Degrees of Darkness, page 44
Remy smacked the letter on the counter and braced his hands against the edge. So why did the money stop coming? What had changed that?
His head snapped back. The reunion. Had Paul gone?
Pushing away from the counter, Remy raced upstairs to his computer. Opening the web browser, he typed in the reunion’s date and location and the year McBride and Paul graduated.
Rewarded with hundreds of matches, Remy growled in frustration. He reworded the search adding Paul’s and McBride’s names. This time only two pages of matches popped up and the fourth link was an image cache.
Clicking on the link, pictures of Paul and McBride at the reunion appeared. One linked him to a social-media website. He opened it and scrolled through about one hundred photos.
One caught his attention. It didn’t center on the two men, but they were in the background. Remy managed to magnify the photo to see their faces clearly. McBride seemed a bit intoxicated, maybe agitated. But Paul’s expression gripped Remy.
Anger.
Remy had seen it before, geared toward him. Right after he asked Marie to marry him, and they’d returned to her home. Furious for going behind his back, Paul put his fist into Remy’s face. Marie had saved him from a beating that day.
McBride must have pissed off Paul. And whatever the reason, Paul had stopped the flow of money.
Was it a motive to have McBride killed?
• • •
The box had been sent to the sadistic prick via personal delivery. The cost of that shipment was going to piss off Jared, but what did she care.
Back to the task at hand.
Candace scanned the underground parking garage. She’d followed LeBeau’s partner to this semi-used structure after he’d left the hospital. His black truck sat a few hundred yards off, but he hadn’t exited it yet. Candace had parked her non-descript, gray sedan behind a cement support and now waited.
The tracking GPS on LeBeau’s vehicles blinked in their stationary position at his condo. If the Cajun actually obeyed his lieutenant, he wouldn’t leave his home. Which gave her the perfect opportunity to trail his partner.
Detective Heath Anderson’s dossier missed six years of his life.
A muscle tick had started in the corner of her eye after she’d learned this. Goodie-goodies like Anderson didn’t have blank pasts without reason. The further Candace dug, the less she found. A red flag went up. This meant more trouble for her if he had a background in the government somewhere.
She lifted the binoculars and zeroed in on the truck and its occupant. The listening device she’d planted relayed nothing but damn country music. The man didn’t even sing along.
Was he being cautious? Her gut soured. Had he figured out who she was? That she was following him?
Candace scowled. If that dickhead in Britain who hired her to kill a Parliament official hadn’t blabbed no one would be wiser. She released a steady stream of air. Her own fault for not doing a better job of researching a client.
Anderson shifted in his seat, seeming to reach for something. She adjusted the distance on the binoculars. Was he reading or answering a text? He probably had it on silent.
Whatever happened to fumbling cops?
His head snapped up. Candace panned left in the direction he looked. A dark red SUV pulled into the lot and parked next to Anderson’s truck. The driver’s side door swung open and a man in uniform exited.
Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.
Anderson left his truck and shook the Marine’s hand, then led the other man a ways off.
Candace lowered the binoculars and slammed her palm into the leather steering wheel. If she wanted to hear, she’d have to get out and follow him on foot. Not good.
Marine, huh? She grabbed her smartphone and activated the web search. Typing in Anderson’s name, Marines, and Iraq. His dossier might be blank during those years, but she might luck out with a tidbit. A link to the Marine Times brought back a hit on his name.
Tapping on it, it opened to an article. She skimmed it until she found his name. Her hand thumped into her lap and she stared out the windshield. He’d been in Fallujah. In what capacity, it didn’t say. But if memory served her right, Fallujah had been a major battleground in the early years of the Iraq War for combat Marines.
And snipers.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The debate warring in Remy was worse than any presidential debate. Discovering Paul’s connection to McBride hadn’t given Remy any reprieve from confusion. It made matters worse.
Because in order to confirm Paul had paid McBride to help cover up Remy’s past and protect his existence, Remy must break his former father-in-law’s order to never contact him. By doing so, he invoked the man’s wrath.
And possibly alerting the person who had sent Jared after Remy that he was still alive, if Paul was being monitored. Which would lead Remy’s enemies right to his doorstep. Or Cody’s.
Massaging his temples, he stared at his cell phone. No matter the danger, he had to do this. Whatever answers he might get put him one step closer to protecting Cody from the worst. He picked up the phone and dialed the number, hoping it hadn’t changed. Sequence completed, his thumb hovered over the send key. The time for running ended now. He punched the green button and lifted the cell phone to his ear. Tremors relayed from his fingers through his hands and into his arms. The other line rang once. Still active.
His upper lip felt like a humid day on the bayou. Second ring. He curled his lip between his teeth and braced his elbows on the table. Please let him answer. Not someone else.
Third ring. Remy’s gut cramped. What the hell was he doing? Had he lost his mind? Once Paul answered the phone, there would be no turning back. For the first time in almost six years, he’d defy Paul Dumond.
The fourth ring cut off at the midpoint. “District Attorney Dumond, how can I help you?”
Swallowing, he took a deep breath, then entered the unknown. “Paul, it’s Remy.”
Seconds ticked past in silence. One, two, three, four … Paul swore in French and the sound of a door slamming shut reverberated over the connection. “Why are you calling me? Are you insane?”
“I needed answers. And it seems you’re the one to give them.”
“Give them … What are you talking about? You realize you’ve just ruined years of work? How am I supposed to clean this up? It’s not like last time, LeBeau. I can’t sweep this indiscretion under the rug.”
Remy rocketed from his chair. It tipped and clattered to the floor. “I never asked you to clean up after me.” He paced the hall. “And this doesn’t compare to the last time.”
Heavy breathing on the other end met his words. Paul was trying to control his temper. Best way to approach him was to dial it back. Once someone triggered the tripwire, Paul become like the eye of the hurricane before all hell broke loose.
Pausing next to the stair railing, Remy cupped the back of his neck. “I know my life is at stake and anyone associated with me. But I have a suspicion you have no idea what’s happened here.”
Paul cleared his throat, and Remy could see him adjusting his tie and shifting his shoulders, maneuvers he always used in order to calmly face a perceived problem. “Tell me, LeBeau, what is it that’s happened to compel you to break my direct order?”
“Does the name Roger McBride mean anything to you?”
Silence.
Had he ended the call? No, he could hear Paul’s breathing. He was absorbing the information, trying to sort through his thoughts before answering.
Finally, he spoke. “Yes. I know Roger McBride. We attended Tulane together. In fact, I saw him a few months ago at a reunion.” The man never skirted too far from the truth. “Why do you ask about him?”
“He’s dead. Possibly by a hired shooter.” Remy braced for the reaction.
A brief moment of quiet, then Paul launched into a French tirade. Finally wearing himself out, Paul’s huffs echoed over the connection. “Have you found the killer?”
“No. But we think we know who it is.”
“Do you? And tell me, Remy, if this is a hired shooter, how do you plan to extract the information about the contractor?”
“I’ll cover that when I get there.”
Paul gave a derisive laugh. “You?”
Remy clamped his teeth. The man still couldn’t accept him as a capable human being. He’d never been good enough for Marie, her Creole ancestry, and the prestige that came with being the DA’s darling. More to the point, in Paul’s mind, it would always be Remy’s fault Marie was dead.
“You’re what, a low man on the totem — ”
“I’m a detective sergeant. With an eighty-percent closure rate on my cases. I’ve lead several task forces and been rewarded two commendations from the mayor. Would you care for me to continue, Paul?”
“So, you’ve grown a pair.”
The admission was more than he’d expected. Remy about-faced and resumed his pacing. “The last time you saw McBride, what did you two talk about?”
“This and that, old times and what we were up to now. What does it matter?”
“Plenty. Considering for the last five-and-a-half years he’s been receiving a substantial amount of money, which suddenly dried up about the time you two last met.”
“Been a nosy swamp rat, haven’t we?” The derogative didn’t cut as deeply as it once had. “And how is it you think this has anything to do with Roger’s death?”
Remy hesitated mid-step and stared out the window. “Why don’t you tell me, Paul.”
“Yes, I did pay him. Hard though it might be to believe, I wanted to respect Marie’s wishes. And that meant protecting you. Even if you’re the reason she’s dead.”
“Then why stop the payments?”
“Roger didn’t want them anymore.”
The answer came too easy. Remy swallowed the curse. If he could only see Paul’s face, read his body language. The reason didn’t match with the expressions Remy had seen in the reunion photo. But he couldn’t tip his hand.
“Who would want him dead?”
“How am I supposed to know? And don’t believe for one minute I had anything to do with it. Why would I have him killed when he was protecting my assets?”
He’d become a piece of property to the man. Remy hung his head.
“If you’re bent on finding the person responsible for the contract, I’d suggest you let me handle it.”
Remy jerked to attention. “You’re out of your jurisdiction. This isn’t a matter for New Orleans.”
“But this is a personal matter. And I take care of my own.”
Like he’d taken care of Remy. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Whether you accept it or not, Roger’s death could reveal your whereabouts. And if your enemies here in New Orleans have discovered where you are, then I’m obligated to intervene.” The clap of something closing reverberated over the line. “I did not put my full efforts into making you disappear to have it blow up in my face.”
Non! He wouldn’t let the man browbeat him into submission. Not again. “Then consider this blown up in your face.”
“What!”
“If McBride asked you to stop the payments, then he must have had a damn good reason. Now, I’m telling you, it’s over. I don’t need you to protect me. For years I’ve lived in fear of what might happen to me. Too many years of letting Marie’s death eat away at me. I’m done.”
Paul snarled. “I would expect more from my son-in-law.”
“I’m not your son-in-law anymore. That relationship was severed when Marie died.”
“Very well.” The cool tone chipped at Remy’s backbone. The hurricane’s eye had arrived. “Consider this transaction over. I won’t be able to stop those who are after you.”
Remy drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “It’s apparent you weren’t able to stop them in the first place.” The wicked jab struck him, and he smiled. “And by the way. The name of the assassin is Candace. I’m sure if you’re willing, you’ll be able to find a correlation between McBride’s death and one that happened there months before Marie’s death.” Remy punched the end button and let the phone slide from his shaking hand.
Despite his bravado with Paul, he knew he’d signed his death certificate. But this time he wouldn’t hide under his ex-father-in-law’s wing. He’d meet his enemies head on. And make damn sure Cody didn’t get caught in the crossfire.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It took most of the day to cool her temper. And here she sat in her truck, in the dark, staring at Remy’s condo from the parking lot. Drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, Cody expelled a pent-up breath. Her nerves tap-danced on her stomach.
She was out of her mind. Screw it. Her hand settled on the key, muscles tensed to turn it.
A shadow shifted in the lighted kitchen window. Remy appeared, looking down.
Her throat tightened while she watched him. When he moved away, her hand fell from the key. Cowards ran. Exhaling, she drove her fingers through her hair. She wasn’t a coward. She could do this.
If only she had a taste of liquid courage. Cody sniffed. As if that would really help. Swallowing the spit pooling in her mouth, she grasped the handle and tugged on it. The door opened on creaky hinges.
She slid from the cab, her boots slapped against the pavement. Apprehension zipped along her nerves. Why was she so scared to face him?
Five months. Five, quiet, safe months with him. No one trying to use her against him. No sick person wanting to kill her.
The attack on Kim had broken the false sense of security. Cody had lost control over the flashbacks. She looked at the condo. If she walked in there, stood next to him, listened to him talk would she crack? Her chest rose rapidly.
A light breeze feathered her skin, raising bumps. Hugging her body, she shivered.
Tensing her shoulders, she closed the truck door, exhaled, and marched across the lot, up the steps, and punched the doorbell. The toe of her boot rapped against the step. Her fingers curled and unfurled.
A lock clicked, and the door eased open. Face darkened with day-old scruff, his eyes shadowed, Remy’s six-foot-two frame filled the doorway. His black T-shirt and jeans hung on him like sacks.
“Thought you wanted to stay away from me.”
Cody studied the tips of her boots, then tilted her chin up. She shrugged one shoulder. “I say stupid things in the heat of the moment.” Shoving her slick hands into the back pockets of her Wranglers, she swayed. “Can I come in?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, then he stepped aside and pulled the door open wider.
She bolted inside before he changed his mind. Skirting past the kitchen, where a spicy scent wafted from the stove, she headed into the living room. Folders sat scattered on the table, some open to reveal typed papers. What was all of that?
“What do you want, Cody?”
She faced him, crossing her arms to bar her heart.
Remy stood next to the wall that separated the room from the kitchen. He mimicked her stance, the veins and muscles in his arms flexing and rippling.
Here we go.
Cody shuffled backward, keeping as much distance as possible. “Heath told me to talk with you. He wasn’t specific, just said to do it.”
His features hardened and the twitch in his jaw went crazy.
She pushed forward. “What is it? Because it’s plain as the spines on a cactus you know exactly what he wanted us to talk about.”
Remy muttered something in French then turned his back to her. His reaction socked her in the torso. If he cared for her at all, wouldn’t he tell her?
He faced her again. “Why in the hell didn’t he just tell you for all the good it did to warn him against saying anything?”
A frown dragged on her mouth. “Told me what?”
He closed his eyes and hung his head. “It’s complicated.”
“More complicated than the crap going on right now? Not gonna fly. And I’m not leaving until I get to the truth.”
A shrill beep rent the air. Jolting, she tripped sideways. The beep sounded again.
Remy’s hands went up. “Whoa, chere. It’s just the timer.”
Staggering back, she grasped the top of a chair to steady herself. When Remy reached for her, she waved him off. “Finish whatever you have in there.”
He hesitated, the beeper getting insistent, then hurried into the kitchen.
Her knees wobbling like she’d taken a buck-out ride on a fresh colt, Cody gripped the chair back with both hands. She should have waited another day. Metal clattered against metal, wreaking havoc on her shot nerves. The lack of sleep, the long day between the hospital and the ranch, and the sudden surge of alcohol cravings pummeled her.
“Cody.” His whisper caressed her raw senses. She’d barely registered he’d returned.
Releasing her death hold on the chair, she straightened and looked at him. And wished she hadn’t. The compassionate concern in his eyes made her want to curl up and bawl.
Remy took a step closer. She tensed. He must have noticed the reaction and didn’t take another.
“Cody, you’re stressed. This ain’t good, chere.”
A twitching in her legs developed into a quake. To hell with putting the focus on her. “What does Heath know that I don’t?”
The compassion melted into scowl. “Something he shouldn’t. Something I didn’t think you were ready to know.”
“Because it’ll get me killed?” The sarcastic remark left a bitter taste in her mouth. No taking it back now.
