Remembered by Moonlight (23 page)

“I’d ask the same of you,” she whispered in return, cupping his upturned face, lifting him to her kiss. Taking him to their bed.

No focused workout or cocky attitude for Cale Terriot on the fog-laced early morning. He leaned against the porch rail, staring out into the heavy mists considering choices as uncertain as the vague outline of the trees. A slight smile curved as Oscar Babineau settled at his side, mimicking his stance. After a minute of companionable silence, the boy tapped bruised knuckles.

“Didn’t get these from a punching bag.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Other guy look worse?”

“Yeah.” A slightly wider smile, but no greater animation. “All of 'em.”

Oscar grinned then regarded him curiously. “What’s it like, your home?”

Cale glanced at him in surprise then warmed to the question. “It’s beautiful. Green firs reaching to the bluest sky you’ve ever seen. Miles of trails through the mountains. Air so clean and fresh it almost burns your lungs. You feel so close to God you could reach up and shake hands.”

Minutes passed before Oscar asked, “Think I could come out and visit?”

“Hell yeah. Any time you like.” Then he thought a moment more and added cautiously, “If your folks don’t mind.”

The boy sighed. “Mom’s kinda nervous about such things and my dad, Alain, he doesn’t care much for our kind, 'specially your clan after one of them broke in here.”

“He wasn’t after you and he wasn’t sent by me. You don’t have to worry. Brigit took care of him.”

At the sound of his obvious pride in that, Oscar went round eyed. “Really?”

“Don’t ever underestimate your Aunt Bree. She’s hell in high heels.”

“I heard your family are all thugs and murderers.” One guess where he’d heard that. The boy looked at him with mature intensity. “You don’t seem all that bad. Badass maybe.”

A quick grin. “I am that.” Then he sobered. “I’m what I needed to be to survive. My family life was . . . difficult. Complicated.” And that sadness sank in again, so deep it nearly drowned him.

“What about your family here?”

“Silas and Bree? They’ve never been proud to claim the connection.”

“I mean me and my mom? What do you call us?” When Cale stared at him, too stunned to speak, Oscar sniffed. “I’m not a child and I’m not stupid. I know Silas’s mom was my grandmother, and your father is my grandfather. And Max’s father was my father. You don’t get much more complicated than that. What I don’t get is why Uncle Silas never told me.”

“Maybe he didn’t think we’d be anything you’d be proud to claim, a group of murderers and thugs and all.”

“Oh.” Oscar glanced away, considering that before he murmured quietly, “I didn’t think we’d be something you’d want to call family.”

Cale gripped his shoulder to turn him rather roughly so they faced one another. His voice rumbled low and gruff. “Well, you’d be abso-fucking-lutely wrong about that.” And he grabbed the boy to him fiercely, reveling in the hug’s quick return.

After a moment, Oscar asked, “If you’re the Terriot king, does that make me a prince?”

Cale palmed the top of his head and gave him a push away, laughing. “You are. And until I have a son of my own, you’re heir to our clan’s crown as the only second son.”

Oscar’s unabashed response made him grin.

“Cool!”

A relaxed mood had settled between them when Tina arrived to pick her son up for school.

“Hey, Mom. Uncle Cale was just catching me up on family.”

“Uncle Cale?” She regarded her unacknowledged half-brother warily. Cale wisely held back.

“Hey. And guess what? I’m a prince! How awesome is that?”

She smiled hesitantly. “I’m not sure how much job security there is in being a Terriot prince.”

“More today than before,” Cale assured her. “You’re both under my family’s protection. Silas should have told you that. Maybe he forgot to mention it.”

“He must have,” she agreed, gaze upon his face as if seeing him for the first time. Studying the tough features, the scar that cut across his brow, the usually narrowed eyes now so wide and expressive, his sudden uncertainty warring with a yearning to reach out to her.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” Cale petitioned quietly. “We’re not the monsters we’ve been made out to be. I don’t want anything from you other than the chance to get to know you. But if you’d rather I keep my distance, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Mom,” Ozzy began, ready to push his uncle’s cause. But he didn’t have to.

Tina took two quick steps and was in Cale’s arms.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Cee Cee observed the tender moment from the seclusion of the dining room. She clutched at the arm Max scooped gently about her waist.

“He worries you,” Max intuited. “Is that because you’re afraid he’ll bring trouble to our door?”

“No. It’s because of the danger we’re asking him to walk into on our behalf.”

His lips brushed her cheek. “He’s a big boy,
cher.
I doubt you could push him where he isn’t willing to go.”

“Silas can.” She frowned recalling her partner’s grim assurances. “I wish there was another way but I can’t think of one.”

“So, your problem is what?”

“I like him, Max. He reminds me of you. Both of you have spent your whole lives struggling through the ugliest of circumstances to find one small piece of happiness to hold onto. You could have run from it or given in, but you didn’t. And now that you have that reward you’ve fought for, you’re pressured to risk it all because someone pulls unfairly at your heart strings. It stinks, Max. It’s not fair and it makes me angry to be a part of it.”

“That’s what you think Silas and Genevieve are doing?”

“That’s what I
know
they’re doing because I’ve done the same thing to get CIs to work with me. I tell myself its part of the job I do, but that doesn’t make it right.”

Max’s lips pressed gently to her temple. “There’s no right answer, Detective, only the best you can do at the moment. He’s doing what he feels is right for him, and you have to do the same. We can’t always protect ourselves or each other from making hard decisions. All we can do is live with them.”

“Could you live with it, Max?”

She glanced up at him, desperate to know. Ever since Genevieve Savorie’s declaration that she would decimate the Terriot clan to avenge the loss of her own, Cee Cee had been asking herself what Max would do if he had to make that choice. Would he surrender Cale and his people’s future to resurrect his own past? His quiet answer gave her no true relief.

“There are many things I’d be willing to live with,
sha.
” Feeling the subtle tension gather within her, Max assessed the slight figure standing with his new family out on the porch and continued carefully. “Would I sacrifice him for them? Yes, I would, and knowing what I do of him, he’d agree to it. For you? I would sacrifice the world for you, Charlotte, without a second thought. Are you asking because there’s a danger of either of those choices being made?”

“No. Not at the moment.”

Max had another issue to address. “How long can you play this game before you’re recognized as NOPD detectives? Terriot isn’t the only one standing out on very shaky branches. We have to consider your safety after that business the other night.”

“We’re being as careful as we can. Silas doesn’t have a history in New Orleans. Blutafino has no reason not to believe he’s who he says he is. Alain’s always been careful to keep his face out of the news for the sake of his family.”

“And you? You’re not exactly low key in the media.”

“Thanks to Karen Crawford,” she grumbled. “Your biggest fan.”

Max began to smile. The sly lift at one corner of his mouth made her hopes leap expectantly as he murmured, “Perhaps we can use the nosy Ms. Crawford to our benefit. If she’s hungry for scandal, perhaps we should provide her with one, and at the same time, give you more freedom to move amongst Blutafino and his unlawful ilk.”

Cee Cee liked the way his mind worked. She gazed up at him with an encouraging lift of her brow. “What are you thinking, Savoie?”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

A field day for Karen Crawford. The right place at just the right time to catch the perfect story, one she’d been chasing with varying degrees of success for years. One that would make her fading byline sought after once again. Perhaps even outside the narrow reach of New Orleans gossip.

She’d taken the Cummings assignment because she needed the work. Was desperate for it, actually. The photogenic state representative was speaking at a luncheon gathering for some of the city’s charitable foundations, his wife’s included. She needed an angle. The program was wrapping up so she and her photographer loitered in one of the exits where she hoped to score an interview with someone of political or social weight.

And that’s when she saw her meal ticket.

Seated at Noreen Cummings’ side was the last person she ever expected to see at such an event.

Garbed in flawless dove gray Armani, Max Savoie listened attentively to the speaker while smiling slightly at something the politician’s wife whispered in his ear. Almost trembling, Crawford directed the cameraman his way.

She waited, poised to pounce as the attendees filed out, chatting unhurriedly in their designer-garbed clusters. Dutifully, she grabbed for comments from some of the obligatory celebs but her focus was on one man only. And he headed straight for her with Noreen Cummings on his arm.

He greeted her with frosty neutrality, but she found an unexpected ally in the Nordic blonde who smiled into her lens as she asked, “Mrs. Cummings, you have an interesting escort for today’s event. Care to comment?”

Max’s hand rose instinctively to push them away, but Noreen hugged onto his arm and dragged him closer.

“I’d be happy to,” she gushed. “Mr. Savoie is no stranger to our cause. He’s been a longtime benefactor. I’m pleased to announce that he’s agreed to fill a recently vacated spot on our foundation board. He brings savvy business acumen as well as compassionate insights to our group that have us very excited.”

“And I’m sure he brings a good deal of controversy, considering his past associations.”

Noreen never blinked at the reporter’s insinuations. “Exactly. We look forward to it. His past makes him the perfect spokesman. I applaud his honesty and bravery for stepping out on our behalf, regardless of his own personal discomfort.”

“Perhaps you and Mr. Savoie would agree to an interview to explain that connection to those who might be confused by it.”

Max stood stoically while Noreen beamed. “Of course, Ms. Crawford. We’d be delighted to have the publicity.”

Karen was so stunned, she almost let them slip by before demanding, “When would be convenient?”

Max glanced back, allowing a thin smile. “Call my office. My assistant will set something up in the next few days.”

Euphoric to the point of hyperventilation, Karen turned to her cameraman to ask if he’d gotten all of that on film when the real story almost slipped by her.

After Noreen leaned up to press a kiss upon the taciturn former mobster’s cheek and went to join her scowling husband, another woman took her place on his arm. A tall, curvaceous female the reporter would have thought to be his detective lover, until she looked again.

And almost wet herself in her excitement.

Bright, stick-straight red hair escaped an oversized scarf. White pancake makeup glowed beneath the huge dark glasses concealing the identity of one who could only be the scandalous stripper mistress.

Karen grabbed her partner’s camera strap to haul him around, pointing to the couple heading for a sleek town car at the curb. The massive and very recognizable driver raced around the vehicle to open the rear door, handing the woman inside with deference. Savoie was about to slide in beside her when another figure emerged from the crowd.

Charlotte Caissie!

“Oh my God! Get me audio!”

The Amazonian detective evaded the driver’s road-blocking arm to come up on Savoie like the swing of a fist. They had a quick exchange of words too low to hear but when she tried to push around him to lean into the car, he took her arm none too gently to haul her away. Then her words were very clear.

“Fuck you and your sleazy whore!”

When his dark head bent to offer placating sentiments, her responding slap rang as loud as a gunshot. While he stood still and stunned, palm to his fiery cheek, she launched a huge wad of spit that splattered the tinted door glass shielding the focus of her fury from view.

“Charlotte, stop it. You’re making a scene,” Savoie growled low, aware of the attention they were drawing. “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”

“Don’t bother, you son of a bitch! If I see you there I’ll blow your cheating ass right off the porch!” Then she shoved through the gawkers snarling, “Get the hell outta my way!”

By then, the resourceful driver had a firm grip on his boss’s arm and was propelling him into the backseat so he could close the door on any further outbursts. He jogged around the vehicle and gunned it away from the curb.

Shivering with anticipation, Crawford looked from fleeing detective to speeding car. Charlotte Caissie offered the greatest danger to life and limb, so she snapped at the cameraman, “Let’s follow their car. I want to see where they’re going.”