Under her long white lab coat, Remy spotted a fashionable violet blouse and black slacks.
He gripped her hand. “Detective LeBeau.”
Her gaze darted to his ID badge, then back to his face. “I’ve heard stories about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
A corner of her mouth turned up. “We’ll see.” She swept past him. “This way.”
They returned to her office. She pointed at the empty seat across from her desk and settled into her chair. “What brings you here, Detective?”
“The Stanton Enterprise murder from last night.”
“Still in progress. Won’t have anything good for another day or two.”
“I figured by now you’d at least have the victim’s name.”
“We do.” Summers slid a manila folder stamped with DCSU across her desk and rocked back in her chair. “Heather Trisk, twenty-nine, and divorced. An ex-boyfriend IDed her.”
Remy scanned the report and ran across the man’s name. “Ben Doughtry?”
“That would be him.”
“No trace evidence?”
“Not yet. Like I said, still processing. My team hasn’t gone over the trailer yet.” Summers stood and edged around her desk. “Is it true what they say about you?”
Closing the folder, he stood. “Not sure. What is it they say about me?”
“When you latch onto a case, you don’t let go until you get your suspect.”
He gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “Depends on the case. Mind if I take this with me?”
“It’s your copy.”
“Thanks for the update.” He strode out the door.
“LeBeau.”
Stopping mid-step, he looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“You’ve got a meticulous, angry killer out there.”
Chapter Four
“Earth to Lewis.”
Cody jerked out of her daydreams about a dark-haired Cajun with an attitude. Her gaze darted to the cowboy with smoky gray eyes sitting across the table. Deep furrows marred his handsome face.
“You okay?” His voice rumbled like a diesel engine.
“I’m fine, JC.”
JC Manning pressed into the back of his chair. “You sure don’t act like it.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
His gaze bored holes into her. “Liar.”
“Good grief!” She bolted from her chair and stomped to the counter, yanking the carafe off the hot plate, and tipped it toward her cup. Coffee splashed out of the mug and landed on her hand. Hissing, she wiped the scalding liquid onto her jeans.
A gentle hand on her shoulder ceased her frantic movements. She turned to face her best friend. He gave her a crooked smile.
“Simmer down, Cody. I’ve known you since grade school, and I know when something’s botherin’ ya.”
JC had stopped by to get the first hand scoop on the murder victim. And apparently to check on Cody. For years when one was in trouble, the other would ride to the rescue. But now, Cody wasn’t so sure she needed rescuing.
She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Wrapping her in a tight hug, he chuckled. “I know for a fact all the guys are jealous of me.”
She snorted. “What does that have to do with a murder?”
“Nothing.”
A laugh bubbled in Cody’s chest. Ever the comedian, JC constantly looked for a reason to joke around. She suspected it stemmed from the loss of his baby sister when he was younger.
“So why say it?”
“’Cause I get to hug one of the most beautiful women in Texas without getting slapped.”
The laughter burst past Cody’s lips as she shoved JC away. Shaking her head, she topped off her coffee and returned to the table. JC refilled his and joined her, propping his boots on an empty chair. “How long before you get your rig back?”
“I don’t know.” She stirred in a pinch of sugar. “I’ll ask Detective LeBeau the next time I see him.”
“What makes you so sure you’ll see him again?”
Resting her head on her hand, she stared at him. “A gut feeling. He did sponsor me this weekend.”
He choked on his coffee. The mug clapped against the tabletop. “He’s your sponsor?”
“Yeah. I thought I told you that.”
He eyed her. “I don’t remember you saying anything about it.” His gray eyes twinkled. “Course, I was too busy with my sponsor.”
Cody groaned. “How many of the women at Cut ’n’ Curl did you promise to take out on a date?”
“None of them.”
“Right.”
“I swear.” JC gave her a salute. “Scout’s honor.”
“One Scout meeting doesn’t constitute a life-long membership.”
“This Detective LeBeau slaps down a hundred bucks on you, and suddenly he’s the one investigating this murder.”
Cody cradled her mug. “I don’t pick ’em.”
“That’s for sure.”
The screen door screeched open, making them turn. Dad entered the kitchen and let the door slap shut.
“JC.” He nodded, removing his gloves and hat.
“Logan.”
Dad glanced at Cody, and then moved to the refrigerator. “What are you two up to?”
“Trouble. As usual,” JC said.
Dad swatted his shoulder with a glove. “Always knew you were a bad influence on my girl, Manning.” He reached inside the fridge and withdrew a casserole. Holding it up, he looked at Cody. “What’s this for?”
She nodded at JC. “His mom sent it.”
“Yeah,” JC groaned out the word. “She figured Cody wouldn’t want to cook tonight.”
“I hate that your mom knows so much about me.”
He chuckled. “But she’s right.”
Dad returned the casserole and removed a large pitcher of sweet tea. “Cody, who stopped by this morning in that fancy Corvette?”
Warmth drained from her face. She glanced at JC, whose upraised eyebrows didn’t quell the riot going on in her stomach. “Uhh … ” She shrank in her chair. “It was Detective LeBeau.”
Dad set the tea pitcher down. “Why was he here?”
She met his heated stare. “He had some questions.” And maybe an agenda.
“About what?” The words were clipped.
“About last night. Dad, it was nothing more than a follow-up.”
His eyes narrowed. “We’ll see.” He poured a tall glass and left the kitchen with it. The screen door slammed shut.
Cody winced.
“Why’s he mad?” JC asked.
She left her chair and put the pitcher away. “The past’s repeating itself.”
“They couldn’t possibly think he had anything to do with this,” he said. “What happened last night doesn’t have a thing to do with your mom’s death. Right?”
Bracing her hands on the counter, Cody stared out the kitchen window. Her dad stalked across the yard to the indoor training arena like demons were hot on his heels. “I don’t think it’s that.”
• • •
The department bullpen hummed. Remy flicked his toothpick into a nearby trashcan and sank into his chair. “Got anything?”
Looking up from the pile of photos, his partner shook his head. “What did the doc have to say?”
“A lot. Find us an empty room. We need to talk in private.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
Remy tossed the Rodeo Sweethearts killer files onto Anderson’s desk. “Read these and you’ll know why. By the way, did you know about the new CSU supervisor?”
Pausing in the middle of opening a file, Anderson scowled. “Didn’t know there was a new one.”
<
br /> “Apparently there is. Met her. Seems competent. Younger than I expected.”
“Name?”
“Jolene Summers, from Santa Fe.”
A gleam crossed through Anderson’s blue eyes. “I’ll have to stop by and introduce myself.”
Remy grinned. “Not your type, C-Bar.”
“What makes you an expert on my type of women?”
“Being my partner.”
“Ha!” Anderson ran his finger over the stack, the sheets whooshing like a picture flip book as they settled into a neat pile. “Did she tell you anything about our new case?”
“A name for the victim. Other than that, nothing. She said they’re still processing the evidence.”
Their forty-eight-hour window was shrinking. If Doc Warner’s suspicions were correct and the Rodeo Sweethearts killer had returned, they were going to have a citywide panic on their hands. Remy’s gut twisted. This would be his first serial case since moving to Dallas.
At the sharp clap of the department door, an eerie silence fell over the room. All eyes turned to Lieutenant Moreno as he stalked across the floor.
“LeBeau, my office.”
The lieutenant’s perpetual scowl furrowed deeper lines on his face. Grabbing the Trisk file, Remy stood.
“Why just you?” Anderson asked. “Ain’t we working this case together?”
“Find that room and I’ll fill you in.” Remy kicked his chair under his desk. “Don’t worry, C-Bar, I’ve got you covered.” He headed toward the lieutenant’s office.
Moreno shuffled papers and folders around on his desk. He glanced up when Remy entered. “Shut the door.”
Remy did as ordered, then faced his lieutenant.
Moreno rocked back. Middle-aged and graying around the temples, the lieutenant’s intense brown eyes made the most confident of criminals sweat. Wit as sharp and quick as a whip crack, he’d earned the nickname Iron Man. Now the head of homicide, he took no flack from his detectives and ran the department like a Marine drill sergeant.
“Take a seat, LeBeau.”
Remy settled into the empty chair and Moreno leaned forward and stared at him.
“Did you see Doc Warner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know?”
For the better part of the afternoon, Remy had worked over what he’d say to Moreno when he asked. It irritated him that he’d been caught blindsided by the lieutenant’s involvement with the Rodeo Sweethearts cases. Not only was the man under a microscope by city officials, he’d dragged Remy into it by personally assigning him the case and putting unwanted scrutiny on him. Politics ruined Remy’s life in New Orleans — he wasn’t about to let it ruin this one, too.
“Lieutenant, I don’t form an opinion one way or another. You did what you could with what you had. But a little forewarning would’ve been nice.”
Moreno rubbed his face and groaned. “I know. But Rick wasn’t certain, and I didn’t want to color your perception of the murder with speculation. So, is it him? The Rodeo Sweethearts killer?”
“Doc Warner seems to believe so, and the CSU supervisor mentioned it was ‘a meticulous killer,’ I believe were her exact words.”
Moreno swore and flopped against the chair. He stared out the window, his fingers tapping a cadence on his desk. “Did you visit that gal who found the body this morning?”
His trip out to see Cody to talk about her mother’s death seemed to spark an interest in Moreno when Remy mentioned it. “Dead end. Like I said, Jodi Lewis was killed two years before the serial killer started his spree.”
“But Cody Lewis closely resembles the women killed by this maniac. Red hair, green eyes, lean build, and stands about five foot five or six?”
“Regrettably, yes.”
Moreno’s eyes glazed over, and a tic started in his left cheek. A thrum started deep in Remy’s chest. Moreno was holding back something.
“Sir, did the killer ever leave a body near a potential target?”
Jerking out his trance, Moreno blinked at Remy before the calculated stare returned. “Keep a close eye on her.”
“Lieutenant, she’s not in any da — ”
“Just check on her now and again. Got it?”
“Yes.” Remy fingered the corner of the folder. “Is there anything I need to know?”
“Didn’t Rick give you the files?”
“Yes, but those are the autopsies.”
Sighing, Moreno opened a side desk drawer and withdrew a thick manila folder. “I keep this on hand to remind myself why I’m here, and in case he ever came back.” He held it out. “Take it and read over it.”
Remy took the file and added it the Trisk file on his lap. “Sir, you got a speculation on why the killer chose to switch up his MO for the body dump?”
“Don’t know. Just like I don’t know why he stopped five years ago. You can theorize all you want — he went to jail, moved away and then came back, or his life situation changed — but it won’t change the fact that he’s at it again.”
“Only rodeos?”
“Far as we know.” Moreno swiveled his chair and stood. “It’s all there in that file and the ones Rick gave you, LeBeau. You go form your own opinion and catch that killer.”
Remy nodded, stood, then moved to the door.
“Cajun?”
Slowly, he turned.
A haggard expression appeared on the lieutenant’s face.
“My tail is riding on this case. The mayor flat out told me to put this guy behind bars, or he’ll personally see to it that I’m fired.”
Remy scowled. “Can he do that?”
“People in this city have long memories. And there’s a lot of headhunters who’ll find the nearest scapegoat. Unfortunately, I’m it.”
Chapter Five
News of the murder buzzed through the rodeo community. Reporters descended on the Stanton Enterprise Center like a swarm of locusts. Being trailerless was a blessing for Cody — no bold, black letters to announce her whereabouts.
Zigzagging through the maze of rigs and vehicles in the parking lot behind the arena, Cody cast surreptitious glances over her shoulder. No reporter-like person followed. She cut across a median and turned a corner, then jogged to JC’s trailer.
S’mores lifted her head and nickered. Pausing by the mare, Cody ran her hand along the brown, silky neck.
“That you, Cody?” JC’s voice drifted out of the living quarters.
“Yeah.” She gave S’mores a final pat, and stepped inside.
JC stood in front of a full-length mirror, buttoning his black western shirt with the Army logo on the front and the bold white words Army Strong down the sleeves. “Can you make sure my number’s on straight?” He turned his back toward her.
Smoothing down the cardstock, Cody squared the corners. “Looks good.”
Finished with his buttons, JC faced her. “It’s like a Wild West show out there.”
She fussed with his collar until it laid flat. “And I’m the main attraction.”
“A regular ole Annie Oakley.”
“Where’s my Sharps? It might scare off those bloodhounds.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Let’s go out there tonight and give them something better to talk about.”
“Planned on it.” She opened the mini fridge and pulled out a Coke. “What calf did you draw tonight?”
“The one Brazile had last night.” As a tie-down roper, JC faced stiff competition to make the cut for the National Finals Rodeo.
Cody had secured her spot already. Her first trip to the NFR since joining the professional circuit five years ago. Momma would’ve been happy. The carbonation hissed out of the bottle. “He got a good time on it. Be careful though.”
He flashed h
is show-stopping grin. “Ain’t I always?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Never.” He settled his dove-gray Stetson low on his head. “Gotta warm up Whip. I wanna see you behind the chutes cheering me on.”
“Ain’t I always?” Cody took a swig of her Coke.
He flicked her hat brim. “Smart aleck.” Opening the door, he started through, then paused. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Cody Lewis.”
The Coke lodged in her throat. Coughing, she capped the bottle and joined JC in the doorway. “Detective LeBeau, what’re you doing here?”
He looked less like a magazine model in faded jeans, a snug fitting red T-shirt under his black leather coat, and … Cody’s heart seized. The man was wearing cowboy boots. Had he always worn them? She racked her memory, and couldn’t conjure up an instance.
“That’s LeBeau?” JC jabbed a thumb at the Cajun. His voice held a note of irritation.
Great, brother mode was kicking into gear. “Don’t you have a horse to warm up?”
He crossed his arms. “It can wait a few minutes.”
She glared at him and he returned the look. The boy was pushing it. She pointed out the door. “Scat.”
A second ticked past. Cody clenched her fist. Bullheaded cowboy. Sighing, JC eyed LeBeau as if to convey the impression that he was watching and stepped outside.
Cody followed, letting the trailer door clap shut. She watched JC circle the trailer and disappeared on the other side. Free of his scrutiny, but not his hearing, she nodded for LeBeau to follow. She walked to the front of the truck.
“Boyfriend?” LeBeau asked.
“Hardly.” She stopped next to the hood and faced the detective. “Now, why are you here?”
• • •
Why was he here? It wasn’t like Remy didn’t have a ton of paperwork back at the department. But he had to take the easiest route to investigate Heather Trisk’s murder. And Cody held the key.
He held up the ticket stub. “Sponsor privileges, remember?”
With a moan, Cody pressed her fingers to her forehead. “That’s not all, is it?”
Pocketing the stub, he settled his hands on his waist. The cowgirl looked good tonight in form-fitting jeans and a pale blue blouse that brought out the green in her eyes. Swept back in a ponytail, her hair curled at the ends. For some absurd reason, he was relieved to hear the JC fellow wasn’t her boyfriend. Even though the man’s reaction to Remy’s presence might suggest otherwise.
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