Bound by Moonlight (32 page)

And she saw Marie plainly through Max’s eyes as she turned to him, smiling as she said, “I love you, Max. Run. Save yourself. Run.”

Charlotte knew what she was going to do. She would have done the same, without thought, without hesitation. Marie Savoie stepped between her son and the two armed men and she lunged toward them.

“Mama!”

Max’s cry came from both the child and the man.

Marie falling, a bullet in her chest. Max reaching for her, her string of bloodied pearls breaking in his clutching hands, falling along with his tears into the water.

“I killed her. I didn’t do what I was told. I killed her,” he said in anguish.

Is that what he thought? Was that the cruel lesson that followed him through his lonely life, that his mother had died because of his momentary act of disobedience? That a child, a scared, helpless child, was responsible for the sacrifice a mother chose to make?

As Cee Cee started toward him his eyes changed, glittering with that cold fire.

He might have been a child afraid, but he hadn’t been helpless.

“I killed them, Charlotte,” he whispered, trembling as she knelt to put her arms around him. “I let that monster inside me loose to tear them apart. I remember their screams.” He started panting. “I can feel their blood on my face, can taste it in my mouth.” His eyes rolled back as he wet his lips, and his breaths grew deep and almost rapturous. “Can taste them—the heat, the fear as I killed them and fed on them.”

He was still for a long minute, then the quick, anxious breaths started up again. “They came because of the blood.”

She gripped him hard as her heart lurched. Her cheek pressed to his as she whispered, “Who did, Max?”

“Not who. Not who.”

Instinctively, she used the bond between them to let her consciousness sink into his so he wouldn’t have to
speak the horrors out loud. Let herself become one with the child he’d been out in that dark, deadly swamp. Felt the terror, the protective fury growling up from his feral soul as they came, mostly at night, to feast on what was left of his attackers. Those things that lived in the swamps, sliding silently, rustling through the trees, soft breaths, quick shadows. Drawn from the darkness by the scent of the body he held in his arms.

Cee Cee rocked with him, slow and soothing, rubbing his shoulders, his back, murmuring quietly, “It’s all right, baby. Nothing can hurt her now. You kept her safe. You can let go now.”

She could feel that spindly, tough little boy he’d been in her arms, could feel him shivering with cold, burning with fever and thirst as nights and days bled into each other. Hugging that putrid, bloated shape that he tried to think of his mama, unable to cry because he was too weak now for tears.

Mama, please don’t leave me here alone.

And then from out of that hot, raw delirium, the beast inside began to stir. Hungry. Starving. All self-preservation instincts.

He’d tried to eat the things he found in the water, slimy, cold things that came hurling back up in a cramping rush.

Save yourself, Max.
His mama’s voice, a tender whisper.
Do whatever you have to do to stay alive.

“Take my hand.”

His eyes opened to the sight of an outstretched palm. To the offer of salvation and sanity.

“It’s all right. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of your mama. Just take my hand and you’ll be safe.”

Cee Cee followed his gaze to the face of Jimmy Legere, haloed by the setting sun as if he were a saint sent down from heaven.

Max blinked—and then there was just the empty house and her arms around him.

She felt him recoil and held on tight. She spoke firmly, calmly, so he wouldn’t misinterpret the importance of her words.

“It’s all right, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault, Max. You were a little boy who’s not to blame for any of it.”

When he tried to turn away from her, she gripped his jaw to compel him to look back in her direction.

“Listen to me. Max, are you listening?”

A stiff nod, but he wouldn’t open his eyes.

“You did nothing wrong. You did what she wanted you to do: survive. The rest doesn’t matter. Your mama would have been so proud of you.”

“No.” That tore up from the wounded heart of him as his eyes opened, his gaze clouded with grief and guilt and pain.

“Yes. Yes, she would be. Do you know how I know? Max, look at me. Do you know how I know?”

She watched as clarity seeped back into his stare, until he was seeing her, really seeing her. “How?”

“Because
I’m
proud of you. And I love you, too.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded, before he leaned into her embrace, letting her stroke his hair. Finally he recovered enough to step away from his past.

He rose to his feet. “I’ll take you back to your car.”

She stayed close while he locked the house and led the way down the uneven stones leading to the listing
gate. As he shut it behind him, she could sense him easing back from what he’d faced so he could regard it with thirty years of objectivity.

Hopefully leaving room in his newly cleaned closet for her shoes.

N
EITHER ONE OF
them was eager to get back to the city. Back to the empty parking lot at the Towers, where hers was the only car waiting. She climbed off the bike and secured her helmet on the seat behind him, waiting for him to lift his off so she could kiss him. Then they simply leaned brow to brow as her fingers combed through his hair, ending at that sexy curl behind his ears.

“I love you, Max. Wait until I get back to read those letters.”

He nodded.

“I won’t be gone long. I wouldn’t have the strength to do this if not for you. I’ll call you.” When his expression didn’t change, she said more forcefully, “I’ll call you tomorrow night at nine o’clock, and you’d better answer.”

“I will.”

She strode to her orange Camaro, starting it up with an aggressive roar, going from parking lot to heartbreak in less than twelve seconds.

C
HARLOTTE HATED TO
fly. Hated the hurry, the last-minute scrambling, only to wait packed in with other impatient people.

But Mary Kate Malone was her best and only friend. They’d survived despairing childhoods, bittersweet
teen years, the brutality of fate, and the choices that ultimately wedged them apart, but that love had never faltered.

So why was she so reluctant to take this flight?

It was more than the upheavals in her life; those excuses would no longer stand. It wasn’t the pain of knowing that the figure lying in that bed in the damaged shell, with a fragmented mind, wasn’t the Mary Kate Malone she remembered. It wasn’t the fact that there was no hope of ever getting that dear, dear friend back again.

What made the journey so difficult was the truth she couldn’t face. She knew a self-inflicted gunshot wound when she saw one.

Now she had to come to terms with the reason for it. The reason Sister Catherine would commit that sin barring her eternally from the reward she deserved.

She stuffed her duffel bag in the overhead of the crowded coach section, scowling at the sight of the vacant seat between a sweaty, ill-groomed old man and a young mother with a wiggly child on her lap, who looked appalled at the gun holster bared by her reaching.

“Detective Caissie?”

She glanced at the stewardess in a surly humor.

The attractive older woman smiled. “We’ve got an upgrade for you in First Class.”

She blinked. First Class? Then a slow smile eased the tension from her mood.

I love you, Savoie.

She grabbed down her bag, ignoring the relieved breath of the young mother, and followed the uniformed attendant to the front.

First Class: a haven of space and comfort her salary denied her. The attendant slipped her bag into the spacious compartment and said, “I’ll be back for your complimentary cocktail order once everyone’s seated.”

Not too shabby, Cee Cee thought as she sank into the generous perks of luxury travel and closed her eyes. For all of a minute.

“’Cuse me. I think you’re in my seat.”

She didn’t open her eyes. “There’s another one next to me. I just got comfortable. Climb over.”

“I’ve never been in a plane before. I’m not sure I want to sit by the window.”

She fought to suppress her smile. “Don’t be such a baby, Savoie. It’s not like the aisle seat is going to give you anywhere else to run if we go down in mid-flight.”

“Thanks for that image. I feel so much better.”

She slit an eye open as he angled around her feet, stumbling slightly. She grabbed a handful of very nice ass to keep him from falling into her lap and gave him a helpful boost.

“Are you copping a feel, Detective?”

“So what if I am?” She was so damned happy to see him, she thought her heart would burst. Her voice gruff from the emotion filling her throat, she demanded, “What are you doing here, Max?”

“Keeping a promise.”

Tears quickened in her eyes. “This trip isn’t about beaches and sex, Savoie.” She gave the eavesdropping man standing beside the row in front of her a double-barreled look that had him quickly sinking into his seat.

Max took her stubborn chin in his hand to turn her attention back to him, to the sincerity of his expression.
“My promise that I would be there for you. That you’d never have to make another trip like this alone.”

Her chin quivered. He’d made that promise after she’d gone to bury her mother. “Mary Kate’s the only family I have left, Max.”

“I’m not going to intrude, Charlotte. But I have to be there. In case you need me for anything.”

Or for everything.

“The only family besides
you
,” she whispered, choking up. “Thank you, Max.”

“You’re welcome.” A small smile, then he turned his attention to the seatback pouch, looking rather alarmed at the air sickness bag and safety instructions. She distracted him by threading her fingers between his so she could lift his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. Her heart shuddered gloriously.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, her mood beginning to soar. “Once we’re at cruising altitude, we can take off these belts and get comfortable. Maybe I’ll even explain the Mile High Club to you.”

“Is that some kind of perk you get with a seat upgrade?”

She smiled. “Something like that, yeah. In this case, anyway.” She leaned against his shoulder and sighed, “I’m glad you’re here,” when he opened his arm so she could snuggle in more closely. Her eyes closed as his lips brushed her brow and stress rolled off her, allowing her thoughts to travel to the ocean. Sand, surf, hot sun. Hot man.
Her
man.

“And while we’re there together,
cher
, we’ll have that talk concerning our future,” he murmured softly. “One that won’t permit any secrets between us.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.”

“I love you,
sha.
”

“Back at you, Savoie.”

And by the time the plane left the ground, they were both sound asleep. Hands and hearts entwined.

Pocket Books
proudly presents a sneak peek at

HUNTER OF SHADOWS

The next sizzling novel from rising star
Nancy Gideon

Available December 2011
from Pocket Books

S
ILAS
M
AC
C
REEDY IDENTIFIED
certain sounds with New Orleans: the mournful wail of a saxophone on the corner of the square, the whine of mopeds darting along the narrow streets like flies needing a good swat, a hard blues backbeat and drunken laughter drifting out from open doorways.

A sharp female cry wasn’t one of them.

He’d lost sight of the men he’d been following, and he couldn’t afford to let the trail grow cold. But no one else on the early-evening street had reacted to the possible call for help. Either they couldn’t be bothered, or the sound was too faint to reach their ears. He should continue on; he had vital things to do. Yet . . .

Aw, hell
. MacCreedy shut out the city soundtrack, listening.

A scuffle on loose stone. The crack of a hand against vulnerable skin.

He sighed and turned down the shadowed side street, his tread light with caution. “Better ready than dead” was the motto that got him home safely at night.

The dark, narrow alley ahead was the perfect place for bad things to go unnoticed. He breathed deeply through his nose, drawing in a taste of what he was walking into. A female. Four males. Not human. He could separate their scent signatures, now that he was closer, and he smiled at his good fortune. These were the same men he’d been tracking.

His job was surveillance, to stay hidden and see where they’d lead him. But he couldn’t just watch while they indulged their nasty habit of preying on women.

He eased into the mouth of the alley, knowing he had only a moment to assess the situation before they saw him. Not good. The woman was on the ground with one man crouching over her. The three others crowded in close, their breaths quick and raw with anticipation.

“Am I interrupting something?” Silas said politely.

All eyes flashed to where he stood in the shadow, where they could see his large, looming figure but not his face. He expected the dangerous glares of challenge from the males. In the dim alley their eyes glowed with an unnatural brilliance. They were big men, roughly dressed, smelling salty from Gulf water and exertion. Dock workers. Shape-shifters, needing no weapons other than their rough strength and preternatural abilities.

His own kind.

MacCreedy took his hand away from his holster. He would enjoy handling them as soon as he got their victim to safety. But maybe they’d just run like the cowardly pack animals they were, rather than face consequences. He could see hesitation in their feral gazes and fleetingly hoped they’d make a stand so he could teach them a lesson. That would almost be worth having his cover blown.