Seeker of Shadows (6 page)

He was sorry for his gruff words, knowing that
they’d hurt her, but he’d reacted out of primal self-defense. When she’d opened her eyes to stare up at him with such obvious longing, when she’d touched his face as if he were the love of her life, he’d tried to take a breath and found himself unable to consume air.

Because it was that look, that touch that haunted him behind the veil of his forgotten past, that same intense spark of emotional connection so agonizingly missing from his life. Something about her hurried his heartbeats until his chest ached to contain them.

He’d been shocked by his willingness to allow her, no, to encourage her with his silence, a stranger, an enemy, to stay just so he could drink in these unexpected sensations until that long emptied well was full again.

She was confusing him, stealing in to lay claim to tiny bits of a life he didn’t remember. That’s what they did. Lied. Manipulated. That’s what they were good at. That much he knew with a bitter certainty.

Red. Why had he said that as if he knew it was true?

And where had he learned to handle a gun?

He’d taken the piece off a rowdy customer and tucked it away without even checking to see if it was loaded. It fit his hand like an extension of his arm. He’d fired with unerring instinct and cold purpose, letting himself in on another unpleasant secret.

Some time ago, in that past hidden from him, he’d been a stone-cold killer, too.

Four

C
harlotte Caissie was not what Susanna expected.

Nica said she was a police detective and the mate of Max Savoie, the leader of the New Orleans clan who also headed an extensive criminal empire. But other intriguing properties had her studying the female with interest as Charlotte entered the club and crossed to the bar as if she had part ownership in the place.

The tall woman with exotic looks and quick eyes, who garbed her curvaceous form in what Susanna could only describe as Goth dominatrix style, leaned across the bar to squeeze Jacques in a reciprocated hug, then turned her attention to Philo, fussing and scolding as she gestured to the evidence on the floor behind her. Both men regarded her with a respectful affection that Susanna envied. Then, suddenly all business, the detective bent over the still figure of the Tracker, flipping back the shrouding drop cloth so she could get a look at his face. She restored the cover and shook her head, obviously not recognizing him. From her crouched position over the body, her attention cut to Susanna and held for a long, contemplative minute.

This human hybrid was the key to Susanna’s research, the way to resolve her own frustrations and fears.

All she had to do was overcome the tremendous chill of suspicion present in that stare as Charlotte approached and put out her hand.

“Dr. Duchamps, thank you for coming down to see me. Sorry to greet you with such drama.”

Susanna shook hands, refusing to flinch from the double-barreled stare. “Detective. As a scientist, I couldn’t resist the invitation.”

Charlotte settled into a chair between her and Nica, pleasantries at an end. “Nica tells me I can trust you, but I’ll make up my own mind about that.”

Susanna smiled. “Likewise, detective.”

That bit of boldness earned a return smile. “So you think what I propose is possible?”

“From what little I know, I can’t make guarantees, but I’m optimistic. And I have a few conditions of my own.”

Again, that cautious glint. “Name them.”

“Privacy, secrecy, safety. I don’t want anyone to know who I am, why I’m here, or what I’m doing.”

“I agree completely.”

“And freedom to work not only on your agenda, but on my own.”

Now that steely reserve flattened her tone. “I guess that depends on the nature of your agenda, doctor.”

“I’m a scientist, yes, but also a physician. I’ve devoted my area of study to genetics on the reproductive
level. And I believe that might be of interest to you, due to your circumstances.”

“What do you mean?” she all but growled with a protectiveness that confirmed what Susanna already knew.

“When is your child due?”

“What?” Nica exclaimed in surprise. “You and Max?”

Ignoring that outburst, Charlotte conceded, “In early spring. And I’d appreciate you keeping it quiet, since I haven’t discussed it with the other party involved.”

Nica leaned across the table with a salacious, “Max doesn’t know?”

“He’s got a lot on his mind and I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure . . . until I knew everything was all right. I heard there could be problems.”

Susanna didn’t make light of her fears. “It depends on the type of conception, but yes, the danger is very real to both you and the child. That’s my condition. I want to follow the progress of your pregnancy. Because of your unusual situation, the information is invaluable.”

Charlotte reared back, eyes flinty. “You won’t make my baby into an experiment.”

Susanna caught her hand, pressing warmly. “No, that’s not what I intend at all. We’re each in a position to be of tremendous benefit to the other, personally, not just professionally. I understand your reluctance. I’m a mother, too, and the last thing I’d ever allow was my
child to become the subject of clinical study. I can help you. I can monitor the development to make sure there are no problems. If there are, I’m your best chance of finding a positive solution. I’ve made this area my life’s work. You couldn’t be in better hands if something goes wrong.”

Susanna knew she was playing upon the other woman’s fears and emotions and did so with only the slightest regret. The opportunity was too important to let slip away. Not just for this growing hybrid child, but for her own.

“I’ll have to consider it,” Charlotte said carefully.

With a final squeeze of her hand, Susanna released her. “Of course you do.”

The detective took a deep breath, reluctant yet obviously desperate for the chance she was being handed. Her tone was clipped and concise as she returned to her original agenda.

“First things first. An answer to your conditions.”

At Susanna’s questioning look, she lifted her hand and motioned to the big bartender.

“Who’s the little dish?” Philo asked, following Jacques’s covert stare to the trio in the shadows. He was slumped over the bar, head resting on his arms, holding a cold bottled beer against his brow.

“Friend of Nica’s. A doctor of some sort.” An extremely vague summation, but Jacques wasn’t ready to throw gasoline on the fire of his friend’s temper so soon after dousing it with ice and pain meds.

“Maybe I should have her look at my head.”

“I don’t think she’s
that
kind of doctor.”

Philo smiled. “I dunno. Might be kinda fun looking at ink blots with her on a couch somewhere.”

Jacques was used to his friend’s randy attitude when it came to females and usually thought nothing of it, but his comment stirred an unexpected desire to bash in whatever remaining brains Philo had left.

A sudden bite of pain had him forcefully relaxing his hands, where he was surprised to find lengthening nails had punctured his palms. He had no reason to feel protective of the bothersome female. But it was hard to ignore the aggressive prickling that had him rubbing at the back of his neck.

“What does Savoie think about all this?” Philo asked, glancing grimly at the bloodstained floor where his companions had almost died. They’d been claimed by family members, leaving only the cleanup. Once Philo’s group had picked up the first Tracker he’d slain, they’d be by for this one; then it would be a quick trip to the swamps for an unceremonious burial.

“Hard to tell when he doesn’t return my calls,” Jacques grumbled. “He’s in some kind of meeting with his attorney. It’s not like we don’t know how to tidy up after ourselves without his say-so.”

He found Philo staring at him.

“What?”

“That was one hell of a shot.”

“Just luck.”

“Didn’t look like luck to me.”

“This from the fella who left the better part of his mental faculties over there on my floor?”

Jacques could joke about it, but in truth, it spooked him plenty. He didn’t know where the skill had come from, who had taught him, or for what purpose.

What had he done for the Chosen during his years in the North?

He scowled over at the table of females, wondering what they were up to. No good, from the way Charlotte was casting glances his way. When she beckoned him over, a mood of wariness came over him as he approached, as if an attractively baited trap was about to spring on him.

He paused behind the empty chair, asking politely, because Nica had called him on his rudeness, “Something I can do for you ladies?”

Charlotte smiled up at him and he felt the sharp snap of the trap’s teeth.

“Now that you mention it, yes, there is.”

She’d made it sound so simple. Practical and precautionary was hard to argue with, even when it meant an invasion of his privacy.

The disgusting truth was, he
was
a softy, just as Nica said. He might growl and posture but there was nothing Jacques wouldn’t do for those he cared about. And he considered Charlotte and Nica part of that makeshift circle.

Setting aside his initial alarm and reluctance, he
could see the logic of the request. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Susanna Duchamps needed a quiet, safe place to do some computer work and his office fit the bill. Never mind that he’d be majorly inconvenienced. Never mind that the thought of the dainty little doctor in such close proximity made his palms sweat. Charlotte had looked up at him, dark eyes filled with an urgent pleading, and he’d gone to grits.

She wouldn’t tell him what they were up to, only that it was something intensely personal and that he couldn’t tell anyone about it, especially Max. As annoyed as he was with Charlotte’s oh so self-important mate, that tipped things in her favor.

Charlotte hugged him fiercely. Nica smushed a kiss to his cheek. And Susanna Duchamps regarded him somberly, vowing to stay out of his way. He wouldn’t even know she was there.

Yeah, right.

His reply to her was as courteous as he could make it.

“You bring trouble into my place, you’ll wish you’d never set foot in it.”

From the look in her eyes, she was regretting it already.

The plan was for her to arrive at the rear door just after closing, around three in the morning. She had no problem with the time, saying she often worked odd shifts when caught up in a project. Then she’d set up at
his desk and use those hours when the club was quiet to do whatever hoodoo that Charlotte felt she’d do so well.

What could go wrong?

Jacques was asking himself that very thing as he hurriedly entered in the previous day’s receipts so he’d have no excuse to linger.

What could happen while he harbored a Chosen scientist with an unspoken agenda in his, so far, under-the-radar club for Shifters only?

Disaster. The good doctor was just the sort of infiltrator Philo and his Patrol were out prowling the streets to protect against, and here he’d invited her in, offering a soul-sucking vampire the opportunity to drain away the lifeblood of their freedom. The more he thought about it, the more troubled he became. He knew her for what she was. He couldn’t plead any kind of ignorance. He knew all too well what her kind was capable of and that they weren’t to be trusted. His mind was funny that way. He just knew things without any memory being attached to them.

And he was going to leave her alone, here at the heart of the life he’d built for himself out of nothing, trusting her not to act against them in favor of her own self-interest.

What had he been thinking?

Susanna Duchamps was right in her assumptions. Cleverness wasn’t in the genetic makeup of his kind. He was a big, linear-minded beast bred to follow the dictates of others. Creative
thinking wasn’t in his résumé, action was. Quick, impulsive action with brutal consequences, as proven earlier that day.

And that’s where things got sticky. Part of him wanted to toss her nice little fanny all the way back to Illinois. But another urged him to keep her close, to guard her carefully. That same fierce instinct that prompted his quick-draw response to her life in danger.

Jacques didn’t like outside influences directing his actions. And Susanna Duchamps had been plucking at them since her arrival.

Unconsciously, he rubbed at the back of his neck, fingertips inches shy of the raised scar just beyond his reach, where Philo had cut out an implanted device just after he’d awakened in his new home, to his new life. A pain stimulator used by the Chosen to keep their subjects under control. He was under no one’s thumb now, and that’s the way he planned to keep it.

He turned the movement into a stretch and glanced out the window into the body of his club. Business was good tonight, as it was most every night. He provided a service unequalled in the Quarter, a place for his kind to be what they were inside without any interference or repercussions.

Was he jeopardizing that comfortable haven by inviting an outsider in?

Max Savoie was seated at his regular table. The welcome surprise at seeing him was blunted by the fact that his friend hadn’t come straight back to the office
to see him. A small thing, but it aggravated him like a sliver under the skin as he shut down the program he was working on and stepped from the calm silence of the office to the wrenching pulse of an R&B tune wailing beneath the din of voices.

Max turned, instantly sensing his approach.

Savoie wasn’t like him. He was a Shifter, but he was more. There’d never been a question about that. Sleek, impossibly quick in body and mind, he had a deadly edge to him that commanded attention and respect. No longer content to hide with them in shadows, he moved boldly through the Upright world and fearlessly within their own.

At first, Jacques had been cautious but Max had won him over with his bright vision for the clan, making him want to believe, fueling his confidence, daring him to reach for a future he’d only imagined.