“Hey.”
“Hey, kiddo. How’d it go?”
“Second.”
“Can’t win ’em all. When are you getting home?”
She glanced at LeBeau and closed her eyes. Another can of worms to open. “I’ll be late. Don’t wait up for me.”
“You and JC sticking around for the after rodeo festivities?”
“Uhh, he is.”
“And you’re not?”
Cody rubbed her forehead where a stab of pain was starting. “No, I’ve got other plans.”
“Like what?”
“Like, I’m a grown woman, and I don’t have to answer to you like I’m seventeen.”
“I’ll give ya that. When is JC bringing your mare home?”
“He’s not. He’s going to stall her at his place.”
Dad’s sigh carried over the connection. “I’ll come get her.”
“Dad, you don’t have to — ”
“Cody, don’t argue. I’ll pick her up. You go have fun or whatever it is you can’t tell your old man about.”
Oh, sure, he would lay on the guilt trip thicker than a horde of flies on a carcass. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, kiddo.”
“Night.”
She disconnected and her shoulders slumped. The men in her life were bound and determined to drive her completely insane.
“Now I’m really beginning to think this was a bad idea.”
She locked eyes with Remy. “No, I haven’t done anything for myself in years. And two men aren’t ruining it for me. We’re going.”
“If you’re sure.”
She opened the car door. “Don’t test me, LeBeau.”
The black leather squeaked as she slid into the seat. No fabric for this man. The seat cradled her body like a recliner, and she wiggled deep into the back. A few occasions had popped up over the years to ride in a muscle car, but this would be her first ride in a Corvette.
LeBeau kept the interior clean, and the car smelled of his spicy brand of cologne. A far contrast from the manure-scented, dusty trucks she was used to. Cowboy motto: Why clean it when it’ll get dirty in two seconds?
When LeBeau slid into the driver’s seat, she glanced over. He unclipped his badge from his belt and placed it in the console. His badge number and the capitalized word “Detective” glared back at her. She met his intense gaze and heat crept up her neck into her face. Swallowing hard, she looked away, and busied her hands with getting buckled. It’s just dinner. Nothing else.
The car roared to life. A thrill shot through her as it idled into a low growl. There was power under the hood. She looked over at him. “Trying to impress me, Detective?”
A wide grin crossed his face. “Is it working?”
She returned the sly smile. “Maybe.”
His low, husky laugh tickled her. It definitely improved his disposition, because he lost the serious cop mask and gave her the impression he was someone she could relate to. He backed the car out of the spot and shifted it into gear. When his hand left the shifter, she noticed RAL carved into the handle. Okay, he liked to claim his possessions. What did the A stand for?
He entered traffic and pointed the car in the direction of downtown. Cody stared out the window as Thanksgiving decorations and brightly lit signs flashed past. She didn’t see downtown Dallas much, preferring to do her business in Fort Worth. The city was beautiful at night, and the familiar well-lit buildings brought on a twinge of nostalgia. She and Momma always came into Dallas to get their gifts for Daddy, and always at night.
“This NFR. What is it?”
She pried her gaze away from the scenery and gaped at LeBeau. “You don’t know?”
He shot a look at her and returned his attention to the street. “Not everyone moves in your circles.”
“Guess they don’t.” She let her head fall against the headrest. “The NFR stands for the National Finals Rodeo. It’s like the Super Bowl or Final Four of professional rodeo. For ten days we compete to see who walks away top dog in each event.”
“And this is your first time?”
She sighed. “Yeah.”
LeBeau braked for a red light, his left wrist hooked over the steering wheel and his right hand resting on the stick. “Did your mère barrel race?”
She jerked her attention to his profile. “My what?”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry, your mom.”
“Yeah, she did.” Cody eyed him. “Do you speak French?”
“French Cajun.”
“What’s the difference?”
The light turned green and he gunned the engine. Cody flopped back into the seat. Had she hit a hot button?
“A big difference if you’re in Paris or in the bayous.”
An odd timbre in his voice and the tension that erupted warned Cody off the subject. Apparently her life was a topic he’d force out of her, but his would stay unmentioned. Fine, it’s not like they were dating or anything.
He pulled into a restaurant lot and parked near the exit. Cody peered out the windshield and her jaw went slack at the huge sign above the building. The Rockefeller. A step down from formal attire, but several steps up from the steakhouses and mom-and-pop places she normally frequented.
“Detective, this is bit more than I bargained on when you asked to take me out.”
He turned off the engine and faced at her. “For a woman who told me she was old fashioned, I didn’t think you’d object to the guy picking the place.”
“I’m not objecting. I just don’t think I’m dressed appropriately.”
His eyes roved down and up her frame while her face flamed. She hated how he managed to turn her into a furnace full of hot coals when other men, minus one, never could.
“You’re fine.” He popped the door open. “In fact, you’re more than fine.”
Cody couldn’t care less about all the frippery, but LeBeau had to be kidding. No way was she dressed well enough to cross that threshold. She bolted from the car, and her bag banged against her legs as she raced around the car to stop him.
“Look, Detective, I appreciate the gesture, but really, this place is too much.”
Clipping the badge on his belt, he adjusted his coat to conceal it, then hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets. “Thought you said you weren’t objecting?”
Averting her eyes from his hands, she shouldered her bag. “So, I lied. My first excuse didn’t work.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Doubt any others will either, ma chère.”
She pointed a finger at his chest. “I know what that means. And I ain’t your friend.”
His laughter echoed across the parking lot. With a huff, Cody crossed her arms and scowled.
When he calmed, LeBeau shook his head, a grin firmly in place. “Friend is amie. I said my sweet.”
Her stomach did that funny flip and twist again. It was getting down right riotous. “Oh,” she whispered. “One would think you’d save that type of endearment for someone you liked.”
He shrugged. “Guess I like you.”
This time her unruly stomach plunged to the pavement along with her wits.
Cupping her elbow in his hand, LeBeau tugged her along. “Come on, it’s getting too chilly out here to debate.”
Her head still floating somewhere above her, Cody allowed him to steer her into the restaurant.
A gorgeous woman with silky black hair, wearing a conservative black dress and a hundred-watt smile, greeted them when they entered the lobby. “Remy! It’s about time you graced us with your charming presence again.” She skirted around the podium and lavished him with the traditional French greeting of kissing each cheek.
Cody resisted the urge to turn her back and gag. This was Dalla
s, not Paris. Geesh, she was sure being catty for someone who wasn’t dating LeBeau. She shoved down her ire and plastered on a smile. Oh, her BFF would be proud if she could see Cody now.
LeBeau beckoned for Cody to step closer. “Chantal, this is — ”
“Cody Lewis.” Chantal practically gushed with excitement. “I’d recognize that red hair and face anywhere.”
Cody blinked in astonishment. “You know who I am?”
“Everyone in Dallas knows you.”
The warmth drained from her body. They knew her because she was the unlucky one to find Heather Trisk slashed open and dumped in her trailer.
“The whole city is rooting for you in the Roundup. It’s been a long time since a hometown girl has won it.”
It took a moment for Cody’s head to wrap around what Chantal said. The Roundup. Not the murder. She felt warmth seep into her veins. “Well, here’s hoping.”
“Most certainly.” Chantal turned to Remy. “The usual table?”
“As always.”
“Let me see if it’s open.” With that, she sashayed off.
Cody eyed LeBeau. “You have your own table?”
“I eat here a lot.”
“Evidently.” She inched around him and peered into the dining room.
Crystal chandeliers hung from a fifteen-foot ceiling, their light the only source in the room. Draped with midnight-blue cloth, about twenty-five or so tables that seated two to six people were scattered over the floor. Low conversations mingled with the ding of china and glass. The restaurant was busting at the seams with guests.
All those people. And once one person recognized her, then the whole mob would pounce. Her wrist ached from the thought of all those autographs.
Cody looked over her shoulder at LeBeau. “You just threw me to the lions, you know that?”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Come again?”
She pointed into the dining room. “If all of Dallas is rooting for me, then they’ll want autographs.”
“I have a private table, away from most of these people.”
“Why the special treatment?”
“I’m a cop, and it makes for a difficult time eating when you have to keep an eye on that many people alone.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. She could eat in peace and quiet.
“You don’t like the limelight, no?”
She gave him a one-shoulder shrug. “Not so much.”
He shook his head. “Better get used to it.”
Chapter Seven
The shrill ring of his cell phone dragged Remy awake. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling through half-open eyes, begging the phone to shut off. On the third ring he rolled across the bed with a groan. Propped up on an elbow, he glared at the alarm clock. Four-thirty in the morning. Damn it, this had better be good. He grabbed the phone off the nightstand and squinted at the screen.
Iron Man. Not good.
“LeBeau.”
“Get your carcass down here to the Stanton Enterprise. Now. They’ve found another one.”
He bolted upright. Cody!
Wait, he’d dropped her off at her ranch before coming home. There was no way the dead woman was Cody. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Make it ten.” The connection died.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat. This case had the makings of a first-rate migraine. Remy rubbed a raspy two-day-old beard. Better grab the electric shaver or his face would itch all day.
He dressed quickly, thankful he’d showered when he got home. After being around livestock all night, he hadn’t smelled the greatest, plus he’d hoped to wash away the tantalizing images of Cody. The shower didn’t work.
Weapon in the hip holster, his badge clipped next to his belt buckle, and shaver in hand, he left the condo. A sharp wind tore through the yard and tugged at his jacket. This autumn weather was entirely too cold for his Cajun blood. Maybe moving this far north had been a mistake.
He eased into the Corvette. Too late for regrets now. The electric shaver hummed before he pulled out of the parking lot. The car moved at a fast clip through town.
If it wasn’t Cody — and God, he hoped it wasn’t — then who did the Rodeo Sweethearts killer find? And this quickly? His study on serial killers mentioned they wouldn’t act so soon after a recent kill, unless they were escalating. Could be the thrill wasn’t lasting long enough. Five years of suppressed urges might cause it.
When Remy pulled into the Stanton Enterprise Center’s parking lot, uniformed officers, glow wands in hand, directed him through. He parked beside two squad cars with lights still flashing and got out.
Halfway down the alleyway leading to the animal pens, Anderson joined him. “’Bout time you got here. Iron Man’s ripping everyone a new one.”
Remy grunted. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Fending off the press.” His partner sighed, cupping the back of his neck and massaged it. “It’s bad, LeBeau. Real bad.”
Pulling up short, he frowned at Anderson. “How bad?”
“I think he held onto this one for a few days, maybe a week or two before he dumped her.”
Scratch Cody off the list. And readjust his thoughts on the killer’s urges. “Doc Warner here?”
“With the body now.” Anderson shoved his hands in his pockets. “What do you want me to do?”
For a brief moment, he appeared half his age of thirty. For a detective, Anderson was still considered young. But there was a deep wariness in his eyes, one that spoke of years of duty, although Anderson’s record said he’d been a cop for a little more than four years.
For tonight, Remy would let him take the easy part. “Go talk with the witnesses, and I’ll handle Iron Man.”
Anderson nodded, then ambled off. Remy stared at his retreating back. What did C-Bar do to let off steam after a shift? Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to work.
Remy turned from his partner and followed the trail of uniforms to the central focus. The lieutenant must have taken charge of the scene.
This time the killer had propped the body against a holding pen for some bulls. The large beasts eyed the activity buzzing around them, but kept a close watch on Rick and the victim. Remy stayed back about ten feet and studied the woman.
Her hazy green eyes were fixed on him, seeming to stare right into his soul. He suppressed a shiver. It got to him every time, reminding him of Marie’s terrified look when he’d gone to the morgue to ID her body.
Shaking the memory away, he continued his observation. Her red hair hung in a stringy mess around her face. And was it damp? C-Bar hadn’t been exaggerating, this woman had been brutalized more than Heather Trisk. Her blouse was stained brown and shredded to ribbons. The killer had progressed to hacking her legs.
Remy clenched his teeth. Something had really set this guy off to divert him from his normal MO.
“Is there a rose?” he asked Rick.
The ME jerked around. “Hell, Cajun, give a guy some warning.”
“Sorry.”
Sighing, Rick returned to the body. “There’s a rose. It wasn’t under her, just next to her leg.”
“Interrupted maybe?”
Rick shrugged. “Or the bulls scared him.”
“What’s your initial assessment?”
Rick stood and backed away from the body. A bull snorted and he stiffened, then backpedaled. “I hate those things.”
Remy bit back the smile.
“My initial assessment is this. She was killed more than forty-eight hours ago and her body frozen to stop decomposition. It’s still frozen in places; couldn’t get the liver temp.”
“That’s not our guy’s MO. In all your reports he never froze a body and dumped — ”
Ri
ck held up hand. “LeBeau, I know. I wrote the reports, didn’t I?”
“So what gives?”
“He’s either trying to throw us off his trail or we have a copycat.” He looked at the victim. “I need her body released before the insects get worse.”
“I’ll talk to Moreno.” Remy turned to leave, then paused. “I’m your first call when you’re ready to do the autopsy.”
Rick nodded.
After asking a few officers which direction they’d seen Moreno go, Remy found the lieutenant speaking with the CSU supervisor, Jolene Summers. Moreno noticed him as he approached.
“LeBeau, where the hell have you been?” he barked.
“Doing my job, sir.” He nodded at Summers. She wore pair of jeans and a faded green coat — more suitable clothing for the field.
Remy met Moreno’s steely gaze. “Lieutenant, the doc needs the body released.”
“Fine, release it.”
“I can’t, you’re supervising the scene.”
Moreno mumbled something in Spanish. “Sorry, Jolene. I’ll be back.” He turned to Remy. “LeBeau, you stay put.” With that, he stalked off.
Summers watched him leave and then looked at Remy. “He shouldn’t be here, much less taking charge of the scene.”
“It’s a long story.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a wry smile. “I’ve got all morning.” She held out her hand and swept her arm back and forth. “I’ve got a huge area to process. This is a forensic nightmare.”
“That’s what minions are for.”
She chuckled. “True.”
“Rick said the body had been frozen.”
A contemplative look crossed her face. “I heard. It’s going to make narrowing down her time of death harder.”
“What about on your end? Anything for me to go on with the first murder?”
“Not yet.” Someone called her name and she waved. “Stop by my office later today. I’ve personally overtaken a crucial piece of evidence, and I might have something for you to look at.”
Texas Temptation Page 151
