Revenge (4 page)

A twisted smile played with his mouth. “What makes you think I haven't already decided it?”

“I'm no fool. If you wanted me dead, it would've already happened.”

“You sound so sure of yourself. Perhaps it's time to change my stance and eliminate you now.”

A sickening laugh reverberated over the line. “I guessed as much. I know your dirty little secret now, and I've got proof.”

What dirty little secret did this asshole think he found? “We all have skeletons in our lives. Even you.”

“If this skeleton were to, say, be handed over to the wrong people, you can kiss your empire goodbye. Then everyone would know exactly who you are.”

The tone in the words stilled his hand as he was about to bring the tumbler to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered the glass and shifted around to face the room. “You would threaten me? You goddamn prick! I
made
you.”

“I'll break you. If I suddenly disappear or my body turns up, your precious secret will be released to the world. No one will save you then.” A snarl came through the connection. “Tread carefully.” The connection died.

Anger roiled through him. He slapped the phone down on the glossed dining room table, doused his mouth with the Scotch, and then hurled the tumbler at the wall as a roar ripped from his throat. The crystal shattered and scattered across the hardwood floor. Breathing hard, he whipped around and snatched the phone off the table. He punched the speed dial and waited.

“Yes?” His second-in-command answered.

“Savard has decided to play roulette. I want him eliminated.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Find whatever damning evidence he seems to have against me, and destroy it and whoever is helping him hide it. Then I want you to rip his evil, hoodoo-loving heart out of his chest with your bare hands while he's still alive.”

His second-in-command's wicked laugh met his demands. “With pleasure.”

Waking in a strange home still set Remy's teeth on edge. The warmth of the soft bed and the silky feel of the 1,500-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets begged him to stay in bed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this well and this long without the aid of sleeping pills. Stretching, he rolled onto his stomach and burrowed deeper into the fluffy pillow. Eyes closed, he let the comfort lull him.

Something about being back in New Orleans eased the tension. Ah, those brief moments of bliss from his past when he lived like a Mardis Gras king. Arms wrapped around the pillow, he inhaled the subtle scent of lavender mingled with his own tangy scent of lime and sage.

The lavender grew on Remy. Reminded him of Marie—sweet and calming. Still, he was beginning to miss Cody's spicy feminine scent, reminiscent of cinnamon and cayenne pepper.

The thought of Cody brought a flash of her riding her horse, her once long, red hair billowing behind her like flames. Remy jerked back from the image. He stared at the white pillowcase and tried to dislodge the picture. Letting thoughts of Cody stay in his head would weaken his will to exact his revenge. She was a crutch he couldn't afford to keep. Somehow he needed to purge her from his brain.

He tossed the pillow at the headboard with a grunt and flopped onto his back. Left knee raised, tenting the sheet over his body, he stared at the ceiling. There was no getting rid of Cody Lewis. He hoped she was still so furious with him that she wouldn't do anything stupid, like actually show up here in New Orleans.

Things were complicated enough. Trying to drive out this Alphonse character would take time and work. Dealing with a sassy redhead who had a penchant for getting herself into trouble—and putting another woman he loved in the crosshairs of his enemies—was not part of the game plan. Jared would not have a chance to get his filthy hands on her.

Remy rolled his head to the side and checked the time: nine-thirty. Time to get up. Tossing the sheet aside, he wandered into the bathroom. After he showered, he pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He tousled his damp hair as he strode barefooted downstairs.

A note on the counter greeted him in the kitchen.

LeBeau, I'm at work, should be off around five unless something comes up. Help yourself to whatever is in the place. The alarm is activated, the code is below. Stay in the house until I get back. We don't need any unwanted attention. I pulled your bike into the garage. You can access that through the laundry room. Vic.

He folded the note and shoved it in his back pocket. Vic worried too much.

More than a month ago he had met another woman with similar features to Victoria Slater, but that woman's eyes were a different color. Kimberly Anne Gregory, Cody's best friend, could have been the twin of Valérie Slater, Vic's deceased mother. Did she and her older brother suspect they might not be the only Slater progeny out there? Knowing Vic as he did, Remy doubted she had a clue. She wasn't one to leave family behind.

There was a mystery in this. Cody had said Kim was adopted. The couple who raised her had been tasked with keeping her adoption secret. Cody said it was because the birth mother feared for her baby's life. Kim's birth was months before Valérie and her husband had gone missing. Could it be that coincidental? Best not to think about it. Remy wasn't here to learn the truth about Kim Gregory.

He shuffled to the fridge and peered inside. Vic had the thing stocked with food staples that any self-respecting New Orleans Creole native kept on hand at all times. He decided to put his upbringing to good use and gathered everything he'd need for gumbo. Rummaging through her spice cabinet he found his seasonings, then he got to work.

While he diced the Trinity—an onion, green pepper, and celery mix—the odd sensation of being watched rippled along his spine. He slowed the knife and stopped. He gripped it, rotating it for a defensive maneuver, then carefully turned. His gaze bounced from one side of the room to the other. A gold-green pair of eyes stared at him from a perch on top of the towering china hutch. A black tail flicked back and forth, and a low growl emitted from the cat's throat.

When had Vic gotten a cat?

The black and white animal hissed and swatted at the air. Remy chuckled and returned to his dicing.

The odd sensation of being watched didn't leave him. This felt off, not like the cat. He wasn't at the condo in Dallas or in his old home he had shared with Marie. Whatever had dogged his heels for years couldn't have found him here in Vic's kitchen. Grounding his teeth, he tried to shift his focus.

He scraped the Trinity into a glass bowl. The nightmares he'd coped with for years he had equated to demon torture. It was nothing more than a metaphor.

Wasn't it?

This time the cat's hiss ended in a vicious growl. Remy rotated again, knife in hand. The chill, that same blasted chill that always preceded a spiritual attack, lanced the room. Swallowing hard, he backed into the counter and searched the room. The last time this happened he'd been choked by an invisible hand in his condo.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered.

The chill intensified. Remy swore he could almost see his breath.

Like before in his Dallas condo, a sudden swoop of warm air penetrated the cold. The cat panicked and bolted from the top of the hutch and darted out of the kitchen, yowling. Remy's muscles seized and he remained frozen where he stood. It felt like something was trying to suck the air from the room, making him gasp for breath. The knife slipped from his hand and clattered to the tile. Suddenly, his muscles relaxed and he crumpled to the floor.

As quickly as it came, the cold and warm air left. He sat there, panting, sweat coating his face and arms.

What the hell?
This was as bad as that night he'd found the box holding Marie's wedding band mysteriously lying on the floor in the spare bedroom of his condo and was choked. The cold air he understood. It always accompanied any evil voodoo spirits he encountered in the past. But the warm air was freaking him out. This was newer yet oddly comforting, in a bizarre way. If he believed in the supernatural—which he hadn't in long time—he'd almost swear it was a combat between good and evil.

Remy shook his head. He'd lost his mind, hadn't he? After all, this was New Orleans. Many evil things happened in this city. So many people dabbled in the supernatural. He'd seen firsthand what happened when someone took it too far.

Jared Savard, Remy's old NOPD patrol partner, was a voodoo worshiper. On several occasions Jared had flaunted his “gifts” as a means to impress or frighten. Remy's encounters with this weird phenomenon started after he'd been assigned to Savard, and became dangerous after Savard attempted to kill him.

Remy growled and threw himself onto his feet. It had to be Jared. After all this time he wouldn't let it go. Savard wanted blood, specifically Remy's.

Bending down, he snatched the knife from the floor and set it in the sink. It would take more than a little voodoo to take him down.

A connection existed between Jared and the man, Alphonse, Remy had told Vic about. Alphonse had hired an assassin to kill Simon Humbert. Jared had hired the same assassin to kill Roger McBride and then attempted to kill Remy. When Remy got too involved in Humbert's murder case and the Slaters' cold case, Jared came after Remy and killed Marie. His theory of a connection was weak, but he'd find it.

First things first: A move against his old partner was in order. Take out the more serious threat. Once Remy extracted what he needed from Savard, he'd go after Alphonse.

After placing the lid on a tall pot, Remy adjusted the heat. Like his gumbo, Jared would simmer in his own juices.

• • •

Taking the time to sleep on her decision to go to New Orleans had allowed the doubts to set in. Cody chucked a pair of jeans behind her, grunting when it didn't give her the satisfying crash a solid object might. She slumped cross-legged on the floor in front of her closet and stared at the array of clothing hanging there. Most of this stuff came from Kim and her clothing designer and their newly opened store. All of it fit Cody's curves and tastes to a T.

What she wanted to do meant a change in wardrobe. These clothes were too nice, too attention grabbing. She needed clothing that helped her look less conspicuous. Like what she'd normally worn before the house burned up.

If
she went to New Orleans.

Plowing her fingers through her coiled hair, she hung her head, cradling it in her hands, and massaged her scalp. Why had she driven him away? If she hadn't let her temper get the best of her, she might have eked out a few minutes, a few hours more with Remy. Maybe convinced him to take her along to New Orleans. Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she willed the tears to dry up. She'd shed enough tears over him.

Cody picked up a green T-shirt, balled it up in her hands, and tossed it at the back of her closet. The T-shirt dislodged another shirt from the top of her gun case. Black, dimpled plastic stared back at her.

You trained with that gun to stop from being the victim. Why are you balking?

Startling at the creak of the floor, her attention jerked to the doorway.

Kimberly Anne Gregory eyed the mess in her bedroom. “Going somewhere?” She tucked her dark brown hair behind an ear and bent over. She lifted a blouse from the floor with a finger, letting it dangle on the end. “One would think that the clothes would go in a suitcase, not on the floor.”

With a huff, Cody came to her feet and made a path around the piles to her bed. “Decided I wanted to rearrange the closet.” She flopped on the sole empty corner.

Kim cautiously navigated around the aftermath of the clothing explosion. Her leg must be hurting today. Less than a month ago, Kim's left leg had been slashed open by an unknown attacker. Had it not been for Cody and Remy's quick actions, Kim might have bled to death. To this day the police were still at a loss as to why she'd been targeted. Remy seemed to suspect something, yet never said what.

Dropping the blouse on a pile on the bed, Kim cleared a spot and sat next to Cody. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Remy?”

“It doesn't matter now. It's over, and that's it.”

“The hell you say. You don't just ‘rearrange your closet.' Stop being a stubborn cuss and go after him.”

“It's not that simple.” Cody bolted to her feet. “Remy made it perfectly clear that I'm not ‘worthy' to face his problems. Yet, after I fell off the wagon a few weeks back, I get this damn speech about letting him know when I'm struggling with my need for a drink. I shouldn't face it alone,” she said in a lowered voice.

“I think you're reading too much into this. He's a guy, Cody. He has this ingrained need to protect anything female. And it's more powerful with the ones he loves. You told me his wife was brutally murdered. Get inside his head for a moment and start thinking like him. Do you honestly see him wanting the same thing to happen to you?”

“I'm not Marie.”

“No one said you were.”

Cody rubbed her face then shook her head. She gathered up an armful of jeans and moved to the dresser.

“You were thinking about going after him. So, do it.”

Hesitating before dumping the jeans in a drawer, Cody let Kim's comment bounce around in her head. Last night she was bound and determined to chase after him. What had changed her mind?

You broke up with him, remember? What makes you think he'll be glad to see you come running after the way you ripped into him?

And there it was.

The doorbell rang. Cody turned to the sound.

“I'll go see who it is.” Kim stood and exited the bedroom.

Cody hugged the jumble of denim close to her chest. So many things she'd left unfinished and unsaid because of her temper. Was she going to let it come between her and Remy? She'd been too hasty in calling it quits, even if that was Remy's intention in his need to protect her.