Revenge (7 page)

Vic bumped against him, jostled by a throng of intoxicated LSU kids. Steadying her, he kept his hand on her arm. Her bicep flexed under his touch. The feel of it sent tendrils of pleasure through his nerves and startled him. Snatching his hand away, he hooked his thumbs in his Levi's pockets.

Vic leaned close to his ear. “One of them tried to cop a feel.”

He grunted and glanced over his shoulder. One of the men eyed them, holding his wrist. Remy chuckled and continued walking. “Creep learned his lesson,
mais oui
?”

With a tilt of her head, she grinned. “Boys will be boys.”

Mon Dieu
, she was sexy. The Vic in a patrol uniform that Remy remembered didn't mesh with the woman who sauntered next to him now. He had to be a dead man not to notice the vibes coming off her. He couldn't tell if she was putting on a show for their mission or for him. With the press of people around them, they were squeezed against each other. And at each encounter with Vic's lean body, Remy's blood thickened and slowed. She felt so much like Cody, strong and feminine, it made him long to hold the fiery redhead again.

A neon sign nabbed his attention, and he slowed his steps. Dread filled him. Entering a strip joint made him feel dirty. Remy had never got the lure of places like this, even in all his time as a cop, but any of the people associated with Jared would frequent the strip clubs.

“How do you want to play it in here?” Vic grabbed the edge of her jacket and flapped it. “I'm gonna stick out like a sore thumb, considering I've had run-ins with most of the clientele while I was on patrol.”

“I think I'll play on their fears of spirits, vampires, and the
loupgarou
.”

“Only Cajuns believe in werewolves.”

“We all have something
avoir peur de
.”
To be afraid of.
Remy palmed his new cell phone. “When I've spotted one of his people, I'll send a text.”

“Once they realize who or what you are, they'll bolt for the back.”

He typed the text and left it ready to send. “Did you expect them to go anywhere else?”

Before he took a step, she snagged his elbow. “Be careful in there. We don't have backup to rely on.”

Remy laid his palm over his concealed Ruger. “Got it covered.”

She released him and took her position near the alley entrance. The sun took its last bow and the colors faded into black, letting the constant glow of Bourbon Street take over. Vic melded with the dark.

Satisfied with her camouflage, Remy climbed the few steps and yanked open the door. A darkened corridor greeted him, and as he made his way along it, the smoke, music, and red glow increased. Far as he could see, flesh and grinding bodies were positioned at every angle of the building. Men lined the stage, some leaning on the rails, others lounged on the provided seating. Occasionally a fully clothed woman mingled among the drunk, horny men.

A woman carrying a tray laden with empty bottles and glasses brushed past Remy, gave him a wink and sauntered on to the bar. Swallowing against his tight collar, he trailed her, choosing a stool far from where she leaned against the brass rail giving her orders to one of the bartenders.

Remy palmed a few fifties and kept them cupped in his hand. Either a staged drink or information would come out of it.

The lone female bartender danced around her counterpart and hustled down to Remy. “What can I get ya, tiger?” She tossed a towel over her shoulder.

He grinned. Probably used to the two-bit drunken lines the men gave her, she might not sway to his charms, but she'd be easier to ply than the male—unless he was gay. And, well, Remy hadn't got the hang of flirting with another guy. “First, let's start with a Jack on the rocks.”

She cocked her hip and a gleam flashed through her eyes. “Then what?”

One nonchalant shrug and he saw her posture relax. He reeled her in a bit more. “We'll see.”

She scooped ice in a squat glass and doused it with Jack Daniels. Setting the glass in front of him, she reached for the cash in his hand. When she hesitated, her fingers rubbing the thick layer of bills, Remy gently gripped her hand. She tensed, and his thumb caressed her knuckles in languid circles. A sexy smile in place, she bent over the bar and revealed the peep show under the tight, black shirt.

“You need something more, tiger?”

“Information,
cher
. The kind that will make this poor bayou boy happy.”

“You're asking a lot.” The other bartender barked at her. She turned, flipped him off, then faced Remy. “Make it fast, Cajun-boy.”

“Anyone here you know associate with a man named Jared Savard?”

She snorted, scowling. “I know the creep. Comes in here sometimes and roughs up the girls. Manager tried to ban him, and the sexist prick pulled his badge.” Worry replaced her anger. “You're not a cop?”

Remy shook his head. “Just looking for one of his people to
ask
them a few questions.”

She seemed to like his emphasis. “Your lucky night, tiger.” She pointed discreetly toward a curved couch facing a single pole with two strippers dancing around it. “Eddy over there is one of Jared's pals. Looks like he's all by his lonesome.”

Magnifique.
Remy fully expected to spend an hour or so waiting. This was better. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “
Merci, ma ch
è
rie
.” He released his hold on the money and slipped off the stool with the glass in hand.

Dodging bodies and desperation, Remy sent the text to Vic, pocketing his cell as he sidled up next to the sofa. He pretended to stumble and sloshed the Jack over Eddy's crotch.

Eddy bolted to his feet. “Damn drunk! You ruined my pants!”

The dancers paused and backed away a few steps, wary expressions on their faces.

Remy weaved between Eddy and the women and laid a hand on Eddy's shoulder. “Sorry 'bout dat,
cher
.” He glanced drunkenly at his empty glass. “Shhh . . . ”

Eddy grabbed Remy's collar and propelled him away from the couch. “Get your coon ass outta here.”

Clamping down on the man's wrist, Remy jerked the hand from his collar and twisted until Eddy's arm bent behind his back, and the jerk doubled over.

“Hey-hey-hey, easy.”

Scanning the room for any unwanted assistance for Eddy, Remy leaned close to Eddy's ear. “Listen closely,
chien
. You and me are going to step outside and have a li'l
tête-a-tête
.”

“If I refuse?” A flick of his wrist and Eddy squelched a screech. “All right.”

Only a fool would let off pressure on his enemy's arm, but Remy wanted Eddy to believe he was exactly that. He released the man, and waited for Eddy to straighten and then throw the first punch. Remy blocked the jab to his face with his arm then slammed his elbow into Eddy's face.

The dancers squealed and hustled off. Remy cuffed Eddy's collar, doffed a mock salute to the female bartender, and drove Eddy across the strip bar floor, down the steps, and exited onto the street. Propelling him forward, Remy released his hold on Eddy, who tripped and fell in front of a meandering couple. Startled, they hopped back when he sprawled onto his back. Remy sauntered forward, waving off the couple and anyone else who happened to pause with a: “He's had too much to drink.”

Eddy rolled onto his backside and squinted at Remy. “Who are you?”

Towering over him, Remy reached down, clutched Eddy's shirt and hauled him onto his feet. He jerked the sleazebag closer and leered into his face. “Your worst nightmare come true.”

People continued past, unfazed by their confrontation. Such a normal occurrence on Bourbon Street.

Eddy's dilated eyes gradually widened. “Son of a bitch.”

Now that he had Eddy's attention, Remy dragged him into the alley where Vic stood guard. Once past the gate, Vic followed them in, closing it. She remained at the exit to keep watch.

Eddy stammered protests until Remy slammed him face first into the stone wall and pressed the barrel of the Ruger against the back of the man's head. “You're supposed to be dead,” he whined.

“That's what they say.”

“You're dead. You're supposed to be dead.” Eddy's body shook.

“Gonna wet yourself,
chien
?”

Chest rising and falling in rapid succession, he gave a slight shake of his head. “What do you want?”

Remy looked at Vic and put his mouth next to Eddy's ear. “I want Savard.”

“I haven't seen him in months.”

Trailing the Ruger barrel down Eddy's head to the back of his neck, Remy pressed the warmed steel between the folds of flesh. “Why do I get the feeling you're lying to me?”

“I swear.”

Vic jerked to attention at something behind her. She peered through the slats then tilted her chin.

He hauled Eddy away from the wall and dragged him further into the alley. Halfway Eddy found his nerve and swung back his elbow. The sharp edge caught Remy in the chin and he stumbled back. Eddy spun and kicked out.

Thrusting his hands down, Remy stopped the kick, throwing Eddy off-balance. He snapped upright, his left fist plowing into Eddy's gut. Bent over, Remy drove the butt of his Ruger into the man's face; bones cracked under the force. Eddy sprawled onto the littered pavement.

Remy rubbed his sore jaw. “They never learn.”

“Now what?” Vic hissed. “He's out cold.”

Tucking the Ruger back in the concealed holster, Remy grabbed the back of Eddy's shirt. “We take a page from the old order of N'awlins police and beat a confession out of him.”

“You're not serious?”

“Vic, I warned you. The only way to get through to people like this is by fear.”

“Just how far do you plan to take this?”

Remy lifted Eddy's dead weight over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. “Until they hear the screams in their heads that I hear every night.”

A shrill ringtone jarred Cody awake. Lifting her face from the hotel pillow, she pawed for her phone. Another ring made her flinch. What in the world possessed her to use that nasty sound? Her hand clasped around the phone and she dragged it close in time to answer before it rang again. “Yeah?”

“Cody, it's Heath.”

Sleep fled from her brain and she rolled into a sitting position. “Something wrong?”

“No. Just wanted to give you a head's up. I contacted a private detective who worked that serial killer case with me and LeBeau.”

Scrubbing her face, Cody stifled a yawn. “Why?”

“Because the man is a whiz when it comes to finding people and getting into places normal people can't. He should be arriving soon. I'm on my way up to see you two gals.”

Cody sighed. “I'll tell Kim.” She disconnected the call and dropped the phone between her sheet-covered legs. Another yawn took hold, and she stretched. Eight hours on the road yesterday, despite the dual cab on the truck they used, was a cramped ride.

The sound of water running in the bathroom dragged Cody from bed. Kim had thrashed worse than she last night. Despite her bravado, Kim leaked fear. Whatever horrible secrets had been kept from her while growing up, New Orleans could reveal them all.

Shuffling across the floor to their suitcases, Cody rummaged inside hers and pulled out a pair of shorts and green novelty T-shirt. Today she'd look the part of a tourist. Hopefully someone in their group would bump into Remy. Or maybe this PI guy Heath called in could work his magic and locate him. The sooner she found Remy, begged his forgiveness, the faster they could finish this and go home.

Cody changed her clothes and pulled her hair into a ponytail using the mirror. A light knock pulled her back from her reflection. She glanced at the bathroom—the water had stopped—then moved to answer the door. Heath's distorted figure in the peephole brought a tiny smile to her lips.

She unlocked the deadbolt, flipped the slide, and opened the door a crack. “If that's coffee I see in your hand, it better be good.”

One light-colored eyebrow rose, and his blue eyes twinkled. “I was assured that coffee in New Orleans is always the best.” He offered her a red cup.

Pulling the door inward, she propped it open with a hip and took the cup.

“Is Kim up?”

“Just finished her shower.” Cody tested the coffee. Familiar flavors danced over her tongue. “What did they say this was?”

“A blend they get from some family-owned company around here.”

Sorrow plucked her heart. Remy drank this same coffee, sharing it with her on occasion. She cradled the cup in both hands and blinked.

Heath gripped her shoulder. “We'll find him.”

Forcing down the thickness in her throat, she curled her lips as if to smile. The bathroom door's opening helped break the moment.

Kim emerged, barefoot and wearing a white ruffled top with one strap over her right shoulder and black shorts. She was towel-drying her long, nearly black hair and looked up. A light flared to life in her eyes at the sight of Heath. “Coffee?”

He held up her cup. “Only the best.”

Cody ducked between them and retreated into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and she leaned against it. Grinding her teeth together, she sucked in deep breaths through her nose. Heath was right. They'd find him. Yet these little reminders of the true Remy LeBeau would drive her insane. If a sip of coffee set her off, how would she ever survive walking the same streets he'd prowled for years?

Backhanding the tears away, she went about her usual morning bathroom routine. After she doused her face with water and dried off, she quickly brushed her teeth; avoiding her reflection. When she finished, she grabbed her coffee cup and exited the bathroom.

Heath sat on the edge of the dresser in front of the wall-mounted TV. His long, jean-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, and he watched her pad into the main room.