Relentless Pursuit (16 page)

Within minutes, and after the exchange of way more money than a dump like this should charge, he had their room key.  Catcalls and rude gestures flew when Jinx started past the yahoos lounging against the open doorway.   Remy expected her to walk past, head held high, ignoring the idiots.  Instead, she put a little extra sway in her caboose, flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder, gave the men a saucy little wave and walked on past.  Remy's tongue nearly lolled out of his mouth at the sight of her sweet ass in front of him.  Focusing on it made it easier to stroll down the hall steps behind her, instead of beating the living crap out of the trio of imbeciles shouting suggestions and offering payment for services.  Instead, he flipped them the bird and kept walking.

About halfway down the row was their room.  Opening the door with an old fashioned key, not one of the electronic key cards, but a real metal key which took a little jiggling and finagling before the lock finally opened. Remy was doubly convinced they'd overpaid for the room.  Even working vice, he'd stayed in better rattraps than this dump.

“Oh, you really know how to spoil a girl, big guy.”  Jinx grinned over her shoulder at him as she moved further into the room.  The one queen-sized bed dominated the center of the room.  Its hideous dark blue bedspread was a solid color.  Heaven only knew what kind of stains decorated its surface.  A single wooden chair with uneven wobbly legs sat beside an equally sad what-used-to-be-white plastic table that probably hadn't been used in decades, even when it was new.

Plus, he definitely didn't want to take his shoes off and walk barefoot on the carpet, which was a multitude of variegated colors ranging from putrid orange to I've just been thrown up on brown.  Nope, quick in and out, not even sitting down if it could be avoided.

“Best I could do.  You need help with the dye?”  Not that he knew the first thing about hair color, except that it looked pretty good on most women.  But applying it—well he could read instructions.

“I think I can handle it.  How are you planning on changing your appearance though?  Didn't see you picking up any color.”

“Pretty much a ball cap and sunglasses.  Stop shaving.  Not a terrific disguise, but most people don't notice the guy anyway when there's a beautiful woman around.”

He watched the rush of pink in her cheeks.  Good.  Let her know he found her attractive.  Not that he'd make a move on her or anything, not while she was under his protection.  But still, he had eyes and she was a whole lotta woman with a body any breathing man couldn't help but notice.  Sure, some men went for a stick figured chick.  Not him.  He loved having a real flesh-and-blood full-figured woman in his arms and in his bed.  She was exactly the kind of woman he found attractive—and she was totally off limits.

“Go ahead and get started, we'll need to hit the road again pretty quick.  I've got a feeling Dubshenko's men aren't far behind us, so we need to keep moving.”

Digging in the plastic sack, she pulled out the two boxes of hair dye, along with the shorts and T-shirt she'd bought and moved with an elegant grace into the bathroom.  The door clicked between them with a soft snick of sound.  Mere seconds, yet he already missed her quick wit, her outgoing smile.  Oh, boy, at this rate he was going to be in so much trouble.  He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted from his goal by a gorgeous woman.  One thing, and only one thing, was important.  Getting Dubshenko off the streets of New Orleans once and for all.  To do that he needed to keep Jennifer Marucci safe, and discover what she knew or what she had that Dubshenko felt was worth killing over.

He emptied out the contents of the plastic bag onto the table, rifling through the remaining items, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything.   Small denim backpack, check.  Baseball cap, check.  Sunglasses, check.  Deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste.  Basic necessities he could easily replace if needed.

The last item on the table drew a muffled curse.  Box of condoms.  Check, dammit.  This case took precedence before anything else, but he was human and a guy.  He knew the dangers of being out in the field with a member of the opposite sex, the long hours confined together.  Emotions became clouded and better judgment flew out the window in the face of unbridled lust.  Better safe than sorry.  Besides,
no glove, no love
.  That was one chance Remy never, ever took.

Repacking everything else into the pack except for the cap and glasses, he paced the room.  How long did it take to color hair anyway?

Through the bathroom door, he heard movements, though they were muffled.  Then the shower kicked on.  She had to shower?  Oh, wait, probably the fastest way to rinse all the junk out of her hair, and easier than the tiny sink he'd spotted in the nasty bathroom.  But she was in there, and the warm water sluiced over her naked skin.

Stop.  Danger.  Do not go there.
  Remy turned away, his back toward the bathroom door.  Instead, he jogged across the filthy carpet and eased back the corner edge of the drapes, peering into the parking lot.  If he leaned just right, he could see the three guys still lounging outside the doorway of the room next to the office.  The rest of the parking lot was empty.  Good, meant they still had a jumpstart on Dubshenko's men.

The creaking of the bathroom door had Remy whirling around.  The sight of Jinx in her new outfit had him practically swallowing his tongue.  The shorts came to midthigh, so they weren't indecent or Daisy Duke's, but the woman had fabulous long legs with thighs he wanted wrapped around him while he pounded into her.  The t-shirt was plain cotton, a deep blue that brought out the startling sapphire of her eyes.  The clothes definitely fit better than the makeshift outfit he'd put together for her out of his grandmother's closet.

But still, damn.

She rubbed the towel through her hair, still damp from the shower.  The startling change in its color made him pause, and he studied her closely.  It might work.  The new darker color gave her a different appearance, the auburn color making her eyes look even bigger and brighter than before.

“Sorry, but it has to stay wet.  They don't have a blow dryer here.  It should dry pretty quickly in this heat, anyway.  Think this will fool anybody?”

She twirled before him in a slow spin, and he studied the effect.  Taken as a whole, she did appear unrecognizable from before.  More exotic in an indefinable way, which might or might not be a good thing.

“You look great.  Sorry about the lack of amenities.  You ready to go?”

“Let me grab the other clothes out of the bathroom and I'm set.  Wait.  Where's the bag?  I need the shoes I bought.”  Remy pointed to the end of the bed where he'd placed them when he'd packed everything into the backpack.

“Okay, great.  I'm so ready to lose the flip-flops.  They might be cute, but they were not made for walking.”  Within a minute she had all her stuff together, and slid her feet into the canvas shoes.  Clothes shoved into the bag, Remy checked the window again, before giving the all clear.

On leaving the room, they headed to the right, away from the office, and cut across the parking lot.  Hopefully nobody spotted them, and Remy had them back on the street and headed north.  He thought about calling a cab, at least to get them out of the city, but they were still too close to New Orleans.  On the off chance they were spotted, they didn't want to leave any trail for Dubshenko's trackers to follow.  They'd taken too many chances already.

“Where are we heading now?”  Jinx asked while they continued walking.

“I figured we'd find out where the nearest bus station is, ride for a while and plan our next move.”  Remy watched her shoulders slump, and felt like a pig, but they didn't have a choice except to keep moving.

Because if they stopped, they died.

Chapter Seventeen

H
illiard reached into his desk drawer and pulled out one of the cell phones Max gave him the day before. He was so tempted to call Remy, make sure his best detective and their star witness had gotten away clean.  Remy he trusted with his life, and the life of their victim/witness; otherwise, he wouldn't have risked everything letting them walk out the door.

When the big brass found out he'd probably lose his stripes anyway, maybe even his badge, but what the hell, Dubshenko had enough people in his pocket when they made this move against him, he'd probably be out of a job anyway.

A roar of voices echoed down the hall, and he slid the drawer closed, turning the key to make doubly sure nobody got to the phone.  There was a hard rap against his door before it swung inward, and a sea of bodies invaded his sanctuary.

Reporters.  Great.  As welcome as a root canal without anesthetic
.

A second look and he groaned inwardly, but slapped on his business face. 
Politicians.
  One rung on the ladder closer to hell than reporters.  Wasn't this just the cherry on his sundae?

“Gentleman, what can I do for you?”

A tall, well-dressed man stepped forward, hand outstretched.  The flashes of cameras clicking photos and microphones shoved forward followed the man.  Hilliard recognized him immediately, and strove with every ounce of fortitude to remain civil.  The jackass was a thorn in his side, had been ever since he'd announced his candidacy for lieutenant governor of this great state.  Jonathan Caine was an up-and-comer in political circles, having a meteoric rise throughout the ranks from city councilman to mayor.  Now he had his eye on a bigger prize.  Too bad Hilliard couldn't stand the man.

“Captain Hilliard, I'd like to offer any assistance I can toward finding and convicting the perpetrators of this horrible, unjust attack against the fine officers of our fair city of New Orleans.  This brazen attack against our finest, the men and women who put their lives on the line every day protecting our citizenry, will not go unpunished.”  Sincerity oozed from the man's lips, and Hilliard didn't believe a single word he uttered.

Unfortunately, Caine's opponent for the lieutenant governor's slot was also in the cavalcade of bodies invading his office, and he stepped forward as soon as Caine finished talking, ingratiating himself before the cameras and mics.

Also tall, dark and charismatically appealing, Daniel Delaney was cut from the same ruthless cloth as Jonathan Caine.  Ambition drove him on his path toward power and prestige.   Hilliard felt about him pretty much the same way he felt about Caine.  Couldn't stand either one of 'em, but he had to play nice with the politicos before the news media, show no favoritism.

Not that he gave a rat's patoot who won.  One bad choice competing against another bad choice.  As far as he was concerned, there were no winners in this race, and the losers were the good people of Louisiana.  Then again, what did he know or care about state-wide politics, he liked being in his section of the state. The people were down to earth, and you knew the good guys from the bad guys, at least most of the time.

“Captain Hilliard, let me echo the sentiments of my colleague.  We want this scourge of society caught and dealt with as quickly as possible.  We cannot and will not allow the citizens of our magnificent city to be terrified by outlaws roaming our streets with impunity, wreaking havoc in their wake.  Tell us, Captain, do you have any leads in apprehending the mysterious bomber?”  Delaney stepped back, smoothing a hand down his tie.  His visage of concern directed toward the many video cameras recording the scene for posterity, and the five o'clock news.

Damn, I hate politicians.  If I wanted to broadcast the fact that we're basically sitting on our hands without a friggin' clue that I'm willing to share, I'd have called my own press conference
.

“Ladies and gentleman, we are currently investigating several leads into the bombing here yesterday evening.  Although we have one suspect in custody, all avenues are being thoroughly explored to ensure the safety of all the citizens of New Orleans.  The attack appears to have been targeted directly to this precinct, so people should go about their business exactly as they always have, without fear.  We believe this was an isolated incident.  That's all I have to say.  We'll keep you informed as new information is available.  Thank you.”

Within minutes the room had emptied of everyone except the two candidates, who remained behind.  He'd have preferred they'd left with the vultures, instead they pulled up the chairs in front of his desk.  Looked like they were hunkering in for a prolonged visit.  Great.

“Off the record,” Caine started, leaning forward in his chair, “what can you really tell us about what happened here?”  Delaney nodded, though he remained relaxed in his seat, a causal picture of restrained power.

“Gentleman, there really isn't anything more to tell.  It was an isolated incident.  An individual came into the precinct carrying a vinyl food container, stating he had a pizza delivery.  Inside the carrier was a pipe bomb which subsequently exploded.”  Hilliard sank down into his seat behind his desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.  He stared at the men seated across from him, but neither so much as flinched.   Funny, now that he saw both men together it was remarkable how alike they looked.  Both were just over six feet tall, dark haired, with a wiry muscular build.  Similar coloring, similar haircuts.  Was there some kind of factory churning out candidates for office, like an assembly line?  Or maybe a Chinese restaurant.  Choose one candidate from column A and another from column B?

Delaney tugged on his cuff, before speaking.  “My sources tell me you suspect Vladimir Dubshenko is behind the bombing.”

“Exactly.  Dubshenko targeted one of your detectives, isn't that correct?”  Caine added.

“Where did you get your information?”  Damn, Hilliard knew they had at least one leak supplying info to Dubshenko, but did these two jerks have spies in his department, too?

“Where isn't important, Captain.  Is the information accurate is the real question.”  Caine nodded at Delaney's rebuff.

“All I will say—off the record—is Vladimir Dubshenko is a person of interest in the incident, along with a multitude of other suspects.  Now, gentleman, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do and a city to protect.”