Hunter of Shadows Read online

  Silas MacCreedy had managed to escape her—­carrying with him a secret she would do anything to protect.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  Under the glow of Alain Babineau’s porch light, MacCreedy looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a cement mixer and lost.

  “Girl trouble. Got someplace I can crash?”

  Babineau opened his door wide. “C’mon in.” He glanced around the cul-de-sac. “How’d you get here?”

  “Cab.”

  When Babineau got a better look at him inside the tiny living room, he gave a low whistle. “What’d she do? Run over you with a rototiller?”

  “She let her big, very nasty dog off its chain.” He glanced at the wall clock. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “Wasn’t sleeping.” Babineau smiled wryly. “Girl trouble.”

  “Ah. Where can I wash up?”

  Following Babineau’s gesture, Silas went to the cheery bathroom and slumped over the sink. As it filled with water, he assessed the damage.

  He didn’t look too bad for someone who should be dead.

  The claw marks had already healed to thin scratches. He hurt too much to dare wonder what kind of internal injuries he’d sustained in the fall. Even though the water had absorbed most of the impact, he could hardly draw a breath, and was sure everything across the back of his shoulders had been broken when he’d hit the lip of the pool. His head rang like church bells on Easter Sunday with the slightest movement. Not something a human could have walked away from. He’d managed to crawl.

  Silas turned off the tap and submerged his face in the icy water, letting the chill clear his mind.

  He hated bringing potential trouble to Babineau’s door, but he’d had nowhere else to go and desperately needed a place to recover.

  Nica would be coming after him. She couldn’t afford not to. And he couldn’t count on her momentary weakness to ever happen again. She’d be prepared next time and she’d be unstoppable.

  How had he allowed that first taste of desire to maneuver him into this catastrophic position? Why hadn’t he just put Nica behind him without a thought?

  He’d always been hit-and-run in his sexual encounters, though up front about it. He didn’t have the time or the resources to sustain a relationship. The brand on his wrist said it all: he wasn’t his own man. He had nothing to offer beyond a night’s pleasures. As the hot blood of youth eased and revenge had chilled to a dish best served cold, his constant focus became those he loved and needed to protect. His sister and their best friend; all that remained of his past. For them, he’d yielded to the Terriots.

  For Nica, he’d yielded his resolve.

  Why did she hesitate?

  He couldn’t afford to speculate. She was dangerous not only because of her unnatural abilities, but because of her strangely powerful hold over him. He had to be careful, and he had to be smart.

  When he returned to the living room, Alain Babineau had a tumbler in each hand and extended one. Silas took a sip and let the cheap tequila slide down, grimacing at its medicinal bite. As he glanced around, his gaze settled on several framed photos. Babineau with a petite, dark-haired woman and a small boy.

  “Is this your family?”

  Babineau gave a quick nod, then opened the glass slider to step outside to the deck.

  Silas continued to study the pictures until the cramp of longing in his heart got too painful to endure. He took another long drink and joined his partner in the heavy evening air.

  “Where are they?”

  “Who?” Babineau glanced up from where he sat on the top step of the deck.

  “Your wife and son.”

  “He’s not my son.” Melancholy weighed down his voice.

  When he offered nothing further, MacCreedy eased himself down. “How long have you been married?”

  “Little over a year.”

  “She’s very pretty.”

  A slight smile. “Yes, she is.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Tina and Oscar.”

  “Tina and Oscar.” Silas spoke the names softly, almost reverently. “Are you separated?”

  Babineau gave him a sharp look. “You’re getting pretty damn personal.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that I haven’t gotten to know anyone here and . . . It’s none of my business.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence for several minutes, staring out at nothing.

  “I guess we are separated,” Babineau admitted at last. “We had some trouble a few months back. Bad business involving the boy. Scared my wife plenty and she got to thinking that I couldn’t protect them.” He shrugged. “Could be she was right. Anyway, they’re living with Oscar’s older brother.” He said that as if it tasted sour on his tongue.

  “Here in New Orleans?”

  “Out in one of those big-ass plantations along the river. With all his mob money, he can hire an army to protect them.”

  “What’s this fella’s name?”

  “Savoie. Max Savoie.”

  Silas looked down into the glass clutched between his hands and struggled to keep his voice level. “Savoie. As in your partner’s . . .”

  “Lover?” he supplied bitterly. “Yeah. Small world, huh? Just swooped in bold as you please, and snatched them right out from under my nose.”

  “I thought he was out of town with your partner. Why not just go out there and get them back?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is if you still love her.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand family just fine.” His tone hardened. “You love each other. You stay together. You protect each other.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” Alain tossed back the rest of his drink. “It’s complicated, Mac. See, Tina’s not who or what I thought she was when we got married. She’s not that woman at all.”

  And then Silas understood everything.

  Alain Babineau knew his wife and adopted son were shape-shifters.

  Five

  Silas arrived at the club midafternoon to pick up his check and get his schedule for next week. He was also anxious to hear if his interaction with the two men the night before had been noted.

  He’d managed to sleep most of the day on Babineau’s couch and could move with only slight discomfort now. As a precaution, he’d bought new clothes rather than return to his apartment, in case trouble was waiting for him there.

  “Hey, Mac,” Todd called to him. “She’s been waiting on you about an hour.”

  Silas turned to follow his pointing finger and froze.

  Trouble was closer than he’d anticipated, and she had the nerve to smile at him.

  Because there was nothing else he could do, Silas waited as Nica rose from the table where she’d been watching for his arrival. Her hair was bound back in a heavy braid, leaving her pale features dramatically exposed. A tiny white T-shirt and low-slung black jeans showed a wide patch of toned midsection, making him think of how soft her skin was. Her approach was fluid and predatory.

  “You look no worse for wear,” came her casual purr.

  His response was a low growl. “No thanks to you.”

  “Don’t be that way, lover,” she crooned, swaying toward him as her arms reached up to go around his neck. He took a quick step back to avoid the embrace. She let her fingertips trail lightly down his arms. “I just came to say I’m sorry. I got a little bit carried away by your surprise.”

  “Get away from me,” he warned, gripping her wrists and pushing her back. “I don’t want things to get unpleasant.”

  “You aren’t going to let a little fight get in the way of what’s between us, are you?”

  He stared down into those seductive eyes and said flatly, “Yeah, I think I am. Todd, escort the lady to the door, please. Don’t let her back inside unless I clear it first.”

  She pouted, her eyes glittering dangerously. Then she stretched up to kiss Silas’s cheek and wh
ispered, “I’ll see you again soon. Our business isn’t finished.”

  As she walked away, Silas felt unsettled. Her bold appearance tore away his illusion of safety. Would she be brazen enough to attack in front of so many witnesses, at the risk of revealing what they were? If they went toe-to-toe out in the open, it would be an evening news event.

  Even worse than the overt threat was the subliminal one: the way the scent of her shuddered through him even now, leaving him raw and pulsing with the need to grab her, to taste her, to take her down to the floor, right here, right now in a roaring madness so out of his control it terrified him. Some kind of hoodoo spell? Some scientific trap to seduce him with pheromones? Whatever she was using to entrance him, it was making self-preservation damned difficult.

  It’s destined. She’s your mate.

  He shook off the words his sister had planted in his brain. There was nothing fated about this unnatural attraction. There was another explanation. And he would find it and use it to sever the dangerous fascination—­before it killed him.

  Nica stepped out of the club, her expression fierce enough to make the bouncer take a quick step back.

  What was wrong with her? What was it about this insignificant Shifter male that tied her intentions up in knots? As she’d waited for him to arrive, she’d swiftly considered ways to eliminate him. She could lure him out to the alley and silently kill him in an instant. With her knife, with her bare hands. Let him drop, then just walk away. An undercover cop killed behind the den of a notorious criminal? No one would look too far to find a motive for his murder.

  But the instant she’d seen his face, she wanted to go for his lips, not his throat.

  Why? He wasn’t that astonishingly good-looking. Only his intensity pushed him a notch above merely handsome. He was subtle as a cool breeze, prickling over her arms, tightening her nipples just at the thought of him. Maybe it was his voice, that silky baritone that both soothed and projected powerfully. She couldn’t pinpoint the attraction.

  Now she’d alerted him to the danger, and he was going to run for cover—or for assistance, either from the law or from the clans. The last thing she needed was a war with the Terriots.

  She’d have to finish off the two little weasels, and then MacCreedy, before she could safely await her orders. She couldn’t afford to have her presence compromised. Too much was in the balance this time.

  She was passing the alley next to the Sweat Shop when a side door opened and a figure slipped outside. Nica eased back into the shadows, wondering if she’d just gotten lucky.

  But it was a woman. A voluptuous strawberry blonde whom she would have mistaken for a dancer if not for her pale peach Chanel suit. The sound of quiet weeping reached her and Nica started to move on. None of her business. Then the woman caught her high heel on the step and fell hard onto her hands and knees.

  Oh, hell.

  Nica went down the alley, crouching beside the now sobbing female. “Hey, it’s okay. Let me help you up.”

  A slender hand with long nails painted to match the suit, and a diamond the size of a grape, took hold of Nica’s offered arm. The woman tottered to her feet. Her stockings were shredded, her palms and knees oozing blood. But that wasn’t what caught Nica’s attention.

  The huge sunglasses had slipped down her bloodied nose, exposing an eyelid already beginning to swell shut. And because nothing upset her more than helplessness, Nica’s protective instincts growled into play.

  She steered the battered woman over to the stairs to the loading dock, easing her down on the metal steps. “You just sit here for a second. I’ll go get some ice.”

  Surprisingly steely fingers gripped her wrist. “No! No, it’s all right. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Someone smacked the shit out of you and it’s all right? I don’t think so.”

  A sigh lifted the generously augmented breasts beneath a white silk blouse now speckled with dots of crimson. “It’s my fault. I’m stupid. I should never have come here.”

  Nica sat down on the step beside her. “He hits you and it’s your fault? Don’t you see something wrong with that logic? No one has the right to treat you like a punching bag.”

  Plump lips painted a smeary tangerine curved up in a smile. “You don’t even know who I am.”

  “I don’t need to know who you are.” A pause. “Who are you?”

  “Lena Blutafino. My husband owns this place.”

  “And apparently thinks he owns you, too.”

  Lena blew her nose loudly on a lacy scrap she pulled out of her tiny purse, then sniffled, “He does. He took me from a stripper pole to a mansion. He married me, Manny did, gave me a big house in the Garden District, and all these flashy trinkets.”

  “And a black eye and a bloody nose. I think that kind of cancels out the trinkets.”

  A sad smile. “And a son. I have a son. And Manny would never, ever let me leave with him. So,” she gave a shrug, “I guess I just need to get smarter.”

  Why did humans take their freedoms for granted? “Leave him. Divorce him. Take him for everything he’s got. You’ve got grounds right here, and you look like you can afford a good attorney.”

  “He might let me go, but he’d kill me before he’d let me take Paulie—and I couldn’t leave him behind.” She looked stronger, squaring up now that the shock and pain began to subside, accepting her lot with maddening stoicism.

  “Maybe something bad will happen to good old Manny. Ever think of that? Of what you’d do?”

  A rather wry smile. “Only every night. I’d open my own interior design studio. I took classes when me and Manny first got married. I wanted to decorate our house, but Manny said I had the taste of a whore.” Her shoulders slumped. “I think it would have looked real nice.”

  Nica’s arm went around her, squeezing awkwardly in support. “I bet it would. You just hang on to that dream, Lena. You never know.”

  “You’ve been so nice, and I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Nica. I’m staying at the Quarter House. My . . . friend Mac Creed is one of your husband’s dealers. If you have any more trouble, you can talk to him. He’ll help you out or get a message to me.” Now why had she involved MacCreedy? It wasn’t like he’d be willing to go out of his way to do her a favor, after she’d nearly killed him.

  “Maybe for now you can just help me to my car,” Lena said wearily.

  Nica hoisted Lena up on her ice pick heels and steadied her across the uneven stones. At the curb, Lena straightened, pushed up her dark glasses, and smiled gratefully.

  “Thank you, Nica. I won’t forget your kindness.” And she slid into her dove-gray Mercedes and drove away.

  Kindness. Since when was she kind?

  Her honorable hero was becoming a really bad influence on her.

  Carmen Blutafino’s office was a porn star’s fantasy: all mirrors and shine and sleaze. MacCreedy had been inside only once, when he was hired, and he’d had to suppress the urge to use an antiseptic wipe on the chair before sitting down. When he knocked this time and was told to enter, he saw there was another visitor. He didn’t need an introduction, he knew the man’s name and history from the news and police reports he’d scoured.

  Max Savoie lounged in an expensive suit paired with red high-tops, one of which bobbed indolently at the end of his crossed leg. He’d inherited an empire from the mobster he’d protected since making a name for himself as a teen. That name was whispered in awe and fear, allegedly soaked in the blood of those who challenged Jimmy Legere.

  Since assuming Legere’s mantle, Savoie had embraced public life by appearing at high-profile social events, by being a partner in a huge urban reclamation project called Trinity Towers, by becoming very involved with a detective in the NOPD. Some said he was moving his business toward legality, but the fact that he was with Blutafino cast doubt on that.

  Silas wasn’t interested in what people speculated about Savoie, though: because he knew the truth. The man’s surface sophi
stication couldn’t hide what he really was.

  Max Savoie was damned by the unavenged souls of Silas’s family. And their wailing for justice nearly drowned out all reason as Silas stood rigidly in the doorway.

  “Creed, come in,” Manny called. “Freshen my drink and pour one for yourself while I finish my business here. I’ll just be a minute.”

  An amiable smile spread across gritted teeth. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Savoie?”

  The sleek killer gave him a cool glance. “No. Thank you.”

  Crossing behind Savoie’s chair on his way to the well-stocked bar, MacCreedy drew in the man’s scent. Savoie twitched at the subtle intrusion, picking up the fact that he was being psychically touched, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Now they both knew each other for what they were, and were not. What they were not, was human.

  Silas fought to steady hands that still felt his mother’s blood upon them as he mixed Blutafino’s drink. He blinked hard to dispel the image of his father’s dismembered body gruesomely strewn at his feet. His stomach pitched and tightened as the scorching stench returned to his nose at the agony of the Terriots’ mark being burned into his skin. He fiercely buried the shock, the horror, the pain, and quieted the shrieks for retribution with a promise. The time is coming. Justice will be done.

  Behind him, he heard Manny say, “Now that you’re back, it’s time to make good on your promises, Max.”

  “Remind me, Carmen,” came Savoie’s smooth reply.

  Silas could feel his employer’s displeasure without seeing it color his florid face.

  “We had a deal, Savoie. You were going to move some special cargo for me. I have a shipment that needs to go out, and you have a freighter all ready to head to a mutually profitable destination. Why are you hedging on our agreement?”

  “I’m not hedging. I just got back into town. This is the first business stop I’ve made in response to your excessive number of messages, some of which had a rather unfriendly tone. I’m wondering why you thought you needed to bring threats to the table for an arrangement between friends and gentlemen?” That cool drawl of reproach was about as subtle as a slap, and Blutafino responded with poorly concealed rage.