Creed (The Marquette Family Book One) (16 page)

Creed swore. There she was, popping into his head again. He stopped walking and looked to his left. Thick white columns lined the walk and supported the overhanging roof above. To his right, green doors with long windows allowed him to see into the famous café he had visited many times during his stay in New Orleans. Café du Monde was known for its beignets and café au lait, and Creed had enjoyed the puffy fried dough with piles of powdered sugar on top coupled with the hot coffee that was half milk. He’d propositioned Rene to try the treat for Marquette’s and had been told one couldn’t improve on perfection. Shada, he recalled, had laughed at him, and then, when he grumbled about dealing with arrogant chefs, she had promised to create something unique to Marquette’s. He swore. There she was again in his head. When his cell phone rang, he welcomed the interruption, at least until Shada’s name flashed on the screen.

Creed battled between letting her call go to voicemail and finding out what she’d been doing all this time since she had finally decided to call him. A desire to hear her voice outweighed his anger, and he answered. “Shada, perhaps you forgot you have a job to do.”

“Creed.”

The anguish in her tone tore through him. “What is it, baby?”

“She’s gone. She’s
gone
.”

Her sobs ripped him apart. He didn’t need the details. All he needed was to find her and take her into his arms.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

For a few moments, she couldn’t answer, and he paced with the phone pressed into his ear until it hurt. At last, she mumbled, “Home.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there.”

The apartment Shada shared with her sister was within walking distance of Marquette’s, but Creed had covered a lot of ground in the opposite direction when he left the restaurant. He doubled his speed and considered getting public transportation, but thought better of it. Pent-up frustration and worry gave him enough energy to get to Shada under his own steam. Besides, he needed to get his blood pumping and to work out his hangover so he could concentrate on her.

While he walked, Creed searched with his phone’s browser for the name of the management company where Shada lived. From that info, he obtained the phone number and dialed them. A woman with a heavy accent came on the line, but living in this city for the time he had, he understood her without a problem.

“This is Creed Marquette. I need someone to meet me at Unit Three on St. Philip to let me into the apartment.”

“Are you the tenant, sir?”

“No, I’m her employer. I will be there in—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Marquette. If your name isn’t on the lease, we can’t let you in without the tenant’s written consent.”

His patience snapped. “Listen, Shada Howard, the tenant, is in a…precarious state right now. I’m not sure she’s in the frame of mind to answer the door. So I want someone there to let me in, just in case. If that person wants to come inside with me to ensure I’m not about to commit foul play, that’s fine. However, I will enter that apartment, with your assistance or without.”

“Mr. Marquette, it don’ matta what you say. Ah cane’t let you in.” The angrier she grew, the thicker her accent, and he had to concentrate to understand. “Now if you’re going to threaten us in this way, I will have to call the police.”

“Please do, if you must, but have someone with a key for the door,” he shot back. “I will be there in twenty minutes.”

He disconnected the call, and just as he said he would, he arrived outside Shada’s apartment twenty minutes later. When he started up the stairs toward unit three, he found an older gentleman standing beside the door, waiting. Creed saw no evidence of the police, and he sighed in relief. While he had no doubt he could settle matters with the authorities quickly, he didn’t need the delay in getting to Shada.

“You’re Creed Marquette?” the elderly man asked in a gruff tone.

“I am,” Creed said, but he strode by the man to knock on Shada’s door. He waited a few beats to see if she would answer, but he heard nothing from the apartment. “Open it.”

“Well now, hang on,” the old man said. “We need to—”

“Open it before I do.”

An unsteady hand covered in age spots reached out to the door. The man pushed the key into the lock and turned it. Once the door opened, Creed brushed by the man even as he called out to Shada and announced himself. Creed rushed through the living room, shuffling footsteps sounding behind him.

“We would have called the police if Ms. Alma hadn’t thought to look you up. Marquette name sounded familiar. Pretty well-known, you.”

Creed ignored the conversation and turned into the first bedroom he reached. He found Shada there, crumpled at the side of the bed, her head and shoulders bowed. In the bed before her, Marisa lay as still as the dead, and he knew that was the case. She had passed on. Creed couldn’t say the situation was unexpected, with Marisa always so weak, but it hit him hard. Marisa had been a sweet and intelligent woman, and he knew that, even if Shada wouldn’t accept it, Damen had liked her. Maybe more than he should have.

For now, Creed dismissed everyone from his mind except the trembling beauty before him. He knelt down on one knee and scooped her into his arms. “No,” came her weak cry, but she seemed to lack the strength to fight him. He carried her from the room and sat on the couch with her in a tight embrace.

“I need to stay with her,” she whispered.

“Shada, baby, she’s gone. She can’t stay in the apartment. She has to be laid to rest.”

“No, no, she’s my sister.”

“Shh, I know.” He did his best to calm her with words, but in the end, all he could do was hold her tight.

She sobbed nonstop, shaking so much his heart threatened to crack. “I can’t live without her, Creed. I just can’t,” she cried.

“It feels like you can’t, baby, but I promise you it will get better.” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. She clung to him, and he willed some of his strength into her. “If you can’t, I will help you. You can lean on me all you need to.”

Shada buried her face against his chest, her fingers curled into his shirtsleeves. A sound made him look up, and he found the old man standing before him, confused. “Is that young lady in there really—”

“Be quiet,” Creed roared. “I don’t need you here anymore. Get out.”

Shada, who had settled down some, started to cry again, and the old man stumbled to the door and disappeared. Creed shifted Shada into a different position on his lap and maneuvered his phone from his pocket.

“Baby, I’m going to handle everything. You relax.”

She didn’t answer, and he made some phone calls. Within moments, he had arranged for the body to be picked up and informed his brothers. Stefan was on his way to bring meds for Shada to take. He knew she wouldn’t sleep without help.

When he set his cell phone down, Creed stood Shada on her feet. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Before they had taken one step, her eyes widened and she stared toward the bedroom door. For an instant, Creed had thoughts of a lingering ghost, a popular belief here, but then he realized Shada feared breaking down again. He had the feeling she hadn’t fully accepted Marisa was gone.

“On second thought, you’re staying with me.”

“Creed.”

His name was her only protest, but he got her moving down to the street. Just as they stepped on the front walk, a car pulled up, and Damen unfolded from the interior.

Creed frowned. “Where’s Stefan? She doesn’t need to see you, Damen.”

His brother appeared paler than usual. He didn’t look at Creed but focused on Shada. “Shada, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Creed knew his brother, and he heard the disillusionment in Damen’s tone.

Shada stared at the ground, not meeting his eyes. Creed couldn’t tell if she was angry at his brother or didn’t hear him speak at all.

He held out his hand for the meds, and Damen handed them over. He could tell Damen wanted to say more, but he shook his head. “Give her time. If you could wait inside until…”

Damen nodded and backed off. Creed knew he asked for a lot, but Damen was stronger than Shada right now. He believed his brother would do what he could. Creed tucked Shada into the car and slid behind the wheel. He waved to both his bodyguard, who had dogged his steps the entire way over there, and to Damen. His brother would find his way back.

“She’s staying with me. I’ll be in later.”

Damen leaned on the driver-side door and glanced across at Shada. Creed studied her beautiful face as well. Her hands were clutched in her lap, and her shoulders shook. His brother squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t bother. We’ll handle it. She needs you.”

Creed agreed and pulled off. Now he had to figure out how to help Shada through the next few days, maybe even the next few weeks and months.

Chapter Thirteen

Creed stood behind Shada in the shower. Warm water ran over her bowed head, and he drew her toward him a little. He ignored the reaction in his body, which responded to her nakedness. Shada didn’t need to think about sex right now, so he didn’t. Despite his hard-on, he washed her, running a cloth over her soft skin, careful not to let his fingers touch it. Every now and then, she shuddered, and it tore at him.

“Spread your legs, baby,” he encouraged her.

She didn’t move, so he pushed a knee between her thighs to do it himself. Her heat warmed his hand, but he worked quickly. As he turned off the shower, he noted the mess of her hair, wondering what the heck he would do with it. He knew nothing of styling a woman’s hair. Thoughts of calling in a stylist ran through his mind. She would need to come to him, because he wouldn’t subject Shada to stepping out in public before she was ready. For now, he would dry her hair, wrap it, and get her into bed.

Creed tucked Shada beneath the sheets and brought in warm milk and the medicine. He held the glass out to her, but she shook her head.

“One sip for me,” he encouraged her.

“It’s gross.”

He reached for her chin and tipped it up. “You haven’t kept down anything that I gave you earlier. Drink enough to take your medicine, Shada.” Instilling firmness in his tone got her to drink, but he hated doing it. He’d wanted to treat her tenderly in this terrible time. As he had watched her over the last twenty-four hours, he realized the shudders might occur when she recalled finding her sister. Add to that the memory of her parents being taken from her when she was so young, and Shada must feel she was all alone in the world. He determined to change that perception until she grew stronger.

She sighed and took the glass. She popped the pills into her mouth and then drank. When she’d taken two swallows, she pushed it away, and he set it aside. He tucked the sheets beneath her chin and turned away.

“Creed.”

He froze at her small voice, as she hadn’t spoken much since he’d picked her up, and he looked back at her.

“Stay with me. I can’t be alone. I just can’t.”

He dropped to his knees at her bedside and stroked her cheek. “You’re not, Shada.”

“Please.”

“You don’t have to beg me. Hold on. Let me put something on.”

He’d forgotten he stepped out of the shower naked, and he’d put her to bed without a stitch on herself. He couldn’t lie in bed with her that way, so he found a T-shirt and shorts, then slipped behind her. She tucked her head beneath his chin and drew her knees to her chest. Creed enfolded her in his embrace and shut his eyes, resting while she did.

* * * *

Shada sat up on the side of the bed, which woke Creed. He studied her beautiful face as she bowed her head. Concern washed over him. How long had it been since he’d given her something for the pain? Had enough time passed to give her more? Other than the pain, he could imagine what she felt. All she wanted was to disappear, but he had also begun to see some light. She acknowledged him and her surroundings more and more with each hour that passed. She would go on and beat this grief.

A buzzing caught her attention, and as she reached for his cell phone on the side table, he sat up and caught her hand. For a few moments, she blinked at him as if she couldn’t clear her vision.

“Come back to bed, Shada.”

She didn’t move.

Creed stroked her face and then wrapped an arm about her waist to draw her to his chest. “Come on, baby.”

“I’m hungry.”

Her small voice provoked a protectiveness in him. He pushed her down against the mattress and drew up over her. “Okay, I’ll make you food, but stay put.”

Creed had the ingredients for a sandwich he knew Shada liked. Since arriving in New Orleans, she had learned to make and enjoy the Italian
muffuletta
, or muff for short. He had seen her put the creation together, and he felt confident he could recreate it. From the refrigerator, he removed muffuletta bread, olive salad, olive oil, salami, Italian ham, and provolone cheese. He cut the bread in half across the middle, brushed the halves with olive oil, and began layering the meat and cheese. On top, he added a healthy amount of olive salad, then smashed the whole together. With care, he placed the sandwich on a saucer, cut it, and prepared Earl Grey tea. When everything was ready, he took Shada’s lunch in to her on a tray and presented it with a flourish.

Shada sat up as he approached the bed, her eyes widening at the sandwich.

He grinned. “Looks good, doesn’t it? It’s the muff.”

“I see,” she murmured.

He couldn’t tell if her response was one of pleasure or something else. When he sat her lunch before her, he hovered, waiting. Somehow he was nervous. He’d dealt with people from all backgrounds, and he found that running a corporation came naturally once he had learned the ropes. Yet standing before this woman while she passed judgment on his creation took all his courage, and he didn’t like it.

Shada raised one side of the sandwich a bit awkwardly and leaned forward. He realized she would never be able to open her mouth wide enough to reach from the top of the loaf to the bottom. She settled for the bottom section and chewed.

“Do you like it?” he asked, then cleared his throat because he sounded like a damn wuss.