Captured by Moonlight Page 4

  MAX COULDN’T REST, so after Cee Cee had fallen asleep, he slipped outside to run the night. A low, dark shape skimming through shadows, the taste of freedom filled his nose, a bouquet still so exquisitely new, it intoxicated him. The sense of his own tremendous power, now unchecked, exhilarated him. Wild things that usually roamed the darkness gave him a wide berth, sensing a superior predator and afraid to draw his notice.

  Max was out on a hunt, but not for prey. His was a different mission: a search of the far corners of the city, seeking a sign that someone or something had breeched his territory. He found no clues, nothing unusual, until he ended up where Tito Tibideaux died.

  He trotted along the docks, nostrils flaring wide at the scent of blood and death, picking up vague impressions of other beings like him. The traces had been nearly washed away by rain, but enough remained to disturb him. Intruders. A dangerous rumble sounded low in his chest as he recognized the faint markings on the ground. Paw prints elongating, abruptly changing to bare human feet. Shifters. Trackers. Deadly hunters trained from birth in cunning and savagery.

  At a disadvantage, because he’d had no one to teach him how to channel his unique talents, he had no more time to lament his shortcomings. It was time to prepare.

  They might have greater numbers and more developed skills, but they were underestimating one thing. This was his city, filled with those he would protect to the death.

  And in New Orleans, Max Savoie was king.

  IT WAS VERY late or very early. A ripple of the sheet, and he was back beside her. She wouldn’t have known he was gone except for the chill of his bare toes and the ragged sound of his breathing.

  He lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, denying himself her warmth and comfort. Why?

  His silence stirred up a hive of insecurities. Where could he have gone in the middle of the night without waking her, with his stealth suggesting secrets? Illegal secrets? Dangerous secrets?

  What was he involved in? And was it something she should be worried about professionally or personally? There were so many worrisome areas in his life that could get inflamed without warning. Dark, deadly niches in his past and present, concerning who he was, what he’d been…and what he was.

  Threatening situations didn’t frighten her; she was a cop. Give her a tough spot and she’d go up against it without hesitation. But give her a sticky emotional circumstance, and her back was against the wall.

  For almost twenty-nine years she had let only a fisted handful of people get close to her, and the other two she’d loved were already gone. She’d zealously guarded the part of her that could be hurt, that could distract her from doing the job she revered. She’d been so careful, so wary. Until Max. The most inappropriate man she could imagine.

  He’d cleverly stalked her affections with his lazy smile and red tennis shoes, pushing himself into her thoughts, into her life, into her heart until her resistance crumpled. Until she couldn’t imagine a moment without him. She accepted his criminal background, his unnatural heritage, his strange mix of violence and naïveté for one unshakable reason: He’d sacrificed everything he loved for her. Everything. He’d become rescuer, lover, and protector. Against all odds and logic, he loved her, unflinchingly, unfailingly. How could she do less?

  He gave a slight start when her fingertips curved about his jaw. She could feel his tension, yet he didn’t resist when she turned his face toward her, when she fit her lips softly to his.

  “Come here, baby. Let me hold you.”

  He rolled up against her, over her, around her, curling into her as he began to shiver. A protective anxiety rose as she clutched his dark head and kissed his brow.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you. Let go, Max. You’re safe. Let go.”

  All the stress and torments of the day poured from him like life’s blood. Afterwards, he lay trustingly limp and weary, and finally closed his eyes. Just before he drifted off, she felt his slight smile as he murmured, “Thank you, sha.”

  “You are very welcome.”

  CHARLOTTE DIDN’T EXPECT him to be up before her, but his shoes were gone and the bathroom smelled deliciously of his shaving soap and shampoo. She dressed quickly, hoping he hadn’t already left for the city. As she came down the sweep of the stairs she saw Giles St. Clair, Max’s Mack truck of a bodyguard, flirting determinedly with Helen’s daughter, Jasmine. She relaxed, knowing Giles wouldn’t let Max go anywhere without him. Though Max was more than capable of taking care of himself, Giles insisted, saying someone of Max’s position needed someone at his back. And because Max had been at Jimmy Legere’s back almost since he could tie his shoes, he allowed Giles to proudly assume that role.

  Giles greeted her with a grin and a cup of coffee. “He’s out on the side porch, detective. Good to have you home.”

  Who would have thought the plantation-house hideout of one of the city’s most nefarious mobsters would ever welcome her, or that she’d feel a sudden twist about her heart to hear it called her home?

  Or that she’d want to settle into it with the darksouled man who’d taken his predecessor’s place? Reading the Wall Street Journal at the wicker patio set off his office, he wore his sleek, black Armani suit and an open-collared white shirt, looking both elegant and ruthless.

  She tunneled her fingers into his hair and pulled his head back, her tongue was in his mouth before he could say hello. He gave a rumbling purr, and when she straightened he was smiling.

  “Morning, baby. You looked far too fine for me not to grab a quick taste of you to get the day started.” She dropped into the chair across from his. “Want some coffee?”

  He licked his lips, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Just had some, thanks.”

  “If I’m not careful, I could get as addicted to you as I am to caffeine.”

  “And that would be a bad thing?”

  “Can’t think of a downside at the moment.” She sipped her coffee and let her eyes close contentedly. She loved the deep silence of Legere’s rambling estate. No hurry-up-and-get-going traffic and city sounds.

  “Charlotte.”

  His sober tone alerting her to a serious shift in topic, Cee Cee opened her eyes. “What?”

  “I should have told you this yesterday, but it threw me so hard, I just couldn’t get on top of it. I’ve been sitting here trying to work up the right words.”

  Her heart hopscotched in alarm. “What is it?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “The John Doe at Dovion’s—did you get a look at him?”

  “Only the eight-by-tens. Not much left to look at after they were done with him. Why? Oh, Max—is it someone you know?” Her hand slipped over the top of his. Her voice softened. “Someone I know?”

  “Philo—”

  “Oh, Max. No.”

  “No, not Philo. His little brother, Tito. I had to take him the news just after the club opened. Put a bit of a damper on the evening, as you might imagine.”

  She automatically went into cop mode. “Does anyone know what happened to him? Was he working for you?”

  “No, and no. Philo said he was doing small stuff to stay off the docks, looking for a place to fit in without trading on his connections. He was just a kid who must have stepped on some powerful toes.”

  “You know how he was killed, don’t you? Dovion is totally in the dark.”

  “And he needs to stay that way.” Max’s tone toughened as his instinct for self-preservation slowly overcame the grief. He hesitated, debating on what to share with her. “It’s called a pulse,” he said at last.

  “A pulse. Like an EMP weapon of some sort?” Great. High-tech weapons loose on her streets. As if they didn’t have enough to do trying to control the regular stuff?

  “No. It’s a mental weapon, one my father showed me. It’s a concentration of psychic energy. Only a very controlled pureblood could direct it with that kind of killing force. It’s like heating an egg in the microwave without poking holes first.”

  S
he shuddered, then studied Max carefully. “Is this something you can do?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not exactly something you can practice until you get it right.”

  She sat back, musing out loud. “What was he involved in that would bring out a big gun of that caliber without you being aware of it?”

  “I don’t know. A pureblood doesn’t give off signs unless he wants to, and whoever killed Tito didn’t want to.”

  “A warning? Who and why?”

  “Again, I don’t know. He, or they, must have been trying to find out something, the way the boy was worked over. But what he said and about what, I just don’t know.”

  And that was worrying him.

  Charlotte could tell there was more. Something else was building behind the shut-down expression, something she wasn’t going to like or he wouldn’t let it drag out so long. She squeezed is hand and gently coaxed, “Just say it, Max.”

  “Tito’s like most of us. He doesn’t have any official paperwork behind him. Your boys might come up with his name if they’re lucky but not much else. And since we don’t want to stir up questions to get folks curious, no one will step forward to identify him—not even Philo.”

  She couldn’t imagine that. Knowing his brother lay unclaimed and unnamed under plastic, just out of reach.

  “But Philo wants his brother buried, Charlotte. Not in a pauper’s grave on the city’s dime, with no one around to mourn him.”

  “What can I do?”

  His gaze lifted, dark and intense. “Get Dovion to release the body to Father Furness, before he does any more testing. Before he finds something that’ll make him more suspicious than he already is. No one can know who claimed the body or where to find it. I’ll have it brought here for burial. There’s a plot of consecrated ground that hasn’t been used for generations. Tito should rest easy there.”

  “So you want me to do what, exactly? Sneak a body out for a hush-hush burial behind high walls? Am I allowed to ask why?”

  He never blinked. “You can ask.” But he wasn’t going to tell her.

  She pushed out of her chair and walked to the porch rail. In the back of her mind, she could hear a taunting sneer. Now that he’s got a cop in his pocket. “Dammit, Max, we weren’t going to do this. We weren’t going to ask for on-the-job favors.”

  A pause, then his quiet, “Forget I asked. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

  There was no bitterness in his voice, and when she turned there was no blame in his expression. But she still felt it from her own conscience. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But these things always start out with small requests and before you know it, you’re hiding evidence and turning your back on things you shouldn’t.”

  “I know how it works, detective. That’s not what this is about. I’m not trying to back you into a corner. I wouldn’t put you in that kind of position. Like I said, forget I asked. I just…I just . . .” His gaze slipped away.

  “I didn’t think you were. I just didn’t want anyone else to get the idea that because you and I . . .” Cursing her cautions, she crossed to him, hugging his dark head to her briefly. “I’ve got to go. Can I give you a ride in?”

  “No. I need to make some calls.” He leaned back when she released him but didn’t look up at her. His features were heavy with fatigue and sadness, and she lifted his chin so that his dull gaze met hers.

  “Don’t do anything right away.”

  “Charlotte, I don’t want you to—”

  She cut him off with a soft kiss. “I’ll call you in a bit.”

  He watched her travel the length of the porch in her long, determined stride, admiring the way she worked the back pockets of her jeans, even as he wondered how different her response might have been if he’d told her he was in danger. He suspected she would have bristled up in possessive fury, smothering him to keep him from harm. No one harmed what was hers. There was no one he trusted more to protect him, to the limit of her life.

  And that was the problem.

  The longer he could keep her out of it, the safer she’d be. When it became more dangerous for her not to know than to be privy to everything, he’d tell her. But for now, when it was so vital that he stay under the radar, it wouldn’t do to have her slapping up a defensive wall around him as if battening down for a hurricane. She was a force of nature, one that was impossible to ignore.

  “What time you wantin’ to leave, boss man?”

  “I’m ready now, Giles.” Now that she was gone, he had no desire to linger.

  So he let Giles take him into New Orleans, let his secretary Marissa bring him a stack of correspondence he didn’t know how to handle, and looked at a long line of appointments he didn’t want to keep. All the while, the image of Tito Tibideaux’s battered face haunted his thoughts.

  What had he said before his violent death?

  Max pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes, trying to urge the headache behind them to go away. He had so much to do, so many claims upon his time and energy, yet he couldn’t summon the strength of will to handle any of it. He was restless, anxious, constantly provoked by a sense of urgency he didn’t understand. His nervous system crawled with it.

  His sensory awareness was overloaded with fine-tuned details. The slightly burnt scent of coffee, the petulant ringing of the phones and fax machine, the rhythm of motion all around him were distracting and even distressing. He was aware of Francis Petitjohn creeping about on the other side of his closed door.

  A glance told him that the promised details of the Cummings project were in his box, awaiting his inspection. He didn’t know anything about construction and, for the moment, was too tired to learn. Jimmy had expected too much of him—had expected him to be capable of more than any one man. And this morning, he wasn’t. For the moment, he was shamefully willing to let Francis handle the areas of LEI that he understood well.

  He would call McCracken in soon for an accounting of T-John’s actions. After all, he wasn’t a fool. He would pull up the slack in the reins of control when he felt stronger and focused, and then he would be everything Jimmy wanted. But not this morning. Not with the pain pounding through his head and heaviness hanging on his heart.

  So he sat behind the big desk and spent the morning watching the clock hands move inexorably toward the end of the promising life he’d just begun to live.

  “Max?”

  He glanced up to see Charlotte in the doorway, and all the raw, panicked edges he’d been picking at all morning were forgotten. He managed a weak smile.

  “Detective. This is a surprise. Here to take me to lunch?” He put out his hand and she crossed over to take it. It was a struggle not to clutch at her as he would a life raft. He brought her fingertips to his lips as she settled the taut curve of her hip on the edge of his desk.

  “Can’t. Too much to do. Just wanted to bring you up to speed.”

  “On what, sha?”

  “The matter we were discussing this morning.”

  The light went out of his eyes. “What about it?”

  “At 2:00, Dovion’s releasing the body of a vagrant who died of natural causes while going through the Dumpsters over on Basin. Father Furness has filled out the paperwork and is supposed to be taking him to the sad little cemetery behind St. Bart’s. Teddy and Giles will back an unmarked van in at 2:30, while Dev shares some coffee and chitchat with a favorite police detective of his.” She smiled thinly. “They’ll pick up Tito instead—a mix-up in toe tags. They’ll give him a tour of the city to make sure no one’s the wiser, then bring him to the house.

  “Cheveux du Chien will have an unexpected power failure around 6:00 and shut down for the night, and all the employees will be sent home. We’ll start getting company about 7:00. Full security checks. A quick, respectful ceremony that Father offered to perform, then Helen and Jasmine will set out a big spread and LaRoche will provide free liquor and music. The place should be shaking for the better part of the night. I think Tito would approve
of the send-off.”

  Max blinked at her. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry about this morning. An old cautious cop habit.”

  “And yet you did all this for someone you don’t even know.”

  “No. For someone I love.”

  When she touched his cheek, words failed him. Calm deserted him. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. His gaze filled up until her image shimmered like a reflection on a clear pond. Finally, he simply rested his cheek against her denim-clad thigh and let his wonder shiver out through a soft exhalation. All the disquieting worries were soothed by the gentle stroke of her hand over his hair, by the rub of her knuckles down the side of his face.

  “Are you feeling all right, Max?” Her palm pressed to his brow. “You’re really warm.”

  “You usually tell me I’m hot. Is there a reason I’ve been demoted?” He sat back and dragged her across the desk onto his lap. “Some manly business I haven’t taken care of to your satisfaction, perhaps?”

  She laughed, her arms looping about his neck, fingers rumpling his hair. “If I were any more satisfied, I wouldn’t be able to walk. You don’t need to fish for compliments, Savoie. You know I’m crazy about you.”

  “But my fragile ego still needs to hear it occasionally.”

  Another low, full-bodied laugh. “There’s nothing the least bit delicate about your ego, oh mighty King of the Beasts. Flattery only makes you more insufferable.”

  “Is that all it’s been? Flattery?”

  She started to chuckle until she caught a glimpse of something desperate in his gaze. Her tone grew tender. “You know better than that.”

  “Sometimes I do. And sometimes I haven’t the slightest idea why you would care for me.”

  “Let me remind you then.”

  She tipped his face up, filling her hands with his strong jaw, her mouth with the sweet taste of him. “You make me feel invulnerable, Savoie.”

  Not the right thing to say. Panic arrowed shift and sharp through his heart, and he instinctively clutched her tight.