Revenge (18 page)

“Can I borrow this?” he hollered.

The old man waved him off.
Guess so.

Ruger in one hand, the machete in the other, Remy headed down the path. Taking his time, pausing a yard or two at a time to scare off the vipers and other less dangerous snakes known to hide in the underbrush, he hacked and cut his way to the opposite end. When he breached the wall, he entered a weed-filled lot.

Two rusted cars, circa 1950s, sat in the yard with windows, doors, hood, and trunk lids missing. Several twisted trees shaded the stilt house; an old tire swing hung from one. A rotted picnic table lay crumbled under another. The house, set up off the ground about five feet, looked better than the yard but not by much.

Swinging the flat side of the machete side to side, Remy cautiously approached the house. An ancient window air conditioner tilted out of the front window, dried grass and twigs poked out from between the vents. The nasty odor of decay and bayou water teased his senses.

Approaching the front steps, he climbed them slowly, testing the wood. They looked to be made of cypress, yet he wasn't chancing it. Reaching the top, he inched along the porch. So far the anticipated cold didn't attack him, and the only warmth he felt was from the stifling swamp air.

Remy set the machete on the porch floor next to the front door, and holding the Ruger close to his body, he peered through the dirt-smeared window as he tried the handle. It held fast. Carefully assessing the area, he lifted the Ruger, aiming for the lock, and pulled the trigger. The pistol crack sent the roosting birds squawking into flight. He nudged the door with the barrel and it rattled but didn't budge open.

Hauling his foot back, he slammed his boot into the shattered spot next to the handle. The door broke away from the frame and swung wildly inward, crashing into the wall. A putrid stench rolled through the gapping maw. Wincing and turning his face away, Remy gripped his shirt collar and pulled it over his nose. He moved to enter the house then hesitated.

Neither the cold or warm air buffeted him. No tendrils of dread or fear encased his soul. Maybe this place wasn't a threat. Jared's use of the voodoo La Croix was probably a ploy to keep his neighbors away.

Remy dropped his shirt collar and turned to grab a lungful of fresh air, returned the shirt over his nose and entered the house. His boots thunked against the bare wood floor. Brown stained the wood in the center of what should be the living area.

A single chair leaned against the east wall, grooves in the backrest stark against the dark varnish. Remy pulled the chair away from the wall and examined the marks—possibly made by someone restrained to the chair. He let the chair fall onto all fours.

He gasped light breaths through his shirt as he moved into the kitchenette area. A battered aluminum sink held two gleaming knives. No blood on these. An ancient icebox stood in a corner. Remy popped the handle and carefully pulled open the lead-lined door. The putrid stench blasted him.

Nausea gripped his stomach and he gagged at the sight of body parts lining the metal shelves. Coughing back vomit, Remy shoved the door shut and rushed out of the house. He grabbed the machete and hurried down the steps, clearing his lungs with deep breaths. At the bottom of the staircase, he braced his body against the railing and bent over, spitting the taste of death from his mouth.

After wiping his lips with the edge of his shirt, he dug out his phone from his Levi's pocket, then punched speed dial. When the lines connected, he let his head lull back.

“Vic, I found it.”

Cody jolted at the smack on the table. The restaurant's white noise crashed against her dulled senses, dragging her back into full awareness. She peered up through sore, gritty eyes at a determined Kim. A file sat between them—and them alone as it appeared both Heath and Luc had bailed.

“Okay, we've done it your way and it isn't working. My turn.”

With a grimace, Cody kneaded the back of her neck. “Your turn for what? Where did the guys go?”

“They went to pay the check.” Kim scooted the file closer. “My turn to help you find Remy. Luc and I have been doing our own thing while you and Heath ran around like headless chickens.”

Irritation flared through Cody like fire on gasoline. “Excuse me?”

“Admit it. You've gotten nowhere fast.” Tapping the file, her friend's blue eyes gleamed. “I think we might have located where Remy's been hiding out. At least, we've found a connection to my birth mother.”

Sliding the file closer, Cody flipped open the cover and studied the typed report. Victoria Slater lived in New Orleans, daughter of David Sr. and Valérie Slater, and a detective with the NOPD. “How did you find out your birth mother's name?”

Kim tugged on her lip, glanced at the nearby patrons and leaned forward. “Luc is a magician. He dug up the report on the attack on Remy that almost killed him. This gal's name kept popping up. Luc found a picture of her and we both nearly fell out of our chairs.” She flipped the report aside to reveal a photocopied image.

Cody gasped at the uncanny resemblance between the woman in the photo and her best friend. It was like staring at Kim's twin. Except, Kim's eyes didn't match. Victoria Slater's eyes were more of a smoky gray.

“Weird, huh? So, Luc wanted to test a theory and had me go into a few police departments around town and act like her. While I was in one of them, a cop who worked the front desk led me to the cold case room like he did it all the time and let me go through a file. He freaking thought I was this Victoria Slater.”

“How the hell did you get in there without a badge?” Cody whispered.

“Heath let me borrow his.” Kim pulled some of the pages from the back of the file and laid them out for Cody. “This was the file they let me see. The missing persons, presumed dead case.”

Once again, Cody gaped at another woman who could have been Kim's twin. Valérie Slater was . . . “Dead?”

Kim took the file and rotated it to face her. She stared at the woman's image. “It said she and her husband went missing eight months after I was born. Eventually they were presumed murdered.”

“Why did you keep this from me?” Cody asked.

“I needed to make certain it was the right trail. Luc and Heath agreed.”

More secrets. When would everyone close to Cody stop keeping secrets from her?

“Luc found an address for Victoria,” Kim said.

Could it be that simple? All this time wasted when they should have looked for the one connection Remy had in this city. Or was it wasted? Cody had pushed herself out of her comfort zone, ready to face the unknown. It seemed Kim had done the same.

“Well, okay, then let's go.”

Kim cracked her knuckles and wrung her fingers like a wet dishcloth. “I don't want you to go with me. This is something I have to do. Without you and Heath.”

“If Remy's there, I'm coming.”

Kim drew in a shaky breath and shook her head. “If he's there, I'll let you know, but I'm doing this myself.”

Cody slapped her hands on the table. “You're doing this because you're still pissed at me and think I'm trying to steal Heath.”

The stilted air drew her attention to the probing eyes around them. She scowled at the busybodies until they went back to their own business, then focused on the woman across from her who'd lost her mind.

An odd expression hooded Kim's features. “I've had it with you bossing me around, Cody.” She grabbed the file and scooted out of the booth. “You had your chance to let me help, and you blew me off. Luc and I are leaving right now. You and Heath can do whatever.” She strode away.

Like a deflated balloon, Cody sagged in her booth, watching Kim disappear around a corner. What had happened to the carefree, upbeat friend who always bounced Cody out of a funk? She wasn't sure she liked this new side of Kim.

• • •

Jared took a sick day from work. He wanted to prep the house for his conquest tonight. One way or another, the redhead would be his.

Something about her nagged at him. A memory that floated out of reach.

Wandering the floors, he called on the spirits to help him. They remained silent to his entreaties. Since The Voodoo Queen's enforcer had cut him in the alley, Jared couldn't access the spirits or their powers. He had killed for them, but they still demanded more blood.

If he spilled some of the redhead's, maybe he could regain his status among them. His pulse quickened. Oh, to press the fine edge of his blade against her satiny throat, drawing a thin red line. The ache in his lower body strengthened. He would thoroughly ravage her mind, body, and soul.

Jared hesitated at the foot of the stairs, gripping the handcrafted railing. There had been no fear on her face last night when he approached. Caution ruled her features and that damn vibe encasing her had repelled him. She'd been full of spit and vinegar, a clear warning that she would be trouble, but it made him want her more. After the hulking boy-toy showed up and warned Jared off, he found a spot and watched her flee from the bar, the boy-toy hot on her heels. As long as he was around, Jared would never get close enough. Separating her from her bodyguard was the key. Jared knew how.

He pivoted to resume his pacing and froze. Wait! He
had
seen her before, with another woman. Quickly, he returned to his living room, grabbed his smartphone from the end table next to his favorite recliner and activated the text inbox. He scrolled through the messages until he hit on the photo sent by the assassin, and opened it.

The picture came into focus. A photo of the dark-haired woman on the back of a horse along with a redhead. “
Fils de putain.
” That's why she was familiar. Why he felt drawn to her.

The redhead was Remy LeBeau's woman.

His tongue darted over his dried lips as desire quickened in his chest. The spirits knew but wanted him to discover it on his own. Knew he'd have chance at destroying another piece of LeBeau. This gal was the key to fulfilling Jared's curse. The curse The Queen had turned on him.

Stashing his phone, he rushed up the stairs to his bedroom. She would not come here. LeBeau's woman would go to the bayou house, to Jared's personal place of horror. A twisted smile spread along his lips. He'd take sheer pleasure in making this one suffer worse than Marie.

He gathered a few items: his wallet, keys, and his knife. Everything tucked away in their rightful pockets, Jared left the room. Time to stalk his prey. Right in the heart of New Orleans.

The screams of Remy LeBeau's redhead would fuel Jared's dreams for nights to come. Her blood would quench the curse and his raging desire.

No one could stop him.

• • •

Because she and Heath had been “banned” from Kim's quest to meet the woman who could possibly be her half-sister, Cody let Heath drag her back to the French Quarter for some sightseeing. Let her enjoy the French Market and relax, something neither one of them had done since they arrived in New Orleans. While Luc and Kim staked out the Slater home, Cody and Heath wandered from street to street. Half of her wanted to insist Heath take her to the Slater place, but the side of her steeped in common sense said to leave it alone. Kim was mad at her, and pushing the matter would make it worse.

Their earlier spat had put Cody in a sour mood—not that she hadn't been in one since the day Remy left—but she wasn't in the mindset to deal with Kim's behavior. Hell, Cody was sick of her own behavior. She was tired, moody, and ready to blow a gasket. When she saw Remy next, she was seriously considering slapping him for putting her through this, then begging him to forgive her for being a hothead.

While roaming the French Quarter, Cody couldn't stop herself from scanning the crowd for his familiar face, hoping she'd finally catch sight of him. She ached with grief at this busted trip. If Kim's solution didn't pan out, they were all screwed.

Flopping onto a circular metal bench, she dropped her head in her hands and stared at the river. “I'm done.”

Heath eased onto the spot next to her. “With what?”

“With everything. I should've never come.”

“I haven't known you that long, Cody, but this doesn't sound like you. We're making progress.”

“Not fast enough.” Heaving a frustrated sigh that ended with a groan, she slumped on the bench. “Damn it, he could be dead already.”

“Stop right there. Don't you dare go down that path.”

“Don't lecture me, Marine. I'm sick of it.” Cody shot off the bench and stomped to the guard rails protecting the visitors from the steep riverbank. Twilight gave way to the first dark fingers of dusk. In the distance, the Crescent City bridge lights flickered on. The damp chill settled over Cody's bare arms, and she shivered.

A flurry of movement near her feet snagged her attention. A huge rat scurried along the embankment wall, paused to look up at her, and then darted away. Revulsion rippled through her. The brush of skin against her arm jolted her. She glanced at Heath then refocused on the bridge.

“It's normal to feel frustration at the lack of progress,” he said. “Happens all the time for us during a difficult case. Getting mad about it doesn't change the circumstances. We look for a different solution.”

“There isn't another solution here. Either he's dead or he's seen us and made himself as scarce as possible.” Her words slammed home hard. “Oh, shit.” The warmth drained from her face. What if Remy had seen her dancing and flirting with Heath and the other men? Instead of coming forward like she'd hoped, he'd walked away for good. “What did I do?”

“Cody?” Heath's hand settled on her bare shoulder.

She jerked from his touch and backpedaled. “You have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Touching me. Kim thinks there's something going on between us. And stupid me . . . I shouldn't have gone with you the past few nights. I'm such an idiot.”