Unleashed by Shadows (By Moonlight Book 10) (38 page)

Kip poked a fifty into his apron pocket. “Thanks.”

He trotted down to the Square where a few night owl tourists strolled the walks even though shops were closed. Several street vendors were packing up though most had gone home for the evening. The first few he spoke with had nothing to share. He’d almost given up until he approached a girl in Bohemian garb standing on an overturned crate taking down some nice sketches from the fence around the inner park. When he called out to her, she yelled back over her shoulder, “Sorry, closed for the night. Your face and your fortune will have to wait until tomorrow.”

That’s when he noticed a card table draped with sparkly scarves holding various crystals, now cold candles, a large deck of strange cards, and a battered cash box. A sign in the same bold pen and ink style as her portraits proclaimed “Mademoiselle Ophelia Sees All.” He hoped so.

She stepped down off the crate, turned, looking up, way up, and smiled. “But for yours, I’ll make an exception.”

Kip grinned because she was damned cute with her heart-shaped face, upturned nose, sassy red lips, and curvy figure all wrapped up in bangles and colorful flowing fabrics. Definitely more pixie than voodoo queen.

“I was wondering if I might ask you some questions, ma’am, if you have the time.”

“Ma’am?” Her flirty challenge made him blush. “I can’t be more than a minute older than you. Let me see your hand.”

Brows puckering slightly, Kip extended it. A shiver of heat coursed through him as her fingertip traced lightly along the creases of his palm. “If I could ask you—”

“Shh! I see a good heart, a long life, and a very healthy libido. Everything but your name.”

“Kip Terriot.”

“Well, Kip Terriot, Mademoiselle Phe will answer all if you’ll let me draw you.”

“I’m in kind of a hurry.”

She was already dragging out an artist’s pad and pushing him into one of her folding chairs. The tip of her pen scratched over the surface without her seeming to glance down at it.

“Your question?”

He explained his interest in the van while trying to ignore his interest in the artist.

“Oh, sure. I see it all the time. The a-hole driver blocks in my pick-up. I’ve had to report him more than once.” She set down the tablet to rummage in a huge crocheted bag that lounged at her feet like an old hound. “Here it is. His plate number.”  She drew out another card and scribbled on the back. “And my number. I’m Phe. Ophelia Brady, but you can call me anytime.”

She picked up the pad and turned it to show him.  The lines were few, capturing his profile, the curve of his ear, hollow of his throat. All the attention went to his eyes. And lips. He didn’t quite know what to say.

She wrote Ophelia and the date on the bottom, stripped it off the pad and quickly rolled it into a tube. She pointed the end toward one of the alleys leading off the Square.

“Third door, top floor. Your a-hole buddy either lives there or sleeps with someone who does.”

Kip took the drawing with a quiet, “Thank you. For the information and the picture. And the future.”

“Oh, that future isn’t set.” She winked. “Not yet.”

*

“Savoie, this is a surprise.”

“Carmen. It’s not a situation I expected to find myself in, either. But we’re in a position to do each other a favor. Are you willing to listen?”

“Perhaps. If you provide me with enough incentive. What do you have in mind?”

“Getting rid of Casper Lee. And getting paid to do it.”

Carmen Blutafino leaned back in his chair and studied Savoie over tented fingers. There were few individuals he despised more than the coolly sleek and deadly Max Savoie. The former mobster with his bitch cop wife had taken him for a cool quarter mil, cost him his family, and the services of a damned good dealer in Mac Creed.

Savoie was criminally androgynous. One never knew which side of the legal system he was standing on so Manny always approached him with care. But Casper Lee, no question there. The parasite was hungry to suck his business away from him. There was something just wrong about Lee with his smarmy smile and dead fish eyes. Manny didn’t care about sexual politics. He peddled in flesh so he had few hang ups in that arena. But Lee’s other alliances as they leaned toward Warren Brady . . . Now there was a problem.

Brady was a necessary evil, too powerful to ignore, too connected to oppose. His hand squeezed the throat of every entrepreneur in the city and its surrounding parishes. He was a clever but straight up criminal. Brady, Carmen understood and respected, even as he twisted under his controlling heel. Paying a percentage to keep the law off his back was bad enough, but he’d also harvested all the best criminal talent in New Orleans and charged a fee for the privilege of using their exclusive services. Paying to play in his own sandbox made Manny-Blu an unhappy boy. One willing to listen to an enemy he at least knew.

“You have my attention.”

Savoie provided that toothy Big Bad Wolf smile that always seemed to precede a nasty bite. As long as Lee had to deal with those sharp teeth, Manny welcomed a cautious alliance.

“You’re backing Lee’s fighter tomorrow night.”

“So? He’s a tough little guy and a good bet. Creed and I may have parted under less than honorable circumstances, but he’s a damn fine gambler. He doesn’t back losers. He’s made Lee a lot of coin with that boy.”

Savoie’s unblinking eyes went cold as green bottle glass. “Lee’ll make money this time, too. But you won’t see any of it.”

Manny sat up straight. “You have an inside source?”

“You might say Creed doesn’t like to see all his hard work tossed aside because Lee is a greedy, treacherous bastard.”

“So he asked you to talk to me. So Lee wants me to back a fighter he knows is going to lose. Why?”

“Because he’s going to put all his money, anonymously, on the other guy.”

“So you’re warning me not to bet?”

Again, that villainous grin. “No. I want you to bet big. Real big. And I’m going to back you.”

“So then I’ll owe you, is that it?”

“So suspicious,” Savoie drawled. “No strings, no debt. I have a messenger outside the door. Can he come in?”

Manny considered it then nodded, buzzing to free the lock. He didn’t expect to see Mac Creed, but his attention was quickly drawn to the large case his former dealer placed on the desk. He nodded for Creed to open it. Cash. Stacks and stacks of it.

“Untraceable,” Creed assured him.

Manny stared up at them narrowly. “What’s in this for you?”

“You have nothing I need at the moment,” Max assured him.

Creed was more direct. “I want a job. I want you to set me up to be your eyes and ears inside Brady’s organization.”

Slowly, Manny smiled. “Gentlemen, I think we have a deal.”

*

They were pretending to eat breakfast when the sound of bikes announced company. Cale, Oscar, Giles, and Bree met the trio of Terriots and Alain Babineau in the hall. The detective, looking as ragged as Cale felt, started toward Cale then turned, opening his arms to his son. Ozzy instantly filled them. Clutching him tight, Alain vowed, “We’ll get her back. We’ll get them both back. I promise.” With an arm still about the boy’s shoulders, he directed his news to the Terriot king.

“We’ve got the plate number and name of the driver. I put out an APB on the vehicle. Only a matter of time before something pops and we’re on them.”

Cale gestured toward the table. “Get something to eat, clean up, and get back at it. Time’s something we don’t have.”

As his brothers moved past him, each gave him a bump of the arm and the press of a hand on his shoulder. When Kip hooked him about the neck for a squeeze, something dropped out of his jacket to roll across the floor. Brigit picked it up and curiously unrolled the paper. Brows raised, she showed the portrait to Cale who turned to a blushing Kip with a frown.

Before he could jump to conclusions, Kip spilled. “I got the info from a street artist. She drew while we talked.”

Rico gave a quick arm pump. “Way to go, little bro. You weren’t too bashful to get a name, were you?”

“Ophelia Brady.”

Babineau wheeled about, the lines of his face as sharp as the ink slashes on paper as he met Cale’s gaze.

*

Around plates of French toast and boiled ham, Colin spread a map of the area, using his fork to show the sections they’d gone through during the night. The radius had rapidly expanded.

Cale listened and nodded and absorbed strength from his surrounding family but in the end, it was all on him.

Heartened by the sight of father and son together on the porch, Cale went up to shower and change. With Kendra’s pillow hugged to his chest, he stretched out on their bed, and with eyes closed, breathed in her scent. In a heartbeat, he went from bedroom to moving van where Kendra sat cross-legged on a tarp. Her wrists were raw from the ties.

She knew he was there. Her posture straightened, but she carefully betrayed nothing. For a brief moment, she stared right at him as if he knelt in front of her in the flesh. She rubbed her forearm. Thinking they’d hurt her, his anger flared again, making her image flicker, until he realized she was tracing patterns on the back of her hand and arm. Then, she reached up to draw a make believe ridge from brow to the back of her head.

The van hit a hard bump, jarring him from it. He cartwheeled, seeing a large body of water. Then the ceiling above him.

He looked at the back of his own hand and outlined the tattoo. Harder was trying to understand the striping gesture through her hair. A part? A streak?

A mohawk.

T-Ray Roux.

*

While Cale stood barefoot, eyes closed, moving sleekly through his warm up, plugged into his tunes, Silas and Max watched from the porch as time ticked away.

“They’re going to kill him,” Silas said bleakly.

“Maybe,” Max offered. “Maybe not.”

“Win or lose, what’s the chance we’ll get them back?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

Silas scowled at him. “Riding that center line pretty tight, aren’t you?”

“If he survives, we’ll have Lee and a powerful ally, and his clan’ll have a righteous leader. Thought that’s what you cared about.”

“Yeah, well, I care about more things these days than I should. Must be fatherhood getting me all sentimental.”

Cale spotted them, giving them a subdued nod before walking up to the steps. No arrogance, no swagger, just quiet focus as he asked Max, “Teach me more.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Not good enough. I have to hold out three rounds or at least until I get word that they’re rescued. I promised that kid I’d make sure his momma came home. And I owe my clan an heir.”

“And if you don’t hear that news by the end of round three?” Silas wanted to know.

Cale answered him with a slight smile.

Max pushed away from the rail to meet him on the grass while Silas went for more coffee. “There’s a few things I can tell you about. One’s a pulse. I don’t pass this on lightly. It’s fatal. There’s no way to test it before you use it. Sort of a mental hand grenade you throw into another’s mind.”

“And?” When Max made an explosive gesture with his hands, he gasped. “You trust me, a Terriot, with that knowledge?”

“Yes.”

His faith made Cale reflective for a moment then the Terriot king said, “Tell me more.”

*

They were moving again.

The van had stopped for a short time that morning, long enough for those upfront to gas up and grab food to go. Then they were taken, one at a time, to the bathroom after dire warnings of consequence should they try anything foolish.

Kendra took care of necessities, then drank from her hands and washed her face with a scratchy paper towel. Not The Saint on Canal by any means, but better than smelling her own sweat for going on two days. As she was hurried back to the van, she cast quick glances around for anything that might give a clue as to where they were.

Once she was tossed back in with Tina, they were given convenience store burritos that they devoured hungrily, washing them down with sickeningly sweet juice pouches. When their trash was taken away, they were blindfolded. She didn’t need their captors’ terse voices and rough handling to tell her they were almost at the end of the line.

And for the first time, she started to feel afraid.

*

By late afternoon, Cale felt as ready as he’d ever be. He dressed with attitude, faded jeans tucked into his boots for comfort and ease of movement, olive drab A-shirt, and leather jacket. He gave his hefty diamond stud a twist as he studied his reflection.

He saw in his eyes the boy who’d dared to love, who’d been traumatized and yet survived, the teen who’d shaped himself into a brutal weapon in order to shine in his father’s regard, the prince who’d brawled and warred and whored with indifference while holding his emotions locked away. The would-be king willing to do whatever necessary to rise and claim the prize that had motivated him ruthlessly ever since he’d pledged his heart and loyalty to the girl who held his diamond’s mate. And he saw the man who would surrender all for the sake of a safe and loving future he wouldn’t share.

He closed his eyes and reached out, not daring to expend the energy to fully project, but needing that brief connection.

My queen . . .

My prince, my king, my love.

Her response wound about him the way he wished her arms could. Caressing, clutching, cherishing. Wanting nothing more than to linger, he eased away gently.

I will hold you in my heart forever.

Cale? Cale!

His eyes opened, filled with intensity and determination.

*

Giles and Brigit were just bringing Oscar back from school. The boy crossed to where Cale stood at the bottom of the stairs and hugged him tightly. He cupped the back of the boy’s head and breathed in the scent of youth and hope and dreams.

“You want to stay here with your father, don’t you?”

Oscar gave a start at Cale’s soft question, but nodded.

“That’s okay. You’re still a Terriot prince. My brothers will see to anything you need. Our home is always open.” When the boy didn’t respond, he added, “Remember what I told you.”