Revenge (17 page)

He took the box. “Thoughtful of you.”

She dipped her head then retreated to her post in the kitchen.

Closing the doors once more, he turned the TV on again, but the report had ended. He'd have to wait until they circled back to it. He set the box on the mail table and examined it. No return address. That should be a warning, but no one knew his actual address. It was a well-guarded secret.

He used a letter opener to slice the tape and pulled the brown wrapping away from a white mailing box. Slicing the tape sealing that container, he pried the flaps back.

A raw stench exploded from inside. He flinched and leaned back. What was in here? He waved the odor from his nose. It almost smelled like . . . death. He inched closer and peeled the brown wrapper aside.

Nestled on a bed of silk, bloody and shriveled, a human tongue held a note.

You can't stop me.

The faint drone of a voice sluiced through her cotton-filled ears. Cody stretched, flicking the pillow off her head. The voice turned sharp.

“Authorities have yet to discover the reason why the victim was left at the DA's family crypt.”

She flopped onto her back and sat up. Kim stood next to the television, gnawing on a nail and staring at the morning newscast. Rubbing the sleep from her face, Cody squinted at the reporter standing in front of a cemetery.

“DA Dumond is expected to address the public later today.”

“What's that about?”

Kim flinched, tearing her nail from her mouth. Her glazed eyes flicked to Cody, then she punched the power button. “Nothing but another murder,” she replied, busying herself with gathering her things for the day. “Luc has something he wants me to check out.” She rammed a metal water bottle into her small bag. “You and Heath are on your own.”

Cody watched her stalk out of the room, bag slung over her shoulder. Still pissed over nothing. Shaking her head, she crawled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

Around two, she and Heath gave up for the night and returned to the hotel. Cody barely got her boots off before collapsing into bed. She hadn't slept that well in months.

Emerging from the bathroom, she froze. The name. DA Dumond. She hustled back to the TV and punched it on. The report was over, but she flipped channels until she found another New Orleans station broadcasting.

Cody sank onto the corner of the bed, cradling the remote to her chest. Images of the cemetery flashed across the screen, the familiar yellow tape fluttering, cops and crime scene techs milling around. The camera panned to the left, and the crowd lined along the street, their attention glued to the activity.

“If what we're being told by the police Commander is true,
this seems to be a random killing. The fact that the victim was left at the DA's family crypt is nothing more than a convenient place. But other sources tell us it was more than coincidence. The victim was previously arrested for undisclosed reasons. And with the recent announcement from the DA about a department-wide crackdown on any corrupt police officers has led some to believe this was a statement.”

Cody muted the TV and stared at the talking heads. The muscles in her neck shrank, closing around her throat. Dumond. That was Marie's last name. Her father was the DA? Had anyone picked up on this realization yet?

And if they had, why hadn't anyone told her?

A soft rap jolted her. She dropped the remote on the bed and moved to the door.

Heath.

Prying it open, she stepped aside.

“You saw it?” he asked as he entered the room.

The door slipped from her hand and creaked shut. The wall kept her propped upright. “Did you know his ex-father-in-law was the DA?”

Slowly he turned back to her. The blank expression on his face told her what he didn't voice.

“Damn it, Heath,” Slapping her thigh, she pushed off the wall. “When are you guys going to stop withholding information from me?”

“It wasn't intentional. Luc just told me last night before we went to look for LeBeau. I forgot to mention it to you.”

“How convenient for you.” She shouldered past him to the balcony door. Hands pressed to the glass, she peered out at the panorama of the city backed by the river. Day four and they still hadn't found Remy. Apparently Luc and Kim were making more progress than she and Heath, and no one had bothered to tell her. But they sure as hell didn't hesitate to voice their displeasure at her decisions and accuse her of stealing boyfriends.

“Cody, look at me.”

Letting her hands slide down the windowpane, she rotated and found Heath's large frame looming over her. With the close proximity of his body to hers, she detected a hint of musk. A shiver coursed through her. It was one thing to dance with him—they had to be close to do that—but after Kim's accusations yesterday . . . No, she was letting Kim's paranoia get to her. Heath was a good friend, a concerned friend. She loved Remy. God, how she loved Remy. And she missed him. Nothing was going on between her and Heath.

She straightened and tilted her head back to look at him.

“Yes, New Orleans's District Attorney was LeBeau's father-in-law,” he said. “We've had to adjust how we go about finding Kim's birth mother and learning all we can about what happened to LeBeau here. Luc triggered some unwanted attention with his snooping.” Heath nodded at the TV. “Now this complicates things.”

“How does it complicate us finding Remy?”

“Someone leaving a body on what is probably his wife's grave? I'd call that a warning.”

She watched the play of silent images across the screen. Who was twisted enough to do something so disgusting? As soon as the question ran through her mind, the answer presented itself. “It was his old partner, Savard, wasn't it?”

“With what Luc and I've learned about him, this fits with his MO, yes. And if he's after LeBeau, he'll be looking for something or someone to use against him. And I'm afraid that means we've done exactly what LeBeau hoped to avoid by bringing you here.”

“No one associated with him from here knows about me.”

“Jared Savard is resourceful in ways I haven't figured out. If he found LeBeau in Dallas, he probably learned about you.” Heath groaned. “Damn it, he's going to kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

Cody tugged on his sleeve. “What are you saying?”

The lock ground and clicked, and the door creaked open. Heath turned as Kim breezed inside.

“Cody, I forgot something—” Her gaze darted between them. Pink stained her cheeks. “Heath?”

A broad smile appeared, and he shifted away from Cody to pull Kim into his arms. “Hey, darlin'. Missed you last night.”

She cocked her head to the side and eyed him. “Did you now?” Her hands braced against his chest. “Two
a.m.
is a bit later than I expected you two to be out.”

Shrugging, Heath pulled her flush to his body. “We'll be in sooner tonight.”

Cody sensed the wall slammed in front of her. She could take a hint. Sliding the glass door open, she stepped onto the balcony into the sultry morning air. An ache spread in her chest. Gripping the rail, she leaned against it. Her body longed to have Remy holding her.

She closed her eyes and dragged out the memory of how he felt. His arms, thick with corded muscles and bulging veins, wrapped around her, and his nimble hands, callused and strong, running through her hair, caressing her face. Her fingers tingled with the memory of his bare chest. A hot tear slipped free and trickled down her cheek.

If she could go back to the day Remy walked away, she'd hold onto him longer. Kiss him until they were breathless. She'd erase those last hurtful words. Dig her claws in and never let him leave.

Never tell him it was over.

She'd been stupid and hotheaded, letting her mouth rule her heart.

Cody squinted at the horizon, drawn to the place where the heart of New Orleans beat. He was there. Teetering on the cusp.

She had to find him before she truly lost him forever.

Remy guided the boat along the shoreline. The pungent scent of decaying vegetation and musty river dragged him back to his youth. Humid air buffeted him, leaving a damp feel on the high points of his face. He steered the boat closer to an outlet, slowing the engine.

More than thirty miles northwest of New Orleans city limits and it felt like he'd returned to the bayous of Houma. He removed his sunglasses and scanned the shoreline. A tangle of trees and brush met his scrutiny. No inlet to follow or a building within sight.

Remy settled his sunglasses in their proper place. Pushing the throttle forward, he heard the engine roar. Ahead a large gator slipped down the riverbank and splashed into the river. He smiled. Adjusting the ball cap, he lifted his face to the midafternoon sun. The rays warmed his skin. It felt good boating out here, away from seeing Cody with Anderson, and away from the threats in the city—the gators and the cottonmouths his only enemies.

Regrets at leaving Houma twisted and writhed like a snake around his mind. Sometimes he wanted to go back to that arrogant teenager and smack him for running off. Remy licked his dry lips. Grabbing a water bottle, he gulped the rest of it down.

Vic had refused to come with him. Since her parents' disappearance and subsequent ruling of death, Vic never ventured onto the bayous where they were last seen. She especially avoided boats, because the last time they were seen was on a boat. The irony of where she lived was not lost on him.

Because she couldn't shake her childhood fear of being on the water, Remy had her drive the roads to their destination, a shack that was rumored to be Jared's hidey hole. It had been long suspected this “fishing” spot was where Jared took his victims. Remy was certain it was the last place Marie had been alive, and he couldn't wait to burn it down. Preferably with Jared's body inside.

A dock jutted out in the river. He glimpsed movement on the wood platform and steered the boat in that direction. Comfortable in a well-loved rocking chair, an old man watched him jet up. Once he was close enough, Remy cut the engine and let the boat drift.

“
Bonjour
,” the old man nodded.

“
Bonjour
.” The French slipped easily from his lips. “
Ça va?
”
How are you doing?

“
Bien, bien
.” The chair bobbed with each nod of the old man's head.

Lifting his sunglasses, Remy inched toward the edge of the boat. “
Parlez-vous anglais
?”

More rocking. “
Oui
. How can I help ya?”

“I'm looking for a special place for a friend. He wants a place to take some time off from
En Ville
.”

“Ahhh.” The old man drummed gnarled fingers on his flat stomach. “Not many 'roun' here.”

“My friend, he was specific. It had to be here.”

Beckoning Remy onto the dock, the old man eased his lithe frame out of the chair. With a long pole and assistance from the stranger, Remy pushed the boat close to the dock, tied it off, and followed the old man down the planks.

“Where's yer home,
boug
?”

“Houma.”

A gleam passed through the man's bright eyes. “Not in a long time,
mais non
?”

“
Non.
My French is a bit rusty.”

“
Pas du tout!
”
No way!
He waved his hand around. “It's, how they say, like riding a bike. You never forget. For true?”

Never argue with a Cajun. Remy grinned. “For true.”

They stepped off the dock into the man's well-kept yard. A three-legged hound hobbled toward them. She nuzzled the old man's hand, received her pat, then pinned Remy with her liquid black eyes.

“I think I know what yer really lookin' for,
oui
?”

Crossing his arms, Remy planted his feet and watched the old man stride to a line of maintained trees and bushes. “And what is it I'm really lookin' for?”

A crafty grin creased the old man's face. A lone gnarled finger pointed to a clearing between the foliage. “Seventy-eight years I live here. It was my
grand-père's
, my
père's
, and now mine. We know all who live here on this bayou. Then 'bou' thirty years ago, this evil man takes over the abandoned Boudreaux home. Evil stuff starts comin' 'roun'.”

Remy's arms slid to his sides. “This evil man, what's his name?”

The old man tipped his chin up. “Calls hisself La Croix.”

What were the odds? Jared was arrogant enough to call himself by the name of the voodoo spirit of death. Of the miles of bayou and lakeshore, he happened on this place and this man. Remy hated coincidences, but he'd take whatever bits and pieces he got. “This La Croix fellow there?”

The man's head wagged back and forth. His hound whined and gimped over to her owner. “It not safe.” His gaze seared Remy. “Not safe for no one.”

A chill lanced Remy's limbs and fused with his spine. Every time he came close to anything of Jared's, terrible things happened to him, but he couldn't back away from this. Not now. Determination shattered his fear. “Don't worry,
mon ami
, I came prepared.”

Eyes narrowed, the old man rejoined Remy. “Are you?” A knobby finger jabbed at his face. “There's deep, deep evil back dere.”

Resisting the urge to gulp, Remy stiffened his shoulders. “Which deserves death.”

The old man huffed and backed a step, peaking a shaggy eyebrow. “Death will come to him. Not by your hand.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You'll see.” Returning to the dock, the old man snapped for the hound. “Brace yourself,
podna
.”

Remy watched him amble back to his rocking chair, the dog loping alongside him. Despite his urge to join them, Remy headed for the clearing. He hesitated at the entrance. For about twenty feet the path was clear and walkable, after that the swamp plant life choked the trail. Remy glanced around and spotted a machete the old man obviously used for chopping the overgrowth when it encroached on his property. Gripping the worn handle, he jerked it out of the stump.