Revenge (9 page)

Remy swiped the card then held it up for the on-duty guard. The guard peered at his picture, leaned back and flashed Remy a brilliant smile, waving him inside. Passing through the metal detector, Remy adjusted the leather satchel strap over his shoulder and made a beeline for the emergency staircase door.

Before entering, he checked to make sure no one was paying attention to him, then he slipped into the stairwell. His footsteps echoed as he ascended the steps. Two floors up, his smartphone toned. He removed the phone from the satchel. Vic had texted:
Dumond is busy showboating. We're going to be here awhile. Hurry up just the same.

Remy stashed the phone in the bag and hurried to the floor that housed the DA's offices. The door opened toward him, making it easy for him to peek inside. Thankfully, the emergency exit was stationed away from the main lobby and offices. Looked like he was next to the bathrooms. Dumping the bag next to the door, he pulled out a stack of file folders and a law book Vic had supplied him with from her library.

Here we go.

He swept into the hallway and strode down it like he belonged in the office. Breaching the bullpen area, he discovered it nearly empty and hushed. A young woman with her attention solely focused on her e-reader sat at a desk stationed outside a closed office; Paul's office. Remy's gaze darted to the two men bent over a table in an open conference room. They were too absorbed in their work to notice him.

Picking through his memories of the office space, he recalled that ADA Humbert's office had been directly across from Paul's. Certain that the secretary was still distracted, Remy headed for the opposite side of the room.

Remy knew the office was vacant, since the current ADA was in trial himself. It proved a good starting point to search for Humbert's files before his death. Remy hoped the door wasn't locked. He glanced at the secretary, then the conference room as he grasped the handle. The handle turned unhindered, and Remy slipped into the dim office.

Apparently the ADA didn't like the sun because every blind was closed, but it protected him from any prying eyes from the buildings next door. Remy set the book and files on the corner of the desk and circled around the huge piece of furniture to the stack of cabinets. Each drawer was labeled by year. He grinned, might be easier than he thought.

If they weren't locked. He tried the 2004 drawer, and it held fast. Silently cursing, he reached into his pant's pocket and pulled out the lock pick. A few twists, and the lock clicked open. Remy pulled the drawer out and rifled through the folders. Locating the desired case files, he pulled them. A quick search of the records revealed these as cases Humbert had prosecuted, but nothing in them was worth having the man assassinated, nor was there any mention of Alphonse.

Remy returned the files to their drawer and closed it. For the hell of it, though Humbert had been killed before, he checked the 2005 drawer but found nothing in there connected to Humbert. Strike one on the former office.

Gathering up his props, Remy moved to the door. Voices right outside brought him to a stop. The knob turned, and the door started to open. Darting to the side to hide behind the door, Remy plastered his body against the wall. The two men from the conference room paused halfway into the office, discussing in raised voices the lack of evidence from their crime lab to convict a known rapist.

Remy tuned out their argument and peeked through the crack between the inside edge of the door and the frame. He could see the secretary's desk, and it was vacant. Where had she gone and how long would it take?

The men left the door open as they banged into the cabinets Remy had just searched. He craned his neck to see around the edge of the door. Both men had their backs to him. Remy inched out of his hiding spot, and like a thief, he eased past the door and out of the office. Still no sign of the secretary. He sped-walk to Paul's office, noticed the lack of the e-reader on the woman's desk, and tried the door.

Locked.
Damn it!

Setting the book and files on the floor, he clawed out the lock pick. While he tried to open this door, he tuned in to his surroundings for the secretary's return and for the two men to leave the ADA's office. This lock proved more stubborn. Remy knelt down until the handle was eye-level and twisted the pick with a lighter touch. The lock popped.

The bang of the cabinet drawer propelled him into Paul's office. He kicked the book and files inside the door and pulled it shut. Leaning against the wall, he gulped air, willing his heart to slow. He'd gotten in, barely, but getting out of here could be problematic.

Once his heart settled into its normal pace, he pushed off the wall and studied Paul Dumond's domain. Every election year since he first took the position of DA, he'd managed to sway the voters into putting him back in this office. The man had ruled like a king from here. On several occasions, Remy had the dissatisfaction of being hauled in here for a “conversation.” Each time Paul tried to bribe Remy to leave Marie.

Last time Remy set foot in this office was right before he married Marie. One last effort from Paul to convince Remy to ditch the bride and leave. Narrowing his eyes, Remy moved toward the desk as the memory flashed clearly through his mind. Words were exchanged, threats made, and Remy gave Paul the finger and stormed out of the office.

Had he actually bent to Paul's will, would Marie be alive today?

Remy shook off the troubling thought. The what-if's did enough damage to his mind six years ago. Best he could do for her now was to bring her murderer and the man behind her killer to justice.

A check of his watch altered him to move quickly.

Paul kept his case files in a special cabinet that looked like a wet bar, which probably at one time had served as one. Of course he kept it locked, too. Remy made short work of the lock, and the wide drawer slid open on oiled rollers. Each year was separated by a white, plastic divider with the year printed in red on the tab.

As he reached for the 2004 slot, blue flashed in the corner of his eye. Remy squinted at the flimsy blue arrow tab sticking out of a file that had been rammed behind the rest. Pulling the drawer open as far as it would go, he grabbed the file and jerked it free.

Someone was smiling down on him.
Humbert case #58329.
Remy flipped through the first few pages and grinned. Here was his golden ticket. Tucking it under his arm, he returned to his prop pile, removed the blank pages from one of the folders and exchanged them for the Humbert ones. He returned the folder with the blue tab to its spot in the drawer.

After double-checking to make sure the drawer locked, he gathered his things. Now for the difficult part.

No noise came through the thick wood. Quietly, Remy pried open the door and peeped through the crack.
Shit!
The secretary had returned. He leaned back. What to do? A distraction would be his best course of action. If he could get her attention off that e-reader.

He wadded up a few sheets of blank paper, then lobbed one of them over her head. The ball hit the floor a few feet away, but she never noticed. Mentally grunting, he tossed another one that he aimed for the corner of her desk and overshot it. Calming himself, he arched the next paper wad over her head. It ticked the edge of her desk and she looked up as the wad fell onto the other side.

Remy eased back from the door as she glanced around, then peeked out when she stood. She rounded the desk and bent over. When she stood upright she held both paper wads. A scowl marred her features and she faced the conference room to where the two lawyers had returned. The secretary marched to the room, calling out to the men.

Slipping out of the office, Remy made a hasty retreat to the emergency exit. Once back in the stairwell, he started to breathe again. His muscles quaked from the adrenaline rush. Crouching down, he brought his emotions down from their high. He wasn't made to steal anything but a woman's heart.

When he felt able to move without trembling, he stuffed the files and the law book in the satchel. His phone buzzed as he moved to close the flap. Retrieving the phone, he activated the text message from Vic.

Defense pulled a fast one. Judge has called an adjournment. Get your ass out of there, now!

She'd sent it ten minutes ago.

Shouldering the satchel, Remy hurried down the steps. He could get out of the building easily enough. If memory served him right, Paul would take his sweet time getting back here.

Remy tamped down his early rejoicing.

He might have the file he wanted, but it could still be a dead end.

• • •

From his perch above New Orleans' business district he watched the late afternoon sunlight glint off the Superdome. For two days he'd waited for Savard to make his next move. Nothing.

Turning from the windows, he wandered to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf made of cypress. He caressed the fine workmanship. Built by hand. It cost him a fortune to have it brought here. He grabbed a book from the eye-level shelf and carried it to his desk.

It thunked down and fell open on a page with a picture of himself and a few other men. He sank onto his chair and stared at the image. All of his well-hidden secrets were slowly being exposed. He'd seen what happened with others when their hard work had been stripped from their control. They grew desperate, making rash and costly mistakes.

Those types of mistakes had fueled his empire. Now he was forced to reckon for his mistakes, but he refused to succumb to the same foolhardy belief that he was immune.

Slapping the book shut, he pushed it away and slumped in his chair. He tapped his steepled fingers against his chin. Normally in this situation he'd have a contingency plan. Trying to manipulate and peel away the thoughts of Jared Savard ate at him. How did Savard learn anything about him? What could he possibly have to expose his true identity?

It was time to make a move. Hold to his longstanding threat. Tomorrow.

His private phone vibrated against his chest. Reaching into the suit breast pocket, he removed the phone and checked the number. Ahh, maybe his second had some good news. “Yes?”

“We have a problem, sir.”

Anger simmered. He kept the lid on tight. “
We
don't have problems.”

“This time we do. One of Savard's whipping boys has gone missing.”

The anger leaked from his pores. “Why are we concerned with this fact? They act independently and if they crossed the wrong person, so be it.”

“Sir, it was Eddy Prejean, Savard's CI.”

Thickness choked his throat. Prejean was also their confidential informant. The turncoat had proved useful more times than he could count. Money well spent when it concerned keeping Savard on a tight leash. If Prejean went missing . . .

“Find him. Then lock him in a private location. We can't lose him.”

“I've done some asking. It seems a man showed up in Prejean's favorite strip joint and hauled him out. Where he went after that is anyone's guess.”

“Did you get more information on this man?”

His second-in-command grunted. “All I got was he's a ghost. Damn, stupid superstitions. The bartender who spoke to him is conveniently on vacation.”

He jerked his head up at the rap on his door. “Do what you must. When you find this ghost, eliminate him.”

“Yes, sir.”

He tucked the phone back into its previous spot, stashed the book into a drawer, then straightened his appearance. “Enter.”

The door slid open on silent hinges and a young brunette wearing a pressed white suit jacket and skirt entered. “Your four o'clock appointment is here, sir.”

He gave her a casual smile. “Send him in.”

As she turned to call in his appointment, she hesitated, then looked at him. The glint passing through her eyes sent a shiver of pleasure through him. “Are we still on for six?” she whispered.

His smile curled with a seductive lean. “Very much.”

She tugged at her red lip and backed out of the office.

Body humming with anticipation, he drowned the desire with a gulp of water. Enjoyment could wait. Business first.

It had been a long day. Remy massaged the throbbing spot on his forehead right above his eyes. The four hours of sleep he got before breaking into Paul's office weren't enough.

“Go to bed.”

Easing his hand from his head, he frowned at Vic, who sat across the paper-strewn table. “I will eventually. Have you found anything?”

Her lips pursed, she shook her head.

Damn it. Paul hid this file in his office for a reason. From what Remy had read, this was nothing more than the investigation into Humbert's death from the DA's standpoint. Not much different than the case file Remy had lifted when he left New Orleans six years ago.

“This can't be another dead end,” he muttered.

Vic's hands hit the open file with a thud. She leaned forward, her smoke-gray eyes piercing him. “It's only a dead end if you let it be.” She spread her arms over the table. “Somewhere in all this is a clue as to why ADA Humbert was marked as a threat and taken out. You said yourself, hiring an assassin means someone is sending a message.”

“Alphonse sent that message. We know that now.”

“True. It still doesn't explain why no one in the NOPD knows of him. Or why there's only a single ancient police report with his name.” She rocked back in her seat. “Wait a minute.” Vic shuffled through the papers until she found what she searched for and whipped out a handwritten note. “Look at this.”

Remy slid the page close and read it:
Simon was on to something. Check for case file 666.

“This is Paul's handwriting.” Remy angled the page and squinted at the note. “Six-six-six?”

“Mark of the devil.”

“There was no case file with that numbering. There wasn't anything in the office smaller than a six-digit code. If anyone deserved
le marque du diable
it was Jared.”