Revenge (8 page)

Perched on the corner of her bed, concern masked Kim's features. “Cody—”

She held up a hand and stopped her friend. “Coddling me won't get us anywhere.” She scowled at Heath.

Kim popped onto her feet and hurried to the closet to slide on sandals. “I'll finish up.” She locked herself in the bathroom again.

Holding up a fist, Cody glared at Heath. “Watch it, Marine, or I'll send you home.”

He grasped her fist and lowered it. “You don't have to be strong all the time. We're here. Let us shoulder some of this burden.”

Sniffing, she flopped onto the bed. “Last time someone told me that I got kidnapped and smacked around like a ragdoll. Might I add, nearly killed, too.”

“We're dealing with a whole different type of bad guy, Cody. These kind of people exploit a person when they're singled out or alone.”

“Yet, Remy decided to go after them alone.”

He shook his head. “I don't think he's going it alone. He had to leave a friend or two behind. Someone who knew he'd faked his death. He's with them. We just have to figure out who that friend is.”

“The way he talked there was no one left.” Cody let her face pucker like she'd eaten something sour. “Wait a minute, what do you mean he faked his death?”

The door squeaked open, cutting off any answer Heath might have given.

Kim breezed out, a light dusting of makeup on her face, flashy jewelry dangling from her ears, neck, and wrist, and her hair flipped up in a stylish twist. “Ready.”

Heath's phone shrilled. “There's Luc.” He pushed off the dresser. “Let's group and get some food. I'm starving.”

• • •

Seated at the back of the restaurant partitioned from the other patrons in what was normally used for large parties, Cody studied Lucio Santorini as he scribbled notes while Heath talked. Lucio, or Luc as Heath called him, was a nice-looking guy with light brown hair with silver streaks and light green eyes. He appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties. Cody vaguely recalled seeing him after she'd been kidnapped by the Rodeo Sweethearts Killer, but they had never been introduced.

Next to her, Kim remained silent as she picked at her muffin and sipped her coffee. Cody hadn't eaten much either. Seemed the men were the only ones with appetites.

Luc ceased his furious pen scratches and dropped it on the notepad. Elbows propped on the table, he leaned forward, eyes locked on Cody. “So, Ms. Lewis, fill me in where Anderson can't.”

“Don't call me Ms. Lewis. It's Cody, plain and simple.” Averting her gaze, she grabbed her glass of water and sucked on the straw.

“Sorry.”

She looked at him and placed the glass on the table with an exhale. “Whaddya wanna know?”

“Start from the top.”

Thanks to Heath's information, Luc knew about the murder of a local lawyer that led to the death of a professional assassin sent to take out Remy. All things she'd learned since the night that professional assassin pinned she and the two men down at her home on the Red Moon. Heath didn't reveal to Luc how he knew Remy faked his death. Hell, Remy never told her that.

“What I know is not a lot. His wife was Marie Colette Dumond. He didn't tell me her father's name, but with a last name of Dumond, it shouldn't be hard to find him. Remy did say Marie's father hated him.” She glanced at Heath. “Heath's right, he never told us specifics, like what case sent these people after him, or the names of his enemies. I don't even know the name of the man who nearly killed him and murdered Marie. But I got the sense Remy knew him. Well.”

Cody swiped a finger along the water glass, tracing a bead of condensation. “He's afraid I'll end up like Marie if I came here with him. It pissed me off, and I broke up with him, which I think is what he wanted to happen. To protect me from them and to protect himself.”

“So he could end what they started.” Luc pushed into the chair back. “What are you not telling me, Cody?”

Kim's cool hand settled on Cody's arm, raising goose bumps on her skin. Her throat ached. She clenched her jaw to stave off the desire to cry. Hadn't she cried enough? She lifted her gaze and met Luc's compassionate one.

“Marie was pregnant.”

The strangled gasp from Kim drove the dagger of truth further into Cody's heart.

“Revenge.” Luc shook his head. “This will be harder than I expected.”

“There's more,” Heath said.

Cody frowned at Luc's derisive chuckle.

“There's always more, especially with LeBeau, it seems.” Luc twirled his hand. “Out with it, Anderson.”

Cody felt like a cornered horse when Heath's hard eyes pinned her. The rock solid features so reminiscent of Remy's interrogating face made her want to bury her face and cry. No wonder people blurted out their confessions to those two when they looked like that. Cody resisted the urge to shrink back from Heath as he spoke.

“I did a li'l diggin' of my own while we were trying to locate the professional assassin, and I found a vipers nest of information on LeBeau's time here in New Orleans. His partner while he was on the NOPD force was a guy named Jared Savard. There's some talk that Savard is dirty, but no one has proven it. Cody knows that LeBeau was nearly killed the night his wife was taken. What he didn't tell her was the man who was suspected of doing it. His partner.”

What little warmth left inside her drained out at the statement. Cody gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward as a cramp took hold of her. The memory of the jagged pale scar running down Remy's back and seeing the photos of Marie's naked and bloodied body ripped through Cody's head. Remy's partner had done that. Jared Savard was the sadistic bastard who had ruined Remy's life.

An arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Cody?” Kim whispered in her ear.

Her vision cleared, and she realized her chest was burning. She dragged in a deep breath and as much anger as she could muster at being left out of the informational loop again. Placing her palms flat against the tabletop, she glared at Heath. “Is that why you said he faked his death?”

Two startled voices said: “What?” at the same time.

Cody watched the slow progression of indifference to irritation slide across Heath's face. Had he meant to tell her? Tell Luc? Was that why he looked like he was pissed with her for spilling?

Clearing his throat, Heath shook his head. “I don't know why he did that. I speculated on it because of a newspaper article I found online. Knowing LeBeau left New Orleans around the time Katrina hit, and that his dossier was sealed from DPD, I took a guess after I read the article. It never gave a name of the police officer because they had been trying to locate his next of kin and his body.”

“Faking a death around the time of a major disaster isn't uncommon,” Luc said. “Lots of people did it with Katrina and during nine-eleven. With LeBeau's circumstances it would make sense. He could get out before his enemies finished the job and start over.”

“With his real name?” Cody shook her head. “That doesn't make any sense. Why would someone fake their death and keep their real name?”

“Who knows,” Luc answered. “Maybe I can find something more on it. Is there any other
li'l
secrets you found out, Anderson?”

“That was about it until I could get here.”

“Remy made a will, too.” Kim blurted out. “He left Cody with a lot of money.”

Luc frowned. “A will?”

Cody sighed. She hadn't intended on showing the men the will . . . yet. She pulled her bag from under the chair, removed the document, and handed it to Luc. “I wasn't supposed to get that unless he died. His lawyer decided not to wait.”

After scanning the contents, he folded the sheet and handed it back to Cody. “We need to find him. What I suggest is you three comb the streets today. Pay special attention to Bourbon. If he's after these people, he'll start there.”

Dread curdled like day-old milk in Cody's gut. How did she expect to walk up and down the street and pass all those bars without the cravings hitting? A part of her hoped the men would venture along Bourbon and leave her and Kim to visit the less tempting areas.

“What do you plan on doing?” Kim asked, her irritated tone snapping Cody out of her panic.

Luc smiled. “Ms. Gregory, I need to get my equipment set up.” He looked at Heath. “Am I rooming with you?”

“If you want. It's kinda small for all your gear.”

“Some of it can stay in the Escalade.” His attention swung back to Cody. “You brought us here. How far are you willing to take this?”

“What do you mean?”

He tapped the will. “What are you capable of doing to keep him from dying?”

Same question Heath had asked. Her gaze flicked between Heath and Kim, then back to Luc. She could do this. Cody could face her fears and finally stop someone she loved from dying. Ribbons of steel threaded through her veins and wrapped around her spine. She straightened. “As far as I have to go.”

• • •

Cool water cascaded over the broken skin on his knuckles. Remy flexed his hand and curled it into a fist. The water ran pink, pooling in the white porcelain sink. He swallowed back the bile and closed his eyes against the images of him beating Eddy.

Murderer.

Killer.

No! He slammed his fist on the counter. He wasn't like them. Didn't cross the line.

Murderer.

His eyes snapped open, and he scowled at his reflection. The dim lights revealed the blackness in his eyes, a blackness overtaking his soul. Turning from the mirror, he twisted the faucet off and dried his hands.

Remy stepped into the bedroom and let his gaze wander from the mussed bed, along the walls, coming to rest on the cell phone sitting on the dresser. He ached to call her. Hear her voice and know he was doing this for the right reasons. For her. For them.

His bare feet thud across the floor. He picked up the phone, his thumb poised over the numbers.

Killer.

Tremors took control. The phone slipped and clattered onto the dresser. He scraped his fingernails over his scalp and turned from the phone. A full-length image of his blood-spattered clothing greeted him. Fury filled his face. Remy jerked his shirt from his torso, wadded it into a ball and flung it at the mirror.

A growl-hiss erupted from a streak of black and white. The cat darted through the cracked bedroom door.

Stalking over, he slapped it closed and locked it. With a hand pressed to the wood, he hung his head and forced back the roar clawing at his throat. What was he doing? Beating the truth out of one man tore him to shreds. How would he survive killing Savard, then Alphonse?

He banged his fist against the door. He couldn't face Cody again with blood on his hands. Back to the wall, he slid down until he squatted. Elbows braced on his knees, he drove his fingers through his hair and cupped the back of his head.

Faith he'd denied for so long rose inside him. It beckoned him to trust it again. Lean on something stronger and more powerful than himself. A faith that Cody believed without fail.

Remy stared at his hands. Did he remember how? Slowly, he brought his fingers to his lips, kissed the tips, then touched his forehead, the right shoulder, then left, then back to his lips.

“
Pardonnez-moi mon, Père, parce que j'ai péché
.”
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
The words sounded rusted, misused, and distrustful. His gaze lifted to the ceiling. “
O Père, ne me laissez pas souffrir
.”
Oh, Father, do not let me suffer.

A light rap startled him. He tipped forward. Bracing his hand on the floor to stop his forward momentum, he eyed the door.

“Remy? Everything all right?”

With lithe movements, he bolted to his feet. “Fine, Vic. Your cat scared me.”

Silence, then “Okay.”

He heard the faint tread of her retreat. Relieved, he stripped off his stained jeans and tossed them on top of the shirt then returned to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water pricked his skin, sloughing the strain from his muscles. It could wash the traces of blood down the drain, but it couldn't remove the stains on his mind.

Murderer.

He hung his head and water poured past his face in rivulets. “Forgive me.”

New Orleans' business district still looked and felt the same prior to Katrina. Some of the businesses had changed hands, but for the most part it was as Remy remembered. A part of him wished he'd returned during Mardi Gras. Much easier to get lost in a sea of strange faces.

Smoothing back his hair, he strode along the sidewalk circling City Hall. In order for him to pull off getting into the office during the day, he had to look the part. That meant donning the suit he wore the day the lieutenant had handed down his “vacation” sentencing, and acting like a lawyer to the best of his abilities. As a detective, Remy spent a lot of time around attorneys, so he could pull it off. God help him if he tripped up and got caught—which he had no intention of letting happen.

Remy hesitated under a shade tree next to a stone wall that raised the landscaping away from the wide set of stairs leading to the entrance of the building. Slowly removing his sunglasses, he scanned the street and studied the people passing by. He checked his watch: one-thirty; the trial had started. Vic said that Paul and a good portion of his legal team would be at this trial. The fact that Paul was actually heading the prosecution surprised Remy. The man had to be pushing seventy and should be enjoying retirement. Instead, he was taking on the New Orleans mafia.

Hooking his sunglasses by an earpiece in the breast pocket in his suit jacket, Remy slipped the altered ID badge over his head and headed up the stairs. An adrenaline-induced buzz hummed through his body as he approached the security checkpoint.
The damn badge better work.