Description: One MAX SMELLED HER perfume. Voodoo Love. The scent drifted to him on the balmy night air long before he heard the sound of a big block engine rumble through the security gates. He inhaled deeply, drinking it in, letting it tease his senses as Charlotte came closer, up the driveway, into the house, then her footsteps in the front hall, and up the curving stairs. Slow, weary steps. He lay in the darkness, letting her come to him. She moved quietly about his room, fumbling without the lights. He watched her undress, the efficient movements not as quick as they usually were. Her gun, her shield, her ankle piece, her cuffs, her cell, laid out along the dresser top in a no-nonsense row. She paused with a sigh, then began to lever out of her boots. "I''d planned to meet your flight." She gave a slight hop of surprise, and was silent for a moment too long. No sassy reprimand for startling her? "I had a change of plans at the last minute. I left a message for you." Defensive and cool. Not exactly the reunion he was expecting. "I got it." Short and uninformative: Change of plans. I''ll be back late. "I wanted to pick you up, but I didn''t know what time you were getting in." "I took a cab. No big deal." She started down the buttons of her shirt. His shirt. She''d said the feel of silk against her skin would make him seem closer while she was away. "I was looking forward to welcoming you home." "Sorry." Still prickly. "No big deal." His reply was inflectionless, as if it really wasn''t. "I was only gone four days." "They were very long days. And very lonely nights." "It''s not like I didn''t call you." Defensive and now almost irritated, she turned her back on him. Yes, and their conversations had been as brief and impersonal as her message. He''d learned more from the tone of her voice than from her Spartan words. She let the shirt slide off her slumped shoulders, then shimmied out of her jeans, leaving both on the floor. He''d missed the unintentional mess she left in her wake, unthinkingly rather than thoughtlessly. She made a long, tough silhouette. Lean muscle, dangerous curves, and sleek bronze skin. The need to touch her, to have her, spiked like a fever, but her cool mood made him careful. "It''s not the same thing, talking across time zones." He thought that sounded reasonable enough to slip in a little gruff emotion behind it. "I like you here, with me." "I''m here now." There was just enough bite in that to make him frown. "No," he corrected, his voice low and seducingly soft. "You''re over there." He patted the bed beside him. "Come over here to me." She hesitated, then approached the sheets they shared more often than not. Her walk was full of prideful, independent attitude, which made him smile. If she made things easy for him, he wouldn''t crave her quite so desperately. She paused at the side of the bed, fists on her hips, her tone confrontational. "Close enough?" "No." He put out his hand. "Down here so I can welcome you properly." Whatever had her so edgy didn''t keep her from seeking him out in the darkness. Her fingers slid across his palm. He enfolded them gently, bringing them to his lips before tugging on them. She sank down onto the mattress into a kiss that greeted her with sweet familiarity, wooing her into temporary compliance. He didn''t try to stop her when she straightened. If she needed the separating space, he''d let her have it. For the moment. "I missed you, sha . I wish I could have gone with you." "It''s no--" "Big deal. So you said. Still, I wanted to be there for you. I would have canceled my meetings if you''d asked me to. I was worried about you being alone." "Is that why you sent an emissary in your place?" Her question jabbed like a thin, sharp blade between the ribs. Then she let her temper slip. "How dare you, Max? How dare you send someone to spy on me? If you can''t trust me out of your sight--" He touched his fingertips to her lips. "That''s not why. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." "So you sent some clumsy goon to follow me? I was on to him before the plane left the ground. Give me some credit, please." "I do, detective. I wanted you to know he was there. Just in case." "In case what ? I was mugged during the funeral?" She tunneled a hand through her short, spiky hair in exasperation. "It''s warm and fuzzy of you to be so paranoid, but totally unnecessary. Stop it. Okay?" "Okay." His mild reply didn''t convince her for an instant. "I can take care of myself. I don''t need or want you to handle things for me." "Can I just handle you, then?" A soft laugh, an improvement. "You drive me crazy, Savoie." "And you love that about me." Her hand squeezed his. "Yes, I do." She glanced around the dark room curiously. "What''s that smell? It''s really nice." He snapped on the light, and she stared at the spectacular bouquet of deep crimson roses mixed with other tiny fragrant blossoms on the nightstand. "Are these for me?" Her voice was small and a bit shaky. As she reached out to touch the velvety petals, a sudden tightness filled his chest. He cleared his throat and tried for nonchalance. "I was going to give them to you at the airport, and probably would''ve gotten all misty and emotional. Thank you for saving me from that embarrassment." She glanced at him, all misty. "No one''s ever given me flowers before." Trying to keep from getting what she cynically called gooey, he shrugged. "I''ve never given them. I wasn''t sure if you''d like them." Her arms whipped about his neck, her face burrowing into his shoulder, and he held her. "I guess you do." He breathed her in on a satisfied sigh. "Welcome home, Charlotte." "I''m so glad to be here." Her shoulders gave a suspicious hitch. He drew her in closer, his cheek rubbing against her hair. He figured she was ready to let it out, and started gently. "Was it very difficult?" "I hadn''t seen or heard from her in over twenty years." Twenty years since her alcoholic mother had abandoned her child and her cop husband. It took a fatal heart attack to bring them back together--a little too late. "That''s not what I asked." She squirmed but still answered. "I didn''t expect to feel anything except maybe anger. I don''t know what I would have said to her if I''d made it there in time. She had another family. A husband in insurance sales, stepkids, grandkids." She choked a little. "I met them. They were nice. They wanted me to stay at their house, but...it felt a little too strange. I wish I''d asked you to go with me." That reluctant admission came hard, and there was no way he was going to let her regret it. He kissed her brow tenderly. "Next time you won''t have to." "I''ve run out of family to bury, Max." She took an unsteady breath and he could feel her reining in her amazing control. Not quite managing. "I''m so tired." And finally, the extremely gratifying, "I missed you." He turned off the light, then cradled her against him. He''d thought of nothing for days but a passionate homecoming, had hungered for it and for her. But that would have to wait now. She was a tough, tightly wrapped woman, not one to let go of very much. So when she buckled, even slightly, he was quick to console her. Just being there for her, having her arms curled about him and her breath feathering against his throat, was enough. He''d waited twelve years to have her the first time. He could wait a few more hours. "Close your eyes. I''ve got you." As she relaxed, he kissed the top of her head, whispering, "Sleep well." And as she slept deeply and dreamlessly, he lay awake and alert, dividing his concentration between the feel of her beside him and the sounds of the night. Because his caution was much more necessary than Detective Charlotte Caissie knew. IF COMING HOME was falling into Max Savoie''s arms, returning to work was her grounding back to reality. A grim, often brutal reality, but the only one she''d ever known. Charlotte endured all her colleagues'' condolences, then focused gratefully on work. She understood death a lot better than she related to the living, which was why she was so good at her job. The New Orleans Police Department had somehow managed to get through four days without her, and she didn''t know whether to be relieved or a bit insulted. The city was only slightly less demanding than her lover, and she was fiercely possessive of both. Leaving Max asleep under the covers was a sacrifice she hoped the Eighth District appreciated. Her desk was buried under an avalanche of paperwork and a sad little plant someone had left with a sympathy card but no water. Before her butt even hit her chair, her phone was ringing. "Caissie." "Charlotte, it''s Dovion. I''ve got something down here that might interest you." Welcome back. FROM DEVLIN DOVION''S intriguing John Doe, whose brain seemed to have exploded without any physiological cause, Cee Cee was drawn into a parade of nonpressing but time-consuming matters. She touched base with several informants, talked to the team that had taken the call on Dovion''s gray-matter scramble, and stopped into her commander''s office to get the all-clear for

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