Seeker of Shadows Page 3
But his eyes had held her captive. From his position of servitude, they should have been kept submissively downcast. To look boldly upon her could have meant his death. But as she listened to her guardian explain how to use the remote controller as a safety measure to keep her new servant in check, he’d slipped a rebellious glance up at her. She hadn’t expected eyes so startlingly blue beneath the slash of dark brows. Or a stare so penetrating. Instead of alarm, she’d experienced a sudden tremor as forbidden as it was unwise.
Her first thrill of sexual awakening.
He’d changed little since that day. The same long legs and barrel chest, brawny arms and menacing scowl. But the thick hair she’d loved to feel between her fingers had been shaved to a dark, downy shadow like the whisker stubble that gave him such rugged ferocity. His skin was darkly tanned, even the expanse of his chest displayed by the deep veed opening of his underbuttoned shirt. Her gaze could have lingered there all night, and loitered now in her recollections.
She still found him breathtaking. That hadn’t changed.
He hadn’t recognized her, which was both relief and curse. The confident way he carried himself said he was no longer anyone’s slave, but his own master, and she couldn’t have been more proud of him. He’d done well on his own. Better than he could have managed had he remained at her side.
That was some consolation on this lonely night, one of thousands since they’d parted.
It was foolish to indulge in such thoughts, to invite the warm curl of memories to heat her blood and stir long dormant passions. Foolish and dangerous, that temptation to play the What if? game.
What if she’d made a different choice?
Three
Now we’re of one mind, one heart, one soul. Nothing will ever separate us again. There’s still doubt in your eyes. Let me prove you wrong.”
Her mouth took his with a convincing fervor, tongue teasing, then plunging deep. She tasted of desire and dreams. Her hand closed possessively about him, warm, soft, determined, arousing beyond his wildest imaginings with her unskilled strokes.
As his breaths quickened, he began to believe the words she said were true.
Let them be true!
Jacques had jerked from sleep to find himself alone in the hot, sweaty tin can of his trailer, his breathing ragged, and so painfully hard it took some urgent pounding in the shower to beat out the tension. But when he stopped at the club to do some paperwork before his shift at the docks, that restlessness returned. Because the scent of the Chosen female lingered.
Jacques leaned back in his office chair and rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t woken from one of those agitating dreams in a long while and he knew it was the outsider’s presence that brought them back to torment him.
Dreams or memories, he was never sure, but their power to disturb him lasted for hours, sometimes days. No amount of work or alcohol or companionable sex could fill the emptiness, yet he couldn’t convince himself he was free to commit to another.
Because he knew his mated female yet lived. Somewhere. He just didn’t know how to find her.
That was the hell of it. As long as that frustrating bond existed, he was stuck in an emotional limbo, unable to move on. Like being mired in the bayou up the heart with no way to pull himself out, yet unable to sink into a peaceful oblivion. Sometimes he got so weary of the struggle, he longed for that permanent surrender. Anything was better than the loneliness that constantly cut away pieces of any hope he held for happiness.
Movement caught his eye out on the floor. The exterior doors were still locked so he knew it had to be one of the staff coming in early. He smiled as he recognized Nica’s bold stride. He liked the tough female for her cleverness and swagger, and had briefly entertained the idea that maybe he and she . . . But then she’d gotten a look at Silas MacCreedy, and never glanced away again. It had been the same with Savoie and his feisty human girlfriend.
Had it been like that for him and his mate? Wondering made him scowl. It did no good to look back when he knew there was nothing for him to find. All such things, all the personal and emotional details that shaped who and what he was had been torn from his mind at the ruthless hands of their enemies in the North, leaving only questions. Had he left family behind? Was he a good man? What had he done to deserve exile from his own past, his own memories? An endless, agonizing swirl of unknowns.
Seeing the Chosen intruder in Nica’s shadow didn’t improve Jacques’s mood.
The dainty female, Susanna, waited rather nervously out amongst the lower tier of tables while Nica strode up to the office. He met her in the hall with a growl of, “Something wrong with your hearing, Fraser?”
“Forget how to be an obliging host, LaRoche?”
He could count the number of people on one hand he’d let get away with speaking to him with such boldness. Nica was lucky to be one of them. He trusted her, considered her a friend as well as an employee, who would never do anything to harm him or his. So why was she pushing on this particular hot spot? She knew the reasons for his wary prejudices, yet still she pressed. Which made him all the surlier.
“I told you not to bring her back in here.”
“Relax, boss. It’s not like I’m going to leave her unchaperoned. We need to use your computer for a minute, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
Jacques rubbed his palm over his shorn head with a grumbled, “Very funny.”
Nica touched his forearm. “It’s important. Please.”
The unexpected humility took him off guard, making him waiver, big softy that he was. They both knew he was going to give in, but he made a masterful effort to appear undecided as he studied the interloper.
This morning, she wore a pair of beige tailored trousers with sensible heels and a silky cream-colored blouse. Her jewelry was simple and gold, her makeup meticulous, accentuating elfin features and big, doelike eyes. Fine, straight hair of rich caramel was tucked behind her ears, barely grazing a fragile jawline. She’d have been a perfect fit in the posh spires of City Central but her appearance was totally inappropriate for this end of the Quarter. An outsider who didn’t know how to blend. Trouble he didn’t need.
Trouble that had his palms sweaty as he caught himself imagining how soft and sleek her perfect skin would feel beneath them. And that suddenly had him recalling the erotic nature of his dream with an intensity that startled, alarmed, and dismayed him all at once.
“Make it quick. Lock up behind you.”
Something about the female had gotten tangled up in the threads of his fantasies, tying them together in a manner too intimate for close quarters. So he would back away, making her Nica’s problem until he could get a better handle on his unsettled feelings.
He wasn’t leaving Nica in charge because he trusted her. He didn’t trust himself to remain.
Susanna watched them talk, noting Jacques’s obvious displeasure. He knew she was Chosen, maybe from instinct rather than recognition, and he clearly wanted no part of her. That was good, she thought, ignoring the tiny pang of anguish as he looked away from her dismissingly, as if she were nothing more than an annoyance. She didn’t react to the longing that swelled inside, an achy desire to see something else in his eyes. Better to not tempt fate, she told herself as her gaze followed his exit down the hall and out the rear door. He still moved like a brawler wading through a crowd.
And it still excited her heart into hurried palpitations.
“C’mon, Suze,” Nica called to her. “We don’t have much time before the first shift comes on.”
As Susanna stepped into the office, she paused to take in the music piped over the interior sound system.
“That’s Yo-Yo Ma’s Bach in G Major,” she murmured in surprise.
“If you say so.” Nica didn’t glance up from the computer keyboard. “The boss calls that highbrow stuff his thinking tunes. I had him pegged for a death metal man. Who would have thought, huh?”
Susanna thought it made perfect, if unnerving, sense.
Questions, probabilities, consequences, and potential all jockeyed for her attention, drawing her deeper into this opportunity to explore not only the scientific avenues, but the sociological as well. This was a culture openly scorned and despised by her own kind as ruthless and barbaric. Perhaps it was. Yet perhaps there were other things within it that her people feared. Those things they’d separated themselves from with their lofty intentions and cold ambitions. Things she could examine and, if she was brave enough, enjoy so she could form her own conclusions, that until now had been a safe hypothesis within the isolated walls of her lab.
Nica brought up the files she’d gotten from NOLA chief medical examiner Dev Dovion. Samples from two individuals showing startling properties. She dropped into the desk chair, unable to take her eyes off the screen.
“I’ve never seen patterns like this. Who do these belong to?”
“Sorry,” Nica told her. “That’s confidential until you commit. How did you sleep last night?”
“Tossed and turned,” Susanna admitted as her gaze darted about the screen in amazement. “And I probably won’t sleep tonight after seeing this. Have you any idea—?”
“Yeah, I do. I wouldn’t have sent for you otherwise.” She leaned her forearms on the back of the chair and regarded the screen without comprehension. “What do you think?”
Susanna pointed out several groupings. “That’s Shifter.” She gestured to the other graphic. “That’s human.” Then she identified similar clusters in both. “But what’s this? It’s not Chosen. Is it some kind of mutation? Some anomaly?” Excitement trembled in her voice.
“Have you ever heard of the Ancients?”
Susanna twisted to look up at her. “The origin of our species? Is that what this is? Has the strain survived? How? In who?”
“I can’t just give you this information without some kind of assurance.” Nica straightened, her expression cautious, her eyes cool. “How’s your little girl?”
The unexpected turn of conversation struck the air out of Susanna’s lungs. Had she been foolish to consider Nica an ally? “Are you threatening my daughter?” she managed to gasp.
Not a muscle moved in Nica’s stoic face. “Chosen don’t honor family. They don’t hold to any kind of sentimental familial unit or emotional tie. I thought I was like that until I came here, until I met these people. They believe in that bond and hold it sacred above their own lives. I’ve come to feel the same way. I need to know if you can understand that concept so you’ll know to what lengths I’ll go to protect them.
“I thought I saw panic and terror in your eyes when you believed your child was lost to you. When I put her back into your arms, I thought I recognized love in those tears on your face. Was I wrong, Susanna?”
“No,” Susanna replied softly, forcing her response past the huge knot in her throat. “I understand love and sacrifice and loss. And I won’t betray those you hold dear. I swear it on my own child.”
A narrow smile creased Nica’s hard surface. “Okay then.” She nodded at the screen. “Can that do what my friend needs it to do?”
Susanna looked back at the diagrams, her heart pounding. “It can do a lot more than just that.” She took a big, shaky breath and jumped in. “I am not exaggerating when I tell you the potential here is both miraculous and catastrophic, and that our very lives will be in the balance if even a hint of what we’ve got leaks out. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Are you in?”
“All the way.” Her fingertips touched the monitor. “How could I not be?” She shook off her reverie, her tone now clipped and efficient. “I’m going to need a secure place to work and access to a lab. We’ll have to have absolute secrecy, only Need to Know involved. I’ll want to take fresh samples and interview the subjects. When can I start?”
Nica grinned. “How about now?”
Jacques lingered in the weak morning sunshine, drawing in deep breaths, hoping to clear the confusion from his brain before heading for his Caddy and the stack of invoices waiting for him in his dockside office. No such luck. The Chosen doctor’s scent muddled his mind like a hefty hangover, leaving him unsettled and annoyed.
What was it about her that had him so agitated? It went beyond the threat she brought with her. It was something visceral, instinctive, disturbing. Something that pried at the dark area of his brain where his memories had once resided. Had he known her, seen her before? Unlikely, since she’d betrayed no spark of recognition. Perhaps she merely represented something that had been stripped forcefully from his mind by her coldly vicious kind, leaving behind a mysterious blank.
The sound of crunching gravel beneath the wheels of a fast-approaching car caught his attention. He identified Philo’s Charger by the smell of burning oil. The rumbling car, still in dull gray primer, stopped just shy of running over his steel-toed boots.
Philo climbed out of the driver’s side, eyes concealed by dark glasses and the downward tip of a Saints ball cap. He came around to yank open the squawking passenger door to help one of his Patrol members get out. The fellow’s face looked like a pulpy tomato. He swayed on his feet as Philo tipped up the seat to drag another figure from the back.
Philo threw the stranger down on the stones, placing his boot on the back of his neck and the barrel of a gun to his head while another of his men wiggled out of the close confines of the backseat.
“What’s going on, Tib?” Jacques asked, looking from the bullet hole in the prone man’s arm to his friend’s taut features.
“There were two of them,” Philo told him tersely. “Managed to keep this one alive. Need a place to have a conversation.”
“Who is he?”
“That’s what we want to find out. Caught him and his pal sneaking around, asking questions. No ID, no nothing.” He nodded to his companions. “Take him inside.”
Not sure if his female guests were still there, Jacques growled, “I’m not gonna have him bleeding all over my office. Take him down by the bar. Looks like you fellas could use something cold as a bracer ’fore you get to work.”
“Thanks, Jackie. We’ll try not to make a mess.” Philo stepped back to let the others drag the wounded male to his feet, then they all moved inside.
The office door was closed. No way to tell if Nica and her Chosen friend were still within. Jacques had never asked about Nica’s former employment, but he knew she was smart enough not to stick her nose into dangerous things that didn’t concern her. He hoped she’d be able to get the two of them out the back without being seen once matters intensified on the main floor.
Jacques went behind the bar while Philo and his friends secured their prisoner to a chair, binding his hands behind the back and his legs to those of the chair. He was bleeding badly from his wound and from a gash in his forehead but showed no emotion of any kind. Jacques didn’t need ID to know what this man was. The stoic, nondescript features, dark, made-to-blend-in suit that screamed G-man, eyes glittering with unholy fierceness. He’d been face-to-face with two of his brethren, and he and Savoie’s cop girlfriend had barely escaped alive. The man was an elite killer bloodhound sent down from Susanna Duchamps’s kind in the North for purposes that could be no good for his New Orleans clan.
After nodding his gratitude and taking a long pull at his beer, Philo asked easily, “Let me have that Louisville Slugger you’re so fond of so we can get down to business.”
Jacques wasn’t opposed to violence when necessary and had dealt out all types for varied reasons. He enjoyed a good knuckle-bruising fight and would never run from one, but killing never sat well with him, even when unavoidable. He’d never experienced the bloodthirsty fury he could see boiling in his friend’s gaze when he passed Philo the baseball bat, and he wasn’t looking forward to what was to come.
Weighing the bat thoughtfully, Philo approached the bound man. His tone was pleasant.
“You’re gonna tell me what you and your buddy were doing here
in New Orleans or I’m gonna break every bone in your body. Then, after you heal ’em, I’m gonna do it all over again. I’m betting you’re gonna get tired of it ’fore I do. Let’s find out.” And he swung.
Jacques winced at the sound of the humerus splintering, but he didn’t look away. Tito Tibideaux, Philo’s younger brother, had been a damned good friend of his and the way he’d died had been brutal and undeserved. This silent assassin knew what to expect and was trained to receive it. They’d never get a sound from him, let alone a confession, but the process might allow Philo to work off his grief. For that reason, Jacques wouldn’t interfere. Paybacks were never pretty.
Philo was zealous in his interrogation and true to his word to exact as much damage and pain as possible, but his prisoner was a professional, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of a response. And that provoked the redhead from diligent purpose to frustration-fueled rage. His actions turned dark, from retribution to frenzy.
And while all focus was on his punishing intensity, Nica attempted to slip Susanna out the back.
Jacques saw the two of them start down the hall.
So did the prisoner. His bloody face grew suddenly attentive, causing Philo and the others to follow his gaze.
And that gave the Tracker the distraction he’d been waiting for.
Without a sound of warning, he exploded out of the chair, tearing through his bindings as if they were sewing thread. He snatched the bat from Philo, knocking him to the floor with a hard swing to his head. As the other two gaped at him in surprise, he ripped through them with razor-sharp claws.
Jacques knew Trackers could move fast. He’d seen them before, but was still amazed at how quickly their captive leapt, with Philo’s gun in hand, from main floor to hallway. He caught Nica by the hair and pitched her down the stairs. Then, with his massive paw curled about Susanna’s throat and the gun muzzle to her temple, he turned to use her as a shield as he backed down the dim hall toward freedom.