Odd. If she was a shapeshifter, like Nick thought, it didn't make sense for her to seem so frightened. Shifters could generally fend for themselves pretty well, no matter the circumstances.
He recalled his conversation with Nick. "I get the vague sense that she's like me, but different," she'd said.
Her words had prompted a snort from him. "That's not very helpful, Peyton. Can you be more specific?"
"A shifter," she'd said finally, "but not a wolf. Maybe something else."
Something else. Even in a city like New Orleans, which was full of supernaturals mostly trying to live quiet lives of peace and secrecy, it was all but impossible to find a shifter who wasn't a wolf. Through birth or transformation, their ranks had grown, while other breeds' numbers had dwindled. Still, if Nick sensed magic within Mackenzie, he trusted her instincts.
So why hadn't she looked the slightest bit nervous or intrigued when he'd made the comment about people like them?
Jackson briefly considered casting his seeing spell on her to determine her true nature, but dismissed the idea. If she had any magical heritage at all, she'd know he'd done something, if not exactly what, and he might find himself in somewhat of a pickle.
Despite his musings, he didn't drop his easy, crooked grin, didn't betray the thoughts whirling madly through his head. His placid exterior was part of what made him very, very good at his job. It had kept him alive on more than one occasion.
Mackenzie remained silent until she stopped in front of a building with a visible flood line etched three feet high on the ground floor wall. It looked as though it shouldn't have been in use anymore. The lights on the sign had blown out but, squinting, he could make out what had once been a sign for a motel before graffiti, vandalism and storm damage had taken their toll.
A small alley lay between the building and the one next to it, obviously leading back to the parking lot and rooms. It was there that she hesitated, glancing into the dimly lit alley with a self-conscious grimace that told him more clearly than words she was aware how bad it looked. Her eyes didn't quite meet his as she cleared her throat. "This is my place."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Jackson didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Mackenzie flinched and shot him a mortified look. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I just… Damn, Kenzie." The nickname rolled off his tongue, unbidden. "If I leave you here, Nick'll skin me alive." And I won't sleep a wink for worrying.
"I've been here four nights already," she said, averting her eyes. "I've been fine."
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. "Just because you've been fine so far doesn't mean you're going to stay that way." He tapped his chin. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to stay somewhere else tonight?"
If anything, she looked even more uncomfortable. "I know you're trying to help, but it's late and I wouldn't have any idea where to go. I've already paid for tonight."
"There's a small apartment above the bar. It's where Mahalia lived when she owned the place. You could stay there."
She narrowed her eyes. "I thought Nick owned the bar. How can you offer to let me stay there?" She probably didn't even realize that she'd taken a step back from him, but Jackson noticed.
He kept his voice soothing. "Nick is my best friend. She wouldn't want you to be here, that's for damn sure. I think she'd want you to stay there until you find a better place."
The fight seemed to melt out of her, leaving her looking exhausted. She finally met his eyes, and gave him a tired, self-conscious smile. "Honestly? I don't think I'm up to walking all the way back there tonight."
"So I'll call a cab. Hell, I'll call my partner if I have to. He won't like having his tired old ass dragged out of bed, but I'll do it."
Mackenzie stared at him for a long time, studying his face as if she could read his intentions. Then she nodded once. "If you don't mind calling a cab, I can go and get my bag."
There was no way in hell he was letting her go to her room alone. "I don't really want to wait here by myself. Would it be all right if I came and waited outside the door?"
"Okay." She tilted her head toward the dark driveway. "It's back this way."
Jackson already had his phone out. He dialed information absently, the bulk of his attention focused on every noise in the dim alley. As confident as he was in his ability to take care of himself and Mackenzie, he didn't relish the thought of getting caught off his guard. But they reached the top of the rickety staircase without incident.
A man stood by the landing, leaning against the wall next to a defaced sign entreating the guests not to smoke. He had a cigarette in his mouth, but pulled it out to leer at Mackenzie when she walked by. He caught sight of Jackson and the expression faded, replaced by surprise and then wary resentment.
Mackenzie appeared to ignore him, but Jackson could see how tight her shoulders were as she walked to the second door and slipped a key out of her pocket.
"Evening," Jackson said with a nod, taking care to follow Mackenzie closely.
The man glared at Jackson and ground out his cigarette on the sign next to his head. His dark gaze slid to Mackenzie, who struggled to work the rusty key into the lock with hands that shook.
Jackson answered the man's glare with a bland look and stepped forward. "Let me." He reached around and took the key from her trembling hand. The lock yielded easily. "I'll be right here."
She was close enough for him to feel her shiver before she slipped away, still moving with that surprising grace though obviously exhausted and terrified.
Jackson spoke into his cell phone, asking to be connected to the first cab-company listing. The sooner he got Mackenzie out of here, the better.
*
Mackenzie was fumbling through her bag for her envelope of cash when she looked up to see Jackson pass several folded bills through the cab's window. The cabbie handed him a slip of paper in return and pulled away, leaving Mackenzie on the sidewalk with the money in her hand.
She stepped forward and held it out. "Here. I was going to pay for the cab."
He shook his head. "Got a receipt. It's a tax-deductible business expense."
"Oh." Even if it was just his way of making her feel better about accepting his charity, she was too tired to argue. She shoved the money back into her duffel bag and swung the strap onto her shoulder. "So where do I need to go?"
He nodded to the Spanish-style brick building that housed the bar. "There's a staircase around back that leads to the apartment. Come on. I'll show you."
He led her around the corner and up the sturdy, wrought-iron stairs. "Wait here," he said on the landing. "I need to see if I can find the key." He fumbled around the doorjamb before kneeling and lifting a potted fern. "Here we go." His broad shoulders blocked her view as he opened the door with a click. He stepped back and gestured her in.
For a moment Mackenzie stood on the landing and watched him, fear and paranoia battling with the desperate need to sleep in a safe place. The bar was located in a quieter part of the Quarter, and most of the surrounding buildings housed residences or businesses that had long since closed for the day; walking into the apartment would put her at Jackson's mercy. It was unlikely anyone would come to her aid if she called for help.
Then again, no one would have cared if she'd called for help at the motel. If Jackson had wanted to hurt her, he'd had ample opportunity. She didn't know if he made her feel safe or if she just didn't have the energy to care anymore, but she nodded and walked into the apartment.
The small entry gave way to a kitchen and living area, everything decorated in bright, welcoming colors. After a string of motels that had started at cheap and nosedived to trashy, the sight brought tears to her eyes.
Jackson stood there, one hand on the edge of the open door. "I hope you're not hungry. There probably isn't any food in the fridge, though you might be able to find something in the pantry." He scratched the back of his head and furrowed his brow. "You could always order in. The phone should be in working order."
"I'm fine," she said quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear the slight tremor in her voice. She moved slowly into the living room, dropping the bag by the side of the couch. She surreptitiously wiped her eyes, turned and sat. "Are you sure Nick isn't going to mind?"
He shook his head and spoke, his voice low. "Nick won't mind. She'll be glad you stayed someplace safe." His grin was encouraging. "Hey, you're not likely to be late for work tomorrow."
His smile was as irresistible as his eyes, and she found herself wishing she had an excuse to get him to stay a while longer.
Don't be stupid, she reminded herself sharply as she pulled her gaze from his. Now is not the time for distractions. She couldn't get involved with him. At best, it would make it hard to move on when she needed to. And if Marcus showed up while they were together…
He was too nice a man to get tangled up in her problems, so she met his eyes again and tried to show gratitude in her expression without letting anything else creep in. "Thank you, Jackson. It—it's really nice that you and Nick are helping me out. I promise I'll find someplace else to stay."
"Sure," he said easily, rocking the door back and forth absently. "I'll call Nick in the morning and tell her you're here, so don't worry about that. Bolt the door behind me. Sleep well, Mackenzie." He disappeared, and the door closed with a gentle click.
Mackenzie let out the breath she'd been holding. Exhaustion dragged at her as she made her way to the door to lock the deadbolt and back to the couch, and she sank back into the plush cushion with a soft sigh. I'll just sit here a few minutes…
In moments, she was curled comfortably on her side, her head resting on a bright blue cushion. For the first time since Marcus had found her over a month ago, she drifted to sleep feeling safe, comfortable, and almost hopeful.