Rise by Moonlight Read online

  Knowing Dovion was right didn’t make what he had to do any easier for Max as he sat in the luxurious backseat of his town car staring at her name on his phone as her voice requested he leave a message.

  “I know you’re extremely busy, Detective, but I need a moment of your time. Call me.”

  – – –

  The only bright spot in Cee Cee’s hectic day was notification that Kinesha Jones was awake and able to answer brief questions. As Babineau drove, their conversation was necessarily grim.

  “So, how are you gonna go to the Cap and tell him Brady was done in by a shapeshifting ninja assassin who, oh, by the way, just happens to be the man’s genetically made to order daughter?”

  “Atcliff knows such things exist,” she reminded, suddenly so weary even a sigh siphoned off her energy.

  “And he’s going to go on record with that? To the press?”

  “Not my call.”

  “If you take his job, someday it will be. And with Brady out of the picture, that reshuffling of the chain of command is gonna happen sooner than expected. Might be for the appearance of stopping corruption they’ll bring in outsiders to fill in some blanks instead of promoting within.”

  “Again, above my pay grade.” But a definite problem. New blood, unfamiliar with their ‘unique’ demographics, eager to make a name off secrets long kept. Those not as forgiving of her relationship with a former Person of Interest like Max Savoie. “Nothing we can do but our jobs as long as they’ll let us.”

  They fell silent as Babineau pulled into the hospital lot, grim facts churning but refusing to coalesce as she made her way alone to the Burn Unit.

  Even with Kinesha Jones’ improved condition, the nature of the injuries demanded a sterile environment. Cee Cee submitted to the infection protocols and donned the necessary garb to prevent contamination as she entered the room, mindful of the nurse’s warnings. No physical contact, no mental or physical agitation of the patient. Period. Cee Cee approached the near-mummified doctor, clock ticking.

  “Dr. Jones, thank you for seeing me. I have some questions if you’re up to them.”

  Swollen, salve-coated lips barely moved as the patient whispered, “Ask.”

  “Can you tell me what happened before I arrived? Who was with you, what did they say?”

  “Pretended to be doctor but couldn’t answer my questions. Asked about you . . . to see your records.”

  When her words dried out, Cee Cee waited for the watchdog nurse to moisten her lips. “Who was with him?”

  “A woman.”

  “Another doctor? His assistant?”

  A careful head shake. “Stayed . . . in the background. We shook hands. Hers rough, strong.”

  “A bodyguard?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Pretty, delicate, educated blonde?”

  “No. Tall. Aggressive.”

  That rang no bells. “I didn’t see her. Was she hiding in the back when I arrived?”

  “She . . . she left before you came in. Told the man she’d take care of the other things.”

  Things like Mia Guedry’s possession? If not Olivia Brady, then who?

  The nurse signaled Time’s up. Fearing to press those boundaries, Cee Cee nodded and smiled at the gutsy doctor.

  “Concentrate on getting better. You’ll have work to do when you’re up to it.”

  Voice frail, the doctor sighed, “Nothin’ to go back to.”

  “There will be. Rest. Get better. It’ll be there for you when you’re ready.”

  With those cryptic words of encouragement, Cee Cee slipped into the hall, burdened by more questions than answers.

  After rejoining Babineau in the car, she filled him in as they headed back the station to update Atcliff. She checked her phone. No further messages after the one from Max. Not that she needed another urgent matter to deal with.

  The two detectives exchanged a look when only Cee Cee was called into their superior’s office. Expression carefully neutral, Babineau showed her in, closing the door behind her. Once invited to sit, she took the hot seat across from Atcliff and ran through all they’d uncovered to date, except what Ophelia had confided regarding her sister. She offered her conclusion that circumstances warranted further investigation of foul play if forensic evidence supported it. Then she waited for his assessment.

  “I commend both you and Detective Babineau for your thorough work. Dovion has promised to expedite his findings, and those, along with yours, I believe will validate the conclusion of death by his own hand.”

  Cee Cee closed her sagging jaw with a snap. After a jerky swallow, she argued, “Sir, don’t you think that’s premature? We’ve barely begun our review.”

  “Resolution, quick and confident, is what this city needs, not prolonged media coverage that feeds speculation.”

  “Uncle Byron, the city and his family need to know the truth.”

  “Detective,” his crisp tone slashed through her personal entreaty, “this city does not need to endure months of dirty laundry and scandal that will never come satisfactorily clean. It needs this unfortunate episode closed and forgotten so we can rebuild confidence in our authority and control.”

  “By lying? Sir—”

  “Detective Caissie, is it your professional opinion that this investigation will end corruption in this city? Or will it embolden criminals and frighten citizens who’ll no longer trust in our integrity?” He studied the stubborn set of her features for a long moment then exhaled, adopting that familiar mien of caring ‘uncle’ and a gentler rationale.

  “Charlotte, your daddy would be so proud of who you’ve become. He took the same high ground . . . and look how that ended for him. I don’t need another martyr. I need someone strong beside me, making the hard choices, holding to the realistic truths that will keep all the populace in New Orleans safe.” When she didn’t immediately argue, he smiled. “I know diplomacy goes against the grain for you. For me, too. But we pick our battles, Lottie, and this one isn’t it. Help me put a lid on things before the press makes all of us over into Brady’s mold.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing by doing nothing with what we know?”

  A patronizing nod of agreement. “You’re right, of course. But the high road isn’t always the best road for all concerned. A dead man can’t present evidence at trial. Carmen Blutafino is not going to escape justice. There will always be a Blutafino and those like him to provoke us and try to pervert our loyalties. The stronger we stand together for the laws we can enforce, the more difficult we make it for criminals to succeed. Let’s put this scandal behind us and move forward to that better New Orleans we want to make together.”

  Cee Cee asked for clarification. “What would you like me to do, sir?”

  “Talk with your team so we’re all on board, then I’ll make a statement to the press to end this unfortunate event. Warren Brady made mistakes that weighed upon him so greatly he took his own life rather than further disgrace the office he loved and the family he protected. He’ll be buried quietly, and we will move on.”

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything else, sir?”

  “No, Detective.” Byron Atcliff’s strong features relaxed into a fond smile. “I appreciate your candor and your cooperation in this matter. You deserve to be seated on this side of the desk in that future we’ll build together.”

  Had Brady once given him the same speech?

  Cee Cee breezed past Babineau where he loitered outside the door. He hustled after her, holding tight to his questions.

  After they’d climbed into her partner’s beat-up vehicle, she buckled in and blurted out, “Shit! Shit, shit, shit! He wants us to make it go away.”

  Babs started the noisy engine then turned toward her, voice a calm whisper in comparison to knocking valves and the banging pulse between her temples. “And what do you want?”

  “Close it down.”

  “Ceece—”

  “Just drive.”

  – – –

 
After the detective marched from his office, Atcliff stared at the closed door then drew out his private cell to make the call he’d been avoiding. A silky voice answered. He got right to the point.

  “Thank you for tidying up that unfortunate problem.”

  “Of course. It was to all our benefit. His usefulness was at an end, so his was inevitable. And it gave me the opportunity to test certain loyalties.”

  Just as he had. Atcliff’s chest tightened with provoking sentiment, hoping he hadn’t miscalculated. A quick, hard breath dispelled it. “It’s time we escalate the situation while they’re vulnerable.”

  A low chuckle, that misleading purr before the flash of sharp teeth. “Vulnerable is not a word I’d use as long as they have their attack dogs on the leash.”

  “The Terriots are your kind, your problem. Deal with them as you see fit.”

  “Oh, I will. Time to put our asset to work bringing them to heel. Then we’ll do a clean sweep of that rabble on the docks and the city will be ours.”

  “And Savoie?”

  “I’ll see to him. We have unfinished business that’s long overdue.”

  “And his wife?” Atcliff hoped no weakness betrayed him.

  “Don’t worry. She’s as valuable to us as she is to you. She carries our future.”

  – – –

  Cee Cee met with their team to relay the order to wrap things up in a neat bow for the city and the press and to release the scene, a command earning surprise but no questions. BAU, Business as Usual. The call to Dovion she expected would be harder, but the ME offered no rebuttal. She was too tired and frustrated to concern herself with his quick capitulation.

  Then back to Atcliff to confirm things on her end. Case closed by Officer in Charge. Manner of Death, gunshot wound, self-inflicted. Warren Brady had gone out with a bang and a whimper.

  Babineau remained a silent support at her side until they left the scene.

  “Where to?”

  She slumped in the passenger seat, denying the shocks of disbelief and frustration goading her to beat her fists on the dashboard. Scrubbing palms over her face to restore her stoic front, she muttered, “Just a sec,” and texted Max. Where U?

  An immediate ding. Towers.

  A hurried, Pour me a drink.

  To Babineau, she instructed, “The apartment. I need a long shower and a lot of alcohol. Wanna join me?”

  “For the shower?”

  Coaxed into a reluctant snort by his nonchalance, she amended, “For the drink.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got both of those waiting at home and could really use them to get rid of the stink of this whole day. You and I both know he was murdered to shut him up.”

  “Whatchu gonna do?”

  He glanced her way after easing into traffic, not buying her indifference. “What are you planning to do? Nothing suicidal, career-wise, I hope?”

  “I’m no more suicidal than Brady was. They can put him in the ground, but they’re not burying the truth with him.”

  “I repeat, don’t do nothing dumb.” He followed that warning with the flash of his grin. “At least, not without me.”

  – – –

  The apartment lay in shadows. Firelight shimmered through two crystal glasses. Only the sight of Max Savoie stretched out naked in front of the blaze could have made the mood more inviting. Until the shower turned on.

  Turning her on along with it.

  Discarded clothing marked her unhurried walk to a bathroom wreathed in ribbons of steam where candlelight teased an enticing silhouette behind clouded glass. Strongly defined arms; sleek black hair accentuating a roughly-cut profile; shoulders that could carry her heaviest load; long, sleek torso; and, that ass . . . The best cardio she’d had all day. Charlotte stepped inside and into a ready embrace that held her, just held her, as heat built and tension eased. Finally, she tipped her head back to receive his eloquent greeting.

  “You have no idea how much I needed this,” she whispered into his slow, smoldering welcome home kiss.

  “Oh, sha, I think I do.” He made his point with sucking nibbles down the arch of her throat, pausing to lap from the shallow pool of her collarbone before nipping along her shoulder. She moaned and tugged his mouth back to hers.

  Large, patient hands soaped and massaged until knots of stress melted. Palms adored that taut, tender bump of new life, charted strong, curvy lines, teasing, cupping, caressing away worries until this moment, this man was all that existed in her world. Her head fell back as he went to his knees until hers were incapable of supporting her, body shuddering, worries dissolving, replete as his arms surrounded her once more.

  Rocked by the promising thunder of his heartbeats, Cee Cee closed her eyes, adrift and dreamy as he turned off the water, towel dried them both, and transported her to the waiting hearth. Stretched out before its embracing warmth, harsh realities faded to manageable topics of conversation encouraged by warmed, non-alcoholic wine made more romantic by sips from each other’s glasses. Then, speaking what preyed upon hearts and minds came with relief instead of reluctance.

  “Atcliff made me drop the investigation. Brady’s death is going down as suicide.”

  “And that angers you? Why? Isn’t dead, dead?”

  Frowning at that practical reply, she argued, “That ends our chance to tie in Blutafino and any others involved.”

  “It also shuts the door on a lot of issues that don’t need exposure in the full light of day.”

  Things like their clan and Brady’s daughters. And the genetic war brewing like a dangerous squall in the Gulf. Cee Cee couldn’t argue that. A magnifying glass wasn’t something they could afford, but the injustice of it all refused to go down easily. Even with another small glass of that placating red.

  “He gets away with it. Those who rode on his coattails get away with it. And now that Brady’s an established scapegoat, blame for everything from Blutafino’s crimes to public jaywalking will be dumped on his doorstep because he’s not rotting in some prison, able to deny it. It’s not right.”

  Max soothed a hand from squared shoulders to the taut mound of her belly. “No, it’s not. But it protects those who would suffer from that lengthy trial. And perhaps with him out of the way, my aunt’s grip on our city will weaken.”

  “Or another replaces him.” Troubled thoughts leapt to the mysterious female Dr. Jones described. Another player they’d yet to identify. Firelight glittered in her dark eyes as frustration and betrayal filled them. “They win. Any way you look at it, they win. And Atcliff covering it up with convenient excuses makes it all the harder to stomach. How could he give that order and expect me to just lie down and obey it when it’s wrong? A coverup isn’t in the city’s best interests!”

  “Perhaps it serves other interests.”

  Max’s soft-spoken statement struck like a wakeup slap.

  Cee Cee rolled onto her side, dark eyes as direct as a double barrel. “What are you saying, Savoie? Whose interests?”

  The way his jade-colored gaze darted away then returned with stark intensity punched up her alarm.

  “Charlotte.”

  He spoke her name with such reluctance, her first panicked thought was to stop the words and the knowledge that would come with them. Heartbeats lunged into a frantic rhythm. Before they exploded, she whispered, “Just say it.”

  “Atcliff’s been working with Brady and Blutafino since he was in uniform. They all came up together, the three of them.”

  As breath squeezed from her lungs, she gasped, “No. He and my father—”

  “Were victims of corruption under the Vantours and then Jimmy. Just little fish at first, until Brady decided to make them into sharks like him. Your mother left because she found out. He was in too deep to stop by then, but he wouldn’t let her take you with her. You were the one good and noble thing he’d accomplished. He couldn’t tarnish that pride he saw in your eyes. To become that hero you believed him to be, he was going to testify against them. That’s why he was
killed.”

  A shake of her head freed tears to stream down pale cheeks. The pain of knowing every word was truth crushed her chest, but love and loyalty forced her to deny it. “No! They were best friends. He was family. He practically raised me. He would never have gone along with it.”

  Compassion softening his gaze, Max confessed gently, “He did more than go along with it, sha. Tommy Caissie was the price he paid to become one of them.”

  Choking back her denial, Cee Cee rolled away from the indisputable truth of his words. Behind tightly closed eyes, a horrific slice of time replayed. Her father laughing over some silly thing she’d said, reaching across their Sunday meal as they passed a dish and shared their last smiles. A shadow of movement behind him, brief and then obliterated by an explosion of sound and a hot rain of blood, bone and tissue that blinded her. Numb days and nights passing in a blur ended by a twenty-one-gun salute. The strong hand on her shoulder, crisp uniform beneath her cheek. Soft words she clung to.

  “I can’t replace him, Lottie, but if you’ll let me, I’ll be there for you as he would have been. Always.”

  Always. The reasons behind his promise hardened her heart. He’d thought he could appease her by taking the place of the man he’d allowed to be killed or may have killed himself.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Throat so raw, heart so crushed, her question escaped as accusation. When silence followed, Cee Cee confronted Max with a more painful demand. “How long have you known? How long have you kept this from me?”

  When he tried to cup her damp face with his palm, she flung her head back, denying that comforting gesture as her stare continued to accuse him. Instead, his hand covered hers where it pressed protectively to the curve of her middle. When she let it remain, he began, “I only learned this morning.”

  Quietly, he detailed the meeting with her witness, his conversation with Cummings, and finally his visit to Dovion.

  “I didn’t want to believe, knowing what he meant to you.”

  Cee Cee turned her hand so their fingers could intertwine. “Ophelia told me your aunt sent her sister to kill their father. Much as I hate it, letting the public believe he killed himself is in the best interest of all. But I don’t have to like it.”