Seeker of Shadows (15 page)

T
hey’d been in the car for less than a minute.

“So,” Charlotte began in a drawl, “you’re staying with Jacques LaRoche.”

“I am.” No sense in pretending otherwise.

“I seem to recall his place only has one bedroom.”

“It still does.”

After that, the detective’s tone got decided prickly. “He’s one of the best friends I have, one of the best men I know.”

Susanna said nothing, letting her driver get to the point, which she did with sniperlike directness.

“It’ll piss me off if you hurt him.”

No one seemed terribly concerned that she was the one whose heart might be broken. “There’s no danger of that happening,” she stated with her jaw clenched.

Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at her. Today Susanna wore a pair of black jeans—Nica’s favorite—and a gauzy wrap shirt decorated with colorful beadwork that drew the eye to a rather plunging neckline. The detective smirked.

“You’re attractive, intelligent, and gutsy. I’d say danger ahead.”

“It’s not like I’m bringing him beer and gumbo to seduce him,” she argued. No, that wasn’t what she was doing. Her color heightened.

“He’s a man, and all males of any species like to be flattered and pampered. But that’s not what he’s looking for.” Charlotte let the topic dangle enticingly.

Susanna couldn’t resist snapping at the bait. “What’s he looking for?”

“Someone who’ll take him seriously.”

The answer wasn’t what she expected. But it absolutely made sense. Coming from his background in the North where he was viewed as an object, as a tool with no identity, he’d hunger to make a mark for himself, to garner respect and authority. His greatest fear was to be seen as insignificant.

Susanna took him seriously. She always had. She’d seen the man behind the beast and that’s what forged their connection. Because he’d seen the woman behind the scientist. An exciting and unique first for her.

Because Charlotte’s comment opened the way for more discussion in a direction she couldn’t go, Susanna turned the topic to discover more about Max Savoie. “Is that what your mate was looking for?”

“That, among other things. We support each other.”

Not nearly enough information. “So he’s all right with what we’re doing?”

The exotic-looking detective pursed her lips and admitted, “Not so much. But he’d be a lot more pissed
if I hadn’t had the good sense to tell him about it up front. He’s not fond of surprises. That was a hard lesson to learn, but I finally caught on.”

Susanna squirmed, considering the way she was keeping Damien in the dark . . . and was on the edge of betraying a lot more than his trust. “I have a mate and a daughter.”

“Yes, you told me.”

Maybe she needed to remind herself.

Mary Kate Malone was housed in a small care facility. The staff was efficient and motivated to mind their own business by a hefty charitable contribution from Legere Enterprises International, the organization now run by Max. The severely injured nun lingered in her induced coma in a pretty room she would never appreciate, kept alive by pumps and hoses and narcotics. A merciful limbo, Susanna wondered, or a cruel delay of the inevitable?

Charlotte hung back at the door, her features stoic, her dark eyes suspiciously glimmering, while Susanna checked vitals and drew samples.

It was impossible to look upon the pale, hideously disfigured form and not be moved by pity. Working in a lab without actual contact with her subjects had spared Susanna the unexpected sorrow twisting through her now as she saw a vital life wasted.

Could she help this unfortunate woman or would she be raising her level of awareness to one of unending suffering and mental torment? Those kinds of questions
never occurred to those she worked with in the North. They only saw results, not consequences.

Susanna covered the motionless fingers resting on pristine sheets and gave them a slight squeeze.

I’ll view you as a person, Mary Kate Malone. I promise. And I’ll see to your interests.

Charlotte had left the room. Susanna found her in a cheerful courtyard filled with plant life and uplifting statuary. Tension fairly vibrated through her posture.

“What do you think?” she demanded without turning.

“I think it’s time for me to get to work.”

Susanna had Charlotte drop her off at the club while the detective took her samples to the lab for Dovion to run. The cavernous space was dark and quiet, but the lingering whisper of Jacques’s scent distracted her from what she needed to be doing. To avoid thinking about what she’d done last night, she considered this morning.

He’d made her breakfast.

The tantalizing smell of vegetables and spicy sausage sizzling had drawn her out of bed where she’d been both disappointed and relieved to find herself alone. She’d dressed quickly, then had stood in the hall for long minutes watching him tend the skillet steaming on a single hot plate.

Hunger growled through her, but that appetite wasn’t for food alone.

Jacques filled the tiny domestic space, all brawny
shoulders, tight butt, and bare feet in his half-tucked-in T-shirt and snug jeans. Delicious. Without turning, he’d asked, “How hot do you like it,
chere
?”

“I’ll take it any way you want to serve it up,” she’d replied, setting a simmering mood at the table they shared.

Even though he didn’t bring up the matter, it was only a matter of time before they sampled more of the temptation between them.

Shaken by that certainty, she forced herself to call Chicago to calm more pressing fears.

“Hello, Damien.” Could he hear the desperation in her voice?

“Susanna, thank goodness.”

The agitation in his tone brought a jump of alarm into her throat. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Pearl.”

A great swooning blackness threatened her senses, but Susanna hung on determinedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Her fever’s back. She’s weak and disoriented and has been asking for you. Susanna, you need to come home.”

Before Pearl, she would never have understood how those few words could turn all her priorities upside down. Her first thought was to wonder how quickly she could arrange for a flight. Her baby needed her. Panic and a deep, cold terror clawed at her, shredding logic.

But only for a moment.

Her baby needed her to be strong.

“I can’t,” she pushed the words out. “I can’t leave just yet.”

Silence, then an aghast, “I can’t believe you’re saying that. Your daughter
needs
you.”

“My daughter needs rest and fluids and her injections, starting immediately, three times a day. You know how to administer them, and if you can’t be there, arrange for it to be done. She should stabilize within twenty-four hours.” Then Susanna drew a breath and played a card she never thought she’d have to throw down to gain her partner’s compliance. She was of the Chosen. “Damien, my work comes before any attachments. How could you believe otherwise?”

Again, the long pause, but she knew he couldn’t argue against the tenets of their entire belief system. For the many, not the few. The wants of the individual never weighed above the benefits to the all. Never. In theory.

So she concealed her anxiety and personal fears behind that cool, clinical mien of their race, presenting her reasoning the way she would any logical conclusion.

“The research I’m doing is revolutionary. Its benefits far surpass my own selfish wishes. You’ll understand when I’m able to explain the importance to our people.” Then she added, to seal his cooperation, “The importance to
our
future.”

The silence that followed was calculating, and in that moment, Damien Frost’s integrity took a terrible plunge in her estimation, making her wonder if the reason
for his concern was her daughter’s health or her continued defiance. “I look forward to discussing it with you,” he said at last. “By all means, continue.”

Susanna closed her eyes, heart clutching. Damien would care for her child. That was all that mattered for the moment. “I’ll check in every few hours. I should have plenty of time to return if her condition worsens. May I speak to her? It’ll calm her to hear my voice.”

A pause, then a faint little sigh of relief. “Mommy, when are you coming back?”

“Soon, sweetheart. Soon. Damien tells me you aren’t feeling well.”

“I’m fine now. I got sick at school and they sent me home. I was making you a picture and I didn’t get to finish it. Damien says I have to stay in bed.”

“You do as he says so you’ll get stronger. You can make me another picture, baby.”

“Can you take it to work with you?”

“We’ll see,” she lied. Personal items weren’t allowed in her facility. No one would think to challenge that rule. They wouldn’t attach any sentiment to a child’s crude scribbling.

Susanna wasn’t like them. And neither was Pearl.

They spoke for a minute longer, Susanna trying to keep the sound of her tears out of her comforting words. Finally, when the child’s voice grew weak and a bit whiny, she wasn’t above a maternal bribe.

“What would you like me to bring home for you that would make you happy?”

“My daddy.”

Susanna had expected her to name some simple childish favorite like picture postcards or colorful bracelets. The shock of her daughter’s request left her speechless.

“Damien’s there with you, Pearl.”

“But he’s not my daddy.” That was confided in a careful whisper.

A chill shook through her. “Why would you say that, baby?”

“Damien said so. He was cross with me because I got some of my numbers wrong. He said if I didn’t work harder I’d be a dummy just like my daddy.”

That chill became a sheet of ice. She struggled to keep her tone buoyant. “Oh, I’m sure you misunderstood, Pearl. We’ll talk about it when I get home, all right?”

Silence, then a quiet admission that fractured her world.

“Damien doesn’t like me.”

“That’s not true, sweetie. He’s been very good to us. And he’s very proud of you.”

Pearl didn’t answer, seeing through Susanna’s false gaiety the same way she’d apparently looked into Damien’s heart and read his distaste. And now, so did Susanna.

Why had she never noticed that her partner despised the child fathered by another male? A Shifter male.

She’d have a talk with Damien, too, when she got home.

“I love you, Pearl. You know that, don’t you?”

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

Susanna wiped her eyes and felt her determination firm. She’d done everything she could to protect Pearl, to make her world safe and uncomplicated, even if it meant withholding the truth of her parentage, at least until the girl was old enough to understand the choices she’d made. Now, with careless, spiteful words Damien had shaken that sense of autonomy. And Susanna wasn’t sure she could forgive him that thoughtless cruelty.

She couldn’t think about him now. She couldn’t let emotion interfere with purpose. Pearl’s life depended upon her ability to use the information she was gathering to battle the genetic confusion that was tearing her little body apart.

And then, perhaps, she could make other choices.

It was difficult to concentrate on her promise to Charlotte when her thoughts were pulled in a more personal direction. Finally, Susanna could go no further in her study of the Chosen/Shifter DNA blend: She needed specific material from the hybrid child the detective carried. Instead, she turned her attention to the information Dovion provided on Mary Kate. She was busy inputting the data. She didn’t turn when she heard the office door open, believing it to be either Jacques or Nica since it wasn’t even noon.

As she hit Enter, her program spun the projections she’d imported out into probabilities. Her attention spiked as the results rolled down the screen. Amazing results. She drew in an excited breath, then, as the scent
filled her nose, she realized two Shifters had entered the room. And she knew them from their encounter at MacCreedy’s apartment.

Susanna’s quick glance over her shoulder confirmed what she feared. These were the two who’d torn through her belongings. She recognized the black and red flames tattooed on the backs of their hands, a detail she’d forgotten until this moment. To protect her work, she yanked out her thumb drive and tucked it out of sight behind the monitor; then, before she put the computer into hibernation mode, she tapped three quick words, then blanked the screen.

“Dr. Duchamps,” one of them said flatly, “don’t give us any trouble or we’ll make plenty for you.”

Susanna stood and turned to boldly face them.

And that was when she saw the handcuffs and rough sack in their hands.

Business was booming for LEI, which meant Jacques’s day became a mad scramble to tend its interests. The unexpected absence of several of his crew forced him to fill in personally during the unloading of one of the freighters. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed physical labor, and it kept his mind off other things. Like the female who’d spent the night sharing his sheets.

It wasn’t like Susanna was the first to ever visit them. If he was without company, it was by his own choosing. His opportunities were plentiful and varied. But there was a difference between sleeping with a lady and spending the night with one. Perhaps that was why
filling that space on a regular basis had never made him feel less lonely.

Until last night.

Having Susanna Duchamps beside him had been both comfortable and familiar, and not just because consummating sex was off the menu. With little or no persuasion, he could have pushed things beyond her surprising . . . and satisfying gesture and they both would have enjoyed it. But then she’d have become like the parade of female partners stretching before and after her: a moment’s pleasure without a lasting peace. The frustration of restraint enhanced the fantasy—that a woman like her could belong to a man like him.

As tempting as that fantasy was, it wasn’t enough. Because he already wanted more.

He was riding down on a cargo container when he spied a visitor on the docks.