Revenge (6 page)

Winking, he thunked the bottle on the bar and jerked her into his arms. Her squirming fueled his desire, and he smothered her mouth. His probing tongue eventually got her to relax and she returned the kisses with drunken fervor. Her arms snaked around his neck and she smashed her breasts into his chest.

Jared groaned against her mouth, gripping her rear and thrusting her closer. The throb of jazz pulsated through them. It was time to coax her out of the bar and finish this elsewhere.

A shift in the air shocked him into stopping. He dragged his mouth away as she continued nipping and tugging at his lip. Prying her free, Jared looked over her bare shoulder.

The green eyes boring holes through the back of the blonde's head made Jared's heart seize. The man had dark skin and hardened features, broken by a ragged scar across his cheek, and eyes that could liquefy a person's will. He jerked his head toward the exit and faded into the writhing and gyrating bodies.

Jared shoved the blonde away and stood from the barstool.

“Where ya goin'?” She pawed his dark hair.

“Got some business to take care of, baby.” Clamping her arms at her sides, he sidestepped around her. “You just wait right here and keep thinking about how I'm going to make you feel when I get back.”

Her tongue darted over her lips, and he felt the twinge down south. Damn it, he wanted her something bad. She plopped on his vacated stool and slowly crossed her legs, revealing her secret under that tight blue dress. With a growl, he stalked out of the bar.

Rue Bourbon
thrummed with laughter, music, and heat. He loved this street and could overlook the stench that was so much a part of it. Bourbon fueled his lust and his pockets. He entered the alley between the bar and a private club.

A hand shot out of the dark, latching onto his throat, and propelled him backward. Jared slammed into the brick wall, gasping and clawing at the hand. Pain raked him as his feet lifted from the ground and the rough side of the building tore into his back.

“The Queen, she's not happy wit' you.”

Jared twitched and gasped. “I . . . I . . . ”

The man leered at him, the whites of his eyes popped out against his dark skin. “You invoked de wrong curse. Dat wasn' your right.”

Black dots bounced at the edge of Jared's sight; his body screamed for air. The enforcer released his grip, and Jared crumbled to the trash-littered pavement. Air seared a path along his trachea. He swallowed a few times then looked up.

“Dere's a price t' pay for what you do.” The enforcer bent down and slapped Jared's face. “De spirits demand blood.”

“I can get it. The Queen needn't worry.”

A wicked laugh escaped the enforcer. “Dat's not the blood she needs.”

A glint of silver caught Jared's eye too late. He screamed as the blade bit into the exposed area of his chest. The enforcer drew the knife back and smiled at the blood covering the blade. Jared clutched his shirt to the throbbing wound, slick heat soaking through to his hand.

“Your curse is now a part of you. Fail,” the enforcer sheathed the knife, “an' you die.” He strode into the street and disappeared.

Jared remained on the ground, panting and convulsing. Fire rippled along his chest, making him wince. His gaze darted up and down the alley. There was no getting out of this. Once she demanded blood, she got blood. He banged his head against the rough brick. He would have to use every available resource to stay alive.

Peeling the shirt away from his wound, he grimaced at the fresh stab of pain. A spout of blood seeped from the deep cut. He'd need stitches. Gingerly, he climbed to his feet, leaned on the wall to catch his breath. He'd have to forgo the blonde.

A wisp of cool air flitted through the alley. His head jerked up as the chill intensified. It swirled around him and settled over his body.

Jared's spine snapped upright.

LeBeau was here.

Cody peered at the back seat of Heath's truck. Propped against the side door, Kim slept, her dark-brown hair curtaining her face. Twisting to face Heath as he drove the I-20 corridor between Texas and Louisiana, Cody turned the music down a bit.

“Did you bring the rifle?”

The Marine, she'd come to call him, looked at her out of the corner of his eye, then returned his attention to the road. “Cowgirl, why would you think I did?”

“Because you and I both know this will get ugly. So far everything that deals with Remy and his past gets ugly.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Built like a bull and as cunning as a fox, Detective Heath Anderson reflected the Marine Recon motto he had tattooed on his arm: swift, silent, and deadly. “Since you're so nosy, yes, I brought it.”

Relaxing against the seat, Cody gnawed on her lip.

“Something else bugging you?” he asked as he changed lanes to pass a minivan.

She peeked at the rearview mirror.
Kim, you better be sleeping deep.
“I don't want her to get hurt.”

“Yet it's okay if you do?”

“I've lived through worse.”

Heath gunned the engine and sped past the line of vehicles following a semi loaded with hay bales. “She's tougher than you give her credit for.”

“You're just saying that because you're dating her.”

“Cody, she's your best friend; you've known her your whole life, and you don't think she's strong enough?”

Slumping in the seat, she stared out the passenger side window. “Guess I'm in as much shock as she is when it comes to the truth about her real origins.” Cody met Heath's blue-eyed gaze. “Since she learned about the adoption, she hasn't been the same.”

“Neither have you. She told me you treat her with kid gloves. She didn't break when she learned the truth; why do you think she will now?”

Who knew? Cody traced the creases in the leather seat with a fingernail. She hurt for her friend. After her adoptive mother blew a gasket and revealed Kim's adoption, Kim severed ties with the couple she once called Mom and Dad. Here it was a month later and no one had made a move to mend the relationship.

“I have a question for you, Cowgirl.”

She ceased tracing the crease and looked at Heath.

“You're right about what we're to face in New Orleans getting ugly. Question is, are you ready for it? Can you face someone and pull the trigger?”

A chill lanced her body. Could she end someone's life?

“You gnaw on that for the next few hours,” Heath said and returned to the left-hand lane.

“Fine, but answer me this. Why are
you
going after Remy?”

The steering wheel squeaked under his grip. Finally, Heath glanced at her. Resignation etched across his features. “He's my partner. I need to have his back.”

• • •

Remy slid into the beige leather seat of Vic's Charger and closed the door. Next to him, Vic settled behind the wheel and started the engine. The car's midnight-blue color would benefit them tonight.

Before putting it into gear, she looked at him. “You sure about this?” She wore what she called her slut clothes: skin-tight jeans, a dark blue top under a black jacket. Inside a black boot that stopped just under her knee she'd hidden her sidearm. “This is Jared we're going after.”

Buckling in, he let the buttery-soft leather conform to his body. “Sooner we get started, sooner I can put that bastard in a grave.”

Making a disgusted noise, she shifted into gear and left the driveway.

Remy closed his eyes and enjoyed the smooth ride into the heart of New Orleans. While Vic worked her shift today, he'd gone through the case files and formulated his plans. His first move against Jared would be to take out or scare off known associates, eventually forcing Jared out in the open.

“Humbert's case is a dead end,” he said, looking at her. “There's nothing in it to indicate why Alphonse wanted him killed.”

“Simon Humbert was the assistant DA. If what you believe is true, it sounds like Alphonse is some kind of criminal kingpin. By all accounts, being ADA, Humbert could've pissed the guy off.” Vic brought the car to a stop at a light.

“That's probably how it happened. No one knows about Alphonse except those closely associated with him.”

“I still think it could be Savard. He's the most logical conclusion.”

“Vic, it doesn't make sense. Jared has never hidden who he really is, for no one. Why come up with an alias and hire out someone else to do his dirty work? That's not his style.”

“He hired that assassin to take you out.”

“There wasn't any proof to confirm that. I'm going off an assumption—a damn good one, but still an assumption.”

The light turned green, and Vic pulled forward. “Okay, fine, I'll play along and say it's not Savard. But the former ADA had to do something to get on our mysterious Alphonse's radar.”

Remy had missed these give and take sessions he used to have with Vic back when they were still beat cops. They bounced ideas and theories off each other as well as he and Anderson did. Melancholy twinged in his gut at the thought of his current partner back in Dallas. Anderson would have been a good one to bring along for this trip if his code of honor wouldn't get in the way.

“What if Humbert stumbled onto someone who spoke?” Remy blurted. “What if someone revealed who the real Alphonse was?”

Vic shrugged. “The only way to find that out is to get into his case files.”

“Then we get the files.”

She flinched, then looked at him. “Are you out of your mind? The only way to do that is—”

“Is to break into the DA's office. I know.” Shifting to recline against the seat, Remy closed his eyes once more. “Think you can manage to get a look at Paul's docket for tomorrow?”

“Manage? I have to report to the courthouse for a trial I know for a fact Paul is prosecuting.”

“Good, I'll do it then.”

“You've got some balls, LeBeau. Sneaking into Paul's office is as close to suicide as I ever heard.”

“Didn't you say I was a crazy Cajun?”

“I take that back. You're freaking insane.”

He grinned. “Don't worry,
cher
. I've got it covered.”

“Sure you do. You might want to look at this, Remy.”

Peeling his eyes open, he glanced out the window, did a double-take, and gaped. The sun hadn't yet set, and the sight on the other side of the tinted glass sickened him. Much of the street appeared repaired from the damage left behind in the flooding, but many of the houses remained vacant and in disrepair. Empty lots with overgrown grass were scattered among rebuilt homes.

This was the new New Orleans. One he would never recognize.

“
Mon Dieu
,” he whispered.

“French Quarter still looks the same, for the most part.”

“Why is it taking so long?” As if he really needed to ask.

“Bureaucracy bullshit.”

Once Remy had relocated to Dallas, he didn't pay any attention to the post-Katrina reports. Ignoring it kept him sane and able to shuffle the grief and pain away. Now what he'd denied shook him.

“What about my and Marie's house?”

She glanced at him then gunned the Charger. “It's gone. The house was under water and had to be torn down. Paul saw to that.”

A part of Remy had hoped maybe something from his life with Marie had survived. The house—their home. Gone.

“Hey, it's not a total loss. You've still got the memories.”

Remy snorted. “Of being stabbed in my living room and watching my blood soak the rug while my wife was screaming for her life.” Or trying to eat his gun weeks later.

“Those aren't the memories to hold onto.”

“Until Savard pays, they are.” He glowered at the windshield.

Vic humphed, turned the car onto North Rampart Street, and merged with traffic. “How long you think this will take before Jared catches on that you're back?”

“Depends on how fast word spreads after I take down a goon or two of his.”

“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.
”

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.