Authors: Nancy Gideon
Savoie, with his designer suit, quirky red sneakers, and imperious manner, stood out like filet mignon on an all-you-can-eat buffet. His presence signaled more problems Jacques didn’t need.
“Where y’at, Savoie?” he shouted, making his employer and one-time friend shade his eyes to look up.
“Got a minute?”
“Be right down.”
He jumped. A foolish thing. It wasn’t the height. A one-story drop wasn’t a big deal. It was the potential witnesses. To remain unnoticed in the Upright world, they were forced to act human. Displays of unnatural
power were frowned upon as unnecessary risks to the illusion. But in a temperamental pissy fit, flexing of a bit of muscle felt good.
He landed easily, on toes and fingertips right at Savoie’s feet. As he straightened, brushing off his hands, he met the narrowed gaze with his own belligerent stare, goading Max to make something of it. Max simply smiled, as if the nuances of the up-yours action were appreciated as they were intended.
“What brings you down here in your nice suit?”
“Wanted to let you know personally that the Towers are reopening on Monday, but you can move back in any time you’re ready.”
His surprise and gladness apparent, Jacques was still cautious. “It’ll be a while before I can do that. My stuff’s all damaged—”
“It’s taken care of.”
Jacques just stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
“I had my insurance people clean or replace everything. It might still smell a little smoky, but it’s habitable. I apologize for the wait . . . and the inconvenience of the whole situation.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Jacques stammered. “It wasn’t your fault, or your obligation.”
“Yes. It was. Both things.” Max gave a heavy sigh, his attitude of authority dropping away. “You’re my most valued ally, Jacques, and my most trusted friend. None of what I’ve accomplished would have been possible without your help and your willingness to let me lead. I haven’t done a very good job repaying you for
those things. This is a small effort compared to what I owe you and yours.”
Jacques cleared his throat of the sudden crowding emotion to growl, “You didn’t have to come all the way down here just to tell me that.”
“Yes. I did.” He glanced away awkwardly.
It was the humility that drew Jacques to Savoie. Sometimes Max seemed to have no idea how powerful he was, how important he was as a rallying point for his clan. Genuinely mystified by their loyalty, he was reluctant to demand it, which placed him in his current precarious situation.
“You’ve stayed away too long,” Jacques told him simply.
Savoie’s gaze locked in, earnest and anxious. “Can the damage be undone?”
“It’s not something your insurance people can handle for you.”
“Is it something you can handle with me?”
That was the invitation Jacques had been waiting to hear.
Before he could reply, Max added, “If you still trust me.”
Jacques had fought hard for his place within the clan. He was looked up to, respected, considered one of them, but, like Savoie, he’d been an outsider once. Philo Tibideaux and his brother Tito had vouched for him, easing his way in.
And Jacques had done the same for Savoie. Because he believed Max was the Promised, the one who would
restore their honor and protect their interests. He still believed that right down to the marrow, even when the Towers debacle had many shying away to follow Philo’s more aggressive lead.
Max was the one legend whispered about. The one who would bring the clans together and give them strength.
Personal slights fell away. They didn’t matter. Max and what he offered were the only things that did.
The gesture wasn’t difficult when motivated by belief. Jacques had made it only once before in front of all the powerful heads of Jimmy Legere’s world of Upright criminals on behalf of his own kind: a show of fealty, of loyalty that could not be broken. A sense of purpose had been born in him at that moment, and was renewed now with the same intensity.
Jacques’s head bowed. He leaned forward, butting against Max’s shoulder in a pose of submission. Max’s hand clasped firmly on the back of his neck, not to push him down but to lift him up so their eyes could meet as if they were equals.
“All I am is yours,” Jacques told him, repeating the phrase Max had spoken to seal his allegiance.
Max smiled, still uneasy with the burden of unconditional trust. “Friends again?”
“I was never not your friend.”
“But I wasn’t being yours.” His hand pressed Jacques’s shoulder. “Forgive me for not seeing that. Charlotte had to point that out to me in her less than subtle way. Silas hasn’t replaced you; he’s joined us.”
Now Jacques was the one uncomfortable with his own petty grievances. “MacCreedy’s a powerful asset and a good man. He’s got connections with the other clans and knows how they think, how they work. And he’s got a weapon of mass destruction at his command.”
Max raised a brow in question.
Jacques grinned. “Nica.”
Max chuckled at that. Then he sobered. “You should take your lady to the Towers. She’ll be safer there.”
Now that they were being honest with each other, Jacques felt he owed his friend an explanation. “Max, she isn’t—”
Max waved him off. “What she is or isn’t is your business and I will mind mine. I won’t tell you I’m happy to have her here. I don’t trust where she comes from, but I’ll accept your judgment about her.” He drew a fretful breath, then admitted, “This plan of Charlotte’s is more dangerous than she knows, but she’s been there for me so many times, I can’t refuse to support her in it. The secrets she dabbles in could destroy us all if your doctor takes them back to the North with her. Make sure she understands that and that her conscience guides her regarding our safety. Does she have one, do you think?”
“I will and she does.”
“That trouble at MacCreedy’s apartment. He can’t be sure who was targeted. Perhaps it was him, but just in case it wasn’t, keep your girl close. Trackers aren’t
the only danger out there. It surrounds us, and that circle is tightening.”
Jacques nodded, well aware of the threat.
Max surveyed the bustling dock. “Get bored with supervision, or are you shorthanded?”
A quick smile. “A bit of both.”
Max’s expensive jacket dropped to the oily concrete and he rolled up his sleeves. “Tell me where you want me.”
Having Max’s help was a two-pronged blessing. He was quick to take instructions and impossibly strong. And the sight of him toiling alongside the lesser of the clan would go far toward mending any hard feelings. News of the Towers’ reopening buzzed through the day crew, fueling a positive atmosphere missing since the fire; an excitement Jacques shared.
He couldn’t wait to take Susanna there, not just for the sake of protection, but to show off his accommodations. He wasn’t just a laborer living out of a trailer who read books about being important. He wanted her to see him as someone of influence, of potential.
What he didn’t ask himself was why her opinion mattered.
What he didn’t question was his eagerness to shower, dress, and hurry to the club. He didn’t dare look more deeply for those answers.
Nica gave a wave to Jacques from behind the bar. It was the first day of her promotion. The idea of having an assassin as his assistant manager was as amusing as
it was practical, and she appreciated the irony. She was reliable and respected and could take out any trouble with the well-aimed flick of a plastic fruit pick.
Jen and Amber were already busy getting their cash drawers set up, so that left him with no worries. Until he opened the door to his office to find it empty.
Perhaps Susanna was still with Charlotte.
That became more unlikely as he noted the computer was still on with the program running. She wouldn’t have left it like that.
The quick click of a key woke it from its slumber to display the message Susanna had left for him.
Flame hand tattoo
Philo’s men had taken her.
Eleven
T
hough the coarse-weave bag over her head kept Susanna blinded, she reached out with her other senses to learn about her situation.
She was on the docks. The same sounds, the same smells were present as at the trailer. She was seated on a hard straight chair, her cuffed hands pulled uncomfortably together behind the back of it. The hot, airless room was small. She could tell by the echo of voices and by how long it took to cross from the door to where she sat by the far wall. They were less than five minutes from the club by car but perhaps a world away from rescue.
Only one of the men remained with her now. The other had left a few minutes earlier after their rough questioning yielded no answers. She licked at the blood on her lip and used her anger to keep fear at bay. Did they think a few ugly threats and open-handed slaps would have her spilling her life history to a couple of thugs in a locked room?
Jacques would come for her. She had no doubt about that. But until he did, she needed to keep her wits about her and try to better her circumstances.
“Can I have some water?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, making her voice sound weak and fragile.
“No. You jus’ sit there quiet until—”
“Until what?” she demanded, jumping on his sudden silence.
“Never you mind. Jus’ keep still.”
Until who, not what. She picked that inference from his uncomplicated mind. He was waiting for someone to give him instructions. The two who’d attacked her at the apartment and now had kidnapped her from the Shifter club weren’t the brain trust of the operation. Someone was behind their rather sloppy actions and she wanted to know who.
These men weren’t like the frightening Tracker in the bar. They were dedicated but untrained, laborers, not killers. And that was to her advantage. They underestimated her. They saw a delicate female. They’d forgotten that she was also Chosen.
What they didn’t know was that Shifter strength and courage also coursed through her.
Susanna hadn’t done mental tricks for a long time. Once her early-childhood testing had targeted her aptitude for science, they’d stopped developing her telepathic abilities. She’d learned the basics of projection and manipulation, but the more complex lessons were saved for future Controllers. Because she despised the notion of prying into another’s thoughts or directing their actions, she’d allowed her talents to lie dormant, but now she was motivated to wake those slumbering skills for her own rather desperate purpose.
“I’m having trouble breathing,” she gasped while quieting her mind, letting it gather about one idea. Slowly, she began to push it upon her guard.
You can’t breathe. Your lungs won’t expand. Your throat is closing.
She heard a gurgling sound and experienced only a tiny drop of guilt.
“Take this bag off my head. I could breathe if you took the bag off.”
“I can’t do that,” her watchdog choked.
“But it’s so hot. I can’t catch my breath. Please. I can’t breathe.”
Heat. Sweat. A clawing sense of smothering claustrophobia. Airway squeezing, shutting off that sweet, saving breath.
She was in his mind. She could feel his panic and amplified it.
“Take off the bag. Then you can breathe. Take it off!”
Suddenly, light dazzled her eyes as the sack was torn away. She blinked at her red-faced guard as he gasped and staggered, briefly pitying him until she saw the nearly healed scratches on his neck. Then she closed her eyes to focus her efforts.
You’re trapped. You’re a prisoner. You have to get away before they come for you. Feel the shackles on your wrists. You have to get free. They’re coming. Open the handcuffs. Do it now!
She heard him scrambling, panting wildly. And then his sweaty hands were on hers. She could hear the key scraping across the metal.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The sharp, intruding voice broke Susanna’s hold. She looked up to see two men in the doorway. One was the second man from her abduction and the other, the man behind it.
She smiled calmly. “Mr. Tibideaux, does Jacques know you’ve kidnapped his guest?”
“What Jackie doan know won’t hurt either of us. Morris, get up from there.”
“I doan know what happened,” Morris was babbling.
“You let her screw with your mind. Now she’s seen all three of us and that makes things into a bit of a mess.”
A chill of dread shivered through Susanna at what it might take to clean up that mess. Surely, he wouldn’t risk killing her.
“Get out,” Philo snapped at his flunkies. “Dr. Duchamps and me are gonna have ourselves a little talk.”
When they’d hurried out and shut the door, Philo took one of the other chairs and turned it to face her. He sat down and, with hands braced on knees, regarded her somberly.
“What am I gonna to do with you, doctor?”
“I suggest you let me go before Jacques gets here.”
“I can’t do that until you fill me in on a few things.”
She stared at him. “I’m a Libra. I enjoy sunsets, spicy breakfasts, and yoga. Red is my favorite color. Now fill me in on you.”
He gave a wry smile. “I didn’t know your kind had a sense of humor.”
“And you’ve known a lot of my
kind
, have you, to form that hypothesis?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “You’re right. Most of us are deadly serious and we frown on kidnapping. As will your friend, Mr. LaRoche.”
“What are you doing down here in N’awlins?”
“I was invited.”
“What are you
doing
here?” he repeated with pointed emphasis.
“Helping a friend of a friend. If they want you to know, they’ll tell you. I’m not going to. So if you feel it necessary to slap me around some more, you might as well go ahead. I’m not going to give you any information. Or do you only ask questions when you have a baseball bat?”
He flushed slightly at that, either embarrassed or annoyed, but his stare remained coolly dangerous. Wondering what stirred behind that narrowed glare whittled away at her courage.