communicating, Max?”

  His head nudged tenderly against hers. “I don’t know, sha, but the silence has been killing me.”

  She took a chance, unburdening the weight in her heart. “I think we’re both scared to admit we’re afraid of the unknown.”

  “You and I, together, is not an unknown. It’s a certainty.”

  How she loved that rumbling claim, smiling into the warmth of his shoulder, tasting the familiar heat of his skin with a kiss. “Yes, it is. The only one I’ve ever had outside the job.”

  That job had been her only family until the coolly swaggering Mob enforcer strode into her precinct wearing cuffs. And she’d realized her dependence upon him went far deeper than attraction, encompassing safety and trust, as well. He’d been as constant as the stars in her ever-spinning world of danger and death.

  Still, she’d been foolish not to worry when secrets seeped into their precious union. Her doubts about Babineau and Max’s ties to Cummings as well as her mate’s place in the new order of his clan and kind. Those uncertainties needed to be addressed. Now would be a good time . . . but a lovely, blanketing fatigue seeped through her as she lay in the arms of this man who was so much more than just a man.

  “I thought you were meeting with Cale and Rueben downstairs.”

  “I will in a minute.”

  A chuckle. “I hope they like your new cologne.”

  Cee Cee closed her eyes, riding the rumble of her love’s laugh, letting the weight of palms upon head and hip solidify the mantle of peace that allowed her to slip easily into slumber upon one last thought.

  What would I do without you?

  – – –

  Byron Atcliff hit the locker room between First and Second Watch change, a habit begun in his academy days. After a quick perusal of his personal messages, he changed into NOPD sweats the same size, he was quick to boast, as those of his youth. Then, powered by nostril-scorching coffee and a fresh beignet, he hit the uneven banquettes for a daily tour of his district.

  The sounds of his city’s vibrant life pulsing all about him was a near religious experience, lessened only by the absence of Tommy Caissie’s footfalls beside him. He could almost hear his long-dead partner’s even breaths as he turned off heavily trafficked Rampart to enter Louis Armstrong Park through its iconic arch. The pain of missing his friend accompanied the requisite miles his anguish could never outdistance.

  On the back half of his journey over mostly quiet paths and lattice-framed bridges within the sadly underappreciated thirty-two acres, intuition that had served him well as a beat cop began a familiar prickle through the short hairs on his neck.

  “I thought you’d rather us meet away from the office.”

  Heart rate lunging at the sound of Max Savoie’s ear-level drawl, Atcliff recovered
quickly from his stumble and shot a glance beside him. Similarly attired in workout clothes, the lean bane of his existence offered a mild smile and an annoying suggestion.

  “Maybe we should walk a bit while your pulse recovers.”

  Without a word, Atcliff slowed, reflexively checking his watch to gage the spike in rhythm. Damned ghost had nearly killed him!

  He’d no love for the lanky ex-thug, “ex” being the insistent question preventing him from celebrating his goddaughter finding the happiness that had blessed him for almost thirty years. But his wife had been the daughter of the Deputy Superintendent, a goal he sought to emulate. His stubborn detective had picked a man as famous for his mug shots as he was his tabloid exposés. And more recently, his charitable contributions. Nothing more altruistic than a reformed villain, if Savoie was indeed rehabilitated. That jury was still out. And here he was about to invite the legality-fluid fellow into one of his most troublesome cases.

  Atcliff adjusted his pace to a brisk walk, Savoie falling in easily beside him as if they’d partnered for decades. “I take it she talked to you.”

  “Indeed, she did. Have I you to thank for encouraging her down this dangerous path?”

  “She never needs encouragement to take the road most likely to get her killed. Her journey with you, for example.”

  Savoie’s blow-your-hair-back laugh took him by surprise. The genuine amusement in his smile relaxed tension into an almost friendly ease, allowing him to catch his breath and get to the fine point.

  “Can you keep her safe?”

  “In spite of her habit of making her own safety her last concern, it’s my priority. Always has been and will be.”

  “Mine, too,” Atcliff grumbled. “And you haven’t made that a simple task. You’ll in no way compromise this investigation.”

  That smirky smile again. “Have I ever?”

  A reluctant chuckle escaped as he shook his head, sweat dropping from his flushed features. “I really don’t want to like you, Savoie.”

  “Mutual, I’m sure.”

  They walked in contemplative silence for a time before Max turned the conversation to business.

  “Do you have any main suspects, so I’ll know what direction to watch?”

  “Since you are part of this particular equation, I’d say you’d know better than I would.”

  “Carmine.”

  “Only on the edges. Though he does lend his stink to everything criminal in this city.”

  “Are you looking closer to home, then?”

  Atcliff’s jaw tightened, eyes front. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

  Which gave Max all the information he needed. Brady.

  The police captain pulled up to regard him with rifle-barrel seriousness. “Don’t let her get killed. Stay close and stay out of sight.”

  “What about Babineau?”

  Heavy brows furrowed. “What about him?”

  “You have no questions there?”

  “Questions? About him as a cop, or about him as her best friend and partner?”

  “Is there a difference?” came his ambiguous answer. “Best friends can sometimes keep dangerous secrets.”

  Hard eyes went granite. “Alain Babineau is as straight as a razor and just as sharp.” Atcliff regarded him with pointed intensity. “You have some reason for asking?”

  “No. Just covering all bases. And MacCreedy?”

  A sigh. “MacCreedy is . . . complicated. But he’s a damned fine cop who’d go to the mat for her in a heartbeat. I thought he was one of your own?” Atcliff had gleaned a fairly decent grasp of the District’s Shifter dynamics.

  “Just covering bases. Hopefully, I’m more attuned to what goes on in my house than you are in yours.”

  Atcliff checked his watch then snapped, “Take care of yours. I’ll take care of mine. Don’t confuse those two directives, Savoie.”

  A smirk. “I’d say those lines have already been crossed, and not by me. But I’ll see to her safety. You can count on that. Unlike you, I don’t trust anyone. I learned that from the best.” A lesson punctuated to the back of Jimmy Legere’s head. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  “Stay out of the way, Savoie. Watch her. You have one job. Don’t infer with hers. Or mine. That would end badly for you.”

  “Understood. I’ll let you get back to your afternoon routine.”

  Without a word, Atcliff returned to the steady rhythm of his run, leaving Max to contemplate his warning.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Hi. Can I borrow your mate?”

  Clutching her robe together, Cee Cee opened the bedroom door wider to emit Turow Terriot. Something about the usually quiet and low-key brother had her biting back her objection. He exuded serious business. “As long as you bring him back in one piece.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Her cynical, “Isn’t it always,” coaxed the flash of his rare smile. As she turned to relay the message, Max was already behind her, fully dressed, red tennis shoes in hand. They’d been enjoying an after-dinner snooze following his phenomenal massage. She hadn’t heard him get up before she answered the soft knock.

  “This is a surprise. I didn’t hear anyone come in.”

  Then he laughed as Turow’s brow arched a silently mocking Have you met me? “What do you need?”

  “I need to borrow you for a quick trip. Have you back tomorrow by mid-morning.”

  “A little more specific?”

  “Fill you in on the way. Syl’s waiting. She tends to get into trouble if she’s on her own for too long.” A pause. “You coming?”

  Max deferred to Cee Cee with an expectant glance. She gave their stoic visitor a disemboweling stare. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  His sincere, “Yes, ma’am,” didn’t ease her worry. Terriot business was usually ugly business, and Max didn’t need any more scars to show for it. But the impatient to be gone way her husband stepped into and laced his shoes coaxed a reluctant smile. And his sudden, heart-staggering kiss stole her power to reason.

  Max eased back and winked. “Get some sleep.”

  Her grumbled, “Play nice,” made him grin before following the Terriot prince out into the hall.

  Boys and their secrets. She sighed and shut the door behind them. Whatcha gonna do?

  – – –

  Turow remained maddeningly close-lipped as he drove his rental down River Road until prompted by Max’s gruff, “Talk, Terriot. Why am I here?”

  “Your visit with Kip’s uncle paid off. Made some calls.” The strong jaw worked for a taut second. Finally, Turow growled, “I found our brother, Lee, and I need you there to make sure I don’t kill him before he tells us what we need to know.”

  A quick blink then Max nodded. “I see.”

  “I couldn’t ask one of my brothers since they kinda suffer from the same lack of restraint. Lee won’t be able to talk his way around things, you being an outsider and all-around scary dude.” A pause. “And I trust you.”

  Enough said.

  The trip ended at a small private airstrip where the shadow of a sleek helicopter and its pilot gave Max pause.

  “That’s our ride?”

  “First class all the way,” Sylvia Terriot, clad like a Valkyrie in a skintight flight suit, declared.

  “Where are we going?” Max asked with the first rumble of uneasiness.

  “Vegas. All aboard.”

  – – –

  With dawn still hours away, they touched down in a small airport just outside the always glittering silhouette of Sin City. A rental waited.

  “He has much to pay for, Turow.” Pain twisted about Sylvia’s quiet reminder.

  Before starting the car, he brought his mate’s hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Let’s go say hello to your brother.”

  Though questions percolated during the desolate ride, Max kept them to himself. He understood payback and, from the couple’s
tension, how long overdue it must be. He’d never met middle prince, Lee Terriot, but recalled Cale’s description of him as a troublemaking coward and a bully. Though he usually shied from family squabbles, these spilled over into his world with potentially dangerous consequence. Best to keep a lid on them if possible and, if not, lend a supportive hand.

  Their destination crouched on the seedy edge of the Strip like a shunned, poorly-behaved relative at a holiday gathering. The couple in front squared up, tension strung tight by whatever memories they held of the shabby casino. Then Sylvia answered his unasked questions.

  “Row’s brother James had a part-interest in this shithole. He used it to conduct the darker side of personal business, like imprisoning and nearly killing his own brother.”

  “Who owns it now?”

  Turow slid a glance back at Max. “My guess was Lee, and Kip confirmed that yesterday.”

  “What makes you think he’ll be here?”

  “Collection day. He’ll want to pick up that bonus personally. And when he does, we’ll pick him up for a fond reunion.”

  “You plan to just walk in there? Won’t you be recognized?”

  “He won’t be looking for us. He thinks we’re busy digging a hole to pull in behind us in New Orleans.” A narrow, rather frightening smile. “And he’d never expect to see you. Imagine his surprise.”

  Though it was just past three in the morning, the parking lot was impressively full. The outer aisle where they’d parked lay in hazy shadow, reflecting marque lights winking like fireflies upon rows of dark auto glass. There, unnoticed, Sylvia stripped out of her jacket, revealing a silky wrap blouse cut nearly to the waist of her skintight leather pants. An eye-popping canyon of cleavage hosted gaudy costume jewelry a female of Sylvia Terriot’s exquisite taste would shudder from in horror.

  As oversized, glittery-framed glasses covered shrewd green eyes, she drawled, “With me on your arm, who’ll notice you?”

  “I’m going to have a hard time noticing anything else.”

  She winked at her sullen mate. “Exactly.”

  Sylvia knew her stuff and how to strut it. When she leaned against the still crowded bar, the fellow tending it fell brain-over-eyeballs into her majestic cleavage until her forefinger stroked beneath his jaw, closing it with a snap and tilting his attention a bit higher.