Authors: Nancy Gideon
Then Savoie’s entanglement in the human realm brought devastation into theirs, not just with the destruction of the Towers but of their hope that they’d have that
more
Savoie promised. More of the same was all Jacques was seeing now. And that sorely shook his desire to have faith.
“Where you been hiding yourself, Savoie?”
A noncommital smile. “In plain sight. I got your message. What’s going on?”
No invitation to join him at the table. He shouldn’t have needed one, but tonight Jacques wanted one. He needed to feel like a valued friend instead of a hired crew chief delivering a report on the status quo. And
to add to the perceived insult, Max’s attention wasn’t on him, it was a room away on the tall figure making a direct approach toward the table.
Silas MacCreedy was a puzzling enigma, crossing the lines between human and Shifter in his role as NOPD detective and Max’s emissary to the outside clans. His intelligence, business acumen, and cool ability to make things happen earned him the suddenly vacant spot at Max’s side. Francis Petitjohn, Max’s human nemesis, had disappeared from that position at Legere Enterprises International, the extensive and legally ambiguous conglomerate Max had inherited from his former mentor/employer, and word was, he wouldn’t be returning.
Jacques liked MacCreedy well enough and found him to be a reliable straight shooter who happened to be bonded to his best waitress, but that didn’t keep him from feeling resentful of his sudden rise in importance within their tight community.
“Max, I’ve got those papers you wanted to look over.” MacCreedy dropped into a chair and glanced up to favor Jacques with an acknowledging nod that was stiffly returned.
Max took the folder Silas pushed toward him with an undisguised eagerness to get into it. He tore his focus from whatever intrigues it held to look back up at Jacques with only the tiniest edge of impatience, just enough to put up a wall between them.
“Sorry. You were saying?”
He was saying nothing Savoie wanted to hear.
Jacques gave a dismissing wave. “Nothing. It’s been taken care of. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “You sure?”
Something as small as an invitation to join them would have scattered all hard feelings. But the two of them with their folder full of LEI business just looked up at him through tolerant expressions, waiting for him to speak his business and leave so they could return to theirs.
Jacques smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure.” And with a nod, he turned and walked away.
Susanna set her bag down next to the computer. She’d let herself in the back door using the numeric code she’d been given and had slipped into the empty office without turning on the overhead lights. With the sound system turned off and the door left ajar, she could hear the echoing voices from the remaining staff on the floor below. Two of the waitresses were cashing out their drawers and she could see Jacques behind the bar polishing the taps as he polished off the rest of his bottled beer.
“All balanced, boss,” the brunette with the gravity-defying chest called. “Busy night. I’ve got enough tip money here to retire . . . until my shift starts tomorrow.”
A big, booming laugh sounded as Jacques turned off the lights and came out on the floor to join them. “I’ll walk you ladies out,” he offered, draping his beefy arms about their shoulders to steer them toward the steps.
Even knowing they couldn’t see her, Susanna took a cautious step back from the window.
She could hear them right outside the door. The buxom one blurted, “I forgot my keys,” and darted back down to the servers’ galley. That’s when her blonde counterpart made her move.
“The night’s still young, boss. I’ve a case of cold ones in the fridge and clean sheets on the bed just in case I get lucky. Wanna see if some of that luck will rub off?”
“I thought your roommate was back on days? Wouldn’t want to wake her up.”
“Oh, trust me. She wouldn’t mind at all. Three’s a partaay.”
A playful chuckle. “I’m too old for that shit, Jen.”
“What? Since when? Last weekend? I didn’t hear you complaining then.”
“Good night, Jennifer.”
A loud, juicy-sounding kiss. “If you change your mind . . .”
A tolerant chuckle this time. “Be careful out there.”
“Where’s the fun in that? Night, Amber.”
“Night, Jen.”
The outside door opened and closed.
After a long silence, she heard Amber ask, “You okay?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. Looks like you got a case of the blues. That why you turned down the case of cold ones?”
Jacques laughed. “That’s not what Jen had a case of, darlin’.”
An amused chuckle was followed by Amber’s own more subtle overture. “Why don’t you stop over on your way home and I’ll fix you up a bowl of gumbo, and if you feel like talking, I’ll listen.”
“Thanks, but I’m not much in the talking mood.”
“You can just sit and not say anything. That’d be fine, too.”
“I’m fine with my own company tonight. Another time.”
“You need someone to take care of you, Jacques.”
“You volunteering to be my mama,
chere
? Git on outta here so I can lock up.”
A laugh followed by a contented sigh. “A girl could do worse, you know.”
“And a hell of a lot better. G’night. Give your little
bebe
a kiss for me.”
“So you can break her heart, too? See you tomorrow night. Don’t stay too late.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Susanna was quick to turn her back to the door but she could still see his reflection in the glass. He filled the door frame, head lowered, broad shoulders slumped, then moved by a tremendous breath. He looked up, studying her for a long minute, features in shadow.
Did he hate so much that she was there?
When she turned to regard him, his blatant masculinity hit her like an El train. In Chicago, he’d been a sanitized version of this hulking, primal male. He’d added mass to his upper body, showcasing that new dimension with his sleeves rolled up and his white shirt
only partially buttoned to display a gleaming acre of muscle. There was a different attitude, as well: tough, cocky, a bit reckless, yet still with that cautious caginess. She envied the females who’d felt free to put their hands on him, hoping that pang wasn’t evident when she said, “You have a very attentive staff.”
“They’re nice girls. We all take care of each other here. Something I don’t expect you to understand. Your kind frowns on the baser needs like companionship or affection.”
Oh, she understood just fine, aching for a little of either from him at that moment. But of course she’d made that impossible. No use crying about it now. Her words came out purposefully tart. “I’m almost set up here. You don’t need to stay any longer. Your gumbo is getting cold.”
He chuckled and stepped into the room. “If you were an ordinary female, I’d say I heard a bite of bitchiness in that remark. But you don’t stoop to spite, do you?”
Her heart clenched in a sad little spasm at his hard summation. “No. Of course not.”
Instead of leaving, Jacques crossed over to one of the couches, dropping onto it with a groan, pushing his long legs out in front of him and arms overhead in a leisurely, devastatingly sensual stretch.
“No, really,” she emphasized. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I think maybe I do.”
“Afraid I’ll crack your security and steal your famous bar mix recipe?”
He showed his teeth in a strong flash of white, then grew sober. “Afraid my overzealous friend might stop in, find you here alone, and put a no-questions-asked end to you.”
“We wouldn’t want
that
on your conscience,” she drawled.
“
That
wouldn’t be,” he brutally clarified. “I made a promise to keep you safe and I will. Failing to keep my word to a friend
would
bother me.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“No problem.” He bent to unlace his chunky work boots. For a moment, she was fascinated by the play of muscles across his back and shoulders as he said, “You won’t even know I’m here.”
Susanna turned back to her computer screen, her insides tightening at the sound of creaking leather as he lay down on the cushions.
Yeah, right.
Five
D
espite his intention to remain alert, Jacques slept like the dead, waking to the heavy lethargy of undisturbed rest.
“What time’s it?”
Susanna still sat at the computer, her back to him as she wiped at her eyes and answered in a gruff voice, “Eight fifteen.”
Jacques sat up, brows lowering as he looked from the light blanket draped over him to the woman making an effort to hide her face. “What’s wrong?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Nothing. Just tired.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “Eye strain from the smoke.”
Knowing his office had excellent filtration, Jacques kept his doubts to himself. She’d been crying. If she wanted to hide that fact from him, he wouldn’t call her on it. He’d signed on to provide safety and shelter, not an empathetic shoulder.
Still, a female’s tears always made him anxious and guilty, as if he’d somehow failed to protect her from her distress. He didn’t know what she had to cry about any more than he knew why she’d dropped that blanket over him, and considering either thing too deeply could only lead to problems. So he said nothing as he reached for his boots.
“I’ve got to get to work. You’re staying at MacCreedy’s place, right? I’ll drop you off.”
Her gaze jumped to him.
Eye strain, my ass.
There was no way to disguise the swollen redness of weeping eyes.
“You don’t need to do that. I’ve got more to finish up here.”
“Shut it down, doc. Time to go.”
He couldn’t miss her scowl of displeasure. Probably wasn’t used to an inferior species telling her what to do. Well, this inferior needed to get to work and wasn’t about to let her wander through the Quarter lugging her heavy bag of scientific tricks. Not on his watch.
Jacques gave a limbering stretch, pausing when he heard her sharp inhalation. He chuckled to himself. She wasn’t intimidated by him, but she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she pretended.
To provoke her genteel sensibilities, he stripped off his rumpled shirt and crossed, bare-chested, to his credenza, pulling open the drawer where he kept a stack of clean T-shirts. He tugged one over his head, then turned, thinking to catch her leering.
She was busy moving data to her flash drive, a high flush of color in her cheeks.
So, the sterile Chosen scientist got all flustered ogling him. Shame on her. The notion made him smile.
Susanna stood and turned toward him, her lowered eyes directed at his feet. Slowly, that gaze lifted, pausing at his thighs, at his inseam, making a leisurely slide up his torso to linger on his mouth. And surprisingly, his internal temperature rose along with that appraisal.
When her gaze finally connected with his own, what he saw burning in the dark intensity of her stare wasn’t lust or curiosity or distaste. It was something else, something so fierce and possessing, he took an awkward step back, nerves rattling like window blinds in a sudden gust of wind.
Then, in a blink, the clinical coolness returned and she reached down for the bag on the floor by her chair.
“I’ll get that for you,” he quickly offered.
He moved closer, bending to pick up the bulky shoulder bag. She froze as he straightened, his arm grazing hers, his nose brushing past her hair for a deep inhalation.
Jacques’s senses swam with the perfume of her scent. Its seductive familiarity knotted him up into a hard ache of longing and desire he couldn’t begin to understand. But he knew it. He’d felt the strange, torturous pleasure, the hot, mindless euphoria years ago, back before his memories began. Again, his instinct remembered what his mind could not.
Want. Need. Craving so sharp it razored through his gut, then his groin, in swift, brutal strokes.
For this woman? This
Chosen
female? He reared back in denial. No, never. He knew their kind; he despised her type. Cruel, cold, and condescending. Users, takers, never givers.
But he knew that was wrong. One of them hadn’t been that way. The one he’d loved. The one who’d accepted what he was enough to let him claim her. The one he’d lost.
He turned away, agitated by the feelings this foreign female stirred inside him, and growled, “Let’s go.”
She followed without a word. He would have believed she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her if she didn’t go out of her way to stay an arm’s length from him. He smiled ruefully.
Well, at least she wasn’t crying.
Jacques slid a glance at his passenger as he negotiated the narrow streets of the Quarter.
He’d expected her to peer down her dainty nose at the condition of his ride but she’d smiled at the sight of his slightly listing old Cadillac, raising her brows at the big dents on the roof and hood where metal had buckled under the impact of weights dropped from high above, his own being one of them. Even now, as she sat beside him, her fingertips caressed the leather dash and sent the chunky green, purple, and gold Mardi Gras beads hanging from his crooked rearview mirror swinging so that they glinted in the early morning sunlight. He tensed as if feeling that touch personally.
As he accelerated from a stop, the huge boat of a vehicle shuddered and coughed. “C’mon, Louise,” he muttered. “Don’t get temperamental just ’cuz we’ve got company.”
“Louise?”
He glanced at Susanna, then patted the steering wheel affectionately. “We’ve been together for over five years. My longest relationship with a female. Probably ’cuz she’s older, more reliable, and appreciates my attention.”
“Not like the younger, faster models who are all show and no go.”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
She flipped through the stack of cassette tapes strewn on the seat between them. “Hmmm. Muddy Waters, Metallica, and Mozart. An interesting cross section.”