will live beyond a minute if that old bastard takes back his crown.”
While Cale thought that over, Max, from his emotionally removed position, offered another, calmer solution. “Before your new king goes standing out on a street corner with a bullseye painted on his chest, you—we need to find them first.”
“Sounds good, but just how you gonna make that happen? Send an engraved invitation?”
Kip answered Cale’s wry question by posing his own idea. “We set the trap using someone they won’t be expecting.”
Silence. Then Cale shook his head. “We can’t trust him. He already sold us out once.”
Caution coiled as Max remained outwardly unmoving. Where was this going? Down a dangerous dead end for all of them? He’d believed Christopher Terriot to be the logical thinker of the group. Was revenge for his heart-shaking loss getting the better of well-grounded reason? He waited for that answer to unfold, hoping he wouldn’t have to forcefully intercede on behalf of his city and the fate of his new friends.
Kip spoke again with that quiet ferocity. “But then, we didn’t know he was our enemy.”
Rico looked between his brothers, clearly disturbed. “Are we talking about Fraser, that traitorous fuck?”
Kip remained unflinching at the harsh truth. “They used him. So, can we.”
“Obviously, that blood-thicker-than-water thing didn’t work out so well the first time.”
Cale caught Kip’s arm as he surged up to challenge Rico’s flip remark, calming the potential conflict with a quiet, “Chris, you talk to him. If you get a good feel and think we can use him, we’ll speak on this again.”
Max’s relief as Kip sat back, hackles settling, was short lived as the young male said, “I’d like Savoie to back me when I have that conversation.”
When attention jumped to Max, all he asked was, “What is it you think I can do?”
“What you do every damned time you’re in the room,” Rico muttered. When Max fixed him with a penetrating stare, the redhead smiled. “Yeah. That. You put the fear of hellfire into folks. Joe doesn’t know you, but he’s heard what rumors say you’re capable of.”
“And what he fears can only help us,” Cale concluded with a narrow smile. “Savoie? You asked what you could do. You willin’?”
Though he hadn’t planned to get involved, Max couldn’t deny the youngster’s logic. An unknown variable could shake the staunchest resolve. And he was exceptionally good at playing a bluff when the stakes were high. Perhaps a wild card was required.
“I’ll back you.” In turn, Max looked each of them directly in the eye. “This is our city, and our families will live here without fear. That’s my promise to you.”
And they believed him.
– – –
Joseph Fraser had come to New Orleans an unknowing prisoner and remained as such at Alain Babineau’s direction in an out-of-the-way safe house, guarded by those who owed the detective and were willing to pay up with off-duty time and silence. He himself met Kip and Max at the door to silently wave them into the non-descript, nearly bare kitchen.
Fraser sat leg-shackled to the bolted down table, wearing ill-fitting clothes, hair disheveled, cheeks stubbly, and eyes dull, playing a game of solitaire. His expression never flickered when he saw his late brother’s stepson. But the sight of Max Savoie behind Kip drained his face of color.
“W-what’s he doing here?”
“I asked him to come.” Kip pulled out a chair opposite the now nervous male while Max leaned casually back against the counter behind the young prince, letting the older man fidget beneath his unblinking stare. Fraser’s anxious gaze cut between them, trying to figure the connection and how it’d affect his longevity.
Kip spelled it out. “My father. Why the hell would you have anything to do with setting him free?”
Weakness fell from Fraser’s features, replaced by a sphinxlike sullenness. Silence dragged out until Max made a move, coming to sit in the seat between uncle and nephew. Sweat broke on Fraser’s brow.
“I know a thing or two about fathers and sons,” Max began, tone as quiet as the whisper of an ill-wind. “There’s nothing sacred about that relationship to those who’d use it as leverage. Mine was a master at it. I’ve never met your previous king, but nothing I’ve heard can convince me that anyone sane would prefer him over who you have now.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing with attention-claiming confidence.
“Christopher has told me your history with his former king. I understand your hatred. He killed your father, brutally, right in