Revenge (21 page)

Remy chuckled. “For true. She's from Texas.”

Vic sniffed. “You're moving down in the world, LeBeau. Going from a high-class Creole to a Texan.”

“Cody's in a class all herself.”

“Cody? Who names a girl Cody?”

“What kind of woman shortens her given name to a decidedly male one?”

“
Touché
.” Vic brought a knee up and propped her right elbow on it. “What do you think Jared meant when he said he was in the bloodsucker's pocket?”

Remy scowled. “Bloodsucker? That's what we call—”

“Lawyers.”

Could it be that obvious? Was Alphonse a lawyer or posing as one?

“We need to backtrack.” Letting the bag of ice balance on his leg, he held up his hand and counted off with his fingers. “First, the deaths we now know are associated with Alphonse: your parents, Assistant DA Simon Humbert, and Marie, who was the DA's daughter. And if you want to go about it the long way, Roger McBride was a criminal lawyer who was killed by the assassin who killed ADA Humbert. That's a lot of lawyers.”

“My mother went to Tulane with plans to be a lawyer. She got married instead.”

There it was again. Tulane. Over a month ago, when he was investigating the death of Roger McBride, Tulane kept coming up, and Remy had learned his ex-father-in-law, Paul Dumond, and McBride had been friends while attending law school there.

“When did your mother go?”

“Sixty-three, sixty-four, can't remember for sure.”

About the same time as Paul and Roger.
Remy gritted his molars. He'd given a Tulane yearbook back to McBride's widow after he was suspended from the case. Vic's mother might have been in the book.

“Did she have any yearbooks?”

Vic shook her head. “My brother cleared out anything of my parents years ago. Made me mad because I lost a connection to her.” Two vertical lines appeared in the center of her forehead. “Why?”

“Dumond and this McBride guy I told you about, they attended Tulane together. I think nearly the same time as your mother.”

“You think they knew each other?”

“Do you remember anyone talking about one or the other?”

She tapped her leg. “No. I was seven when they died. Maybe my brother did. I could e-mail him and ask.”

Remy held up his hand as she started to rise. “Don't bother him. We'll figure this out on our own.”

The doorbell donged.

“Expecting someone?” he asked.

Shaking her head, Vic clambered onto her feet. As she went to answer the door, he got up from the floor and gimped into the kitchen with the ice bag and towel in hand. He sat on a barstool and examined the cat scratches. The bleeding had stopped; he'd have to clean them up to prevent infection.

Vic's voice and a male one drifted into the kitchen, but Remy couldn't make out what was said. He rolled his pant leg down over the dried blood, took up the bag of ice and towel, and carried them to the sink.

Thud.

He froze at the sound of a body hitting the floor. Spinning from the sink, he stiffened as the barrel of a pistol entered the kitchen, proceeding a man wearing a delivery service uniform. Remy's fingers twitched, wishing he could reach for the Ruger. The man's movements between the doorway and Remy were fluid.

“Keep your hands where I can see them, LeBeau.”

“How do you know my name?”

Cold steel pressed against Remy's cheek. The man reached down his hip and jerked the Ruger free.

“Doesn't matter.” One-handed, he ejected the clip and the chambered bullet. When they clattered to the floor, he kicked the clip under the china cabinet. The Ruger he dumped into the sink and turned the faucet on. Water pounded against the metal, rendering the gun unusable for now.

“Who are you?”

The man grinned. “None of your concern.”

“Too bad.” Remy weaved to the right like a boxer dodging a punch and rammed an uppercut into the man's ribs.

His opponent wheezed and staggered back a step, then swung the gun hand at Remy's head. Remy leaned back, the butt brushing his nose. Thrown off-balance because of his failed swing, the man fumbled forward. Adrenaline fueling him, Remy hooked the toe of his boot around the man's ankle and kicked up, making him stumble forward more. Cupping the back of the man's neck, Remy shoved him face first into the counter—a sickening crack of flesh against the hard surface gave Remy a thrill of satisfaction. Flinging the opponent's body aside, Remy edged the island counter, going for the knife block on the opposite side.

With a roar, the man pushed upright, lifting his gun. Remy took cover behind the island as the man squeezed off a shot. The acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air as bits of backsplash tile bit into Remy's face.

“Damn it, LeBeau, don't make me shoot you.”

He glanced at the cabinet where Vic kept her skillets. Remy yanked open a door and grabbed two pans. Legs appeared to his left and he swung, smashing both heavy metal skillets into the kneecaps. The man howled and bent over. Remy rammed the pans into the delivery man's gut then spun around the corner. He popped up, his arm swinging out backward to grab the first knife handle that slapped into his palm. The blade slinked out of the wood block.

His opponent placed a hand on the top of the wooden butcher's block as he pushed upright. Flipping the knife blade to point down, Remy drove the blade deep into the man's hand. A scream erupted from him.

Taking a chance with his back to the man, Remy ran for the kitchen exit.

The crack of the pistol reached his ears as searing pain tore through his left shoulder. Remy slammed into the floor and slid a few feet on the polished wood. Slick heat doused his shoulder. Gasping for air, he crawled onto his knees and cradled his useless arm to his body as he straightened.

Vic lay prone on the floor a few feet away, the back of her head bloodied. Her arms and legs twitched like she was coming to.

The squeak of rubber soles made Remy look over his shoulder.

“Couldn't come nice and quiet, damn swamp rat.”

Remy glimpsed the raised pistol as it arched toward him. The last thing he recalled was the explosive pain behind his eyes and falling forward.

• • •

The vibration of his private phone against his chest stilted his conversation. Smiling at the three men in equally high-priced suits, he reached inside his jacket to retrieve the phone.

“Gentlemen, I must take this. Excuse me.”

They answered with nods and resumed their conversation as he turned and walked to the far end of the corner of the government building.

He punched the green button when the phone buzzed a fourth time. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was within hearing range, he pressed the phone to his ear. “Jason, this better be good news.”

“I have him. The shithead put up a fight, and I had to shoot him. He's alive, for now.”

LeBeau fought back? The Cajun had certainly proved more troublesome than before.

“Take him to the warehouse. I'll meet you there in a few hours.” He faced the growing crowd surging into the building. “I want my face to be the last thing he sees before he dies.”

The house wasn't quite what Cody expected. She gawked at the two-story, pale pink brick exterior with white columns as she followed Heath and Kim up the sidewalk. It was the nicest house in the cul du sac.

“Doesn't look like anyone is home again,” Kim said as she mounted the single step leading to the front door.

Cody paused next to one of the columns and peered up at the fat, gray clouds. A few drops splattered against her face. “Find out. It's gonna pour.”

Kim lifted her fist and was about to knock when Heath reached out and grabbed her wrist. His sidearm cleared its holster and he guided Kim behind him.

“Cody, weapon.”

Adrenaline injected into her muscles, Cody glanced at the silent street and shrub-protected homes as she retrieved her pistol from her hip holster.

“The door is open.” He wagged a finger to come closer and pointed to the opposite side of the frame.

Doing as he indicated, Cody propped her shoulder into the wall, holding her gun low and at the center of her body. Thunder cracked, making her stiffen. She pushed the shock aside.

Heath counted down with his fingers, then using his gun, he pushed the door open wide, entering first. As he'd trained her, Cody followed him inside. Her gaze swept the large entryway, seeing nothing threatening. Turning, she stilled.

Holstering his weapon, Heath knelt next to the dark-haired woman laying face down on the floor. “Kim, call Luc.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cody caught the hurried movements as Kim left to get the two-way radio in the truck. Cody holstered her weapon and inched closer to Heath.

He pressed his fingers to the woman's neck. “She's got a pulse.” He shifted the matted hair at the back of her head. “Someone bashed her over the head. See if you can find an ice pack or something.”

As she moved to take a step, the woman flipped suddenly. Using her legs like a sweeper, she knocked Heath off his feet. The moment he hit the floor on his backside, the woman rolled onto her feet in a crouched position. Her wild eyes jerked to Cody, widened a fraction as if shocked by what she saw, then she hurtled forward, coming at Cody.

Instinct overrode any training she received from Heath as she hugged the woman's body when she tackled her. The soles of Cody's boots slid on the slick floor; unable to stop the woman's forward progress, she was propelled backward. Her back slammed into a wall, and air whooshed from her lungs. Cody gasped as the woman released her, cool air burning tracks down her throat. She glimpsed the fist rushing for her face. Her arm shot up and blocked the punch before she twisted her arm around the woman's and latched on. In the back of her head she knew the woman was only fighting for survival—she'd been attacked and she didn't know who they were—but Cody wasn't about to get her butt kicked.

A glint behind the woman's head snagged Cody's attention. Heath had his weapon drawn.

Cody ducked the other flailing arm. “Hold up! We're not here to hurt you.” Her voice shocked the woman into freezing.

She gaped, blinking rapidly at Cody. “Who—”

“Luc's coming.”

The woman rotated quickly to face the doorway as Kim entered the house. Both women went rigid, staring at each other.

Cody pushed off the wall and rubbed her sore back. “Kim, I take it this is your sister, Victoria?”

Kim glanced at her, the deep blue of her eyes darkening, then nodded. Victoria was still too stunned to react.

“Where's Remy?” Heath asked as he reholstered his gun.

Coming out of her stunned silence, Victoria turned on Cody. “Who the hell are you people?”

“Is that blood?” Kim asked.

Cody saw where her friend pointed, and it felt like someone had catapulted her heart into her throat. A numb sensation threaded through her legs. Several feet away, a dark-red smear on the floor led into the next room. Feeling returned to her legs suddenly. She shoved past Victoria and staggered into the kitchen. The blood trail ended abruptly, and the kitchen looked like a battle zone.

Heath gently guided Cody aside. “It looks like he fought back.” He carefully skirted around the island counter and bent over. When he straightened, he held a bloodied knife by the handle. “He might have gotten his attacker.”

The ping of water against metal put Cody in motion. She hurried to the sink and peered in. Remy's Ruger with the clip missing sat in the sink, beads of water covering the weapon. “He's unarmed.”

Heath swore. “How did they get him out of here without being seen?”

“Not they, he.” They turned to Victoria, who leaned against the doorway with her hand pressed to the back of her head. “The guy who bashed me over the head was wearing a delivery uniform. All he had to do was pretend to remove something from my home in a box.”

Kim appeared beside Victoria, a shadow shifting behind them before materializing into Luc. Standing next to each other as they were, Cody couldn't deny the strong family resemblance. Was Victoria truly Kim's sister?

“Someone had to have heard something.”

Cody's attention jerked back to Heath.

He ran his hand over the backsplash on the wall next to him. “There's a bullet in the tile.”

“No one is home at this time of the day,” Victoria said. “My house is soundproof, too. My parents wanted it that way.”

Enough with this crime scene analyzing. Cody flung her body away from the sink and stalked to the doorway. She squared up to Victoria. “Who is
he
? Who took Remy?”

“I don't know the guy who took him. Though I think I know who sent him.”

“Tell me.” Cody heard the squeak of desperation.

Victoria's light hazel eyes wavered, seeming to study Cody. Hard lines dragged at the corner of her mouth. “All I have is the name Alphonse. I don't know anything more than that.”

“It's enough for me,” Luc said and disappeared out of the house.

“He won't find anything. This Alphonse guy knows how to cover his ass,” Victoria said to the closing front door. “Remy and I already tried.”

“You'd be surprised what that man can find.” Heath handed Victoria a bag of ice he seemed to find out of nowhere. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Not sure. By the looks of the blood on the floor it's been less than an hour.” She winced when she placed the ice against her head. “If I find that bastard who hit me, I'll blow his face off for this.”

Like a stake driven into her chest, the realization they'd been so close struck Cody hard. Pain traveled through her veins, radiating into every inch of her body. Pushing herself between Victoria and Kim, she stumbled out into the main entryway and found a seat at the bottom of the staircase. Cody tangled her fingers in her hair and hung her head. Biting her lips, she swallowed the urge to cry creeping up from the depths of her soul.