Bound by Moonlight (19 page)

“Where is he?”

“Savoie? Gone. How does he know? How can he tell?”

She leaned close to be heard over the pounding
music, filling Babineau in on the trip to see Marjorie Cole in the morgue. He had no comment. Nor did he question her.

Cee Cee forced down the frustration of being so close only to have him slip away. “Babs, talk to the guys on the door; find out who just left. Get descriptions if you can, especially if they were regulars. Tell them somebody lifted your wallet or something.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to Savoie. This is the closest we’ve gotten and I don’t want to miss anything. Maybe there’s something more, something he might not think is important.”

If Babineau read anything into her desire to chase after her lover, he kept it wisely to himself. “I’ll see if I can get one of the waitresses to go out to breakfast with me. Maybe if I play the jilted boyfriend, she’ll feel sorry enough for me to make me feel better with a swap of some information.”

With his smooth, unthreatening charm and good looks, the runaway schoolgirls would drool all over him. Was that how their killer did it? Lulling them into lowering their guards, into trusting him?

The clock was ticking on Kelly Schoenbaum. Cee Cee was damned sure he wasn’t bothering with the sweet talk now.

S
CRUBBED CLEAN OF
her stripper persona, Charlotte stepped into the cavernous depths of
Cheveux du Chien
. Here the clientele didn’t just act like animals, they
were
animals. And she, as an intruding human, was prey.

From out of the smoky darkness, their eyes glowed with firefly brightness, hot points of dangerous light all focused on her. She knew their secrets. She’d seen them drop their guise of humanity and let loose the beasts inside. Though they didn’t trust her, they allowed her into their safe haven because she belonged to Savoie. And because she’d helped put one of their own to rest with the dignity he deserved.

And because she’d seen to his brother’s burial, Philo Tibideaux approached with a faint smile of welcome.

“Evening, Detective. I hear I missed quite the show.” When flashing his sassy grin, the lanky redhead was startlingly attractive. “Wouldn’t care to give us an encore, would you, darlin’?”

Her tone was as cool as her stare. “Darn, I left my G-string in my other purse.”

“Clothing could be optional.”

“Sorry.”

He sighed dramatically. “I’ll just have to live vicariously off the stories I’ve been told.”

“Greatly exaggerated, I’m sure.”

To his credit, his gaze stayed focused on her face. “I highly doubt that, Detective Hot Stuff.”

Her smile crept out as she looked toward the back table to find it empty. “Is Max here?”

“Haven’t seen him. Jackie might know where he is. He’s back in the office,
cher
.” A quick wink. “You might wanna ax him what kind a stories he be telling.”

“I’ll do that.”

He laughed and stepped aside.

The music was a wailing Buddy Guy blues tune about being too broke to spend the night. Beneath the
achy beat, Cee Cee felt something else: a soft vibration that wasn’t sound. A ghostly flutter stroked across her skin, along her nervous system. What was it?

“Get you your usual, Detective?”

Amber, one of the club’s waitresses, regarded her through veiled eyes. Her tray was wedged just below her impressive breasts as if they were being offered up. A primitive competition over Max bristled between them.

Cee Cee nodded and smiled narrowly. “I’ll be in the office.”

Amber nodded and strode toward the bar with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

The office door was open. Jacques LaRoche stood by the one-way glass that looked out over his establishment, where he’d been observing her approach. When he turned toward her, she saw the faint outline of her lips still imprinted high on his brow.

“Charlotte. An unexpected surprise. If you’re looking for Max, I don’t know where he is. Did you need him for something?”

“Working a case,” was her neutral answer.

“At Manny’s place? You on loan to Vice?”

Her surprise was followed by an appraising study. “No, just a crossover from Homicide. Have you heard anything about a couple of his working girls that turned up dead?”

Amber arrived with her Jack and water, and a bottled beer for her boss. She placed them on a small glass-topped table and was about to slip away when Jacques stopped her.

“Amber, you know any of the girls over at Manny’s?”

The waitress paused thoughtfully. “I used to know a couple. Friends of friends. But they took off about a month ago.”

“Any particular reason?” Cee Cee asked. Clues turned up in the strangest places.

“The money was good, if you can stand the work and the boss. So that wasn’t it. Can’t say I know why. Just packed up their stuff and disappeared. Might be . . .”

“Might be what?” Cee Cee pressed.

Amber met her stare without blinking. “That would be your job to find out.”

“Got names?”

She supplied them, and Cee Cee committed herself to finding out more about them. Starting with the obvious. “Were they your kind or human?”

“My kind. They were tight with a few of Philo’s crew, but were Upright groupies. Got off on being the wild things doing the wild thing, if you know what I mean.”

They both knew she did.

“And the Shifters on Philo’s crew? Maybe they have some information.”

Amber’s gaze slipped to Jacques, who nodded for her to go on. She supplied Cee Cee with four unfamiliar names, then left before more could be asked of her.

“You here just because of your case,
cher
?”

Something in his knowing tone had Cee Cee taking a wary mental step back. “Why else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something to do with the reason that Savoie was crunching on glass when he left.” He waved a hand at the table with their drinks. “Have a seat. The doctor is in.”

She hesitated. It wasn’t her nature to share personal stuff, especially sensitive information that Max had specifically warned her not to divulge. Yet she longed to unload her fears. And she couldn’t go to her former shrink for advice on her out-of-species relationship.

Jacques patted the back of her chair with a huge hand. “Think of it as confession, and me as your priest.”

She laughed at that ridiculous image, but sat down. She had to talk to someone, and Jacques LaRoche had earned her trust and friendship.

“Things are different since we bonded.”

He dropped into his chair and took a long pull on his beer. “How so?”

“You were bonded, weren’t you?” she asked evasively.

“Yes.”

“Was there anything . . . special between you and your mate?”

“Besides the great sex?”

She squirmed a bit. “Aside from that. What made that relationship so different from your others?”

A melancholy expression appeared as he took another drink. “I’ve told you this before. There’s an awareness of one another, a closeness, a protectiveness. It’s like you become one heart, one soul. The thought of separation is like dying. Worse than dying,” he corrected quietly.

He’d lost his mate, and now Cee Cee understood how that had devastated him. His earthy response to females of either species was physical, just biology, he’d once told her. What he felt for his mate was spiritual.

Was that what she now had with Max? Something greater than self, deeper than love, stronger than chemistry? If so, why was she still so afraid?

The prospect of what they could become together— one heart, one soul—overwhelmed her with its enormity.

She shook it off. “Could you hear each other’s thoughts?”

Jacques stared at her sharply. “What?”

It was too late to take back the words, so she plunged on, needing to know. “Could you communicate with each other without words; feel each other when not together? I mean
really
feel each other?”

“You and Max can do that?” His words were barely a whisper. When she didn’t answer, his expression closed down tight. “Don’t talk about this to anyone, Charlotte. Not to
anyone.
Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t.” She leaned forward urgently. “Tell me why.”

“Because we can’t do that. None of us since the Ancients.”

That was a term she’d never heard before. “Who are they?”

“Just legend. Stories for children.”

“Then tell me a story, Jacques.”

He rubbed his palm over the top of his head, then he got up and shut the door. He looked spooked and anxious, as if the words themselves were dangerous.

“This goes no further.”

She nodded.

“This is the legend we’re told when we’re children, kind of our creation myth. When mankind was young
and helpless, the gods mixed with beasts to create the Ancients—protectors for their people. These new creations looked like men so they could walk among them when necessary, but they could also take the shape of an animal to live unnoticed at man’s side. They were fierce, loyal, and intelligent because of the wisdom given by the gods, but in time they also grew arrogant. They began to wonder why they had to serve puny man when they were the far superior beings. And in that prideful arrogance, they began to destroy those whom they’d been created to protect.”

“And the gods were royally pissed off.”

Jacques smiled grimly. “So the story goes.”

“So”—she leaned on her elbows, attention rapt, forgetting about her drink—“what happened to these Ancients?”

“In their fury, the gods cleaved them all in two. But instead of that killing them, their spirits were divided and lived on as separate beings. One half remained beasts, able to change form, but without the courage to rise out of their role of servitude. The other half retained the mental gifts of instinct and manipulation, but were frail, without the physical ability to challenge man for control. The beasts fled to the wilderness of the Celtic shores, becoming the Shifters. The others hid among man in France, calling themselves the Chosen Ones.”

He told how the Chosen Ones became spiritual advisors, sages, priests, and soothsayers, influencing with their special talents, but never having enough strength to take control themselves. Until they found their other savage halves, and used them like weapons to crush their enemies and force kings to bow before them.

Just a myth, he said. But after all Cee Cee had learned and seen, it was completely plausible in her mind.

“Why didn’t the Chosen Ones and the Shifters mate? Wouldn’t that blend their abilities again?”

“Even if you get beyond the fact that they detest one another, such matings always proved barren. The Chosen Ones viewed the Shifters as brutal, offensive beasts, too inferior to be worthy of their DNA. And the Shifters loathed and would devour those who had enslaved and slaughtered their kin for centuries. Once the technology was available, they tried artificial means and even gene splicing. But nothing . . . normal ever came of it.”

She shivered. The same result as between Shifter male and human mate: a genetic dead end.

“So the Chosen Ones can’t change shape, and the Shifters can’t do mental manipulations.”

“No.”

“And Shifter females can’t shape-shift?”

“No.”

But Max’s mother could. And Charlotte and Max had shared more than just thoughts telepathically.

So, what did that make Max?

“How do you know all this, Jacques? And don’t tell me you learned it at your mama’s knee.”

“I never knew my mama. I never had a family, at least that I can remember.” His gaze was evasive. There was more that he wasn’t saying.

“And yet you retained this knowledge. How is that?”

Jacques regarded her through eyes dark with demons.
“Because my mate wasn’t Shifter. She was Chosen.”

He set down his empty bottle and got up. Discussion over.

They both retreated behind their secrets as he walked her to the exit.

“Thanks for the bedtime story.” She smiled up at the big man as he paused at the threshold. “Perhaps someday you’ll finish it for me.”

“Perhaps.” He returned her smile faintly.

“Jacques,” she ventured suddenly, “what do you think Max is?”

He considered her question for a long moment, then told her somberly, “Our salvation.”

C
HARLOTTE PONDERED THAT
as she headed down the sidewalk toward where her car was parked several blocks away. Though Max and Oscar shared a father, her guess was it was Marie Savoie who was the deciding factor. The female who could shape-shift. It had to be through her that Max inherited his unique abilities. Rollo had told his son that his mother, Marie, was of pure blood, of rare untainted heritage. Now Cee Cee suspected there was more to her history than even he had realized.

What would that make Max?

She could see her car beneath a streetlight. Though there was no one else on the one-way street, a sudden sense that she was no longer alone quivered through her. An abrupt shove of energy hit her between the shoulder blades, making her stumble. She jumped into the shadows with her back to the darkened storefront, her ankle piece in her hand.

Four shapes moved in on her, quick and low. Two on her side of the street, two on the other, maneuvering to flank her. Definitely not human, but lacking the smooth gliding menace of the Trackers. Members of Max’s clan. Following her for what reason?

“Back off,” she called out gruffly, her eyes darting from one silhouette to the next. “I don’t want to take you down, but I will.”

They’d shifted just enough so that their faces weren’t recognizable. Sharp teeth and feral eyes gleamed. They were dressed like dock workers with heavy boots, jeans, and open shirts over tight undershirts. She glanced toward her car, calculating the odds of making it in time, deciding they were too slim. So she adopted a wide stance and tried to bluff her way out.

“What do you want? If you know who I am, you know messing with me is stupid and maybe fatal. I know what you are, and I’m not afraid of you. I’ve kicked your kind’s asses before, so back off!”

She saw movement from the right and swiveled that way, shooting off a quick round. A sharp yip and the figure reeled back, letting her know she’d hit the non-vital area of his shoulder she’d aimed for. But the other three had closed fast, approaching in different directions too quickly for her to safely take another shot.