Revenge (3 page)

“Shit.” She stalked forward, grabbed his arm once again and hauled him into the kitchen. “Of all the pig-headed, stupid, moronic things you could do, you came back here.” She whipped him around and shoved him onto a kitchen chair. “You got a death wish or something, Cajun?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

Jerking out a chair, she spun it and straddled the backrest. Her stare bore into him, but Remy didn't waver. Vic Slater was a no-nonsense NOPD officer, more tomboy than woman, and dead set on finding the person or persons responsible for the disappearance and likely murder of her parents almost thirty years ago.

“Who else knows you're here?”

“Just you.”

“You're supposed to pretend to be dead. What the hell made you think it was a good idea to return?”

Remy shrugged. “Being dead makes it easy. No one suspects anything.”

Vic blew air past her lips and rocked back. “If Jared finds out you didn't die, it'll be for real this time.”

Slouching in the chair, Remy laid an ankle on the top of his knee and made himself comfortable. “He won't. Not until I'm ready for him to find out.”

Vic shook her head. “They always said Cajuns were crazy sons-of-bitches; you're proof it's true.” She crossed her arms on the top of the chair's back and settled her chin on them. “I can't believe you risked coming back. Where've you been the last six years?”

“Dallas. Working for the DPD as a detective.”

“Shouldn't you be there, working?”

“I got into a little bit of trouble.”

“You? In trouble? Why does that sound familiar?” Vic asked. “What did you stick your nose into this time?”

“A case I worked opened up old wounds and got me suspended and eventually put on mandatory vacation.”

She straightened. “This is one of your legit reasons for coming back? A case got you in trouble. Damn, feels like déjà vu.”

“Quit being a smart ass. Do you remember Assistant District Attorney Simon Humbert?”

“How could I forget? His murder is what got you caught up in my parents' cold case which led to your faked death and exile to Dallas.”

“His killer was a high-priced assassin. That same assassin took out a man in Dallas; a man named Roger McBride. McBride was connected to New Orleans—and to me.” Remy enjoyed the realization that flooded Vic's face. “Now I'm back to finish what they started.”

“You've lost your mind. Did you forget what happened to Marie?”

He slammed his hand on the tabletop and jerked forward. “Did you forget what Jared did to me?
Mon Dieu
, Vic, you found me bleeding out on my living room floor, nearly dead.”

“This is how you repay me? By coming back here to let him finish killing you?”

“He already tried.” Remy tipped his chin down and glared at her. “He sent that assassin after me. But I was the last contract.”

“You killed a professional hitman?”

“Yes, but not by choice. A powerful man here in New Orleans put out the hit on Simon Humbert.”

“How do you know this?”

Remy waved her off and stood. “I'll tell you later. Right now, I need some food.”

Vic bolted from her chair and caught his elbow as he moved to her fridge. She eyed him. “You got a name for this powerful man?”

Oh, he had a name all right. The assassin made damn sure he got it before dying in Remy's presence. But it left him with more questions than answers.

“Does the name Alphonse mean anything to you?”

• • •

Mounting the beautiful chocolate-brown mare, Cody settled into the saddle and gathered the reins in her hands. Her self-imposed incarceration left her muscles protesting at having to stretch to ride again. She drew in a ragged breath. Her mare, S'mores Chocolate Graham, bent her head around to look up at her. Those soft brown eyes melted her hardened heart.

She stroked the mare's neck. “I know I haven't been working you.” She flipped the mane to the other side and smoothed it down. “Probably should get back to it, huh?”

The mare snorted and swung her head forward. Yeah, Cody was on her hit list. A smile crept onto her mouth. Her first smile in days.

Damn him.

Cody tapped her heels into S'mores's sides, and the mare moved forward. They exited the stable and entered the waning evening light. Riding by the skeletal frame of her new home, she nodded to the lingering construction crew cleaning up.

She clicked to S'mores, who moved into a lengthened trot. They bypassed the indoor arena and headed for one of the cattle trails that led to the farthest grazing pastures on the ranch. Cody needed the chance to clear her head.

Oh, she could use a drink right about now.

But Bourbon had dulled her senses, torn her to pieces, and left her with a longstanding battle with alcoholism. It had been her crutch when life got bad. Her breakup with Remy wouldn't drive her back in to it. The post-traumatic stress after the Rodeo Sweethearts Killer kidnapped her had been bad enough.

Cody steered S'mores to one of the open hay fields. The fresh cut hay emitted an earthy alfalfa aroma. She tugged the mare to a halt on the edge of the field. Hanging above the horizon, the sun's large orange orb shimmered as heat waves lifted from the earth. Warmth kissed her skin, and Cody closed her eyes to absorb the sensations.

Why did Remy do it? Why the hell didn't he trust her enough to share his problems? They could've done it together. Instead he made her mad enough to drop kick him out of her life, and he ran.

Fire burned in her chest. Remy's leaving left her feeling emptier than when her momma had died. Yet Cody still questioned the only being who was left to listen to her. Had she finally lost her last grasp on her faith? A tear slipped between her eyelids. She swiped the moisture from her cheek and bowed her head.

S'mores shifted and nickered low. Cody snapped her eyes open and glanced around. Nobody approached. Pressing her hand to the mare's neck, she felt the quivering muscles. S'mores wanted to run.

Before them stood an open field with no barriers or dangers. Nothing but the ground, the wind, and freedom. Cody settled deep into the saddle and balanced her weight over the mare's shoulders. Sensing the shift in weight, S'mores jerked her head up and her ears swiveled back. Her mane shivered as a ripple moved up from her withers to the top of her neck.

Cody curled her fingers around the braided reins and pushed them forward to give the mare her head. “Okay, baby, let 'er rip.”

From a stand still, the mare burst into a full run at the brush of Cody's heels. S'mores's long stride ate up the ground; the hay stubble crackled under her pounding hooves. Cody's thundering heart and the whistling wind blended in a soothing cadence. Her breathing matched S'mores's.

She leaned forward, her toes braced against the stirrups. Her weight now fully over S'mores's withers was the signal for the mare to crank it up a notch. The wind tore at Cody's eyes and moisture—whether from the wind or her grief—leaked down her cheeks. S'mores flew across the field to the far end where she curved along the edge and continued eastward. Away from Cody's troubles and the people concerned about her.

Up here on the back of a powerful, beautiful horse, she was free. Free of the damage Remy had caused, the PTSD, the alcoholism, and death.

“Ha!”

The mare found another gear, and dirt clods flew up and peppered Cody's backside. She grinned and tried to press her body as close to the mare's as her saddle allowed. The gradual rise in the ground brought them to the top of a crest. S'mores slowed her gait, then crow-hopped to a dancing halt at the top of the hill. Cody sat up and scanned the field. A line of trees to their left snagged her attention. She swung S'mores's head in that direction.

“Let's go.”

S'mores raced down the hill and barreled across the field to the trees. The sun was now halfway set, the darkening sky above turning a brilliant shade of indigo. When they were about a hundred yards from the trees, Cody pulled up on the reins. S'mores slowed, her breathing heavy but not labored. Once they entered the trees, a cool burst of damp air buffeted her face. Down the creek embankment, Cody let S'mores wade into the water and splash.

In the middle of the creek, S'mores stopped and lowered her head to drink. Cody released the reins as she stared up at the stars that peeked through the leaves. From the depths of her soul a scream clawed its way free and burst from her lips. S'mores's head jerked up, and she nickered. Laying a hand on the mare's neck, Cody eased the tension by rubbing under her mane. Content once more, S'mores played with the surface of the water.

Sighing, Cody stared back at the sky. The scream felt good. Like her old self—the Cody before an abusive relationship, before her momma's death, and Cody's many close brushes with death. Before a Cajun two-stepped his way into her life and stole her heart.

Remy's parting words whispered through her mind.
If there's a chance for us, I have to do this.

He'd gone back to New Orleans to face off against the person who'd murdered his wife and nearly killed him.

He went alone.

Alone.

He'd tried to do so many things alone, and it got him nowhere. Did he really think things were going to be different this time?

The sun faded below the horizon, and darkness crept between the trees to envelope her. S'mores tread through the creek, snorting and kicking water up at her body, soaking the bottom of Cody's pant legs.

“What the hell am I doing?”

Her question echoed over the water. The mare twisted around to look at her, grunted, and continued playing.

Cody crossed her arms and rocked side to side. “When have I ever let him stop me from doing what I know is right?”

What was the point of her weapons training? Hadn't she done it to prepare for whatever was after Remy and the moment he had to face his enemies?

“So, why break up with him?”

Silence met her query. Slowly the realization took root in her chest, spread to her gut, and through her veins. He wanted her to lose her temper and shut him out. But the momentary pain she'd glimpsed on his face after she called it quits should have been enough to warn her he wasn't intending for her to break it off. “Remy LeBeau, you sneaky bastard, you purposely set me up.”

Glancing heavenward, she smiled. Nope, her faith hadn't fled.

Cody grabbed up the reins and smooched to S'mores. “Come on, baby. I've got to figure out how to find that man and get him back. Before he gets himself killed.”

Muffled strains of Vivaldi's “Cello Concerto in C” floated around the room. Candles were scattered about, their flickering flames the only source of light. He let the leather chair cradle his body, his head resting on the cushion, the glass of iced Scotch propped on the boxed armrest. Loosening his Louis Vuitton silk tie until the knot slipped free, he popped the top button on his shirt and sipped the Scotch. The ice clinked against the thick crystal tumbler when he set it back on the armrest.

Exhaling, he closed his eyes and let his free hand conduct an imaginary cello quartet. Days like these called for a little Vivaldi and his lighthearted music.

His was the most feared name in all of New Orleans. Yet one man defied him. Still.

Jared Savard.

A growl rumbled in his chest. That cop broke his first rule of employment: never try to grapple for power with him. He swirled the whiskey, the clinking ice invoking images of torture.

Savard was the perfect contract killer. Occasionally, he'd hire outside of his normal pool of thugs; like in the case of the professional assassin. But Savard's thirst for blood and sadistic killing rituals drove fear into those who were stupid enough to cross swords with him. And the NOPD cop proved most useful in eliminating a longstanding thorn to his side, averting attention off of him and obtaining the sole thing he'd sought for years.

Freedom.

Taking another sip of the Scotch, he savored its rich flavor. Things like this expensive whiskey hadn't been among his indulgences almost twenty years ago. With patience and a few timely deaths, now he was a king. Lord of many.

The man in charge of Savard's life. And Savard's recent dealings begged for re-evaluation of his services.

For weeks he'd sat on the decision to eliminate Savard or not. Keeping the cop after his stunt with hiring that professional assassin and getting her killed, potentially exposing any information she had about him—it put his empire at risk.

He threw back the rest of his drink and let it burn a searing path down his throat. Slamming the glass down on the armrest, he scooted forward in the chair, glaring at the candles on the table in front of him. The flames danced and wavered before his eyes. He reached out and let his fingers hover above the fire. Heat prickled his skin; warning signals traveled through the nerves in his hand and arm.

Savard's actions had brought another problem to surface. One he should have buried forever. Damn his faulty memory.

He lowered his fingers until the flame kissed his skin.

His empire would not crumble because of one power-hungry pawn. He pinched the wick, snuffing the flame. Savard would pay with his life.

Pushing up out of the chair, glass in hand, he tread to the wet bar and grabbed the crystal decanter. The stopper clinked against the neck as he removed it. He poured another shot and replaced the decanter. As he lifted the glass to his lips, the hollow sound of his ringing cell phone stayed his hand. Lowering the tumbler, he scanned the dim room. The next ring came from his suit jacket. Taking a sip of the whiskey, he went to answer the call.

He removed the cell from his left breast pocket. The backlit screen revealed a local number. A familiar number. He punched the connect button.

“What?”

“Whatever you're trying to decide about my fate, I'd reconsider.”