Revenge (13 page)

“Yeah, and something else.”

The bartender frowned. “Thought the gal with you was drinking same as you?”

He shifted aside and pointed at the redhead on the dance floor. She had her head back and was laughing. Her partner was enjoying the view down the front of her shirt.

“That gal. What did she order?”

“Nothing yet.” The bartender leaned on the bar and peered through the gloom. “She looks like a tourist.”

“Probably. She come in with anyone?”

“Nope. Came in alone.” Reaching under the bar, the barkeep pulled out Jared's preferred choice of beer. “Why so interested? You don't like anything but blondes.”

He took the beer and tossed a twenty. “None of your business.”

He left to meander along the edge of the dance floor. The redhead changed partners. She was enjoying herself. Jared couldn't pinpoint that ebb and flow of current coming from her. Not until he was close enough to touch her. One of the stage lights spotlighted her face and he stiffened. She looked familiar.

How?

She spun from the light, the darkness dousing her features.

Need coiled through him. He inched onto the floor. He had to have this one. Something about her stirred the spirits.

Since The Queen had made her decree and reversed his curse onto him, Jared was losing touch with his voodoo spirits. He'd figured he'd get some of his strength back with the blonde sitting over at his table. Now, after seeing this redhead, he might change his mind.

An imposing man entered the fray of dancers and wrapped his arms around her. She gave him a coy, almost familiar smile. The guy appeared to be a little over six feet and built like a Saints tight end. Jared backed off the floor and watched the couple. They spoke as they danced, acting like they knew each other. Her date arriving a bit late?

“Are you ever going to come back?”

His gaze swung to the woman next to him. If the redhead was out for now, he'd settle for second best.

Maybe he'd get another chance tomorrow. Tourists couldn't resist the lure of Bourbon Street.

• • •

Remy dumped the body of another of Jared's lackeys on the lower deck of a freighter. He ran into this one at the strip club while he was halfway through his third shot of Jack. Wiping sweat and blood from the corner of his mouth, he spit on the unconscious man. He'd taken out most of his anger at catching Cody with Anderson on this guy. But the ass proved more ignorant than Eddy.

After a quick scan of the lower-level cargo area, Remy backed away and left through the same passageway he'd entered. Amazing what a few hundred dollars got him. Once outside the ship, he loosened his shoulders, letting his arms hang naturally at his sides, then bowed his head and calmly strolled to his Harley tucked between warehouses.

Murderer.

He jerked at the taunt. No. He wasn't going to let it drag him back into the pit. What he did was payback for what happened to Marie. Remy sneered. He didn't kill anyone.

Pausing midstride, he looked over his shoulder at the freighter. No. The authorities would find his man once the ship made its first stop. He continued on to his bike. Mounting, he started it and zipped out from between the buildings. He headed north, back to Vic's, away from the stench of the river and his sins.

Once on the expressway, he throttled the Harley into a higher gear and sped past the speed limit. The wind tore at his jacket and face, bringing tears to his eyes. He slid his glasses on, and cranked the throttle up another notch.

Weaken his ranks. Put the fear of God into him, and then cut Jared down for good. A few more guys, and Remy could make his move against Jared.

The first pink fingers of sunlight crept into the sky. A two-hour beating wasted on a nobody. Remy grunted. He'd not make that mistake again.

Why couldn't he get to Jared's house tonight? If he'd crossed the street and entered his home, Remy could repay him in kind for the scar on his back. Instead that damn gust of air had interfered. Whatever the hell it was seemed to be trying to prevent him from making a mistake.

Shit, he'd already made the biggest mistake of his life. Falling in love with a woman who at the drop of a hat kicked him out of her life and found the next guy to jump into bed with.

Exiting off the expressway, he merged with his desired street. He slowed the Harley and pulled over. Kickstand down, he twisted his upper body at the waist to look west.

All he needed to do was turn the bike around and leave. Head back to the first place he ever loved. To Houma. Home. He could forget about this insane desire for revenge. No one knew about his estranged family there. He'd be safe.
They'd
be safe. Or would they?

He turned to stare at the length of the street before him. He couldn't face a future of constantly looking over his shoulder and worrying about protecting the ones he loved from those who would settle for nothing less than his head on a platter. What kind of life was that? For anyone? Cody hadn't been able to handle it. Isn't that why she'd dumped him?

No, he couldn't put his family through that.

Remy had to stop this constant second-guessing himself and his motives. It slowed his defenses, and it would get him killed.

Restarting the Harley, he rolled it forward and left the parking spot.

Back at Vic's, he parked his bike inside the garage but waited to shed his jacket until he passed through the kitchen. He was about to mount the stairs to his room when a cold voice stopped him.

“You left without me.”

He grimaced. Framed by the doorway leading into her den, Vic stood with her arms crossed, wearing what looked like the clothes she had worn the previous day. Anger burned in her eyes.

“Left me here and didn't bother to leave an explanation.”

“I can't take you out there every night.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? You never go in alone; you always have backup.”

“I don't need backup.”

She stalked across the floor and stood toe to toe with him. “In this city, you always go in with backup. You're not sneaking out and leaving me behind. Clear?” Her gaze flicked down. One eyebrow peaked. “You found another one.”

“Low schmuck on the totem pole.”

“Did you send that one up river, too?”

Remy lifted one shoulder. “Where else?” Draping his jacket over his shoulder, he turned to the stairs once more. “Are you finished lecturing me?”

Vic hooked his elbow and stilled his movements. “Not quite, Cajun.”

A vibe permeated the air between them. Pinpricks crawled along Remy's arm at the skin-to-skin contact. A sweet scent like roses drifted from Vic. There it was again. The subtle sensation that Vic was trying to come on to him.

Mais non!
He wasn't in the mood for this crap. Seeing Cody hang over any guy who'd have her was enough for one night. Remy deftly flicked Vic's hand off and sidestepped out of her path. “It's been a long night. I'm going to bed.”

“Deflecting me won't make the conversation stop. You're not going out there alone again.”

Waving her off, he mounted the steps. “Don't you have a job to go to?”

“You're an ass.”

“Glad to be of service.
Bonne nuit.
”

Once out of her sight, he staggered to his room. He kicked off his boots, peeled off his shirt, and dropped it and his jacket on the floor. Door locked, he stumbled to the bed and fell across it face first.

As he pulled a pillow over his head, Cody's face flashed in his head. Her last words to him reverberated as sleep dragged him under.

You want to go play hero and leave me home to worry? Then go. But I won't be here waiting for you.

Most would not enrage The Voodoo Queen further by making a such a public appearance in one of her sacred places when they hadn't made good on their obligations. But the events that occurred in the past few days made Jared Savard rethink his plan to keep a low profile. Since he'd been hiding out, two of his men had disappeared. And Eddy Prejean wasn't one Jared liked to lose.

Not only had he pissed off The Queen, he had Alphonse breathing down his neck. Earlier today, while patrolling Jackson Square, Jared spotted Alphonse's second-in-command. Seeing the thug out in the open meant one thing—Alphonse was making a move to eliminate Jared. He had crossed the line. He threatened the most powerful criminal kingpin.

Slinking through the crowd gathered around Congo Square, Jared worked his way to the center of the throng. His patrol uniform made people clamp their mouths shut when he butted them aside. Rich voices and the rhythmic beating of bongos filled the square. A group of black women in white dresses spun and danced to the music over the spot where their slave ancestors had spent many Sunday afternoons.

Normally the voodoo ritual eased Jared's troubled mind. It did nothing for him while being on The Voodoo Queen's shit list. Black eyes followed his movements through the crowd. Some of the dancers and the drummers scowled; no one made a move toward him. They all knew what he'd done.

Grinding his molars back and forth, he left the press of bodies and eased back to St. Peter Street. From there, he watched the assembly, his mind mulling over the problems he faced. Bored with the ritual, Jared turned and stalked back to his car. Inside his squad car, he pulled away from the curb and headed to the department. It was almost time for shift change anyway.

He had to locate Eddy. The man carried too much information to disappear. It would be just like Alphonse to slowly weed out Jared's barriers and get him with his defenses down. Still, Alphonse taking Eddy didn't make sense; the confidential informant had proven himself useful over and over, for both sides. If the spirits left to aid him were correct and LeBeau had returned to New Orleans, Jared needed Eddy on the lookout.

Jared needed to close ranks and inform his guys of the new developments. Last thing he could afford were more missing men.

He parked across the street from the New Orleans Police Department building. As he turned off the engine, a figure emerged from the building. His hand stilled as the plainclothes woman passed through the wrought-iron gates and strode to the curb, donning her sunglasses. She glanced up and down then crossed the street to a black truck parked two cars ahead.

What was Detective Victoria Slater doing here?

She pulled open the door and slid inside. Beads of sweat slid along his jawline as Jared watched her pull the truck onto the street and drive off. For years the woman had worked on the force and never once had Jared felt a tug of panic. With the powers-that-be pressing in on him at all sides, seeing Vic Slater didn't reassure him. He'd felt cocksure wrapped in the realization that she'd never learn how or where her parents had died. Or that their deaths came by his hand. Back when LeBeau began digging—a development Jared didn't expect when he'd mentioned the case to the then-rookie partner—Vic Slater became interested in her parents' disappearance again. Somehow LeBeau managed to get further than any of the detectives before him, with her help. Jared had started to sweat then, too. Until Alphonse made the call to eliminate LeBeau and his young wife.

He should have never taken that job. Yet recalling how much he'd enjoyed having his way with Marie Dumond LeBeau made his stomach muscles jump.

Maybe he should take out Victoria Slater? The Queen might lift his punishment for more blood. The thought appealed to him.

Jared gathered his gear and empty cups then exited the car. He dumped the trash in a bin sitting along the street and entered the department. Scuttlebutt flew through the air. His fellow patrol officers buzzed about something. Jared ignored them and went about his business to prepare for going off-duty. He settled in the back of the debriefing room.

Once everyone filled the seats, the shift sergeant entered. Red-faced, he slapped his shift book on the podium. “Listen up, people. There's been a new development. I just spent the entire afternoon arguing with the DA over this.” He rubbed his jaw. “DA Dumond is enacting a policy that is going to strip this city of more cash and steal from the department coffers. A damn waste just to weed out corrupt officers on the force.”

Jared stiffened as the chaos of protests filled the room. For as long he'd been working on the force and Paul Dumond had been DA, Jared suspected the man knew about his criminal leanings. It hadn't helped matters that LeBeau knew Jared had tried to kill him and murdered Dumond's daughter. After all this time, no one had touched him, but only because the proof wasn't there.

What had changed? Was this how Alphonse planned to clean up the trash? By having the DA spear Jared's head and march it through the streets of New Orleans?

The shift sergeant calmed everyone. “Hey, I did my best. Let's be realistic, people. After those three dumbasses were stupid enough to feed the flames of corruption in the NOPD by aiding looters and killing people who tried to stop them after Katrina, the politicians in this city are out for blood. Especially Dumond. All I can tell you is to keep your noses clean if you want to keep your job.”

His announcement over, the shift sergeant moved on to regular business. During the half-hour debriefing, Jared calculated his risks. Guess it was time to show Dumond he was untouchable. If the DA wanted to play for keeps, then Jared would play through. Once the group was dismissed, Jared made a quick stop at the desk sergeant's to file his reports, then he headed for the locker room. His fellow officers watched him as he strode down the hall. They knew he was one of the reasons Dumond made his crackdown, but not one of them would voice it. What Jared had done to LeBeau and his wife was a stark reminder that they could be next.

This was New Orleans corruption at its best. If you knew how to play the system well enough, you could instill enough fear in others that they wouldn't dare risk their lives for the truth.