Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Glory, laud, and honor to my Lord. Without Him, none of this would have happened. Thanks be to God.
Thanks to the wonderful team at Crimson Romance. You made a good manuscript into a better book. And special thanks to editor Julie Sturgeon who lost some sleep editing this book because she had to know what came next.
Many thanks go out to critique partners Cynthia Hickey and Rachel Smith who sacrificed one summer day to go over this story one more time to make sure I got it right. And to Deputy Sue Kraus for keeping it real in regards to police procedure and how my detectives would think and act.
Thanks to my kids, who learned fast that when Mom was at the computer they needed to find a book to read. And to Shawn, my Beta male with Alpha tendencies, each day with you is another day to laugh. I love you.
Chapter One
Of all the witnesses, in all the homicides, in all of Dallas, she would have to be one.
Detective Remy LeBeau stared at the cowgirl sitting in a chair in the far corner of the Stanton Enterprise Stadium meeting room. Cody Lewis hugged her body, gnawing on her lip. A coiled red lock slipped from her right ear and fell against her cheek. Lifting a trembling hand, she tucked the strand behind her ear and let her hand fall limp in her lap.
This wasn’t the same confident woman who strode into the homicide offices three days ago to hand him a pair of tickets to the Dallas Roundup. A rodeo that had now become a crime scene. Remy hated off-duty calls. The lieutenant better have a good reason for dragging him away from a hot bowl of gumbo and out of his dry condo.
Cody bowed her head and seemed to curl up on herself. Remy knew the disjointed sensations she was experiencing, the need to withdraw from the real world in order to maintain some kind of control.
He tugged the detective cloak about him and inhaled a long breath. No need to return to that place and time. Exhaling, he approached the unfortunate redhead.
His partner, Detective Heath Anderson, glanced up, fatigue circling his blue eyes. Another late night on the job. He combed his fingers through his sandy-blond hair, making a mess of it. “LeBeau.”
Cody’s head snapped back like she’d taken an uppercut to the chin. Pink stained her cheeks. “Detective?”
“Hello, Ms. Lewis.” He looked at Anderson. “Grab a coffee, I’ll take it from here.” When they were alone, Remy crouched in front of her. Close up, he compared her features to those of the victim’s. Why hadn’t he noticed the freckles on her nose and cheeks when they first met? Her scent, a mixture of spice and sweet — vanilla maybe — combated with the sharp odor of wet men and manure.
Her green eyes locked with his. “Guess you didn’t need those tickets.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry ’bout it.” He withdrew his notepad. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
Breaking eye contact, she slumped against the backrest. “Again?” The dusting of makeup couldn’t hide the fatigue.
“You’re a witness, Ms. Lewis. We need to make sure you remember what you can.”
She lifted her head. A wet sheen coated her eyes. “Witnesses see the crime as it happens. I didn’t. I found her like that.”
His armor cracked and compassion wiggled inside, wrapping around his heart like a warm embrace. He cleared his throat, desperate to hold the jagged pieces together. Stick to business. “Did you know her?”
She shook her head and drew in a hasty breath. “How could someone do this?”
How indeed? If Remy knew the answer to that, he wouldn’t be doing this job. “I plan to find that out. Just tell me how your night went before you found the body.”
“Body?” Red streaks spread from her flared nostrils to her hairline. “She’s not a body. She was a person.”
Cut right to the matter. Merci! This woman was a firecracker. “Ms. Lewis, I’m well aware of that fact. Until we know her identity … ” Why was he explaining himself to her? “We’ll continue this tomorrow. After you get some sleep.”
She straightened, stiff as a pirogue pole, and glared at him. Whatever rapport he might’ve had with her fled. She must be holding her emotions together with a thread. If he pushed any harder, he wouldn’t like the outcome.
Cody tilted her chin a notch. “As if I could sleep.”
Her hard line crushed his compassion. Clenching his teeth, Remy stood. “Thank you for your time.” He pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and scribbled on the back. “If you need anything, or remember something, don’t hesitate to call. Or show up. You know where I work.” He thrust the slip of paper in her direction.
Swallowing, she took it, careful to avoid contact with him. Her hand trembled a fraction, and she clenched her fist around the paper, pressing it to her chest. “When can I go? I need to take my horse home.”
“You’re free to leave, but you won’t be able to take your truck or the trailer.”
Her face blanched. “How am I supposed to get home?”
Remy stashed the notepad in his jacket and stood. “I’d suggest asking a friend.”
• • •
As Cody gaped at the detective’s retreating backside, the Lewis temper reared its ugly head. Her breath came in short bursts. The man was a cold-blooded prick. A woman died tonight. She wasn’t just a body. She had a family, people who loved her and would grieve for her. Good God, the woman had a name.
Bolting from the chair, Cody chased after him. “Detective LeBeau!”
He whipped around, his hand flashing to his right hip. Cody reined up short, choking down the prickly pear that catapulted into her throat. Her eyes locked on his hand. Gradually he inched away from the black gun butt, hooking his thumb behind his badge, fingers splayed to obscure the faceplate.
“What, Ms. Lewis?”
The irritated tone in his voice broke her trance. Cody’s gaze clashed with his dark glare. Ribbons of steel laced her spine. Handsome or not, the man needed a priority adjustment. “What’s wrong with you?”
A scowl marred his face, then his features smoothed out and his hand fell away from his coat. “Wrong with me?”
Her neck prickled and she glanced about the room. Her outburst had attracted the attention of LeBeau’s partner and the other cops. The fight drained from her body and pooled under her boots.
Looking around at his fellow cops, LeBeau took hold of her elbow and escorted her to the corner.
Cody tensed. The warmth of his hand seeped through her shirtsleeve, branding her with his touch. When he released her, she clamped her arm to her side and cupped her elbow to ward off the feel of him.
“Do you have something you wish to say to me?”
The soothing timbre eased her knotted muscles. Ho
w did he do that? Go from being a Grade A jerk to a civil human being in a flash? Detective LeBeau’s short dark-brown hair and black leather coat shone in the conference room lights. The scent of cedar and peppermint tickled her nose. Her first encounter with this man in his department kept replaying in her mind on a nightly basis. And tonight wouldn’t be an exception.
Avoiding eye contact, Cody buried her hands into her Wrangler’s pockets. “No.”
A cocky smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Really? It seemed you had a lot on your mind a second ago.”
Yeah, well, she’d been chastised enough. No way was she going to let him bait her. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” Open wide, insert foot. So much for keeping her trap shut. Cody refrained from slapping her palm to her forehead. She was such a bullhead.
LeBeau frowned. “She?”
“The woman I found slashed to death in my trailer. She has a name. A family. Don’t treat her like another number.”
The lines in his forehead disappeared. “Believe me, Ms. Lewis, when we learn her name and find her family, we won’t treat her like a statistic.”
His dark penetrating gaze seemed to peer into her soul. Cody shivered, stepping back. “Just checking.”
“Right.” He turned, then looked at her over his shoulder. “Be assured. I am one of the best.” With a tip of his head, he strode away.
Why that bloated swamp rat! Throwing her words back in her face. He better be the best. For the victim’s sake.
Cody hugged her body. Why didn’t he ask about her resemblance to the victim? It couldn’t have passed LeBeau’s notice. Surly he’d seen her before he barged in here demanding she repeat for the hundredth time how she found the poor woman.
God have mercy on the family. Cody knew all too well the pain and suffering they would endure. She’d lived through it when her mother was killed. Had it not been for her dad and her friends … Cody shook the sorrow away. That road was best left untraveled.
Free to leave, she wandered out of the meeting room. She asked a passing patrolman the way out, and he pointed her in the direction of the main entrance. Slipping through the crowd of police officers, she left the noise behind and entered the stadium’s enclosed exit, halting before the glass door. A curtain of rain blocked her path of escape. Beads of moisture on the windows blurred the red emergency lights to bloody streaks.
Her mind snapped to the moment she found the victim. Screams. Who was screaming? The image faded to her mother’s casket. Dark cherry wood peeked from under the long white cloth draped over the coffin. Quiet sobs filled her head.
Thunder cracked.
Cody jerked to the present, stumbling back. Not again. I can’t go back there.
Swallowing hard, she glanced around. If her rig was confiscated, how would she get home?
A weight like an eight-thousand-pound tractor dropped on her chest and tears coated her eyes. Where was her dad? Where was her horse? What side of the Stanton Enterprise Stadium was she on? Cody started to hyperventilate.
“Hey, kiddo, did they let you go?”
She whirled to face a stocky man in a silver-belly Stetson. “Dad.” She vaulted into his circle of comfort and wrapped her arms around him. The scent of horses and leather clung to his western dress shirt. “I don’t know how I’m going to get S’mores home. They’re keeping my rig. And that arrogant detective was a jerk. I can’t do this.”
Sobbing, she soaked his shirt. He held her close until the torrent ebbed. Cody pulled from his arms and swiped a sleeve across her eyes.
Settling his hands on her shoulders, he squeezed. “I figured they’d keep your rig. It’s a crime scene.”
Cody hiccupped at the word. “Dad — ”
“Shh. Shake it off, Cody. Your horse is on her way home right now. By the time we get there, she’ll be tucked away in her stall with a nightcap.”
“JC?”
“Yes.” He hooked his arm about her shoulders and drew her to his side. “Let’s get you home.”
Home. The sound of it wrapped around her like a warm blanket. In reality, any place was better than here. Cody loathed coming back tomorrow night. No trip to the NFR was worth this.
• • •
Remy paused in the stadium exit to suppress the grin playing with his mouth. Flames had lit up Cody’s eyes when he taunted her about being the best. Apparently, she didn’t like having her boasts thrown back at her. The cowgirl needed someone to keep her on her toes.
Hopefully the ME had arrived before the rain. Remy peered through the deluge at the long, white horse trailer hooked to a cherry-red extended cab truck. It appeared someone was inside. Upturning the collar of his coat and hunching his shoulders, Remy jogged across the lot.
He circled to the back of the trailer and entered, keeping a good distance back. A man in a blue ME jacket knelt beside the victim sprawled on the rubber-matted floor. The air was filled with the stench of blood, death, and manure. Remy preferred the manure.
The ME shifted, and Remy smiled. “Ahh, my favorite doc on duty.”
Dr. Rick Warner glanced over his shoulder. “LeBeau, ’bout time you got here.”
“I’ve been interviewing witnesses.” Remy crouched to Rick’s level. “Why are you here? Don’t you usually leave the dirty work to your underlings?”
“Circumstances warranted my assessment.”
“Well, what do you have on our victim so far?”
With a surgical-gloved hand, Rick flipped through his clipboard. “We have a female, age between twenty and thirty, multiple stab wounds, no identification, with a time of death approximately four hours ago. Don’t quote me on that, can’t get a good reading.” He let the papers fall back in place, as an odd expression lined his face. “I need to show you something.”
Shifting to the victim’s side, Rick carefully rolled the body on to its side, revealing a single crushed red rose.
“Interesting.” Remy said.
Rick returned the body to its former position. “She was killed somewhere else. The killer used this trailer as the dumpsite.”
Remy had known Doc Warner since he began working in the DPD homicide division three years ago. The man kept a stoic presence at a scene, but Remy got the sense something rattled him about this victim.
“What aren’t you telling me, mon ami?”
“Sit on it, Cajun. When I get a good look at her back at the morgue, I’ll let you know.”
Chapter Two
Remy nudged his condo door shut with the toe of his boot, then punched in the security code for the alarm. As he passed by an antique desk, he tossed the half-inch stack of mail on the desktop and his car keys into the gaping mouth of a hand-carved alligator. Not bothering with the lights, he removed his Ruger and made the sweep. Habit born out of error and fear drove him to search each room of the first floor. Once he cleared the lower level, he ascended the stairs.
The second floor rooms checked out. Holstering his weapon, Remy settled on the edge of the firm mattress in a swatch of moonlight and stared at the window. Memories descended like a horde of demons. He cupped his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his chin to his chest. The demons scream imitated a woman’s shriek.
Every night for the past five years they’d tormented him. Dragging him back there. To his past.
But tonight, something moved through the demonic memories, a presence of light, and scattered the screams. Their titters faded as they fled.
Chest heaving, Remy lifted his head. The normal residue left behind after such an episode didn’t seem as strong. His gaze darted around the room, but he couldn’t see anything. Where had that warmth, that light come from? It still seemed to linger. He rose from the bed, looked around once more, and then shuffled to the bathroom. Shedding his clothing, he stepped into the black and gray ti
led shower, and ran the water hot.
Twenty minutes later he emerged into a cloud of steam. Wiping the moisture from the mirror, he stared at his reflection. Haggard lines etched his face. His brown eyes darkened to nearly black. Marie had always said they reminded her of the Pontchartrain on a moonless night. Remy turned away from the mirror.
After pulling on a loose pair of sweats and a black long-sleeved tee, he headed for the office across the hall. He blinked against the light’s bright glare. When his eyes became accustomed to it, he booted up the computer and sat.
The search engine pulled up seventy-two matches on Cody Lewis, most of them articles on her rodeo career. Scrolling down, Remy found it. He clicked on the link to a newspaper article reporting the accident that killed Jodi Lewis seven years prior. A murder investigation that was never solved. Someone had forced her vehicle off a mountainside road.
He leaned into the backrest. Cody’s body language, her reaction when he called the victim a body, and her insistence that he not make the murdered woman another number confirmed what he suspected. He’d have to handle her like a soft piece of wood, with patience and careful strokes so not to splinter the fragile state.
Returning to the search engine, he typed in her name and Fort Worth. A simple call to the DOT would have given him the address, but he’d filled the day’s quota of human interaction. The trip to her ranch would take about forty-five minutes.
Remy printed the map.
After a brief meeting with his lieutenant tomorrow morning, he’d head out to her place.
• • •
When sleep evaded her, Cody found solace in a stack of home videos. Curled up under a Navajo print blanket on the sofa, she stared at the images of her mom barrel racing. The year she died was supposed to be her third appearance at the Wrangler National Finals Rodeo. A murderer made sure she never returned.
Tears soaked Cody’s face. The last words she’d spoken in anger to her momma left her struggling for months with guilt. Then the investigation into Momma’s death was filed under cold cases, and for a year after Cody spiraled out of control.
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