Cover Me (3 page)

Chapter Four

Charlie jumped out of his car and walked toward Remy, his hands in the open.

Remy lowered his window. “What’s a nice suck-up cop like you doing in a place like this?”

“Following you.”

“I didn’t figure Barnaby would waste much time siccing one of his lapdogs on me.”

“The chief didn’t send me. I’m here on my own.”

“And when I buy that, you’ll
sell me the Saint Louis Cathedral.”

“I’m not asking you to buy anything, Remy. I’d just like to talk.”

“Then shoot.”

“How about somewhere more private than the middle of the street?”

“Where might that be?”

“There’s a park a few blocks from here. It’s likely deserted this time of night.”

A dark, deserted park with no witnesses, the perfect spot to get rid of an annoying
ex-cop. But the prospect of hearing Charlie out intrigued Remy. Remy would just have to watch his own back. He was used to that.

“Lead the way,” Remy said. “I’ll follow. But I’m warning you. If this is a trap, I shoot
you
first.”

“Not strong on trust, are you?”

“Sure I am. I trust my Smith & Wesson.”

A few minutes later, Remy followed him into a small asphalt lot next to a
fenced playground. There was not another car or person in sight, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone hiding in the shadows or in the woods that bordered the far side of the park.

Charlie got out of his car and joined Remy in his, sliding into the passenger seat.

Remy moved his seat back and shifted so that he was facing him. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is about?”

“I know you were working with the FBI before Katrina on some secret task force.”

“Apparently not secret enough.”

“Word has a way of leaking into the mainstream. Was Lee Barnaby part of that investigation?”

“Lee must have thought so. Why else did he have you arrest me when he should have been focused on keeping his citizens safe during the approaching storm?”

“Maybe because he
was convinced you were on the take.”

“Sure I was. That’s why the FBI invited me to the party. Don’t mess with me, Charlie. You got something to say, say it straight.”

“Okay. What do you have on Lee?”

“Give me one good reason why I should share that with the biggest butt kisser in the department.”

Moments of silence seethed with tension before Charlie exhaled sharply and turned
back to Remy. “My partner was killed while driving home from a crime scene three weeks ago. Someone just pulled up next to him at a red light and fired three bullets into his brain.”

“Have you arrested the scum who did it?”

“We don’t have the first lead, but I have reason to suspect that one of the higher-ups in the department may have put out a hit on him.”

Remy studied Charlie’s
expression, looking for a sign that the bomb he’d just dropped was part of a setup. All he saw was a determined jut of the jaw and a grim expression that suggested Charlie just might be telling the truth. If he was and Lee was behind this, he’d moved a long way past taking bribes from drug dealers.

“Care to explain that?” Remy asked.

“My partner came to me two days before he was killed
and said he was tired of putting his life on the line to arrest murderers only to have them walk without a trial.”

“That’s it? Cops say that all the time. If it’s not the grand jury, it’s some spineless judge who cuts them loose.”

“Yes, but this time my partner said he’d been doing a little investigating on his own and that when he was through, the ax that fell would be chopping heads,
starting at the top of the feeding chain.”

“Did he name names?”

“No, he wouldn’t say, but he told me that if anything happened to him to watch out for his wife. I think he suspected his personal investigation might get him killed.”

“What was your partner’s name?”

“Doyle Shriver. A great guy. Wife, two kids. Just promoted to homicide detective about six months ago. I don’t want
to believe Lee had anything to do with his murder,” Charlie admitted. “But I can’t ignore the possibility.”

Remy shrugged. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“So what did the FBI have on Lee?” Charlie asked again.

Remy decided to level with him. He had a hunch he’d need a source on the inside before this was over. Charlie might turn out to be his man. Stranger things had
happened.

“A group of dirty cops were taking payoffs to see that certain dealers were left alone while others were arrested and removed from the competition. The money trail led directly to Lee.”

“Were those facts or suspicions?” Charlie asked.

“Facts.”

“Why weren’t there arrests?”

“They would have come eventually. But Lee Barnaby was only a small part of the FBI’s investigation.
The scope went far beyond the police department. Even I wasn’t privy to their full investigation or findings.”

“So why was the investigation dropped after Katrina?”

“By the time I got back to my apartment, it had been looted. All my files and my computer were long gone. I was back to square one. Then I was told by the FBI that my services would no longer be needed. At the time, I figured
that my untimely arrest made me a less valuable addition to the team. But since no arrests were ever made, it appears the case was just dropped in the destructive aftermath of Katrina.”

Charlie nodded. “Like so many other cases under investigation at the time.”

“So where do you plan to go with your suspicions?” Remy asked.

“I’m not sure. But it seems I owe something to Doyle’s wife
and kids.”

“Start asking questions and you may just get yourself killed,” Remy warned him.

“Not if I can help it.”

“How about just keeping a low profile for a few days?” Remy said. “Find out what you can without taking any real risks. In the meantime, I’m working a couple of angles that should firm up my case against Lee.”

“I kind of figured that was why you were back in town
and at the party tonight.”

“So Lee told you about our encounter?”

“No. I saw you out on the balcony talking to Nicole Smith. What kind of encounter did you have with Lee?”

“I just let him know that I was taking him down.”

Charlie emitted a low whistle. “That explains his mood when I ran into him as he was leaving. Looks like I’m not the only one who’d best watch their back
every second.”

“Yep. The heat is on. But this time I’m going to be the one stoking the fire.” Unless a bullet got to him first. “By the way, what’s the name of the guy Shriver arrested who got off without a trial?”

“Reggio Sanchez. Have you heard of him?”

“Know him well.” In fact, Remy had arrested him on more than one occasion himself. Reggio had never gone to trial on any of those
charges, either. Eyewitnesses against Reggio had a way of forgetting what they saw or else completely disappearing.

“What was the charge when he was arrested?”

“Murder.”

“Who was the alleged victim?”

“Jessie Klein. She was an eyewitness in the murder of her son Rick. She claimed that she saw Reggio pull the trigger.”

“Reggio used to be the meanest SOB this side of hell,”
Remy said.”

“He still is,” Charlie assured him.

“Then I won’t expect him to offer me a beer when I come calling.”

But that wouldn’t be tonight. Remy needed sleep and time to think. Tying Lee to the murder of a cop would seal the deal. All he needed was proof positive that Lee had ordered the hit on one of his own officers.

He didn’t have a clue how he was going to get that.

* * *

S
ILVERY
BEAMS
SHIMMERED
on the waves that lapped the shoreline of Lake Ponchartrain. Nicole lifted her long hair from her neck and let the gentle breeze cool her skin.

She swayed against the man who held her other hand, the thrill of his touch searing through her.

“I could stay here forever,” she whispered.

“I could stay anywhere forever as long as I’m with you.”

She looked into his eyes as he pulled her closer. Excitement swelled to a crescendo as his lips lowered to hers.

She melted into the kiss as her body arched toward him, anticipation soaring. His kiss was ecstasy, but she wanted more, so much more. She wanted all of him, throbbing inside her, making them one.

They fell to the grass, a tangle of arms and legs and passion.

But
then the water began to rush over the banks, washing over them, dragging them into the depths as it receded. She couldn’t breathe.

She reached for her lover, but he wasn’t there.

Nicole jerked awake. She sat up straight, shaking, the dregs of the dream refusing to let go of her. Cold sweat made her nightshirt cling to her body. She yanked it over her head and slung it across the room.

When her heart stopped pounding, she slid from her bed and padded barefoot to the window that overlooked the lighted walkway threading through the upscale town-house complex. She’d had various versions of this nightmare before, but this time it had been different. This time it was so real she could still feel the pressure of the kiss and the heat from the desire.

And this time, the man
had not been just a shadowy, unidentifiable illusion. What was wrong with her that she found a virtual stranger so provocative and seductive that he’d invaded her thoughts and now her dreams?

Why was she so fascinated by him when every other man she’d met in years left her cold? This schoolgirl infatuation was beyond ridiculous. She should shake it before she made a complete fool of herself.

Yet deep inside she knew she had to find a way to see him again.

Chapter Five

Remy stepped out of the shower, water dripping from his body and soaking into the terry tub mat. He grabbed a towel from the rack and dried his thick hair with it before wrapping it around his waist.

His cell phone rang as he reached for his toothbrush. He rushed back to the bedside table, grabbed it and checked the caller ID. Sylvia Shriver. Same last name as
Charlie’s late partner. He quickly took the unexpected call.

“Remy Comeaux here.”

“I’m Syl, Doyle Shriver’s wife. I hope I didn’t call you too early.”

“Not at all. How can I help you?”

“Charlie Gibbons called me a few minutes ago. He told me he’d talked to you and that he might be closer to finding out who shot Doyle. But he cautioned me not to mention his seeing you to anyone.”

There was a quake in her voice when she said her dead husband’s name. Clearly, making this call wasn’t easy for her.

“Charlie and I talked,” Remy said, surprised that Charlie had told Sylvia about their meeting. “I’m not sure I said anything that would help.”

“Perhaps he was just trying to reassure me. I cry every time I talk to him.”

Maybe Remy had grown too cynical. Perhaps
the guy did just have a heart.

“After I talked to Charlie, I looked you up on the internet,” Syl said. “You have an impressive reputation. I’d like to hire you to help me find Doyle’s killer.”

“You have Charlie for that.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough. Do you think you could possibly find time to stop by my house this morning?”

“I’ll make time.”

“Just one other thing,” she
said. “If you talk to Charlie, please don’t mention that I called. I’ll explain when I see you.”

He’d hold her to that. “I’ll need an address.”

She gave him that and the directions. He was ringing her doorbell in under a half hour.

An attractive woman with short blond hair and striking blue eyes ringed with the dark circles of tears and grief opened the door. A toddler clung to
the hem of her white shorts.

“I’m Remy,” he said.

“I’m Syl.” She rested her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is Toby.”

“Good morning, Toby.”

Toby hid his face behind his mother’s leg as she motioned Remy inside.

“Could I get you some coffee?” she asked.

“Coffee would be great.”

The toddler finally let go of her shorts and stood staring at Remy.

Syl took
his hand. “Come with me, Toby. I bet Grandma has your Cheerios all ready for you.”

Remy looked around. The room was cluttered with blocks and toy cars. A playpen that held colorful teething rings and a pacifier was set up in the corner. Apparently, the second child Charlie had mentioned was even younger than Toby.

Children who’d grow up without a father. The idea that Lee could be behind
Doyle Shriver’s death was so revolting it turned Remy’s stomach.

Remy took a seat on the sofa and stared at the dozens of snapshots strewn about the coffee table. The same man appeared in all of them, some with him in his NOPD uniform. Many were of him and Syl. Some included the kids. In all of them Doyle looked as if he were a man with everything to live for.

Remy imagined Syl going
through the photos, trying to hold on to them so tightly that she could will Doyle back to life. He understood the feeling of hopelessness far too well.

That didn’t mean he had any idea what to say to her that might help. He hadn’t wanted to face any of his friends for months after Carlotta’s death.

“Milk or sugar?” Syl called from the kitchen.

“Just black.”

She returned with
two mugs and set them both on the coffee table in front of him.

“If you’re considering taking the case, I have something you should see.”

“You should realize going in that involving me might unleash an avalanche of complications.”

“I don’t care what it unleashes as long as there’s justice for Doyle.” She disappeared again, and when she came back, she handed him a manila folder.

“I found this two days ago when I finally forced myself to go through the file cabinet where my husband kept all our important papers.”

The file was labeled Reggio Sanchez.

Remy opened it and examined the contents. There were scribbled notes, police reports and copies of pictures taken at a crime scene. He glanced at the pictures of an elderly woman in a baggy black coat who’d been
shot in the head. From the damage, he’d guess she’d been shot several times at close range.

He removed a copy of an official police report signed by Doyle. The document stated that film taken from the hidden camera outside Klein’s Café had shown Reggie Sanchez follow Jessie Klein through the back door of her restaurant when she showed up for work at 5:40 a.m. on the day of her murder.

Reggie Sanchez had left the restaurant alone ten minutes later. There was a stain that looked to be blood on the front of his shirt. The first employee on duty that morning had discovered Jessie Klein’s body.

“Jessie Klein was the only eyewitness to the murder of her grandson,” Syl explained. “Reggie Sanchez had pulled the trigger and killed him in front of his house in cold blood. Supposedly
it involved a drug-deal double cross of some kind.”

“If they had the film, why isn’t Sanchez in jail for Jessie’s murder?”

“The film came up missing from the evidence file just before the case was to go to a grand jury,” Syl said. “And Sanchez came up with some kind of supposedly airtight alibi that Doyle was sure was fake. When Sanchez was released, Doyle was furious.”

Syl looked
down at the table of scattered snapshots and grew silent.

“I’m sure he was,” Remy said, encouraging her to keep talking. “Did he have a theory on what happened to the film?”

“Not that he shared with me. But he was more upset than I’d ever seen him. He said he wouldn’t stop until he found out who was responsible.”

Her eyes filled with tears and her voice began to tremble. “I know
finding the man responsible for his death won’t bring Doyle back, but he deserves at least that much.”

“I agree,” Remy said.

“Does that mean you’ll take the case?”

“No, at least not for money. But I’ll look into it. Let’s just consider this a favor from one ex-member of the NOPD to another.”

“I appreciate that. I mean, I don’t how I’m going to make ends meet as it is. But please
don’t tell Charlie that I’ve talked to you. I don’t think Doyle fully trusted him in the end. So I don’t trust him, either.”

“You got it. I’ll get back to you when I have something to report. In the meantime, you just take care of yourself and the boys. That’s what your husband would want above all.”

And if Lee had actually killed Doyle or ordered his assassination, there was no telling
what extremes he’d go to to hide his guilt or who might be in danger.

An image of Lee with his arm around Nicole sprang to Remy’s mind. Agitation steeled his nerves and ground in his gut. He couldn’t bear the thought of her with him.

But even if he went to her and told her what he knew about Lee, there wasn’t a reason on earth why she’d believe him. He’d even lied to her about his name.

* * *

R
EMY
SPENT
THE
REST
of the day trying to track down Reggio Sanchez. His search sent him to seedy areas of the city dominated by crack houses and half-deserted neighborhoods. It was easy to spot drug deals being carried out on street corners, frequently in the presence of kids riding by on their bikes or young mothers out walking with their children.

Much of the city had been
rebuilt since the hurricane by citizens with determination and the help of warmhearted people from all across the country. But there were still pockets of destruction where abandoned schools, businesses and homes with broken windows and rotting structures served as havens for crime and criminals.

Remy had worked as a narcotics detective long enough that he knew the routine, but he’d also
been away long enough that he’d lost most of his contacts. The squealers who remained knew he had no clout, so there was no real reason for them to confide in him.

By midafternoon Remy was hungry, frustrated and found it impossible to get Nicole off his mind. He drove to the Bucktown area and was pleasantly surprised to find that one of his favorite dives from the old days had been rebuilt.

He parked and went inside. It was smaller than before but still smelled of frying seafood, hot sauces and oven-fresh French bread. He ordered a dressed oyster po’boy and a cold beer from the counter and then chose a table in the back.

While he waited on the sandwich, he pulled out his laptop and started a search to see what he could dig up on Nicole Smith. Given a little time, on and
off the computer, he could and frequently did uncover things about a person that even their spouses didn’t know.

By the time the waitress set his cold beer in front of him, he knew Nicole’s full name, her address, phone number and that she worked in the office of Dr. Rodney Cantrell.

By the time he’d finished the giant slabs of French bread, stuffed to overflowing with crispy oysters,
tomatoes, lettuce and onion and dripping with mayonnaise and hot sauce, he’d begun to suspect from her spotty records that Nicole Smith might have gone to great lengths to hide her past.

If anything, that intrigued him more than ever. He finished the sandwich, put her current address in his GPS and started toward her residence. Two blocks from the restaurant, he realized he was being followed.

Good old Lee. He didn’t miss a trick. Remy ditched the tail long before he pulled up at the entrance to an exclusive, gated town-house complex. He followed a car inside and parked in Nicole’s driveway. When she didn’t answer her doorbell, he went back to his truck and tried to honestly examine his own motive for being there.

Was this only an excuse to see her again? Or did he really think
it was necessary to warn her about Lee? Was it that he just couldn’t bear to think of Lee Barnaby in a relationship with a woman who reminded Remy so much of Carlotta?

Memories of Carlotta pushed from the crevices of his subconsciousness and took over his mind. Without warning, Nicole’s image merged with that of Carlotta’s.

What the hell was wrong with him? Coming here had been a stupid,
libido-driven mistake. Nicole was not Carlotta. Who she dated was none of his business, and there was no reason to think she was in any danger from Lee.

Remy shoved the key into the ignition and brought the motor to life. A red sports car pulled up behind him before he could switch the gear from Park to Reverse.

Nicole stepped out of her car. The sight of her stole every ounce of his
resolve. Any thought of leaving flew from his mind.

* * *

N
ICOLE
GULPED
IN
a steadying breath of air that did little to settle the unnerving excitement of seeing Andre standing in her driveway.

“This is a surprise,” she said, trying for nonchalance but unable to block the pleasure from creeping into her voice.

“I hope you don’t mind my just showing up,” he said. “Say the word
and I’ll cut out.”

“No, I’m glad you stopped by, though I can’t imagine how you found me.”

“All it took was a little research. Did I fail to mention that I’m a private detective?”

“Yes. But our conversation was brief. You never even got around to telling me your last name.”

“Then let’s start over and do this right. I’m Remy Comeaux. Pleased to meet you, Nicole Smith.”

“I thought you said your name was Andre.”

“That was when I was trying to keep anyone from telling Lee that I was there and spoiling my plan to just walk up and surprise him.”

“And did you?”

“Absolutely. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

And now that Lee’s name had come up, this encounter felt a bit clandestine. She wondered if he were aware that she and Lee were dating.

He walked beside her on the narrow paved path to her door. His nearness was all but intoxicating, and when his arm brushed hers, desire vibrated along her never endings.

She moved away from him, determined to resist the bizarre attraction.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” she said as they stepped into the high-ceilinged living area. “I may have a bit of whiskey and I have some chilled
chardonnay and a bottle of nice pinot noir Lee brought over last week.”

Mentioning Lee made her feel a little less as if she was orchestrating a seduction scene.

“Maybe we should talk first,” he said.

“In that case, take a seat.”

He took the sofa. She deliberately chose the chair farthest away from him. She crossed her legs. “If you’re an insurance salesman, I’m covered to
my eyeballs.”

He grinned. “I’m not selling anything—or maybe I am, but it won’t cost you any money.”

Oh, no. Surely Lee hadn’t sent him here to plead his case. If so, the new police chief should have chosen a far less enticing man to deliver his pitch.

“Did Lee send you?”

“No, actually, I misrepresented myself last night when we met. I’m not actually a friend of Lee’s. I worked
for him years ago. Before Katrina.”

She had no idea where this was going. “Were you a police officer?”

“I was a narcotics detective.”

“So exactly why are you here, Remy Comeaux—if that’s your real name?”

“It’s my real name.” He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned in closer. “I don’t know exactly what your relationship is with Lee Barnaby, Nicole, but just in case it’s
serious or about to become serious, I think you should know the truth about the man.”

She grew uneasy, and this time it had nothing to do with attraction. “Lee’s a friend of mine. If you’re here to spread gossip or disparage him, I’d rather not hear it.”

“I don’t gossip and I don’t knock any man without good cause. I hate having to tell you this, Nicole. I sincerely do, but now that
I’ve met you, I can’t just stand by and let you get hurt by a man like Lee Barnaby.”

“What kind of man would that be? A dedicated public servant? A city leader?”