Degrees of Darkness, page 57
“I bet he’s told someone you’re alive.”
Remy shook his head. “Won’t risk it. He’s arrogant enough to believe I won’t make the first move.” His fingers slid through his hair. He’d let it grow out more, along with starting a beard to help mask his appearance. The scruff on his face itched. “I want him on edge.”
Silence hung between them until Vic pulled into a parking garage.
She grabbed a stub and waited for the arm to raise. “I’m still not easy about this. If word gets back to my lieutenant I’m involved . . . ” She drove the car forward.
“So drop me off and go home.”
She found a parking spot, and guided the Charger between a truck and an SUV. Turning off the engine, she twisted in her seat and grabbed his arm before Remy could exit. “I’ve risked my job and my neck more times than I can count trying to learn what happened to my parents. I just don’t know how things will explode once the noise starts on you. Bon Dieu, Remy, you’re supposed to be dead, lost in the flood waters.” Her fingers tightened, pressing the warmth of her hand through his shirtsleeve. “All I’m saying is be careful. What we’re going to do will go unnoticed for a little while. But eventually, someone is going to recognize you.”
Reaching around his body, he grasped her hand and squeezed. “Then let’s work as fast as we can. Allons, mon amie.”
Chapter Eight
Remy, with Vic at his side, entered the flow of foot traffic to Bourbon Street. Music—anything from jazz to pop to country—pulsed and throbbed into the street through open doors. People spilled out of the businesses, their voices raised in pleasure or drunkenness. His mouth watered as they passed a restaurant, the aroma of shrimp mingled with peppers and onions. Mon Dieu, he’d missed this.
Dallas was a great city. But it wasn’t New Orleans.
Vic bumped against him, jostled by a throng of intoxicated LSU kids. Steadying her, he kept his hand on her arm. Her bicep flexed under his touch. The feel of it sent tendrils of pleasure through his nerves and startled him. Snatching his hand away, he hooked his thumbs in his Levi’s pockets.
Vic leaned close to his ear. “One of them tried to cop a feel.”
He grunted and glanced over his shoulder. One of the men eyed them, holding his wrist. Remy chuckled and continued walking. “Creep learned his lesson, mais oui?”
With a tilt of her head, she grinned. “Boys will be boys.”
Mon Dieu, she was sexy. The Vic in a patrol uniform that Remy remembered didn’t mesh with the woman who sauntered next to him now. He had to be a dead man not to notice the vibes coming off her. He couldn’t tell if she was putting on a show for their mission or for him. With the press of people around them, they were squeezed against each other. And at each encounter with Vic’s lean body, Remy’s blood thickened and slowed. She felt so much like Cody, strong and feminine, it made him long to hold the fiery redhead again.
A neon sign nabbed his attention, and he slowed his steps. Dread filled him. Entering a strip joint made him feel dirty. Remy had never got the lure of places like this, even in all his time as a cop, but any of the people associated with Jared would frequent the strip clubs.
“How do you want to play it in here?” Vic grabbed the edge of her jacket and flapped it. “I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb, considering I’ve had run-ins with most of the clientele while I was on patrol.”
“I think I’ll play on their fears of spirits, vampires, and the loupgarou.”
“Only Cajuns believe in werewolves.”
“We all have something avoir peur de.” To be afraid of. Remy palmed his new cell phone. “When I’ve spotted one of his people, I’ll send a text.”
“Once they realize who or what you are, they’ll bolt for the back.”
He typed the text and left it ready to send. “Did you expect them to go anywhere else?”
Before he took a step, she snagged his elbow. “Be careful in there. We don’t have backup to rely on.”
Remy laid his palm over his concealed Ruger. “Got it covered.”
She released him and took her position near the alley entrance. The sun took its last bow and the colors faded into black, letting the constant glow of Bourbon Street take over. Vic melded with the dark.
Satisfied with her camouflage, Remy climbed the few steps and yanked open the door. A darkened corridor greeted him, and as he made his way along it, the smoke, music, and red glow increased. Far as he could see, flesh and grinding bodies were positioned at every angle of the building. Men lined the stage, some leaning on the rails, others lounged on the provided seating. Occasionally a fully clothed woman mingled among the drunk, horny men.
A woman carrying a tray laden with empty bottles and glasses brushed past Remy, gave him a wink and sauntered on to the bar. Swallowing against his tight collar, he trailed her, choosing a stool far from where she leaned against the brass rail giving her orders to one of the bartenders.
Remy palmed a few fifties and kept them cupped in his hand. Either a staged drink or information would come out of it.
The lone female bartender danced around her counterpart and hustled down to Remy. “What can I get ya, tiger?” She tossed a towel over her shoulder.
He grinned. Probably used to the two-bit drunken lines the men gave her, she might not sway to his charms, but she’d be easier to ply than the male—unless he was gay. And, well, Remy hadn’t got the hang of flirting with another guy. “First, let’s start with a Jack on the rocks.”
She cocked her hip and a gleam flashed through her eyes. “Then what?”
One nonchalant shrug and he saw her posture relax. He reeled her in a bit more. “We’ll see.”
She scooped ice in a squat glass and doused it with Jack Daniels. Setting the glass in front of him, she reached for the cash in his hand. When she hesitated, her fingers rubbing the thick layer of bills, Remy gently gripped her hand. She tensed, and his thumb caressed her knuckles in languid circles. A sexy smile in place, she bent over the bar and revealed the peep show under the tight, black shirt.
“You need something more, tiger?”
“Information, cher. The kind that will make this poor bayou boy happy.”
“You’re asking a lot.” The other bartender barked at her. She turned, flipped him off, then faced Remy. “Make it fast, Cajun-boy.”
“Anyone here you know associate with a man named Jared Savard?”
She snorted, scowling. “I know the creep. Comes in here sometimes and roughs up the girls. Manager tried to ban him, and the sexist prick pulled his badge.” Worry replaced her anger. “You’re not a cop?”
Remy shook his head. “Just looking for one of his people to ask them a few questions.”
She seemed to like his emphasis. “Your lucky night, tiger.” She pointed discreetly toward a curved couch facing a single pole with two strippers dancing around it. “Eddy over there is one of Jared’s pals. Looks like he’s all by his lonesome.”
Magnifique. Remy fully expected to spend an hour or so waiting. This was better. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Merci, ma chèrie.” He released his hold on the money and slipped off the stool with the glass in hand.
Dodging bodies and desperation, Remy sent the text to Vic, pocketing his cell as he sidled up next to the sofa. He pretended to stumble and sloshed the Jack over Eddy’s crotch.
Eddy bolted to his feet. “Damn drunk! You ruined my pants!”
The dancers paused and backed away a few steps, wary expressions on their faces.
Remy weaved between Eddy and the women and laid a hand on Eddy’s shoulder. “Sorry ’bout dat, cher.” He glanced drunkenly at his empty glass. “Shhh . . . ”
Eddy grabbed Remy’s collar and propelled him away from the couch. “Get your coon ass outta here.”
Clamping down on the man’s wrist, Remy jerked the hand from his collar and twisted until Eddy’s arm bent behind his back, and the jerk doubled over.
“Hey-hey-hey, easy.”
Scanning the room for any unwanted assistance for Eddy, Remy leaned close to Eddy’s ear. “Listen closely, chien. You and me are going to step outside and have a li’l tête-a-tête.”
“If I refuse?” A flick of his wrist and Eddy squelched a screech. “All right.”
Only a fool would let off pressure on his enemy’s arm, but Remy wanted Eddy to believe he was exactly that. He released the man, and waited for Eddy to straighten and then throw the first punch. Remy blocked the jab to his face with his arm then slammed his elbow into Eddy’s face.
The dancers squealed and hustled off. Remy cuffed Eddy’s collar, doffed a mock salute to the female bartender, and drove Eddy across the strip bar floor, down the steps, and exited onto the street. Propelling him forward, Remy released his hold on Eddy, who tripped and fell in front of a meandering couple. Startled, they hopped back when he sprawled onto his back. Remy sauntered forward, waving off the couple and anyone else who happened to pause with a: “He’s had too much to drink.”
Eddy rolled onto his backside and squinted at Remy. “Who are you?”
Towering over him, Remy reached down, clutched Eddy’s shirt and hauled him onto his feet. He jerked the sleazebag closer and leered into his face. “Your worst nightmare come true.”
People continued past, unfazed by their confrontation. Such a normal occurrence on Bourbon Street.
Eddy’s dilated eyes gradually widened. “Son of a bitch.”
Now that he had Eddy’s attention, Remy dragged him into the alley where Vic stood guard. Once past the gate, Vic followed them in, closing it. She remained at the exit to keep watch.
Eddy stammered protests until Remy slammed him face first into the stone wall and pressed the barrel of the Ruger against the back of the man’s head. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he whined.
“That’s what they say.”
“You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.” Eddy’s body shook.
“Gonna wet yourself, chien?”
Chest rising and falling in rapid succession, he gave a slight shake of his head. “What do you want?”
Remy looked at Vic and put his mouth next to Eddy’s ear. “I want Savard.”
“I haven’t seen him in months.”
Trailing the Ruger barrel down Eddy’s head to the back of his neck, Remy pressed the warmed steel between the folds of flesh. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”
“I swear.”
Vic jerked to attention at something behind her. She peered through the slats then tilted her chin.
He hauled Eddy away from the wall and dragged him further into the alley. Halfway Eddy found his nerve and swung back his elbow. The sharp edge caught Remy in the chin and he stumbled back. Eddy spun and kicked out.
Thrusting his hands down, Remy stopped the kick, throwing Eddy off-balance. He snapped upright, his left fist plowing into Eddy’s gut. Bent over, Remy drove the butt of his Ruger into the man’s face; bones cracked under the force. Eddy sprawled onto the littered pavement.
Remy rubbed his sore jaw. “They never learn.”
“Now what?” Vic hissed. “He’s out cold.”
Tucking the Ruger back in the concealed holster, Remy grabbed the back of Eddy’s shirt. “We take a page from the old order of N’awlins police and beat a confession out of him.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Vic, I warned you. The only way to get through to people like this is by fear.”
“Just how far do you plan to take this?”
Remy lifted Eddy’s dead weight over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. “Until they hear the screams in their heads that I hear every night.”
Chapter Nine
A shrill ringtone jarred Cody awake. Lifting her face from the hotel pillow, she pawed for her phone. Another ring made her flinch. What in the world possessed her to use that nasty sound? Her hand clasped around the phone and she dragged it close in time to answer before it rang again. “Yeah?”
“Cody, it’s Heath.”
Sleep fled from her brain and she rolled into a sitting position. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just wanted to give you a head’s up. I contacted a private detective who worked that serial killer case with me and LeBeau.”
Scrubbing her face, Cody stifled a yawn. “Why?”
“Because the man is a whiz when it comes to finding people and getting into places normal people can’t. He should be arriving soon. I’m on my way up to see you two gals.”
Cody sighed. “I’ll tell Kim.” She disconnected the call and dropped the phone between her sheet-covered legs. Another yawn took hold, and she stretched. Eight hours on the road yesterday, despite the dual cab on the truck they used, was a cramped ride.
The sound of water running in the bathroom dragged Cody from bed. Kim had thrashed worse than she last night. Despite her bravado, Kim leaked fear. Whatever horrible secrets had been kept from her while growing up, New Orleans could reveal them all.
Shuffling across the floor to their suitcases, Cody rummaged inside hers and pulled out a pair of shorts and green novelty T-shirt. Today she’d look the part of a tourist. Hopefully someone in their group would bump into Remy. Or maybe this PI guy Heath called in could work his magic and locate him. The sooner she found Remy, begged his forgiveness, the faster they could finish this and go home.
Cody changed her clothes and pulled her hair into a ponytail using the mirror. A light knock pulled her back from her reflection. She glanced at the bathroom—the water had stopped—then moved to answer the door. Heath’s distorted figure in the peephole brought a tiny smile to her lips.
She unlocked the deadbolt, flipped the slide, and opened the door a crack. “If that’s coffee I see in your hand, it better be good.”
One light-colored eyebrow rose, and his blue eyes twinkled. “I was assured that coffee in New Orleans is always the best.” He offered her a red cup.
Pulling the door inward, she propped it open with a hip and took the cup.
“Is Kim up?”
“Just finished her shower.” Cody tested the coffee. Familiar flavors danced over her tongue. “What did they say this was?”
“A blend they get from some family-owned company around here.”
Sorrow plucked her heart. Remy drank this same coffee, sharing it with her on occasion. She cradled the cup in both hands and blinked.
Heath gripped her shoulder. “We’ll find him.”
Forcing down the thickness in her throat, she curled her lips as if to smile. The bathroom door’s opening helped break the moment.
Kim emerged, barefoot and wearing a white ruffled top with one strap over her right shoulder and black shorts. She was towel-drying her long, nearly black hair and looked up. A light flared to life in her eyes at the sight of Heath. “Coffee?”
He held up her cup. “Only the best.”
Cody ducked between them and retreated into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and she leaned against it. Grinding her teeth together, she sucked in deep breaths through her nose. Heath was right. They’d find him. Yet these little reminders of the true Remy LeBeau would drive her insane. If a sip of coffee set her off, how would she ever survive walking the same streets he’d prowled for years?
Backhanding the tears away, she went about her usual morning bathroom routine. After she doused her face with water and dried off, she quickly brushed her teeth; avoiding her reflection. When she finished, she grabbed her coffee cup and exited the bathroom.
Heath sat on the edge of the dresser in front of the wall-mounted TV. His long, jean-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, and he watched her pad into the main room.
Perched on the corner of her bed, concern masked Kim’s features. “Cody—”
She held up a hand and stopped her friend. “Coddling me won’t get us anywhere.” She scowled at Heath.
Kim popped onto her feet and hurried to the closet to slide on sandals. “I’ll finish up.” She locked herself in the bathroom again.
Holding up a fist, Cody glared at Heath. “Watch it, Marine, or I’ll send you home.”
He grasped her fist and lowered it. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. We’re here. Let us shoulder some of this burden.”
Sniffing, she flopped onto the bed. “Last time someone told me that I got kidnapped and smacked around like a ragdoll. Might I add, nearly killed, too.”
“We’re dealing with a whole different type of bad guy, Cody. These kind of people exploit a person when they’re singled out or alone.”
“Yet, Remy decided to go after them alone.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s going it alone. He had to leave a friend or two behind. Someone who knew he’d faked his death. He’s with them. We just have to figure out who that friend is.”
“The way he talked there was no one left.” Cody let her face pucker like she’d eaten something sour. “Wait a minute, what do you mean he faked his death?”
The door squeaked open, cutting off any answer Heath might have given.
Kim breezed out, a light dusting of makeup on her face, flashy jewelry dangling from her ears, neck, and wrist, and her hair flipped up in a stylish twist. “Ready.”
Heath’s phone shrilled. “There’s Luc.” He pushed off the dresser. “Let’s group and get some food. I’m starving.”
• • •
Seated at the back of the restaurant partitioned from the other patrons in what was normally used for large parties, Cody studied Lucio Santorini as he scribbled notes while Heath talked. Lucio, or Luc as Heath called him, was a nice-looking guy with light brown hair with silver streaks and light green eyes. He appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties. Cody vaguely recalled seeing him after she’d been kidnapped by the Rodeo Sweethearts Killer, but they had never been introduced.
Next to her, Kim remained silent as she picked at her muffin and sipped her coffee. Cody hadn’t eaten much either. Seemed the men were the only ones with appetites.
Luc ceased his furious pen scratches and dropped it on the notepad. Elbows propped on the table, he leaned forward, eyes locked on Cody. “So, Ms. Lewis, fill me in where Anderson can’t.”
Remy shook his head. “Won’t risk it. He’s arrogant enough to believe I won’t make the first move.” His fingers slid through his hair. He’d let it grow out more, along with starting a beard to help mask his appearance. The scruff on his face itched. “I want him on edge.”
Silence hung between them until Vic pulled into a parking garage.
She grabbed a stub and waited for the arm to raise. “I’m still not easy about this. If word gets back to my lieutenant I’m involved . . . ” She drove the car forward.
“So drop me off and go home.”
She found a parking spot, and guided the Charger between a truck and an SUV. Turning off the engine, she twisted in her seat and grabbed his arm before Remy could exit. “I’ve risked my job and my neck more times than I can count trying to learn what happened to my parents. I just don’t know how things will explode once the noise starts on you. Bon Dieu, Remy, you’re supposed to be dead, lost in the flood waters.” Her fingers tightened, pressing the warmth of her hand through his shirtsleeve. “All I’m saying is be careful. What we’re going to do will go unnoticed for a little while. But eventually, someone is going to recognize you.”
Reaching around his body, he grasped her hand and squeezed. “Then let’s work as fast as we can. Allons, mon amie.”
Chapter Eight
Remy, with Vic at his side, entered the flow of foot traffic to Bourbon Street. Music—anything from jazz to pop to country—pulsed and throbbed into the street through open doors. People spilled out of the businesses, their voices raised in pleasure or drunkenness. His mouth watered as they passed a restaurant, the aroma of shrimp mingled with peppers and onions. Mon Dieu, he’d missed this.
Dallas was a great city. But it wasn’t New Orleans.
Vic bumped against him, jostled by a throng of intoxicated LSU kids. Steadying her, he kept his hand on her arm. Her bicep flexed under his touch. The feel of it sent tendrils of pleasure through his nerves and startled him. Snatching his hand away, he hooked his thumbs in his Levi’s pockets.
Vic leaned close to his ear. “One of them tried to cop a feel.”
He grunted and glanced over his shoulder. One of the men eyed them, holding his wrist. Remy chuckled and continued walking. “Creep learned his lesson, mais oui?”
With a tilt of her head, she grinned. “Boys will be boys.”
Mon Dieu, she was sexy. The Vic in a patrol uniform that Remy remembered didn’t mesh with the woman who sauntered next to him now. He had to be a dead man not to notice the vibes coming off her. He couldn’t tell if she was putting on a show for their mission or for him. With the press of people around them, they were squeezed against each other. And at each encounter with Vic’s lean body, Remy’s blood thickened and slowed. She felt so much like Cody, strong and feminine, it made him long to hold the fiery redhead again.
A neon sign nabbed his attention, and he slowed his steps. Dread filled him. Entering a strip joint made him feel dirty. Remy had never got the lure of places like this, even in all his time as a cop, but any of the people associated with Jared would frequent the strip clubs.
“How do you want to play it in here?” Vic grabbed the edge of her jacket and flapped it. “I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb, considering I’ve had run-ins with most of the clientele while I was on patrol.”
“I think I’ll play on their fears of spirits, vampires, and the loupgarou.”
“Only Cajuns believe in werewolves.”
“We all have something avoir peur de.” To be afraid of. Remy palmed his new cell phone. “When I’ve spotted one of his people, I’ll send a text.”
“Once they realize who or what you are, they’ll bolt for the back.”
He typed the text and left it ready to send. “Did you expect them to go anywhere else?”
Before he took a step, she snagged his elbow. “Be careful in there. We don’t have backup to rely on.”
Remy laid his palm over his concealed Ruger. “Got it covered.”
She released him and took her position near the alley entrance. The sun took its last bow and the colors faded into black, letting the constant glow of Bourbon Street take over. Vic melded with the dark.
Satisfied with her camouflage, Remy climbed the few steps and yanked open the door. A darkened corridor greeted him, and as he made his way along it, the smoke, music, and red glow increased. Far as he could see, flesh and grinding bodies were positioned at every angle of the building. Men lined the stage, some leaning on the rails, others lounged on the provided seating. Occasionally a fully clothed woman mingled among the drunk, horny men.
A woman carrying a tray laden with empty bottles and glasses brushed past Remy, gave him a wink and sauntered on to the bar. Swallowing against his tight collar, he trailed her, choosing a stool far from where she leaned against the brass rail giving her orders to one of the bartenders.
Remy palmed a few fifties and kept them cupped in his hand. Either a staged drink or information would come out of it.
The lone female bartender danced around her counterpart and hustled down to Remy. “What can I get ya, tiger?” She tossed a towel over her shoulder.
He grinned. Probably used to the two-bit drunken lines the men gave her, she might not sway to his charms, but she’d be easier to ply than the male—unless he was gay. And, well, Remy hadn’t got the hang of flirting with another guy. “First, let’s start with a Jack on the rocks.”
She cocked her hip and a gleam flashed through her eyes. “Then what?”
One nonchalant shrug and he saw her posture relax. He reeled her in a bit more. “We’ll see.”
She scooped ice in a squat glass and doused it with Jack Daniels. Setting the glass in front of him, she reached for the cash in his hand. When she hesitated, her fingers rubbing the thick layer of bills, Remy gently gripped her hand. She tensed, and his thumb caressed her knuckles in languid circles. A sexy smile in place, she bent over the bar and revealed the peep show under the tight, black shirt.
“You need something more, tiger?”
“Information, cher. The kind that will make this poor bayou boy happy.”
“You’re asking a lot.” The other bartender barked at her. She turned, flipped him off, then faced Remy. “Make it fast, Cajun-boy.”
“Anyone here you know associate with a man named Jared Savard?”
She snorted, scowling. “I know the creep. Comes in here sometimes and roughs up the girls. Manager tried to ban him, and the sexist prick pulled his badge.” Worry replaced her anger. “You’re not a cop?”
Remy shook his head. “Just looking for one of his people to ask them a few questions.”
She seemed to like his emphasis. “Your lucky night, tiger.” She pointed discreetly toward a curved couch facing a single pole with two strippers dancing around it. “Eddy over there is one of Jared’s pals. Looks like he’s all by his lonesome.”
Magnifique. Remy fully expected to spend an hour or so waiting. This was better. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Merci, ma chèrie.” He released his hold on the money and slipped off the stool with the glass in hand.
Dodging bodies and desperation, Remy sent the text to Vic, pocketing his cell as he sidled up next to the sofa. He pretended to stumble and sloshed the Jack over Eddy’s crotch.
Eddy bolted to his feet. “Damn drunk! You ruined my pants!”
The dancers paused and backed away a few steps, wary expressions on their faces.
Remy weaved between Eddy and the women and laid a hand on Eddy’s shoulder. “Sorry ’bout dat, cher.” He glanced drunkenly at his empty glass. “Shhh . . . ”
Eddy grabbed Remy’s collar and propelled him away from the couch. “Get your coon ass outta here.”
Clamping down on the man’s wrist, Remy jerked the hand from his collar and twisted until Eddy’s arm bent behind his back, and the jerk doubled over.
“Hey-hey-hey, easy.”
Scanning the room for any unwanted assistance for Eddy, Remy leaned close to Eddy’s ear. “Listen closely, chien. You and me are going to step outside and have a li’l tête-a-tête.”
“If I refuse?” A flick of his wrist and Eddy squelched a screech. “All right.”
Only a fool would let off pressure on his enemy’s arm, but Remy wanted Eddy to believe he was exactly that. He released the man, and waited for Eddy to straighten and then throw the first punch. Remy blocked the jab to his face with his arm then slammed his elbow into Eddy’s face.
The dancers squealed and hustled off. Remy cuffed Eddy’s collar, doffed a mock salute to the female bartender, and drove Eddy across the strip bar floor, down the steps, and exited onto the street. Propelling him forward, Remy released his hold on Eddy, who tripped and fell in front of a meandering couple. Startled, they hopped back when he sprawled onto his back. Remy sauntered forward, waving off the couple and anyone else who happened to pause with a: “He’s had too much to drink.”
Eddy rolled onto his backside and squinted at Remy. “Who are you?”
Towering over him, Remy reached down, clutched Eddy’s shirt and hauled him onto his feet. He jerked the sleazebag closer and leered into his face. “Your worst nightmare come true.”
People continued past, unfazed by their confrontation. Such a normal occurrence on Bourbon Street.
Eddy’s dilated eyes gradually widened. “Son of a bitch.”
Now that he had Eddy’s attention, Remy dragged him into the alley where Vic stood guard. Once past the gate, Vic followed them in, closing it. She remained at the exit to keep watch.
Eddy stammered protests until Remy slammed him face first into the stone wall and pressed the barrel of the Ruger against the back of the man’s head. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he whined.
“That’s what they say.”
“You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.” Eddy’s body shook.
“Gonna wet yourself, chien?”
Chest rising and falling in rapid succession, he gave a slight shake of his head. “What do you want?”
Remy looked at Vic and put his mouth next to Eddy’s ear. “I want Savard.”
“I haven’t seen him in months.”
Trailing the Ruger barrel down Eddy’s head to the back of his neck, Remy pressed the warmed steel between the folds of flesh. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”
“I swear.”
Vic jerked to attention at something behind her. She peered through the slats then tilted her chin.
He hauled Eddy away from the wall and dragged him further into the alley. Halfway Eddy found his nerve and swung back his elbow. The sharp edge caught Remy in the chin and he stumbled back. Eddy spun and kicked out.
Thrusting his hands down, Remy stopped the kick, throwing Eddy off-balance. He snapped upright, his left fist plowing into Eddy’s gut. Bent over, Remy drove the butt of his Ruger into the man’s face; bones cracked under the force. Eddy sprawled onto the littered pavement.
Remy rubbed his sore jaw. “They never learn.”
“Now what?” Vic hissed. “He’s out cold.”
Tucking the Ruger back in the concealed holster, Remy grabbed the back of Eddy’s shirt. “We take a page from the old order of N’awlins police and beat a confession out of him.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Vic, I warned you. The only way to get through to people like this is by fear.”
“Just how far do you plan to take this?”
Remy lifted Eddy’s dead weight over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. “Until they hear the screams in their heads that I hear every night.”
Chapter Nine
A shrill ringtone jarred Cody awake. Lifting her face from the hotel pillow, she pawed for her phone. Another ring made her flinch. What in the world possessed her to use that nasty sound? Her hand clasped around the phone and she dragged it close in time to answer before it rang again. “Yeah?”
“Cody, it’s Heath.”
Sleep fled from her brain and she rolled into a sitting position. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just wanted to give you a head’s up. I contacted a private detective who worked that serial killer case with me and LeBeau.”
Scrubbing her face, Cody stifled a yawn. “Why?”
“Because the man is a whiz when it comes to finding people and getting into places normal people can’t. He should be arriving soon. I’m on my way up to see you two gals.”
Cody sighed. “I’ll tell Kim.” She disconnected the call and dropped the phone between her sheet-covered legs. Another yawn took hold, and she stretched. Eight hours on the road yesterday, despite the dual cab on the truck they used, was a cramped ride.
The sound of water running in the bathroom dragged Cody from bed. Kim had thrashed worse than she last night. Despite her bravado, Kim leaked fear. Whatever horrible secrets had been kept from her while growing up, New Orleans could reveal them all.
Shuffling across the floor to their suitcases, Cody rummaged inside hers and pulled out a pair of shorts and green novelty T-shirt. Today she’d look the part of a tourist. Hopefully someone in their group would bump into Remy. Or maybe this PI guy Heath called in could work his magic and locate him. The sooner she found Remy, begged his forgiveness, the faster they could finish this and go home.
Cody changed her clothes and pulled her hair into a ponytail using the mirror. A light knock pulled her back from her reflection. She glanced at the bathroom—the water had stopped—then moved to answer the door. Heath’s distorted figure in the peephole brought a tiny smile to her lips.
She unlocked the deadbolt, flipped the slide, and opened the door a crack. “If that’s coffee I see in your hand, it better be good.”
One light-colored eyebrow rose, and his blue eyes twinkled. “I was assured that coffee in New Orleans is always the best.” He offered her a red cup.
Pulling the door inward, she propped it open with a hip and took the cup.
“Is Kim up?”
“Just finished her shower.” Cody tested the coffee. Familiar flavors danced over her tongue. “What did they say this was?”
“A blend they get from some family-owned company around here.”
Sorrow plucked her heart. Remy drank this same coffee, sharing it with her on occasion. She cradled the cup in both hands and blinked.
Heath gripped her shoulder. “We’ll find him.”
Forcing down the thickness in her throat, she curled her lips as if to smile. The bathroom door’s opening helped break the moment.
Kim emerged, barefoot and wearing a white ruffled top with one strap over her right shoulder and black shorts. She was towel-drying her long, nearly black hair and looked up. A light flared to life in her eyes at the sight of Heath. “Coffee?”
He held up her cup. “Only the best.”
Cody ducked between them and retreated into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and she leaned against it. Grinding her teeth together, she sucked in deep breaths through her nose. Heath was right. They’d find him. Yet these little reminders of the true Remy LeBeau would drive her insane. If a sip of coffee set her off, how would she ever survive walking the same streets he’d prowled for years?
Backhanding the tears away, she went about her usual morning bathroom routine. After she doused her face with water and dried off, she quickly brushed her teeth; avoiding her reflection. When she finished, she grabbed her coffee cup and exited the bathroom.
Heath sat on the edge of the dresser in front of the wall-mounted TV. His long, jean-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, and he watched her pad into the main room.
Perched on the corner of her bed, concern masked Kim’s features. “Cody—”
She held up a hand and stopped her friend. “Coddling me won’t get us anywhere.” She scowled at Heath.
Kim popped onto her feet and hurried to the closet to slide on sandals. “I’ll finish up.” She locked herself in the bathroom again.
Holding up a fist, Cody glared at Heath. “Watch it, Marine, or I’ll send you home.”
He grasped her fist and lowered it. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. We’re here. Let us shoulder some of this burden.”
Sniffing, she flopped onto the bed. “Last time someone told me that I got kidnapped and smacked around like a ragdoll. Might I add, nearly killed, too.”
“We’re dealing with a whole different type of bad guy, Cody. These kind of people exploit a person when they’re singled out or alone.”
“Yet, Remy decided to go after them alone.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s going it alone. He had to leave a friend or two behind. Someone who knew he’d faked his death. He’s with them. We just have to figure out who that friend is.”
“The way he talked there was no one left.” Cody let her face pucker like she’d eaten something sour. “Wait a minute, what do you mean he faked his death?”
The door squeaked open, cutting off any answer Heath might have given.
Kim breezed out, a light dusting of makeup on her face, flashy jewelry dangling from her ears, neck, and wrist, and her hair flipped up in a stylish twist. “Ready.”
Heath’s phone shrilled. “There’s Luc.” He pushed off the dresser. “Let’s group and get some food. I’m starving.”
• • •
Seated at the back of the restaurant partitioned from the other patrons in what was normally used for large parties, Cody studied Lucio Santorini as he scribbled notes while Heath talked. Lucio, or Luc as Heath called him, was a nice-looking guy with light brown hair with silver streaks and light green eyes. He appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties. Cody vaguely recalled seeing him after she’d been kidnapped by the Rodeo Sweethearts Killer, but they had never been introduced.
Next to her, Kim remained silent as she picked at her muffin and sipped her coffee. Cody hadn’t eaten much either. Seemed the men were the only ones with appetites.
Luc ceased his furious pen scratches and dropped it on the notepad. Elbows propped on the table, he leaned forward, eyes locked on Cody. “So, Ms. Lewis, fill me in where Anderson can’t.”
