Revenge (5 page)

“Cody.” The shock in Kim's voice drifted down the hall and made Cody abandon the jeans.

She scooted out of the bedroom and down the hall, pulling up short when a blonde in a white pantsuit with a shimmering blue blouse under the jacket stood in the doorway.

Kim's gaze swept to Cody. “This is Kelly Dymond, a probate attorney.”

Kelly Dymond gave her a thin smile. “Hello, Cody.” Her hair was slicked back in a French twist, and a pair of diamonds twinkled in her ears. So much like her namesake. “Could I come in? I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Stepping aside, Kim beckoned her inside.

Ms. Dymond entered the living room. “I like your place.” Her crystal blue eyes met them.

Cody glanced at Kim. Her friend shrugged.

“You said you needed to discuss something with me?” Cody asked.

Ms. Dymond sighed and drew around her shoulder bag, unzipping it. “I'm going against every law on confidentiality and breaking a trust.” She removed a white envelope. “I couldn't sit on this any longer.”

Cold dread gripped Cody. Her flesh goose pimpled and she rubbed her damp palms against her shorts. Another letter? The last letter she'd received had come from her momma right after she'd been killed in a hit and run almost nine years ago. She'd never opened the letter, never learned what Momma's final words to her were, and the letter went up in flames along with her childhood home. Now a probate lawyer was handing her another one. Why did she get the feeling this wasn't something she wanted to hear?

Holding the envelope out to Cody, Ms. Dymond stared straight into her eyes. “Being a probate lawyer isn't fun sometimes. This is one of those times I really wish I'd chosen a different profession.”

Slowly, Cody took the offered letter and glanced at the blank front, then flipped it over to the sealed back.

“He told me to give it to you if anything happened. I couldn't wait that long. Not when I knew what was at stake.”

Her gaze jerked back to Ms. Dymond. “He? Remy?”

She gave a slow nod.

The dread grew into full-blown panic. Cody ripped into the envelope and yanked out the folded letter.

“He loves you more than you'll understand.” The woman lawyer's statement sent a riot of shivers through Cody's body.

What did he do?

Carefully, she opened the letter, finding two sheets. The first was a handwritten note from Remy. She shuffled to the next one and the blood in her veins thickened. She gaped at the wording, then her knees buckled and she flopped onto the edge of the sofa.

In the event of my death, I, Remy Adrien LeBeau, bequeath Cody Samantha Lewis with the sum of $250,000.

She choked on a sob. Immediately, Kim was next to her, hugging her shoulders. With warm arms supporting her, Cody pleaded with Ms. Dymond. “When did he do this?”

“Two weeks ago. He made it very clear you were to get what was left after his sisters and brother received their portion.”

Cody's head snapped back. “He has family?”

“Yes, and I have their address, but Remy hasn't spoken to them in more than fifteen years.”

She glanced at Kim. Her friend had sworn Remy was not an only child. How right she'd been.

“What's in the letter?” Kim asked quietly.

Cody opened the note.
Cody, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you how much I love you. The best I could do was show you. Life was never kind to me until I met you. We've been through hell together, but my special kind of hell I couldn't bear to drag you into. Use the money to buy into your father's cutting horse business.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks. He'd said he didn't want to see her die when he really had been referring to himself. As she suspected, he had come here a few days ago intending to make her mad enough to run him off. Why else would Remy have gone to the trouble to make out a will and write this letter if he didn't believe his life would end soon? She sniffed, feeling Kim's embrace tighten.

We both know that's where your true talent lies. I've watched you work those cutters, and the joy on your face is unmistakable. Forgive yourself for what happened to your momma and let go of your barrel racing desires. Nothing would make your father happier than to have you at his side.

Unable to finish, Cody crumpled the letter and covered her mouth with the crook of her elbow. She heaved air, combating the sobs jerking her chest. She didn't want this money. She wanted him. Alive and loving her in person, not in spirit.

She had to find him and fix her mistake.

“You're going to New Orleans,” Kim whispered matter-of-factly.

She looked at her friend through the watery veil. “Yes, I am.” Folding the will and letter, she tapped them against her palm. “I have a phone call and plans to make.” She headed for her room to pack, while Kim saw Ms. Dymond out.

Gathering the clothing from the floor, she carried them to the bed, dumped the pile on it, and began sorting and folding. The rapid-fire knock on her doorframe dragged her out of her focused task.

Kim once again entered the bedroom. “I'm coming with you.”

The statement made Cody falter. “What?” She dropped the shirt she was folding. “You can't leave, not with the store just opening. No, you can't . . . you can't come.”

“Why not?”

“You don't have a personal stake in this.”

“The phone call you need to make? I bet it's to Heath. So what stake does my boyfriend have in this?” Kim and Heath had started seeing each other right after the attack on Kim. Their courtship was still in the fledgling stage, but it was apparent to Cody they were a good match.

“He's Remy's partner. I need someone like him to help me.”

Kim crossed her arms and stared at Cody like she was a petulant child. “I can't? New Orleans is huge, and you have no clue where he is. Or what kind of danger he's in.”

“All the more reason for you not to get involved. This is between me and Remy.” Stepping over a pile of jeans, Cody returned to the closet. “It's more dangerous for you than me.”

“Oh, and how is that?”

Cody pulled out the Kimber from the gun case she kept hidden in there.

Kim's face blanched. “Where did you get that?”

Caressing the gun, Cody let her thumb linger against the trigger guard. “I bought it. Heath's been training me.”

“Now who's the crazy one? Why were you training?”

Cody tucked the gun back in its case again. “After Remy told me about Marie, I swore I wouldn't be a risk to him or anyone else. I'm tired of being the damsel in distress. A man shouldn't have to rescue me every time someone decides they want to use me as bait.”

“Carrying that thing is like posting a billboard over your head. ‘Hey look! I pose a threat to you, come get me.'”

A tiny smile played with the corners of her mouth. “Not likely.”

Contemplating her, Kim shook her head. “If you're going to carry that, then the threat of danger is lower for me. I'm still going.”

“Why is it so damn important for you to come, too?”

“Because.” A veil fell over Kim's face, making it hard for Cody to read into her motives. Kim tilted her chin up, her lips moved as she ran her tongue over her teeth. “Because whoever my birth mother was, the answers are in New Orleans.”

An old case file stamped NOPD slapped the granite countertop. Remy ceased rubbing his Ruger with an oiled rag and studied the folder.

“I did some digging around on that Alphonse guy you asked about.” Vic straddled the tall stool beside him. “There was next to nothing on this guy. The only thing I could find was that case file from seventy-nine. Damn thing is so old, I'm surprised it was even in the archives.”

Setting his Ruger on the leather cloth, Remy wiped his hands. “Seventy-nine?” He picked up the file. “Alphonse has been around that long?”

“I don't know. His name is in there.”

He opened the folder and scanned the first page. It was a report for a rape. The victim claimed a man who called himself Alphonse cornered her at some party and drugged her drink. When she came to, she found herself tied to a bed in a room where Alphonse repeatedly raped and abused her. The victim lost track of time, but when Alphonse finally had enough, he dumped her at the edge of the city. Victim claimed he'd done that with the hopes she'd die. Seems a Good Samaritan of sorts found her instead.

The detective investigating the case never listed the victim's actual name, called her Jane Doe. Remy flipped to the final page of the report where it was noted in red writing that more than a year after reporting the incident, the victim had disappeared and was presumed dead.

Closing the file, Remy braced his elbows on the counter. “Why didn't the detective list the victim's name?”

“Back then they worked by a different set of rules than we do now. Rape victims didn't have it easy.” Vic pulled the case file toward her. “This Alphonse character sounds like one sick bastard.”

Remy gathered his cleaning kit and stowed the items in their special case. “If you couldn't find anything else on this guy,” he said as he reassembled his Ruger, “that could mean he's been trying to keep his identity under wraps. Probably eliminates anyone who mentions his name and destroys paper trials.”

“How'd he miss this?” Vic tapped the file with a fingernail.

“Might not have known about it.” The Ruger's slide clicked home, the sound echoed in the kitchen. “It seems we're looking for an older man.”

“With a sick fetish for sadistic rape techniques.” She stiffened. “Shit, that sounds exactly like Savard.”

Remy set down the Ruger. “It does. But how old was he in seventy-nine? Nineteen, twenty?”

Vic ticked through her fingers as if counting down the age of Jared Savard. “He's like in his mid-fifties. It's a wild guess, but maybe he was a rookie at the time. Could have been his first attempt.”

“Check the file again.”

“For what?” she asked, flipping the aged stock paper aside.

“Does it state how old the victim was and what kind of party it was where she got drugged?”

Remy waited as Vic read, a hum buzzing through his veins. She was right; it could be possible that Savard was Alphonse. Yet the thought didn't ring true to him.

“Doesn't say where or what the party was. But the reporting detective described the victim in her thirties. That's it,” she said.

“Maybe you're right. Maybe Alphonse and Jared are one and the same.”

“Why do you sound skeptical?”

Remy shrugged and picked up his Ruger. “I'm a cop, Vic. I'm skeptical by nature.”

“True dat.” She sniffed. “Is that gumbo?” She left her stool and headed for the stove.

“
Mais oui
.”

Lifting the lid on the stockpot, she swept her hand over the top to waft the aroma of spices and garlic. “Hmmm, LeBeau, you should've been a chef, not a cop.”

“All Cajuns are taught how to cook,
ch
è
rie
. Why ruin a good thing?”

Vic replaced the lid on the pot and returned to the stool next to him. “Now what?”

“Did you get all the remaining files on Simon Humbert's case?”

“I found one other file in the archives.” One thin eyebrow lifted as she looked at him. “That and the file you
stole
is all that's left.” She was referring to the case file he had taken with him when he'd left New Orleans on the eve of Katrina making landfall.

“Borrowed is a better term. We'll go through both. He had to be doing something to get this Alphonse's attention to have him killed. Is there anyone left who was here when he was killed?”

“Nope. Either retired or left after Katrina. They'd be no help.”

Remy shook his head. “I don't want their help. More unwanted attention than I'd like.”

“You still have the problem of your ex-father-in-law.”

New Orleans District Attorney Paul Dumond despised him, yet Paul had been the one to orchestrate Remy's escape from New Orleans on the eve of Katrina. He'd used the hurricane to fake Remy's death and forbade him from ever contacting anyone who had been close to him. Last month, Remy broke that agreement by calling Paul. Now Remy faced further wrath from the man if he discovered his return.

Vic leaned forward. The subtle scent of citrus and lavender drifted from her and teased his senses. “The DA kept a tight grip on the Humbert case for many years. Scuttlebutt was he took it hard when Humbert was killed.”

“More like he wanted to cover something up that might make him look bad.”

“It could be that, too. You didn't exactly keep your nose out of it.”

Giving her a wary smile, Remy stood and holstered his Ruger. “Six years later, I solved his murder. Paul should thank me.”

“Not to be cruel or anything, but you got his daughter killed. I don't see the pompous ass bowing down to you.”

Remy grunted as he headed to the stove to stir the gumbo.

“I know you have more brewing in that thick head of yours. What else are you not telling me?”

He replaced the pot lid and faced Vic. “I'm going to systematically pull apart Jared's pyramid. Take out his guards until there's no one left to protect him.”

“Then what?”

“
Je vas sur paralyser le diable.
”

I am going to paralyze the devil.

• • •

The jazz club was packed tonight. Perfect time to hunt. Willing women meandered through the press of bodies, but he already had his conquest for tonight.

“Ease up,
ch
è
rie
. Too much and there'll be no fun.”

Jared Savard grasped the longneck bottle and dragged it from the blonde's hand. Squealing in protest, she grappled for the beer. With one arm, he held her back as he tipped the bottle and downed the last of the liquid. She slapped his shoulder and humphed.