Authors: Nancy Gideon
“Call someone who cares,” she snapped, not slowing.
A quick grab of her wrist, a short jerk, and she was on his lap, and definitely not happy to be there. Hanging on to her was like trying to restrain a greased cat.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there.” Silas’s arms wrapped tightly about her, pinning hers to her sides in self-defense. “What did I do?”
She quieted but he didn’t release his hold. “It’s not you. It’s your gender.”
“Then I apologize on behalf of all of us for whatever offense we may have incurred, either on purpose or by nature of our inferior sex.”
She glared at him, then stated primly, “Apology accepted.” She nodded toward the bar. “How’s he doing?”
“Do you mean has he come over here to pour out his soul to me, mano a mano? Not hardly.” When she sighed unhappily and leaned against his shoulder, he relaxed his embrace. “How’s Max?”
“No change. The priest has him someplace secure. Charlotte’s with him.”
Reading her agitation, he kissed her brow. “You don’t trust Furness?”
“I have little reason to trust the man or his motives. But maybe he can help us. Or maybe we’ve just turned over our entire future into the hands of someone intent on destroying us. And the only one who really could help is gone.”
Then he understood her mood. “It was necessary.”
She pushed away from him. “For the many, not the one. Isn’t that what
they
believe? Since when do we feel the same way?” She got off his knee, expression growing fierce. “And I don’t think I like how damned quick you were to say you’d toss me away for the sake of the many. So I guess it
is
you I’m pissed at.”
When she tried to take a step back, his arms encircled her hips, drawing her up so he could rest his head against her midriff. She began to struggle but his quiet voice stilled her.
“I said that because it’s how I
should
feel, because it was the smart thing to do, the
right
thing to do. I thought it was what you’d want to hear, you being
such a strong, tough, independent creature, not reliant upon any male. But if it came down to it, I wouldn’t let you go. Not for anything or anyone.” His palm rubbed over her still-flat belly and his tone deepened. “Especially not now.”
Her hand rumpled his hair. “That’s probably why I love you.”
He glanced up, smiling slightly. “Is that the only reason?”
“That and the fact that you’re a bright guy and I’m counting on you to come up with some way to make this right, seeing as how Jacques is her little girl’s father.”
“What?”
“Think of something fast.”
Nica ignored Silas’s dumbfounded look and walked to the bar, settling on a stool. “Hey, boss. Doesn’t look like you’ll be needing me tonight.”
“No. I think we’ve got it handled.”
There was nothing in his words or tone that was out of the ordinary. His actions were easy and natural. But the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes had Nica worried. The way he seemed to be staring at nothing at all.
She reached out, closing her hand over his. He stopped polishing the beer stein he held, but he didn’t look up.
“We had no choice,” she said firmly.
“I know.”
“We did what we had to do.”
“I know.” Softer, less sure.
“No one is going to blame you.”
A short laugh. “The jury’s out on that one from the looks of it.” His shoulders slumped. “Were they the right choices, Nica? I just don’t know anymore.”
Her fingers squeezed tight. “Go home. Get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re ready to drop.”
“I’ve got nothing to go home to.”
Instead of commiserating, she rounded on him with a curt, “And whose fault is that?”
He blinked up at her, expression blank. “I didn’t want her to go.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Not in so many words.”
“In
any
words?” She shook her head, exasperated. “You don’t tell her what’s wrong. You don’t tell her to stay. You don’t tell her you love her. You don’t tell her you’d fight any odds to keep her. And then you mope around here with your tail between your legs, wondering what the hell happened. Did you
talk
to her? Did you
tell
her what was bothering you? Of course not. And then you’re crushed because she hasn’t read your mind? You are
such
a guy.”
“There was nothing to say. I couldn’t protect her here,” he blurted in his own defense.
“And who’s protecting her now? You think she’s better off? Her and that little girl up there in the hands of those cold, heartless monsters? You know what they are. You know what they do.”
“MacCreedy said—”
“Don’t listen to him, she’s not
his
woman. I thought she was yours. And so did she. Stop thinking about what’s best for everyone else. What does she want? What do
you
want?”
His jaw worked fiercely, then he spoke in a low rumble. “It’s not just about what we want. There’s her daughter to consider.”
“And if she were
your
daughter? What then?”
“I’d be on my way north right now to get them,” he roared in frustration, “and no one, not your smartass mate, not Max, not the ghosts of the friends I just killed, would get in my way. Dammit.
Goddammit
. What the hell have I been doing, just standing here?” He smashed the heavy glass to the floor, shocking them both.
His fingertips dug into his temples. “None of this matters if she’s not here. She needed me to say the words and I couldn’t find them.”
“Tell her now.”
Jacques’s startlingly clear gaze fixed on hers then. “You don’t think it’s too late? Why should she believe me?”
“Because she wants to. Because she loves you—or she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to protect your daughter.”
He stared at her, expression frozen.
“Why do you think I called in that favor?” she chided him gently. “You think it was just a coincidence that the two of you would bump into each other after
all these years? The first time I met you, the first time I looked into your eyes, I saw Pearl. But I wasn’t sure until I got you and Susanna together.”
It took Jacques an inordinate amount of time to swallow.
Nica smiled at him. “Go get your family. I’ll handle things here.”
He leaned across the bar and kissed her hard. No tongue. “Thank you.”
“Be careful. And be happy. Be fruitful and multiply, so our little pup will have a best friend to grow up with.”
His grin flashed wide. “I’ll do my best on all counts.”
Everything became razor sharp, falling into slots of priority and purpose as Jacques circled around the bar. The last thing he expected was for MacCreedy to fall into step beside him as he strode toward his office.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“I’ll find my way,” Jacques growled.
“How will you get there?”
“Drive. Walk. Snowshoe if I have to.”
“I was thinking private jet.”
Jacques shot him a quick look.
“If I’m going to travel, I like to do it in comfort.”
“Who asked you to go along?”
“Do you have a connection in Chicago who can put you right at her front door?”
“No.”
“Then ask me along.”
“This is my business,” Jacques snarled, unwilling to allow interference.
“Oh-kay. Does that mean you have to take care of it by yourself?”
“Why would my business matter to you?”
“Because I’d just as soon you not get yourself dead since I can count my friends on one hand, and one of them doesn’t even remember my name. And because I’m kind of a smart guy and pretty helpful in a pinch. And because when I get back, I know I’m going to have the most fantastic sex on the planet for as long as I can stay conscious.”
Jacques glanced at MacCreedy. “You ride shotgun.”
“Yes, boss.”
“When did we get to be friends?”
“Damned if I know.”
“A private jet, huh? How you gonna manage that?”
“Did I mention that the female I’m going to have all that sex with is almost richer than Savoie?”
“No.” And neither had she. What was she doing working behind his bar? Or anywhere for that matter?
“Don’t tell her I told you. She likes to keep things like that under the wire.”
“Afraid she’ll cut you off from all that great sex?”
MacCreedy grinned and winked companionably. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
Jacques chuckled and turned toward his office when a hand closed about his throat, propelling him across the hall to slam into the opposite wall. The cold circle
of a gun barrel pressed into his ear as a haggard Philo Tibideaux leaned in to get nose-to-nose.
Jacques held up a hand to halt MacCreedy’s aggressive move as his gaze locked onto the bloodshot eyes of his best friend.
“You sonuvabitch,” Philo hissed. “How could you cut down those boys we worked with, drank with, shared our meals and our homes with, like they was dogs? How could you do that?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t change what happened. I wish I could.”
The pistol barrel shoved harder as Philo panted in fury and frustration. “Is that what you wish, you bastard? That it’d been you instead a them? That you could have given your miserable life to save theirs?”
“Yes. Under different circumstances you know I would have, without a thought.” His voice broke slightly, then firmed. “They didn’t give me a choice.”
“They were our
brothers
. Our
family
.”
“Then what were they doing there, Tib? Why did they turn on me instead of talking it out like brothers are supposed to? Then I wouldn’t be burying them in Savoie’s backyard tomorrow night.”
Philo’s breaths seethed from him. “It shouldn’t a mattered. They shouldn’t be dead.”
“No,” Jacques agreed quietly, “they shouldn’t be. It never should have happened.”
Philo pulled a ragged breath, rage vibrating through him. “This is my fault? You saying this is my fault?
“That’s not what I’m—”
The pistol butt smashed into Jacques’s temple, dropping him to one knee. Still, he stayed a tense MacCreedy with a shaky hand while his ears rang and vision doubled. When he could see straight, he found himself staring up that deadly barrel while Philo raged on.
“Me and Tito, we took you in when you was a nobody, no better than garbage on the streets. We shared everything we had with you. We trusted you to stand with us, for us, and now Tito’s dead, and them boys is dead. And you’re
sorry
?”
In a deep, strong voice, Jacques told him, “I’ve spent the last seven years of my life trying to repay you for what you did for me. If it’s not enough by now, it’s not ever gonna be. If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me. Otherwise, back the hell outta my face.”
For a long moment, neither blinked nor moved. Then Philo lowered the gun. His lips curled with a bitter contempt.
“We’re square now, Jackie. And we’re done.”
With that, Philo whirled and slammed out the back exit door.
Jacques let himself slide down to sit on the floor. His head was bleeding, and so was his heart, but his focus was undeterred.
“Why didn’t you tell him it was your other friend Morris who betrayed you all?” Silas wanted to know.
“Morris is dead. That’s punishment enough for his family.”
MacCreedy frowned, trying to puzzle out that logic.
“Philo will think whatever he’s gonna think anyway.
I can’t afford to spend any more time looking behind me, second-guessing what I coulda or shoulda done.” He held up his hand for MacCreedy’s firm grasp to haul him to his feet. “We got a plane to catch.”
They had the charter to themselves. Jacques had never been in a plane before, but after the turbines whined up to full capacity, the vibration knocked him out faster than a sedative. The next thing he knew, MacCreedy was shaking his shoulder.
“We’re here.”
As Silas drove their rental out of the parking garage, Jacques noticed a pattern of scarring on his left wrist.
“The brand of the Terriot clan,” MacCreedy told him simply. “It reminds me that nothing is more important than my family’s freedom.”
Asked and answered. All Jacques needed to know. For the same reason, Jacques didn’t question where they were going or why. MacCreedy was all calm competence and if he wasn’t worried, Jacques wasn’t about to be.
MacCreedy pulled up in front of a stately apartment building. Jacques silently hung back out of the way, staying close enough to step in if asked but otherwise willing to let Silas take care of business, knowing whatever it was would bring him that much closer to Susanna and his child.
His child.
He suppressed the sharp shiver of longing so it wouldn’t distract him. Yet still it whispered to him.
His daughter. Their child.
MacCreedy climbed the steps to the second floor and knocked on the first door, his manner relaxed.
The door was opened by a plumply average man with a receding hairline and some alarming scars cutting across his face. At MacCreedy’s pleasant, “Hello again,” he shrieked and fled back into the tastefully decorated room. In a few long strides, MacCreedy caught him by the back of the neck and tiptoe-walked him into the kitchen to drop his quivering form into a chair.
Jacques blinked, regarding his friend with a new respect for whatever he’d done to inspire such unabashed terror.
“W-w-what are you doing here? I haven’t done anything,” the little man blubbered.
“Not yet. But you’re going to.”
Furtive eyes darted over to check him out as a potential threat. “Who’s he? What does he want?”
“A friend. He wants what I want. Friend, meet Hawthorne, the greedy piece of Controller trash who tortured the woman I love into obeying his instructions.”
Jacque’s eyes narrowed, dangerously.
“What kind of information can I get for you?” Hawthorne squeaked.
“Damien Frost. He hired Nica to find a kidnapped child. What do you remember about that?”
“He paid up front. Twice. A lot.”
“For you to do what?”
“To have two men snatch the kid, then have Nica rescue her, leaving no witnesses.”