Authors: Nancy Gideon
“I’m a physician,” she told him fiercely. “I don’t hurt people. I heal them.”
“Ahh, is that what you call screwing with folks’ minds and stripping them of their memories? You think Jackie’d be so quick to save you if he knew the truth?”
Susanna’s belly knotted, but her tone was strong. “What truth? He knows who and what I am.”
Again, the warped smile. “Oh, I doan think he has a clue.”
Philo reached into his shirt pocket to withdraw a small photograph. He studied it for a moment before showing it to Susanna. It was the one she carried with her at all times.
“She has her daddy’s eyes.”
Susanna looked up at him, hiding her fear behind a harsh coldness. “You can’t tell him.”
“What? That his lady love is really the bitch that ruined his life and sent him to be killed?”
“Killed?” Fear fell away. “What are you talking about?”
“Doan play your games with me. You’re not gonna twist my mind up in knots. I know what I saw, what me and Tito saw that night they brung him here to N’awlins.”
A terrible trembling took hold of her as she asked, “What did you see?”
“A big black van with Illinois plates creeping along the docks seven years ago. They dragged him outta the back, trussed like a carcass on the way to the slaughter. He weren’t moving and didn’t make no sound when they was kicking the shit outta him.”
“And you didn’t stop them?” she cried.
“Hell no. None a our business. We doan go messing with nobody from the North. But then they cut loose his ropes and put a gun to his head. That’s when it got to be our business. They was meaning to shoot him and leave him there so we’d take the blame for ending him. We found that to be irksome and a right unneighborly way for visitors to be acting.
So we stopped ’em. The way their eyes bugged out, you’d think they’d never seen a Shifter in his natural state of orneriness. They went running like we was demons jumped up outta hell.” Philo chuckled at the memory.
“Caught one of ’em. Got him to tell us the poor fella’s name before the other ones come back for him with bigger guns. ’Bout then, me and Tito figured it was time to cut and run. We drug the fella, Jack Stone was his name, off with us and let them Northern boys get away. Bet they went home boasting how they’d done their job by killing him, but just the same, we gave him a new name when he came around since he couldn’t come up with his own.”
“Jacques LaRoche,” she concluded for him. “You saved his life and helped him start a new one here.” Her eyes welled as she told him, quietly, simply, “Thank you.”
Philo scowled at her. “You didn’t know that’s what they were planning?”
She shook her head. And then she understood. All this, the searching of the apartment, her abduction, was about Jacques. “I’m not here to harm him. I had no idea where he’d been taken. Somewhere he’d be safe is what I was promised.”
“Looks like you was lied to. What we stumbled on weren’t no catch and release. Them boys had murder on their minds.”
And what weighed on Susanna’s now was devastating.
Despite his promise, Damien had sent the father of her child to be murdered.
A sudden loud commotion from outside the little room distracted both of them. Then, as a ferocious roar sounded, the door was ripped away from its hinges.
Jacques wasn’t sure what to expect when he lunged into the room, but it wasn’t the sight of Susanna bound in a chair with her lip swollen and his best friend staring at him in guilty dismay.
“Give me a reason not to think what I’m thinking,” he snarled, seconds from reacting in a manner he’d regret.
“It’s not what you think,” Susanna spoke up. That surprised him enough to let his claws ease back in. Aside from the split lip that someone sure as hell would answer for, she didn’t look abused. Once her relief in seeing him had eased, her expression was calm, betraying no sign of fear or distress.
“Then tell me what I’m supposed to believe.”
“His men brought me here because they saw the calls to Chicago on my phone. They frightened me and I hurt myself struggling. Mr. Tibideaux was furious with them and he was just about to let me go.” Her voice softened. “You got my message this time.”
“I did. Sorry it took me so long.” His stare cut to Philo. “Let her go.”
Without hesitation, Philo retrieved the key from one of his cowering associates and went to kneel down behind the chair. As he unlocked the cuffs, he said to her, “You were going to tell me about the calls.”
She winced as she brought her arms in front of her to rub at her wrists. Her gaze never left Jacques as she said, “I’ve been calling to check on my daughter. She’s ill and I’m worried about her.”
“Something serious?” Philo asked as he straightened, pressing his hand briefly over hers.
Jacques thought he saw his friend tuck a square of paper into her palm but couldn’t be sure since Susanna didn’t react to it. She was concentrating on him and the effect of those dark eyes distracted him as she gave her quiet answer.
“It could be fatal if I’m unable to finish my work here.”
Philo glanced to Jacques, then told her, “I’ll spread the word that concern was unwarranted. You woan be bothered again, doctor. I hope your little girl gets better real soon.”
“Thank you.”
Jacques looked curiously between them. Something had been exchanged within their words but he missed the meaning. The one thing he did discern was Susanna’s lack of animosity toward his friend. The slightest show of resentment or fear could have caused the situation to turn out differently, and he was glad it didn’t have to. Still, he caught Philo’s forearm and warned, “Control your dogs. You come to me first. Understand?”
Philo’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. Jacques wasn’t sure if that meant he agreed or just that he acknowledged the request. He didn’t have
time to worry about it at the moment. He stretched his hand down to Susanna, relieved by the feel of her delicate fingers crossing his palm and the reality of clutching them tight. Philo passed her oversized bag to her, looking uneasy enough to convey that he’d already gone through every penny and piece of gum in it.
As Jacques led her from the room out into the large warehouse, one of the two thugs scuttled backward, a look of alarm and distress on his face. It wasn’t fear of him, Jacques realized. He was afraid of Susanna.
And then Jacques got a look at his neck where Susanna had left scratches. Only the feel of her shivering slightly against him kept his temper from exploding.
He looked between the anxious Morris and his equally uneasy companion, Anderson. “The two a you don’t bother coming in to do more than collect your last checks.” His tone ground with fury. “I’m minding my manners here for the lady’s sake but if I see either of you on the docks or in my place again, I’m gonna get unpleasant right quick.”
As the two of them blanched, Jacques circled his arm about Susanna’s waist and walked away before he thought better of that uncharacteristic mercy.
“Could I get some water?” she asked as they passed a vending machine near the door.
Jacques fished out change to feed in and passed her the cold bottle. Her hands were shaking. After her unsuccessful attempt to twist off the top, he took
it from her and opened it, then watched her drink greedily.
His heart was still racing. For all her calm, his emotions were unstable. Finding her gone had struck a dark terror in him and he was eager to get her safely tucked away as quickly as possible.
She slid down into the Caddy’s wide seat like a weary child, sending his protective instincts into overdrive.
“I need to get my things from the club,” she murmured.
“I have them in the trunk.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, willing to turn the situation over into his hands. Hands that were suddenly damp and unsteady as adrenaline eased down. It helped that she sat quietly, seeming to doze as he navigated the maze of the dock area. She didn’t stir when he stopped at the trailer.
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” After her slight nod, he locked the car doors and made a quick pass inside, stuffing necessities into a drawstring garbage bag that joined her belongings in the trunk. Anyone watching would think he was taking out the trash.
Susanna’s lethargy worried him, making him wonder if she’d been injured more severely than she let on. He detoured into a drive-through to pick up spicy chicken pieces, a side salad, and several large drinks, thinking the hydration, protein, and sugar might perk her up.
As the car started forward, he felt her fingertips
graze his arm, sliding down to rest atop his thigh. A quick glance showed her eyes were still closed, her features relaxed. Carefully, he fit his hand over hers in a protective and possessive gesture. The corners of her mouth took a slight upward curve as she drifted, trusting herself into his care.
It wasn’t desire or lust or obligation or anything else that welled up in his chest at that moment. Though he recognized it, Jacques refused to give it a name. If he named it, he would have to own it, and he couldn’t, not yet.
But the feeling wouldn’t subside, wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t relieve its pressure so he could take a decent breath.
Dammit to hell.
He loved her.
The huge parking structure was all but empty. Max hadn’t publicly released the news that the Towers were open, so for the next few days Jacques would have the central spire pretty much to himself.
He parked the Caddy by the elevator and gave his slumbering passenger a long look. Exhaustion etched the delicate features. Her soft breaths gently moved her breasts. He studied that mesmerizing rhythm until he heard how raspy his own breathing had become.
Stop it! Don’t be a fool!
Jacques got out of the car, resisting the urge to slam his door as arousal and frustration stampeded over
him. And fear. That was the worst of it. He was afraid of the things the fragile Chosen female awakened in him. Afraid to believe in them.
Susanna was off-limits, out of bounds, out of reach, out of his whole realm of existence. A brief yet satisfying moment between his sheets didn’t change a damned thing.
When he opened her door, her head lifted and her groggy eyes struggled to focus. She made an uncoordinated effort to move her legs, prompting him to simply scoop her up out of the seat.
“I don’t need to be carried,” she murmured as, contrarily, her arms went about him and her face burrowed against his neck.
Hoping she was too out of it to notice how fast his pulse was pounding, Jacques urged the door shut with his foot. He’d have to come back down for the rest of their things. What was important was getting her safely behind secure doors.
The elevator was for tenant use only. He angled in to swipe his key and pressed for the eleventh floor, trying to ignore the way her breath stroked warm and light against his throat.
She felt so small cradled to his chest, but he knew she wasn’t as fragile as she seemed. There was starch in her backbone and fire in her eyes. He couldn’t imagine the courage it had taken for her to leave the security of her world to step, unguarded and alone as an outsider, into his. She was smart and brave and beautiful, and when she looked at him he felt as if he was suddenly
more. More what, he wasn’t sure, but he liked the feeling. And he liked the way she felt in his arms. And in his bed.
And if he continued with this line of thinking he was going to get himself into serious trouble.
His apartment was near the elevator but not so close as to disturb him with the comings and goings of his soon-to-be neighbors. New carpet and paint made the hallway inviting. Even though flames had never reached his floor, smoke and water from the faulty sprinkler heads had caused considerable damage. He held his breath when he opened his door.
The interior gleamed, the walls a pristine white, the vertical blinds at his balcony partially turned to let in a spill of natural late afternoon light. He sniffed, able to detect only a faint acrid hint over the scent of Susanna’s hair. The furniture was new and stylish, from the tan leather couch to the rust and navy blue tapestried chairs and counter bar stools. An entertainment center housed a flat-screen television at least ten inches larger than the one he’d owned. The local art he’d picked out for his walls had been reframed and his lampshades replaced. There were just enough of his own belongings for him to feel welcomed home.
He carried Susanna to the sofa instead of the bed, thinking that would probably be safer. Once he’d settled her there, he stroked his hand over her hair to make her eyes flicker open.
“I’ll be right back.”
She made an unbearably sexy noise and snuggled into the overstuffed navy blue pillows.
Jacques practically ran for the door and, with some careful maneuvering at the car, was able to tote everything up with him in one trip.
Then he simply stood in the center of his living room and let a sense of satisfaction fill him.
His place. His home. His things.
Unbidden, his glance cut toward the couch.
His female.
Instead of shaking off that last claim, he allowed it to linger with the others, to become part of the poignant feel of belonging, of accomplishment.
How far he’d come from sleeping in doorways along Decatur upon waking to his new life in New Orleans. He had no recall of his situation before then so he couldn’t judge if he was better or worse off. But what he had now would more than do.
He checked the main bedroom, surprised to find that, instead of his cheap full-sized mattress with its free metal frame, a mammoth king sat on an impressive dark wood base with heavy masculine foot- and headboards that matched the large five-drawer dresser. His clothes hung in the double closet still in their dry-cleaning bags and next to them a black suit he was certain he’d never seen before. He crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window, pushing open the drapes to a breathtaking view of the river. As he stood there, he blinked away the burn in his eyes and chuckled softly. Probably a residual from the smoke.
Before returning to see to his guest, he pulled out his phone and speed-dialed.