talking them outta filing a complaint by getting them a bit part on the series.”
Someone had orchestrated a nice little kidnapping. And he knew damned well who was behind it all.
All three stood as Susanna LaRoche entered the room, preceding a stoic Charlotte Caissie. Before Max could ask, the doctor lifted a placating hand.
“No worries. Everything’s fine. A couple of bruises, a little raw from smoke inhalation, but nothing that won’t heal.”
Dark eyes filled with a fire of their own, Cee Cee snapped, “I wish we could say the same about Dr. Jones.”
“Any word yet?” Max asked gently.
“No.” She sighed and blew out a hoarse breath before leaning in to reward her mate with a quick, tender kiss. “Thanks, Savoie. She’s alive because of you.”
Before he could grab onto her and hustle her home, she was turning away, all business.
“Give me a lift, fellas. Atcliff wants my report ASAP.” She looked back at Max. “See if you can find out anything about a Richard Maitlin from MacCreedy. He has . . . connections in the North.”
“I will, Detective.” He started to offer a smile, but she was already gone.
– – –
Carmen Blutafino, resplendent in an electric blue suit with a gaudy patterned waistcoat straining to contain his girth, regarded his guest with a knowing smile and a smirky, “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“I doubt it’s unexpected,” Max growled. “Who hired your two thugs to grab her?”
“By ‘her,’ you mean Detective Caissie?”
“My wife. The expectant mother of my child.”
Manny sighed and gestured to a chair. “I’m hurt you’d think me stupid enough to make that move.”
“I know you’re not.” Max sat, but none of the considerable threat eased from his tense form. “Who is?”
“Since you’ve managed to annoy just about everyone in the community and out, that list is very long. It might take you, oh, forever to narrow it down.”
“Cut to it, Manny,” his nemesis snapped, this time without taking any flesh with it. “What do you want?”
Amusement fell away from a hard-edged fury. “A little respect would be nice.”
Max’s shoulders relaxed. He managed a tight smile. “I’ve always had respect for you as a criminal. I learned that from Jimmy. I’ve enjoyed our games of chance, one professional to another. This isn’t a move I’d expect from you. But little goes on in this city that you’re unaware of.”
“I’m supposed to just give you that information out of the goodness of my heart?”
“If you want it to keep beating.”
“Don’t insult me, Savoie. I’m not afraid of you.”
Max bared his teeth, earning Manny’s rapid blink as if doubting the reality of those sharp points. “Yes, you are. Because you’re not a fool, and you don’t want an until-the-end-of-timeshare out in the swamps with Petitjohn’s bits and pieces.”
“That was you.”
The booming laugh relaxed Max’s threatening pose. “Not me, personally, no,” he drawled. “But with you, it’d be personal.”
Ergonomic leather groaned as Manny leaned back to contemplate his next words the way he would a poker hand. Music pounded up from the matinee show in the ensuing silence until finally he offered, “Were I a betting man, I’d put my money on Brady. He has an old friend in town he’s rather desperate to impress, and from what I gather, she’s no friend of yours.”
Genevieve.
“A shame one can’t depend upon one’s friends . . . or family,” Max drawled. “But then you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
The cool jab at the mobster’s wife’s desertion earned a twitch of pressed lips. “No, you can’t,” Carmen gritted out, “but you can shut ′em up.”
Max stood, struggling not to betray his urgency. “She’s at his house?”
“Don’t know. Put your dogs on it. Or better yet, your own nose on the scent.” As Max moved briskly toward the door, Manny called out after him, “Shame to have something happen to your cop. Always admire a female who’s more than just great tits.”
Max revolved slowly. The smile on his face froze Blutafino’s. “I’ll make sure to relay the compliment.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Collateral damage . . . the hardest thing to justify about her job.
Behind isolating glass, Kinesha Jones fought for her life, a bandaged mummy threaded with drips and tubes, burned over a dangerous percent of her body.
Telling herself she wasn’t to blame didn’t lessen the ache of it in the detective’s throat. Vowing to restore the destroyed building wouldn’t resurrect the vital doctor to full vigor and enthusiasm if she recovered at all. She’d reached out to the brave crusader, playing upon the doctor’s goodness and