Remembered by Moonlight (21 page)

Cee Cee nodded.

“Perhaps it’ll open more than the front door.”

The sound of heavy boots in the hall distracted them from one another. Cale, wearing his gorgeously-detailed leather jacket approached, helmet in hand. He hoisted it with a wry greeting.

“I’m off to earn an honest wage.” He rubbed his empty earlobe. “Take care of that for me.”

Cee Cee touched the large diamond she still wore. “I will.”

His features disappeared behind the tinted face guard, but he supplied a thumbs up before heading outside.

“Dare I ask what that’s about?”

Cee Cee shrugged. “You could if I knew.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

They rode in the big black town car with Giles at the wheel. Max explained to a faintly disapproving Genevieve the necessity of his bodyguard’s presence after the possible attack on his friends the night before. She arched a doubtful brow that the human would be of use in such a situation but said nothing.

They shared little conversation during the long drive, the three of them together in the wide back seat. Genevieve, ever composed, watched the passing scenery with mild interest as it melded from modern city to generic suburbs to sparsely populated rural thickets and swamplands. Cee Cee concentrated on Max who sat between them staring straight ahead. His impassive features gave away nothing of his state of mind.

When she slipped her hand over his, his fingers curled tight with tension.

The small cottage stood much the same as when they’d left it, on the outskirts of a dying village, protected behind a listing fence, sad and abandoned to unhappier days.

“This is where you and my sister lived?” Genevieve’s dismay escaped from her careful neutrality.

“Until she died. I was around five when Jimmy Legere took me in.” Max recited what he’d been told. He regarded the shabby surroundings without a flicker of recognition as he wrestled with the gate that opened to an uneven stone walkway. Though in decline, the property hadn’t gone to complete ruin, the patchy lawn mowed, the exterior free of vandalism.

“Mrs. Pelletier across the road keeps watch over the place,” Cee Cee explained, disappointed when the name seemed to mean nothing to Max. “Her son maintains it.”

“Why bother?” In her classic suit and dressy heels, Genevieve picked her way gingerly to the porch as if poverty was contagious. If her observation stung her nephew, he showed no sign of it. He fit the key from the ring he carried into the tarnished lock and swung the front door open.

Slightly parted curtains let a weak sunlight filter through filmy glass, illuminating the despair of his past. Max took in the humble surroundings with their dusty patina of neglect and tried to imagine the life of a lonely five-year-old and the oppressive circumstances of a desperate mother trying to protect her child. He’d hoped this link to his childhood would stir the fog from his memories, that his aunt’s familiar features would resurrect those of his mother. But instead of sparking similarities, Genevieve’s stylish presence warded off impressions of her less-fortunate sister and her designer fragrance suppressed any remnant of his mother’s scent. Whatever had happened here in these empty rooms had faded like the fabric on the platform rocker Cee Cee set in motion with the light push of her hand.

Max watched that gentle movement as enthralled as he’d been by the pearls she’d worn. Both things held significance but he couldn’t find it through the veil cast over his mind. Tamping down his frustration, he went from room to room, the tour taking less than a handful of minutes. He searched from grime-coated floor boards to the occasional piece of dilapidated furniture for a clue, a whisper, anything that might suggest he shared a past with this place. Nothing. And his disappointment echoed the regret Charlotte tried to hide.

“How awful,” Genevieve murmured at last. “I can’t begin to imagine fleeing to such a place to have and raise a child on my own. What a wretched existence for such a passionate soul. To fall so low in the name of fickle love.”

“She must have felt she had no other choice,” Cee Cee offered on Marie’s behalf. “Her family dead, discovering her lover’s deception.”

“She could have come to me. I would have given shelter. I’d have provided her with,” she waved a hand, “better than this.”

“Why didn’t she?” Max asked quietly.

“What?” Genevieve looked to him, perplexed by the question.

“Why didn’t she feel safe coming to you for help?”

“I don’t know. We weren’t what you’d call close, but we were family. I would have done anything for her. For you, Max. If only I’d known. Perhaps she thought I’d died with the rest.”

“I guess we’ll never know.” Max sighed heavily. “There’s nothing for us here. Let’s go.”

He started for the door with Genevieve following. Cee Cee remained in the room’s center, the toe of her high heeled boot rubbing across bare flooring.

“Detective?”

“There used to be a rug here,” she mused. “A big oriental carpet that the neighbor recalled being quite expensive.”

“Maybe she sold it or pests destroyed it,” Max suggested. An uncomfortable sensation clenched in his stomach as his gaze outlined where such a rug would have lain.

“I don’t think so,” Cee Cee murmured. “I think it was put to a different, more frantic use by a mother and son who had something to hide. Something to do with red shoes. Isn’t that right, Max?”

His breath caught and held to suppress the sudden sickness rushing into his throat on a bitter tide. He closed his eyes but the image surged, a sea of red spilling down over shiny leather shoes. Blood. Everywhere. Leaving its stain on a child.

A hand gripped his arm, cutting into the flash of memory like a scream. He took a quick step back from the gruesome vignette as a concerned voice called, “Max, are you all right?”

Max blinked and the moment disappeared. Genevieve looked up at him, her expression tender with empathy. Smiling, he shook his head and swallowed hard.

“Fine. I’m fine. Just need some fresh air. Let’s get out of here.” On the ramshackle porch, he sucked in the clean morning breeze and let it out noisily, grateful for the comforting arm his aunt circled about his waist.

Cee Cee closed and relocked the door, watching the two of them walk toward the street where the town car sat so conspicuously. Was Genevieve offering support or merely hurrying Max away from what she didn’t want him to rediscover? Something had happened. She’d seen it strobe lightning bright in his gaze for just a moment. But Genevieve’s intrusion had chased it away. On purpose? For what purpose? Did she fear if he remembered on his own she’d lose all influence over him?

What did she want from Max? Were her goals any different from those who’d strapped him to their torture table? Was she the same evil in a more pleasing package?

They’d reached the car when another thought struck her. Cee Cee studied the house across the street, wondering why the curtain lay still. Shouldn’t the ever curious Mrs. Pelletier be peeping out from behind them?

“I’ll be just a minute,” she called as she rounded the vehicle and trotted up to the house to knock. Nothing got by Marie Savoie’s nosy neighbor. She’d watched over frightened mother and child, had stored their belongings, and guarded their empty home. Perhaps she’d seen something, knew something. Perhaps those meager possessions held a clue. They’d stuff them in the car’s big trunk and sort through them back on River Road.

She knocked. No answer. She tried the knob but found the door locked.

Undiscouraged, she held up a finger to Giles to have them wait while she circled the tidy cottage to rap on the back door. If the elderly woman was immersed in her shows, she might not have heard her.

Again no answer and only silence from within when Cee Cee pressed her ear to the thin glass. No blare of the television. She continued to the small brick patio and tried the slider, also latched. She cupped her hands to look inside. A part in the flowered curtains revealed a small dining area that opened into the living room. No flicker from the TV, no movement at all.

Cee Cee stepped back. Maybe her son had driven her into town for church or perhaps she was still in bed. Making a return trip her priority, she returned to the front yard and stood studying the front window with its motionless drapes. If she stood on the brick that walled in a drooping flower box . . .

A tap of the horn pulled her attention away. Genevieve motioned impatiently. With a quick glance back at the house, Cee Cee sighed and headed for the car.

Away from what that part in the drapes would disclose.

A spill of TV guides, an overturned snack tray, and one foot clad in a bright, crocheted slipper stretched out on a braided rug.

While Giles went to gas up the car, the trio had coffee in a diner filled with dusty memorabilia and the scent of grease. Sammy Kershaw wailed from an ancient jukebox. Cee Cee took advantage of the moment to learn more from Genevieve.

“Tell me about Marie and Rollo.”

Genevieve stared into her cup, revolutions of her spoon drawing eddies of creamer into the dark brew. “They weren’t meant to be. My sister was promised to that animal Bram Terriot. He was young and ambitious then, hungry to extend his grip on the clans by seeding heirs to link the Houses together. Marie was to be his rightful queen. She was terrified of him. But the agreement between our families had been drawn up, and had it been consummated, we would have matched the Guedrys in power and influence, and been important allies for the Terriots. But then she saw that handsome scoundrel, Rollo Moytes, and she couldn’t look away.”

What began as a youthful flirtation was the catalyst that destroyed two families.

“How did they meet?”

Genevieve sighed. “Regrettably through me. He and I had an understanding, you see. We were to be mated to bring respectability to his reputation. He was as wild and unpredictable as I was quiet and consumed with my work. We were as unsuited as he and Marie were flint on steel. She went out and about with him pretending to be me so I could remain at my studies. We were practically identical back then with only eleven months separating us in age. It seemed a harmless ploy until Marie and Rollo began to take it seriously. I’ll never know where she found the courage to defy our father, but she did. The two of them disappeared, leaving our families to Terriot’s.”

“How did you escape it?”

“My friends at school hid me from those beasts. By the time Bram’s taste for blood was quenched there wasn’t a male, female or child of our lineage alive except my sister and me. And you, Max, the son she bore.”

“You never looked for them?” Cee Cee asked.

“I couldn’t. I was young, afraid, hiding behind a name that wasn’t my own. I didn’t have the means or connections, and by the time I did, they’d vanished. And then, years later, I heard rumors of the Prophesied One rising up amongst the clan in New Orleans, and I knew from the stories told it had to be Marie’s child.”

Max spoke up suddenly. “What did you and my father talk about when you met in Baton Rouge?”

His question caught her off guard. “Why would you ask that?”

“Do you deny it?”

Displeased with his evasion, she met his stare with her own unblinking one. “No, I don’t. He contacted me, said he had information about you. He needed to escape some fool scheme or another and wanted my help in exchange for that news. Of course I went to meet him. At that point, I didn’t know Marie had . . . died. I’d hoped to see her again, to tell her the many things I should have said before she was lost to me. So I went to Baton Rouge and I met with him. He told me about your circumstances, and I promised to arrange for Rollo’s safe passage to another country. We’d planned to meet again the next evening, but he never showed.”

“He died,” Max concluded tonelessly.

“Yes. I figured as much. So I returned home. And then I heard from that unimaginative Damien Frost about your capture. I made a promise to Marie’s memory that I would protect you, as she’d tried to. I kept it the only way I could.” She covered his hand with hers. His lay still beneath it.

“What did you do to me, Aunt Genny?” He approached the question smoothly, all silky predator, so she didn’t suspect the attack until he sprang. And when he lunged, he went for the throat. “Did you clear my mind to hide me, or to plant something in it so you could use me as your spy?”

Her lovely face abruptly paled. “What do you mean?”

“Is it you who’s been seeing through my eyes? Is that how you knew when to come here?”

Instead of answering his lethally quiet demands, she studied him as if she could see through that unblinking stare to the manipulator behind it. “How did you learn about this? Are they there now?”

“I have friends who’ve been under Chosen control, and now that I’m aware of it, I’ve been able to shut them out.”

Her hand gripped tightly. “How difficult it must be for you to resist. How strong you are.”

He pulled away. “Answer. Was it you?”

“No. Even if I’d wanted to insert some kind of control, your rescuers interrupted the process.” Her voice lowered. “Are you sure they’ve been blocked? They can’t discover I’m here.”

“Who?”

“Those who finance my various projects. Do you think your Dr. Duchamp would let me use her facility? If I had the proper setting, I could attempt a permanent block.”

“I can ask.” His tone didn’t betray that a deep, quiet and deadly quicksand lurked beneath the surface of his questions, waiting for her slightest misstep. But she was so careful, so convincing.

She allowed a slight smile. “Good. The less they know of my plans, the better.”

“And what plans are those, Genevieve?” Cee Cee pushed. “I’m afraid before we continue I must insist on knowing.”

The two women exchanged strong-willed stares until Genevieve finally relented. “To see my nephew at the head of all, of course, as he deserves to be. And,” she stated with a chill, “to see every last Terriot dead.”

The bell above the diner’s door gave a cheerful jingle. Giles stepped inside, nodding to them. Genevieve waved them along with a pleasant, “I’ll take care of the bill,” as if she hadn’t just been discussing genocide.

As Max slid off his counter stool, she caught his sleeve.

“How did he die, your father?” she asked in a subdued tone.

“He lost his head. His body was sunk in the bayou.”

Seeing her shock, Cee Cee quickly justified, “He’d endangered everyone with his reckless and self-serving attacks on a local human family. He’d killed and been seen. He couldn’t be trusted.”

To Max, Genevieve asked, “Did you order it done?”

“I couldn’t,” he admitted, words catching in grief and anger, at himself, at Rollo. Though he’d been told the facts, he couldn’t remember the circumstances. “I should have, but I couldn’t.”

Her unreadable gaze moved to Cee Cee. “So you did it for him.” Was there accusation beneath her quiet tone?

“No, but I didn’t disagree that it needed to be done.”

Genevieve released Max without another word and reached into her pocket for small bills to pay the tab. “I’ll be along in a minute. You go ahead.”

Cee Cee turned on Max the second they were alone outside. “Why are you giving her so much information?”

His reply was as slick as black ice. “To see what she does with it.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

After dropping off both Max and Genevieve in the city, Cee Cee’s troubled thoughts drew her to the docks and Jacques LaRoche. She couldn’t in good conscience bring potential danger to his mate’s door without discussing it with him first. Especially after all they’d gone through to bring Susanna safely back to the home they’d made together here in New Orleans.

She found the bulky foreman supervising the unloading of a freighter. He waved her over while bellowing orders to his crew.

“'Morning, Charlotte. Hope you’re not bringing trouble my way 'cuz I don’t have time for it today. Hey! Be careful with that. Treat it the way you’d want someone to handle your mama!”

Smiling at his rough manner, Cee Cee synopsized her concern over their visitor and her request. The same uneasiness she’d felt reflected in LaRoche’s solid features.

“I’d be lying if I said I liked the idea.”

She nodded. “I don’t blame you. If you want no part of it, I’d understand.”

Resting his clipboard on his hip, he stared out over the Gulf, chewing on her message like it was a particularly tough cut of beef. Finally, his shoulders rose and fell heavily.

“I’ll talk to Susanna. It’ll be up to her. But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll ask Nica to sit in on any meeting they might have. Just to be on the safe side. She knows that kind better than we do.”

“Agreed.”

A sudden shout interrupted them.

“Yo, Chief. Where do you want this?”

The sight of the looming fork lift gave Cee Cee a nasty turn, but her attention diverted to its driver. A ball cap and dark glasses couldn’t disguise Cale Terriot’s amazing arms.

“Park it over there. And be careful. Treat it—”

“Like your mama.” A quick flash of his broad smile, and he maneuvered the load with a practiced ease.

So this was what Silas had been up to in their behind- closed-doors discussion. “New guy?” she broached.

“Yeah,” Jacques muttered, looking back over his invoices. “Showed up this morning looking for work with a recommendation hard to ignore.”

“How’s he working out?”

“Full of brag and bluster, but he pulls his weight and the crew likes him. Name’s Micky Terry. Silas asked me to take him on, no questions, so that’s all I needed to know.”

All Silas figured she needed to know as well, and that ticked her off plenty.

She liked the new Terriot king. Liked his brass and aggression and his ability to look beyond both to see reason. Brokering peace between the clans would be one step closer with the weight of his family on their side. She didn’t like the way her partner manipulated his cooperation as if he were little more than a street thug to be ruthlessly moved as a disposable pawn. But Silas was right about one thing. Cale could get them inside where they needed to be with a competent cool they wouldn’t find elsewhere. And he’d play their game without realizing a new, deadly competitor had just entered the field.

A coldly clever schemer who wanted all Cale’s family dead.

“Make sure no one has reason to think he’s anyone else.”

And as she drove past the supervisor’s trailer, her brooding stare brushed by the extended cab truck parked behind it without making the connection.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Plenty wondered about the strutty little guy with the confident air who showed up for that night’s tryouts. He wasn’t one of them, new on the docks, an outsider, a mystery. And no one could’ve been more pleased by the buzz than Casper Lee.

“You’re making an impressive debut, my friend,” he confided as he, Cale, and his three patrons stood at the entrance to the concrete hills and valleys of a skate park. The outdoor arena had closed to all but the invited. No spectators on this night, just competitors. “Let’s see if it survives the evening.”

Cale smiled and assured, “I’ll be the last man standing.”

Lee’s pale stare assessed him appreciatively as he stripped out of his leather jacket to an olive drab A-shirt that showcased his impressive upper body.

“We’ll see.” He gestured to the wide black band that tightly circled his left bicep near the shoulder, concealing the Terriot’s snarling wolf tattoo. “What’s this? A mourning band?”

“For my two brothers. So I don’t forget why I’m fighting.”

Lee’s gaze followed the liquid movement of his muscles during his warm up stretches. He leaned toward Silas to confide, “If he can match that arrogance in the ring, we’ll talk some more.” Then he moved on, joining a small group of observers at the edge of the rink.

Silas eyed the rough combatants. “Can you take them?”

Cale shot him a disdainful look. “A little late to be concerned about that, isn’t it?” he countered then moved into the glare of the lights, summoned for the first elimination.

A huge brawler stood in the center of the concrete bowl. His brutal build glistened under the lights. He observed his much slighter opponent with a mocking grin and a jeering, “Couldn’t you find someone his size for him to pick on? Maybe in a peewee league?”

Cale smiled good-naturedly, continuing to stride forward, his easy grace taking on a purposeful intensity. Before the hulking fellow could finish his laugh, a devastating uppercut sent him staggering. Cale followed with a tight spin, his elbow connecting with the dazed man’s head, making him stumble, clutching at his ear until another hard downward drive knocked him to his knees. Then, with an insulting swagger, Cale turned his back and started to walk away.

Roaring, the big man came at him like an enraged bull.

As the juggernaut lunged, Cale sank low into a side step to let him rush past. Then he drove his elbow down upon the base of the man’s neck, dropping him with the effectiveness of an axe. And he didn’t get up again.

The stunned crowd watched him calmly return to the sidelines without having broken a sweat. Curious whispers became anxious speculation. And those murmurs grew with each unconscious opponent dragged out of the arena in Cale’s wake. At the end of five rounds, he’d yet to be bloodied. And that fact didn’t escape a smugly smiling Lee.

“Is our local talent boring you, Mr. Terry?” he called down from his vantage point. “I’d expected a little more enthusiasm.”

Cale quirked a smile at him. “I thought we were weeding out the weak links. Didn’t know I was supposed to put on a show.”

Lee chuckled. “You misunderstood then. I have plenty of good fighters. I’m looking for someone to dazzle the crowd.”

“Are you asking me to show off?”