Heartless (5 page)

The brothers walked into Ray's office to be greeted by a
welcoming committee. "It's about time you got back, Chief
Reynolds." Agent Lawrence Dantzler stood and extended his
hand.

Ray shook the man's hand. Dantzler continued, "It's good to
see you, Ray."
An imposing figure, his surname screamed his heritage
which was reaffirmed by his appearance. At six and a half feet,
two hundred thirty pounds, platinum-blond hair, clipped very
short, and sky-blue eyes set in a face that ended in a square jaw
that could take a punch, unfelt, he could have been a
marauding Viking.
"Oh, yippee! The FBI is here," Ray said, voice laced with
sarcasm. "At least I have a good guy in my corner."
Chris Gautier snorted a laughed. Ray cocked an eyebrow in
question, but Chris shook her head.
Ray grinned at Dantzler. "I see you still have the crooked
nose. Are you still fighting in the mixed martial arts circuit?"
"Getting a little old for the ring." He touched his nose. "It's
my badge of honor," Dantzler quipped. "It's been a long time
since we've seen each other."
"Yes, it has," said Ray, "but not long enough, Lawrence,
considering the circumstances that always bring us together."
"Almost true. I did come for your wedding. How's your
lovely Larkin?"
"Terrific."
Dantzler turned to Raif. "Raif, how are you?"
"Excellent," Raif replied, shaking hands. "You look well,
Lawrence."
"I am. Your charming Chris has been keeping me company.
I should've stolen her when I had the chance. Alas, you never
know what you have until it's gone." It was true that Chris had
dated Lawrence Dantzler early in both their careers while he
still made appearances in the ring.
"So I see," said Raif a little possessively and to prove his
point Raif hugged Chris and gave her a resounding kiss. "Well,
we're back now. Ray and I had to do a brotherly thing."
Ray sank into his chair.
"Where did you two go?" asked Chris.
"New Orleans. I guess you have to stay and work, or I'd
show you what I brought back. I suppose you'll have to see it
later." Raif winked at his wife and left the police officers to
work.
Dantzler immediately said, "Ray, I wish you hadn't left
town."
"Why? I needed the time with my brother. It really helped
me to deal with the loss of a man that I once considered a
brother."
"Did you?"
"Yes, why?"
"You do realize you're on the short list of suspects who
might've wanted Robert LaFontaine dead, don't you?"
"No." Ray laughed hard until he realized Lawrence was
serious. "There was no bad blood between us anymore," he
said soberly. "Since Robert hit Washington, we haven't even
argued. I actually attended his wedding and a couple of parties
at his house in Baton Rouge. Damn! I'm his twins' godfather.
Why would I be a suspect?"
"Ray, you've threatened to kill him on more than one
occasion. Let's see: One—at Larkin's house; two—in the
hospital; three—in Raif's car; four—sitting at your desk talking
to me; and, oh, five—you beat the hell out of him in public."
"That was thirteen years ago. Lawrence, are you serious?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Oh, give me a break!" Ray jerked his head to the side. "I
didn't even know any of the other victims."
Dantzler shrugged. "It could be argued that they were just
to throw us off track and that Robert was your intended target."
"Lawrence, do you believe that?"
"No, but you need to know the gossip. Some could question
if you and Raif were disposing of the murder weapon. You
didn't help yourself by telling a certain newswoman that the
last reporter who followed you ended up dead."
"Is that what this is about?" Ray fisted his hand. "I hate
reporters."
"Just stick around." Dantzler gave him a lopsided smirk.
Ray clenched his teeth. "Chris, what is this bullshit? Is this
why you snorted earlier?"
She nodded. "Ray, it gets worse. I think they've hooked
Lawrence up with the dumbest agents ever."
"Me, too, if you'd like to know," Dantzler said with an
impish grin on his face.
"How could it get worse?" asked Ray, rubbing his head as a
migraine attempted to come on.
Chris laughed. "Larkin's on the suspect list, too."
"You can't be serious!" Ray said, his hand coming down on
his desk in a hard slap. "Larkin wouldn't hurt a fly."
"That's what I said," assured Lawrence. "But my little team
argues that she has the capacity to kill to protect you. After all,
she did once. She killed Latrice."
"Self-defense!" Ray's nostrils flared.
"Bullshit, I know, but she did teach the young woman with
Robert."
"Really?"
"Yep. One semester of lit."
Ray rolled his eyes.
Lawrence held up his hand. "However, the third suspect
holds a little merit. It's Deanna LaFontaine."
Ray shook his head. "No, she didn't kill him. She's been
covering his tracks for him from the beginning. She wanted to
be First Lady. Moreover, what reason would she have had for
killing the other people?"
"She got tired of her husband's philandering. The missing
hearts were to show how heartless he was, and his mistress
might as well go, too. Who knows? Maybe Robert was into
men, too. Maybe all the vics were former lovers."
Ray cackled. "Robert was a fool, a womanizer"—
and,
maybe, bisexual
—"but he did
not
bed dogs or cows. Did you
see the Byrd woman? Woof, woof. She looked like a pug. Her
eyes even bulged. And the DHS woman! She weighed more
than you and was a foot and a half shorter."
"Yeah, Ray. I've looked at the file pictures. I can't imagine
Robert touching them either." Dantzler sniggered.
Ray fiddled with a pen on his desk. "No. There's definitely
a connection somewhere between Robert and the other
murders. I think Miss Horn just got in the way. No. None of
your suspects hold water, and you know it."
"Yes, I do, Ray. So, help me come up with some others."
Lawrence raised blond brows.
Ray laughed. "I'll rack my brain, but I thought that was
Chris's and Baker's job. I'm a paper pusher."
"Right!" Dantzler laughed. "The only way you're gonna be
behind that desk on this case is if you're tied."
"You know it, Lawrence. So, let's do some brainstorming.
Robert was once a prosecutor and one of the other vics was a
judge. Too, one was a DHS worker. Did they ever work with
Rob? We could be looking at some sort of domestic violence
issue here. Was the couple connected with the court system?
Child advocates? Foster parents? Defense attorneys?"
Dantzler nodded. "They used to be foster parents. There
was some question about their disciplinary actions. They lost
their certification."
"Well, then, Chris, snag your partner and find a connection
among the four incidents," Ray said. "I'm sure there is one, just
not the ones Lawrence's little morons have come up with.
Where's Steve Journey when you need him?"
Dantzler sighed. "Working a serial rapist case in Las
Vegas—showgirls. I asked for him, but no go."
"It was rhetorical." Ray rolled his eyes. "But he is the
best
profiler. However, none of us needs a profiler to tell us these
murders are personal."
"Yes, boss, you're right. I guess Senator LaFontaine might
not have warranted the best. Showgirls are prettier," Chris said
teasingly.
"Bullshit," said Ray. "He's got you. You're the best."
"Thanks." She sighed. "And Robert
was
good to look at if
you didn't scratch below the surface."
"Does Raif know you think that?" asked Lawrence. "Maybe
he killed him because you looked at another man."
Chris hit her former boyfriend in the arm. "No, but he
might kill you. Or I might. Your little tease about our old
association almost cost me the man I love."
"Sorry. You do realize I thought he was Ray."
"Yeah, yeah." She turned back to her boss. "You know,
investigating these vics means you have to pay me to go out of
town."
"So, go already. Stop to pack first so you can see Raif's
surprise." Ray pretended to yawn behind his hand.
"I don't trust the two of you." Chris knitted her brows
together. "You're acting like naughty teenagers."
Ray grinned. "We were naughty. Raif has a terrible
hangover."
"My husband has a hangover? What did you do to him?"
Chris clamped her teeth together loudly enough to be heard.
"I
didn't
drink his hurricanes for him," Ray said. "I drank
my own, thank you. Maybe I should've had a few more. That
way I wouldn't care about being considered a suspect.
Lawrence, would you be so kind as to go help my detectives?
Find out who killed Robert LaFontaine and the others. You're a
scary bastard. I don't like being on your hit list. You know you
have a list of the most unlikely suspects."

Raiford Reynolds walked into his house to the scintillating
aroma of tomato sauce, basil, oregano, and garlic. His mouth
watered as he anticipated Larkin's spaghetti and meatballs or
lasagna. Then, he saw her lying on the couch with a washcloth
on her face. He sat down and began to massage her feet.
"What's wrong, Angel?" he asked.

Larkin removed the washcloth from her eyes. "I just don't
feel well," she moaned. "I'm nauseous. Christopher and
Courtney are making dinner."

"This should be interesting. Who's gonna clean up the
mess?"
"They are." She put the cloth back over her eyes. "By the
way, Courtney's mad at you. You didn't eat any cake yet. She
refuses to let us cut it until you see it. If you don't hurry, we'll
be growing penicillin."
Ray laughed. "Well, let me check out the budding chefs
and apologize to my daughter."
"It's really a cute cake, Ray. Eat some and take the rest to
the station. Share, please."
He stood. "I really needed this tonight. I need my family. I
need to be a father. I can't tell you how much I love you."
"You can come back and rub my feet."
"Will do." Ray kissed Larkin gently before he went into the
kitchen.

Courtney turned around from making garlic bread as Ray
entered the kitchen. She gave her father a sneer and said,
"Well, it's about time you came home to be with your family
for a little while,
Father
."

Christopher stepped as far away from Courtney as he could
and continued making Caesar salad without a word.
Ray's cobalt eyes turned to steel as he stared at his
impertinent ten-year-old. He spoke as coldly as his eyes
indicated. "Speak to me with that tone again, and you will find
out what
Father
really means."
Courtney's attitude made an abrupt change. "Sorry, Daddy,
but you really hurt my feelings. Christopher and I worked very
hard to make something special for your anniversary."
"I understand that, Courtney, but some people are dead.
You know this is my job."
"Daddy, you're the boss. You don't have to go to every
scene. That's Aunt Chris's job. And last night you weren't
working. You were with Uncle Raif."
"Pumpkin, this time somebody I cared about died. Uncle
Raif helped me deal with my feelings."
She placed the knife on the butter dish. "I'm sorry that Mr.
LaFontaine died."
Ray jerked back a bit because he had not told his children
who had been murdered.
"Yes, I know who died," Courtney said to her father's
strange facial expression. "The news was all over school.
Momma took us to buy a card for Kyle and Kim. Daddy, I
don't think he was a very good father. He didn't make Kyle and
Kim, especially Kyle, feel loved like you
usually
do us. I'm
sorry I was ugly when you came in. Will you, please, look at
our cake and have some for dessert? Father," she added sweetly
and grinned.
"Yes, Pumpkin. Show me the cake."
Courtney scampered to the other side of the kitchen. "It's
yellow butter cake with chocolate icing, your favorite kind."
She carefully uncovered the baking masterpiece. The kids had
used loaf pans and made six loaves that they shaped into the
number 13.
Ray kissed Courtney on the cheek and turned to
Christopher and kissed him on the head. "Thank you. Let's eat
the one, and I'll take the three to share at work. Is that all
right?"
"Yes, sir," replied Christopher. "It's too much for just us."
Ray surveyed his two children. They were really good kids
although an occasional spanking had been necessary over the
years. Courtney had been working on some form of
punishment with her saucy tone. Both she and her brother had
his dark hair. Christopher had Larkin's dark brown eyes while
Courtney had his big blue eyes.
We need one with red hair and
blue eyes or red hair and brown eyes.
He chuckled under his
breath, but did not give his thought a voice for fear that Larkin
would hit him with something.
Christopher and Courtney did a good job with dinner and
the long awaited cake, but Larkin hardly ate a bite. She
confessed she really felt badly, so Ray suggested she go to bed
early. Then, he helped clean up the kitchen and sneakily played
video games with his children until way past their bedtime.

The next morning, Larkin cancelled her classes at the
satellite branch of LSU where she taught both American and
British literature. She was so sick she could hardly stand. Ray
took the kids to school and two thirds of the anniversary cake
to work. Larkin told him she was going to the doctor.

She had expected to wait a long time since she did not have
an appointment, but when the nurse told Dr. Sullivan that Dr.
Reynolds was pale as death, Larkin got in to see her doctor
fairly easily.

Larkin underwent all the normal tests that she endured
every time. She was weighed, had her blood pressure taken,
gave a urine specimen, and got her finger pricked. She waited
patiently in the examination room. She still felt so sick she
actually lay down on the exam table.

Dr. Bill Sullivan came into the room in his normal affable
manner. "Well, Larkin, I need to ask you a question."
"What?" she groaned.
"What was the first date of you last period?"
"What?" she asked as she sat up, eyebrows tightly knit.
"I'm not pregnant. I'm not late, just a few days late. Ray and I
have been using birth control."
"Every time?"
"Yes." Larkin stopped as she thought back to the
policeman's masquerade ball. She and Ray had both had
several drinks. Raif, as usual, was the designated driver. He
had dropped them at home and the kids had spent the night
with their cousins. She could not remember for certain if she
had used her diaphragm that night. Her mouth dropped open,
but no words came out.
"
Every
time?" Dr. Sullivan asked again with a smirk on his
face.
"We might have missed once," Larkin replied wide-eyed.
"Am I pregnant?"
"Yes, Dr. Reynolds, you are."
She placed a hand to her throat. "Oh, what will Ray say?"
"He'll be happy."
"But we're in our forties." She let her hand fall to her lap.
"And?"
"Well, we just hadn't planned."
"The Giver of every good and perfect gift has other plans."
"I was never this sick before. I can hardly stand."
"Everything is normal. You'll make it through the school
year. Looking at your chart, I'd say somewhere around
Independence Day." He closed her file. "So, go home and tell
Ray to get ready for some fireworks. We'll schedule your
section for late June. You don't have any extremely high-risk
factors, so don't worry. If this was your first child at your age,
I'd worry. That's when forty becomes a real concern."
Driving home, Larkin tried to decide how to break the news
to Ray. She finally stopped at a baby store and bought a pair of
baby shoes. She went home and wrapped the shoes as a gift for
her husband. She, then, called Raif and asked if he would pick
the kids up from school and keep them over night. She told him
she needed a night alone with her husband. Raif graciously
agreed. Drinking ginger ale to calm her stomach as she cooked,
Larkin set about making Ray's favorite meal—rotisserie
chicken, broccoli with cheese sauce, and wild rice—the meal
she had made the first time Ray had eaten in this house. She
remembered how angry Ray had been when Robert LaFontaine
had shown up uninvited. Robert had hurt Ray almost
irreparably. Only the love God had given to her and Ray had
healed Ray's broken spirit.
She caressed her abdomen and whispered, "Yes, little one,
your father will be very proud to have you. I think you're what
he wanted anyway, but he wouldn't say so because he thought I
didn't want it. He's afraid for me. Once again, he
underestimated me. When will he realize we're always on the
same page? Just stop making me so sick." She gulped a large
swig of ginger ale. "You'll be the last one. Three C-sections is
enough. Oh, baby, you are going to love your father. He's an
extraordinary man."