to get mine behind closed doors.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Detectives Caissie and Babineau stood across from the media frenzy on the courthouse steps, their stares targeting a confident Commissioner Warren Brady as he gave his first interview to Karen Crawford upon his release. They didn’t have to lip read to get the gist of the conversation. Innocent. Record speaks for itself. No doubts that the charges will be brushed aside so he can get back to work for the people of New Orleans. Blah, blah, lying blah.
“Great,” Cee Cee grumbled. “Now I have to put up with her smirky face everywhere I look for the rest of the day.”
“At least you won’t have to put up with his for much longer, Detective. Lucky you.”
The quiet voice spoken next to her ear had Cee Cee nearly jumping out of the sensible boots she was breaking in. She was too professional to send a betraying glance at the figure she only now sensed beside her. Turow Terriot could double for the Invisible Man.
“You almost scared me into prematurely delivering that useless decaf I have to drink,” she hissed.
A husky chuckle. “Kip asked me to keep an eye on our friend. Thought I’d be polite and let you know so you don’t shoot me.”
Having infiltrated Brady’s fortress home in the Garden District, the youngest Terriot brother had secured incriminating information that anchored the case against him before escaping with one of the man’s twin daughters. The commissioner was not a fan. After Brady’s attack upon their Lake Tahoe family compound, Cee Cee couldn’t blame the kid for his unwillingness to sacrifice more. As long as he didn’t compromise the case.
“Don’t get in our way.”
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
When she couldn’t resist a quick peek, she found the space Turow had occupied empty. A scan of the crowd pushing in behind her revealed no trace.
“Damned ghost.”
Babineau turned her way. “You say something?”
“Just talking to myself . . . apparently.”
She returned her attention to the grating tableau, a small smile beginning to play about her lips. A man as vainly arrogant as Brady couldn’t resist flouting his superiority at every turn. If they stayed close and watchful, he’d provide them with what they needed to put him away forever.
Or the Terriots would put him down permanently.
From his elevated platform in front of the symbol of justice he’d dishonored, Warren Brady found himself in her sight line. He smirked to show he wasn’t worried.
You’d better be, you dishonorable bastard, because we’re going to nail you to that door behind you.
– – –
After the long trip from Baton Rouge, even the hope of a message from his queen couldn’t lift Cale’s heavy mood. Eager to speak to Turow, Kip had bounded up the steps, disappearing into the River Road house where lights blazed, and voices drifted toward him on the night air. The Terriot king followed more slowly, wondering how to avoid being social without insulting his hosts. He pasted a resigned smile upon his face as he crossed the threshold. Where he stopped, each muscle locking as air punched from his lungs.
For a long moment, he didn’t move, couldn’t move. Too stunned to process what he saw before him.
Then she spoke.
“My king.”
She came to him like those tempting dreams, so impossibly beautiful his head, then his eyes, swam. All he could articulate was a croaked, “Hey, baby,” before her scent reached him. Drawing it in like lifesaving oxygen, the stoic framework keeping him upright since that first blast had shaken his home crumbled like those ruined walls. He swayed. Small hands cupped his face then palmed the back of his head to pull him down to her shoulder. Quiet words whispered over his damaged soul like a breeze through Nevada pines.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
For long seconds, he just leaned. Her touch and embracing aura calmed the punishing chaos of his thoughts. Those fiercely maintained barriers retaining all the horror, shock and guilt finally surrendered.
Kendra Terriot held her mate, her king, her love, addressing his grief with tender concern toughened by a single truth. “This isn’t your fault.” When his head rolled in expected denial, she upped her insistence. “No one blames you.”
“They all do,” he argued, voice raw with certainty. “I’ve been carrying every one of those lost souls, and I can’t do it anymore, Katy. I can’t.”
She combed soothing fingers through newly-shorn hair. “Not alone. That’s why I’m here.” Then, wisely, she said nothing more, just holding him.
“Kendra,” he began, leaning back. That lovely face of calm