Bound by Moonlight Page 2

  Cee Cee gaped up at Max. “Five—”

  He gave her a warning squeeze and answered the reporter. “It’s an important cause to both of us. Let’s focus there, can we?”

  Crawford pounced on the opportunity. “Important why?”

  “We both lost our mamas when we were young. We were lucky to have good, strong influences step in to raise us. Others aren’t that fortunate.”

  “The Cummings Foundation targets homeless or exploited children,” Crawford pressed. “I know the detective owes much of her rearing to Father Furness and St. Bartholomew’s. But when Jimmy Legere took you in, wouldn’t you consider that more exploitation than salvation?”

  His eyes went flat and cold. “No. ’Cuse us, please.” He propelled Cee Cee forward, making her hurry in her four-inch heels to keep up with his long strides.

  He was here to make a statement, and when Max set his mind to something he was as subtle as a bulldozer: get out of his way or get plowed under. And she was crazy enough to ride shotgun as he strode into the limelight.

  At first glance, Michael Furness appeared more a man given to spirits than the spiritual. His big, coarse figure should have appeared imposing behind the clerical collar, but something in his eyes and smile showed an inner compassion that reached out to the lost and those in need. He’d founded a small church in a rundown neighborhood and opened its doors to all. They flocked to him, those of bruised heart and soul and body, and he gathered them close. Charlotte had considered St. Bart’s home while her top cop father was working the streets undercover. She and her best friend, Mary Kate Malone, who was the light yang to her dark yin, grew up inside the humble embrace of kindness and care, Mary Kate an orphan, Cee Cee left on her own. She owed the priest more than she could ever express, and Max knew it. Which is why he headed straight for that calm man of God, in spite of—or because of—who was standing next to him.

  Father Furness stood on the steps of St. Louis Cathedral speaking with NOPD chief Byron Atcliff.

  “I was hoping Max would bring you,” the priest murmured in a surprisingly gentle baritone as he swallowed her in his embrace. “It’s good to see you, Lottie. And Max.” He put out a big hand. “I wish you’d let me give you the proper accolades for what you’ve given to the church.”

  “No thanks needed, Father. I wish there was more I could have done.”

  Furness patted his hand and released it before Max grew uncomfortable enough to tug away. Praise made him restless, so the priest doled it out in small doses.

  “Looks like you’ll have no trouble raising the rest of what you need.” Cee Cee glanced around at the crowd. “A lot of deep pockets here looking for good press.”

  “And speaking of deep pockets, I see one I need to fleece.” Father Furness winked at her. “For a good cause, of course. Come see me, Lottie.”

  She promised she would, but they both knew she probably wouldn’t unless work brought her to his door. He gave her another hug and left her to deal with the two very opposite, and at the moment confrontational, men who meant the world to her.

  Byron Atcliff was more than just Cee Cee’s superior. She’d practically grown up on the seat of the squad car between him and her father when they were partners on the force. A wiry man, as relentless as Furness was forgiving, Atcliff despised crime in any form. And in his eyes, Savoie was its bold embodiment.

  As police chief, he worried over the career of his most decorated detective because of her association with Max. As her godfather, he fretted over the happiness of his best friend’s only child.

  He regarded Charlotte with a disapproving frown as she pushed her unacceptable escort in front of him. To his credit, Savoie met his gun-barrel glare without flinching.

  “Uncle Byron,” Cee Cee said, trying to soften him up as she linked her arm through the rigid figure’s at her side, “Max Savoie. Max, Chief Byron Atcliff.”

  “I believe we know one another by reputation,” Max said.

  “Yes, we do,” Atcliff returned just as stiffly. No hand was offered. None was expected, considering At-cliff had spent his career trying to put Savoie and those like him in prison. Or the morgue.

  Atcliff was about to turn away when he caught Cee Cee’s flinty stare, calling him on his promise that he’d give the man behind the mobster a fair chance. And At-cliff prided himself on being fair, even when it choked him.

  Scowling, he pinned Savoie with a stabbing glance. “Father Furness tells me you’ve almost single-handedly been responsible for the rebuilding of St. Bart’s.”

  “The father was exaggerating to make me more palatable in your eyes.”

  That unexpected honesty didn’t throw Atcliff off. If anything, it made the chief sink his teeth in deeper. “The money Jimmy Legere spread around for charity was fertilizer. He hoped it would grow a good opinion to cover the stink of what he was. What are you spreading, Savoie?”

  Max remained unblinking for a long, lethal moment, then he offered a narrow smile. “I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

  Atcliff snorted. “You’ve managed to grow on my goddaughter. You harm her career, I’ll cut you off at the ground like chokeweed.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’m not in favor of this relationship,” the older man continued. “I can’t say I approve of you parading it around.”

  “Good thing for me your opinion isn’t the one that matters most.”

  At the coolly mocking tone, Atcliff warned, “You break her heart, I’ll pull you out by the roots.”

  Cee Cee stepped between them with an exasperated, “Would you two stand down? Uncle Byron, Max is my choice. Deal with it. Max, you will respect his right to be pissed off about it. Clear?”

  They gauged one another again.

  “Take care of her and stay out from under my feet professionally, and I won’t have a problem with you, Savoie.”

  “I’ll stay out of your way unless you push that professional foot into our personal lives again. Then I’d have to make myself your problem. In a big way.”

  Atcliff assessed the arrogant man who’d somehow managed to snag the heart of Tommy Caissie’s daughter. Did he have the steadfastness Cee Cee could depend upon, the strength to support her, and the wisdom to protect the best damned thing he’d ever have? Savoie wasn’t someone he’d enjoy seeing across the dinner table at holiday time. He doubted they’d ever make easy small talk while fishing off his boat together. But he was Charlotte’s choice, and Savoie didn’t give an inch when it came to claiming that.

  And there was nothing wrong with a little arrogance.

  Chief Byron Atcliff allowed a grim smile. “Understood.”

  “THAT WENT WELL.”

  Max had no comment as they followed the movement of the crowd around the Square.

  Booths fronting the Pontalba offered handcrafted items from area artisans, donated for the cause: exquisite jewelry, paintings, one-of-a-kind and vintage clothing, as well as accent pieces in metal, glass, and ceramic with price tags only the rich could afford. Not much of a shopper, Cee Cee kept her attention on Max. She noticed his silence and distraction and followed his stare to the source: Karen Crawford.

  “Max, she’s a cold, soulless bitch from hell. You know better than to talk to her.”

  He stopped. “Do you agree with her?”

  Cee Cee laughed. “I hate to think I’d agree with Crawford on whether it’s night or day.”

  His unblinking gaze wouldn’t let her off the hook.

  “Oh, for fu— Do we have to do this now?”

  “Is it the timing or the topic you find so objectionable?”

  She put a hand on one hip. “What I find objectionable is the fact that you haven’t told me how you like my shoes.”

  He continued to glare at her.

  Come on, Savoie. You know you want to look.

  He held for another admirable moment. Then he glanced down, checking out the navy blue heels barely held in place by a serpentine twist of shantung winding over the top of
her foot. She smiled to herself as a low growl vibrated from him.

  “Like them?” She pivoted her foot on the pointed toe to show off all the views.

  He took a harsh breath. “I’m going to suck on your toes after I take them off you.”

  “Good. Then that’s money well spent.”

  Max shook off his lustful fascination and regarded her once again with that insistent silence, waiting for his answer.

  She sighed. “Okay. Do I think Jimmy used you? Yes. You know it’s one of the things I hated most about him. Do I think he loved you and cared for you and raised you like a father would? Yes, damn him, he did. So I have to be grateful to him for that, which annoys me to no end. But whatchu gonna do?”

  He put his arms around her. “I’m sorry, cher. I didn’t mean to spoil our evening by being disagreeable.” He sighed heavily. “We don’t belong here with them. Maybe we should just go home.”

  She shook her head. “Screw them, Max. We’re here for Father Furness and St. Bart’s and all those kids he’s helping. So let’s go spend an obscene amount of Jimmy’s ill-gotten gains on something that will do some good. Besides, you promised there’d be dancing. Don’t you want the chance to grope me in front of all these repressed, upscale folks?”

  She felt the slow curve of his smile against her temple. Laughing, he curled an arm about her shoulders.

  There was a time when she would have thrown off that possessive gesture as too personal for a public venue. But tonight was all about him.

  Low, bluesy music from the far side of the Square reached them over the sound of the crowd. Piquant smells from the food booths tantalized upon the spring air. They wandered from booth to booth, awareness of one another sizzling like the fryers serving up catfish and hush puppies. It was nice—that simmering sense of belonging to each other, of comfortable closeness and anticipation for two people who had never belonged anywhere.

  Max stopped at one of the tables. He turned to her, his expression somber as he lifted a creamy string of pearls. “I’d like to see you in these.”

  “And probably nothing else,” she teased.

  He didn’t smile. His mood was strange as he laid the long rope about her neck, looping it a second time to admire the way the pearls glowed against her skin. “Would you wear them for me?”

  She touched them tentatively. An extravagant gift from someone who rarely gave them. Unless she counted her car and the treasured flowers reduced to petals kept in a bowl at their bedside. He wasn’t a creature of impulse, which made her wonder about the significance of the perfect beads.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  He counted out an alarming stack of bills to the woman behind the cash box, then took Cee Cee’s hand to lead her along the crowded street. He didn’t look around, his focus set grimly on his purpose: to be seen.

  Where he walked, attention followed, forcing him to take a narrow road of behavior and consequence.

  He controlled an empire built on a foundation of crime and violence. He ruled a hidden clan of creatures like him, who existed in secret behind a veil of superstition and danger. And balancing those obligations was his absolute devotion to the one person who could tear down both worlds: Charlotte. She owned him heart and tarnished soul.

  And she would not fail him.

  Two

  MR. SAVOIE. DETECTIVE Caissie. You got my invitation.”

  They looked around at the soft greeting to see Noreen Cummings and her daughter. Both were blonde and lovely and scarred, one externally, one emotionally, by traumatic events tied to Max.

  He took the fragile hand offered him in a gentle grip. “Mrs. Cummings, you’re looking far better than the last time I saw you.”

  She’d been in the hospital, torn and stitched from a brutal attack reporters had tried to link to his dark reputation. Truth hadn’t been a big concern while building their salacious story, and no apologies came when it proved to be pure fiction—except from this woman who’d lost the most.

  Slender fingers tightened about his with a show of strength. That didn’t surprise him. He knew she was strong.

  Her smile was bittersweet. “I want to thank you again for your visit. It brought me . . . great comfort. This is my daughter, Janet. I have you to thank for her safety.”

  More praise he didn’t deserve. He’d done nothing to protect her; circumstances and a sharp blade wielded by another had removed the threat.

  “Miss Cummings. I heard you speak on your father’s behalf at a fund-raiser some time ago. You were very passionate. It impressed me.”

  The young woman nodded her thanks. “I’m strictly behind the scenes now.”

  Max and Noreen exchanged a glance. Good, his stare conveyed. Keep her safe. Keep her away from attention.

  Cee Cee watched with curiosity. She hadn’t known Max was acquainted with Cummings’s wife. She extended her hand to Noreen. The last time they’d spoken, the elegant woman had condemned her for her relationship with Max, which was understandable at the time. “This is a wonderful thing your husband is doing for the children of our community.”

  A firm clasp. “Actually, it’s my project. I’m just letting Simon have the glory. I imagine you and I both do what we can in our own ways.”

  Cee Cee nodded. She liked the gutsy woman who wore her loss and her scars so proudly. Though Simon Cummings’s character was suspect, his wife made up for it abundantly.

  Then he was there, slick smile, hard eyes, quick to surround his wife and daughter with shielding arms.

  “Detective. Savoie. Surprised to see the two of you circulating with the crème of New Orleans.” The smooth drawl of contempt earned Cummings a sharp look from his wife, but his focus was on Max. And that look was deadly.

  “My money’s as green as anyone’s, as you well know,” Max said with an equally chilly smile. “And my motives are more pure than many.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, then extended an envelope. “A contribution from LEI. For the good of the community.”

  Cummings’s features tightened, and for a moment Cee Cee thought he might rip up the donation and throw it into Max’s face. Then the pop of a camera flash made his political façade slide into place as he accepted it.

  “The community thanks you for your generosity.” He tucked the envelope away, his attitude unmistakable. Max may have forced him into taking his stained money and doing business with him, but Cummings wasn’t about to be social. “Darlin’s, we need to keep moving.”

  Noreen bestowed a regretful look upon them. “Good to see you both. Beautiful pearls.”

  Cee Cee touched them. “Thank you. A gift.”

  Her gaze slid up to Max, who had eyes only for the departing Cummings. Eyes that were fierce and dangerous. A tug on his arm brought him to heel but in no way tamed his mood. He was rigid with animosity and . . . something else. Something he hadn’t shared with her.

  Cee Cee finally broke the silence. “If you despise him so much, why are you working with him?”

  “Business makes for strange bedfellows. Keeps your enemies closer.”

  “A Jimmy Legereism, if ever I heard one.”

  He didn’t smile. “He had something I wanted and I had something he needed. Neither of us has to like it.”

  “He’s dangerous and powerful, Max. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “So am I. And I don’t plan to.”

  She kept her hand on his sleeve as he stalked through the glamorous company, a barely leashed predator whose similarity to them went only as deep as his tailor. If they knew what truly lurked beneath the sheen of civility, they would run screaming in terror.

  But Max knew how to blend so they wouldn’t guess what Charlotte knew. The first lesson his mother had ever taught him was that humans destroyed what they didn’t understand.

  As she and Max moved among them, people stepped back, eyes averted, voices dropping to a whisper. She knew what they were saying.

  What the hell is he doing here?. . . heard he killed
men for Jimmy Legere . . . ate their hearts.

  She should lose her shield. A police detective with the likes of him . . .

  They live together in that mobster fortress out on River Road.

  Cee Cee’s chin went up a notch. She was used to barbs from the press and she didn’t care about gossip. But she cared about Max—and for some reason, the impression these people held mattered to him.

  He made no excuses for his past. He’d been an expert at wielding fear while prowling the shadowed streets like the shiver of a bad dream, alone and dreaded. This game of diplomacy and appearances was new to him, enduring the stares and whispers so he could push his way in to establish himself where he wasn’t wanted.

  And damn, if she wasn’t proud of him.

  They’d gone full circle about the Square and Max paused to gaze at the crowd with that unnervingly still focus.

  “Well, I think I’ve managed to intimidate and annoy just about everyone by being here. My goals have been achieved. If you’ve finished rubbing your exquisite taste in clothing and men in their faces, I’ll take you home and attend to your very sexy feet—along with any other desires you might have.”

  Oh, baby.

  She backed down her racing motor, letting passion rumble at a rough idle. “I want to dance with you first. I want to squeeze your exceptionally fine ass in front of all these snotty people.”

  That got the flicker of a grin. “Such noble aspirations, Detective. How could I not comply?”

  A local band was doing an excellent job on a variety of cover songs. Strands of tiny lights crisscrossed above the couples dancing on the street. One hand on her waist, the other engulfing hers, Max moved her in long, graceful steps to the Cajun waltz “La Valse des Chère Bébé.” As the sweeping tempo of the music and the heat of his touch worked magic upon her mood, Cee Cee forgot the cameras, the whispers. There was only Max, and the way she’d felt dancing with him barefoot on his lawn among his feral clan.

  Gazing up at him, her heart in her eyes, she smiled. He smiled back, a slow, sexy curve that promised her everything she’d been looking for. Those watching covertly got a quick glimpse of what went on between them behind closed doors, between smooth sheets.