stood at his boss’s back, a silent, Grim Reaper shadow warning of potential consequences. Since he’d discovered his kinship to those who toiled at the Mississippi’s edge, his presence sparked different reactions, welcome in some, suspicion in others depending upon whether they viewed him as savior or destroyer of their kind. None were neutral.
Though he could move like a ghost, unfelt and practically unseen, Max chose to let them sense his presence. Instead of his usual Armani, he wore casual chinos and a plain tee shirt beneath the long sweep of his black raincoat to signal this was no business visit. Work stopped as his red high-tops traveled the water-pooled concrete. No greetings hailed from the suddenly still and silent group, making him feel about as welcomed as a cargo of spoiled shrimp.
Philo Tibideaux exited the foreman’s trailer Jacques LaRoche had once made his home. Expression inscrutable, the tall redhead waited on the top step for Max to come to him. He let his visitor wait a long, rather uncomfortable minute at the foot of the stairs before offering a cool greeting.
“What brings you out in the light of day, Savoie? Ain’t seen you ’round for a time.”
Since no offer of a private convo inside was likely, Max got right to it. “Looking for Terriot. He around?”
“What’s your business with him?”
“Mine. Is there a problem?”
“Seems like one always follows you, doan it?” After a pause, he made a gesture toward one of the warehouses. “Last I seen him this morning, he were schooling some of the boys on how not to get dead next time you call for help. That gonna be any time soon?”
Max’s attention was already on his destination. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Do that.”
Philo’s low, parting growl met his back as Max strode to the building. He had no patience with Tibideaux’s posturing. The line had been drawn when Philo took leadership of the Patrol, the privately-run Shifter paramilitary group that policed the boundaries of their district. The redhead saw a challenge where none existed and, some day soon, they’d have to have a conversation about that, too. But not today.
The scent of blood and exertion met Max as he entered the dimly lit warehouse where two males grappled in front of a silently intense audience of about two dozen. Max paused outside the pooling light of a single bulb to observe before they noticed him.
Frederick Terriot had given Max a totally different impression the first time they’d met, that of a reckless, hot-tempered loudmouth whose fragile ego got in the way of his common sense. Since that occasion, Rico had taken a group of Philo’s guard under his tutelage and a cautious woman and child under his wing, maturing into an admirable example of a solid, reliable citizen in their tight-knit community. Though still loud and impulsive, he’d earned respect with every brutal scar on his hard body in defense of those he’d pledged to care for. Rueben Guedrey had seen something in him that Max had missed, and he had to thank the leader of the Memphis clan for spotting this priceless rough-edged gem.
The fellow Terriot was schooling had no viable chance to defeat him, but Rico handled him with care, pointing out strengths as well as weaknesses each time the poor fellow found himself tasting dirt. Instruction accompanied good-natured and often ribald encouragement, keeping the tone between the two Shifters competitive, not contentious. The sign of a true teacher. Max had no doubt that any of these males would follow their instructor into hell without question.
And Max feared they soon would be.
Catching sight of their guest, Rico grinned wide, barely ducking a fierce swing meant to put out his lights. Instead, he caught his student’s elbow and neatly took him to the ground, holding him there long enough to prove he wouldn’t be getting up before Rico allowed it. Then the redhead jumped up, bringing his opponent with him for a quick dust off and elbow bump before addressing their visitor.
“Hey, Savoie! Come to learn something?”
Max grinned. “Why? You know a good teacher?”
With a laugh, Rico dismissed his group and grabbed up his discarded metal band tee-shirt, slipping it on as he strode over. “Whatcha need?”
“The presence of your company, tonight out at the house.”
“Never say no to a meal. This business?”
“No, family. Bring yours.”
“Cale’s out at—”
Max cut off his misconception. “Amber and Evangeline.”
“Yeah?” He beamed. “They’d like that. Havin’ a shindig?”
“No. Just a small gathering.” Before he could ask, Max laid it out for