Texas Temptation

by Kathryn Brocato

  “It has to be me. Susan barely tolerates me, and only because I was Jack’s partner. Anyone else, and she’ll spit in their face.”

  “I’ll come with. Maybe another somewhat familiar face will keep her in check,” Luc said and stood. “Tomorrow?”

  “If she’s home.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “Luc, have you forgotten this is Thanksgiving weekend? Most people are visiting family and friends or out catching the Black Friday deals. Susan could be at her sister’s place in Oklahoma.” Carlos felt a twinge in his chest. He’d be doing the exact thing with his family until he was dragged back to the department for the Cantrell murder. His wife grumbled about him missing another Thanksgiving, but it was the nature of the job.

  “Call and check,” Luc said.

  “I will. If she is gone, then Monday, you and I pay her a visit.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  With half of his Saturday morning taken up by much needed sleep, Remy lingered over his second cup of coffee, reading the paper. Coverage on Holly Cantrell’s death made the headlines and filled the next two pages. Remy stared at his blurred image in the background of a photo. It seemed the photographer took the picture as Remy was staring at the message on the wall.

  Who was next?

  Taking a sip of his coffee, he let the paper fall flat onto the counter. The Rodeo Sweethearts killer had murdered Holly to cover his tracks. Because of the breach in dispatch, they’d done a thorough in-house check. As far as the dispatch supervisor could tell, Holly was their only leak and only Remy’s contact numbers that were compromised.

  Who was the killer after next?

  His gaze slid to his newly issued cell. He should check on her. Warn her. He picked up the phone, flipped it open, stared at the backlit numbers, then dialed. She answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” Her greeting was riddled with caution.

  “Cody, it’s Remy.”

  “Oh, another new number.”

  “Yeah.” He massaged his forehead. He heard the tension in her voice. Their last conversation hadn’t ended well. “I’m sorry for cutting out on you and your dad the other day. Work has a way of ruining the holidays.”

  “It’s okay. Your dessert went over well with the group. A few wanted the recipe.”

  A smile worked its way onto his lips. “That would be a bit hard to do. It’s a family recipe, and I couldn’t tell you exact measurements if I tried.”

  “Well, it was good. And you can pick up the dish when you’re free.” A male shout followed by the clang of metal carried through their connection.

  “Where are you?”

  She chuckled. “Warming up my horse before we practice. The boys are loading cattle nearby.”

  The simplicity and almost domesticated side of her life sounded enjoyable. Deep inside, in a place he’d buried from those around him, his rural roots poked free. He didn’t want to return there. Too many memories would dredge up the pain. It’s why he avoided women like Cody and preferred the Maries of the world.

  Remy got up from the stool and carried his cup to the sink. “You’re busy. I better let you go.”

  “Before you go, I need to clear something with you.”

  Dread curdled in his gut. “About what?”

  The faint sounds of livestock met his question. She sighed. “About our conversation before you left Thursday.”

  More like their argument. “Cody, it’s fine, I shouldn’t — ”

  “Remy, maybe it’s fine with you, but it’s not with me.”

  A sharp pain jabbed his chest. Where was she going with this?

  “I’m not the type to force my standards on anyone. I get my fill of chauvinistic cowboys and cocky rodeo jerks on a daily basis. The last thing I want in a man is one who won’t accept me for who I am.”

  “What are you driving at, Cody?”

  She sighed again. “Think long and hard about what you want, Remy. Before this attraction between us goes any further.”

  An ultimatum. He should’ve known. A chill breathed across his skin, and he jerked around. There it was again. That feeling he’d experienced the night of the first murder.

  “Remy?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here.” His gaze darted from the living room to the staircase. “I’ll think about what you said.”

  “All right. I need to go.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Ending the call, he snapped the cell phone shut. Cautiously leaving the kitchen, Remy listened. Silence. The weird sensation was gone. What was going on?

  With a shake of his head, he headed upstairs to finish getting ready. His sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on him.

  Halfway up the stairs his cell rang. He checked the ID — dispatch.

  “LeBeau.”

  “Detective, dispatch was notified to contact you and Detective Anderson with an urgent call from an Aaron Clark.”

  Remy halted at the top of the steps. “About what?”

  “You’re to go to St. Luke’s Hospital. He’s been admitted and is demanding to speak with you both.”

  “Thanks.” Disconnecting, he hurried into his room, threw on jeans and a maroon button-up shirt and his boots. He grabbed up his badge and weapon along with a jacket, then raced downstairs, dialing Anderson’s number.

  His partner answered on the second ring. “I’m on my way.”

  “Same here.”

  The alarm set, Remy slammed out the door and to his car.

  Why in the world was Aaron Clark in the hospital and calling them?

  • • •

  Remy and Anderson approached the older gentleman in a blue vest sitting behind the hospital’s help desk and flashed their badges. “We need to know where to find Aaron Clark.”

  The volunteer held up a finger as he lifted the phone to his ear and punched a number.

  “What do you think this is about?” Anderson asked under his breath.

  Remy watched a nurse wheel a new mother cradling a baby car seat in her lap toward them. Next to the exit a giddy father stood holding a fistful of pink balloons. As the nurse passed, the mother parted the pink blanket to reveal a tiny baby girl. Remy’s throat constricted at the sight.

  “I’m pregnant, Remy. You’re going to be a daddy!”

  Clenching his jaw, Remy turned from the family and his memories to meet Anderson’s frown.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  The older man smiled. “Mr. Clark is on the fourth floor in room four-twenty-eight.”

  “Thanks,” Remy said and strode to the elevator bank.

  They managed to snag one to themselves. Silence hung between them. Remy avoided looking at Anderson. The happy family scene still burned in his thoughts.

  “When are you going to let me in, LeBeau?”

  He swung his gaze to Anderson. A blue flame flickered in his partner’s eyes. Why bring this discussion up now? Remy faced the doors. “Let’s focus on the task at hand.”

  Anderson made a sour noise in his throat.

  Remy shot a sidelong glance at him as the elevator hit their floor. The doors glided open, and they stepped off together. Apparently this couldn’t wait. Spotting a quiet corner away from prying eyes, Remy grabbed Anderson’s arm and jerked him into it.

  “Let’s have it. You got something to get off your chest, do it now.”

  With a huff, Anderson crossed his arms. “Now you want to have a li’l pow-wow. What happened to ‘let’s focus on the task at hand’?”

  “You’re the one getting up in my grill and demanding answers. Allons.”

  Rigid lines etched along Anderson’s face. Slowly, his arms fell to his sides. “We’ve been partners for w
hat, two years now, and I know nothing about you, LeBeau.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Really? You’re, what, thirty-three and you’ve lived in Dallas all of five years, and there’s nothing to tell?”

  Remy shrugged one shoulder. “Not really.”

  Anderson swore. “That’s exactly the problem. How can we work so close together, and I know nothing about you? How do I know I can truly trust you with my life?”

  “You can’t.”

  Craning his head back a notch, Anderson gaped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You wanted to know why I wouldn’t let you in. How you can trust me.” Remy took a step closer. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, partner. There are some aspects of people’s lives that are best left unknown.”

  An ugly look passed over Anderson’s face. “Does the same apply to Cody, too?”

  “She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Don’t even. She has plenty. I can see what’s happening between the two of you, despite how much you want to deny it. And from my perspective, Cody’s not a woman who will live with a pack of lies.” Anderson jabbed a finger into Remy’s chest. “Either man up and start allowing people into your life, or you’ll lose it all.” He turned and stalked down the hall.

  Remy stared at Anderson’s retreating back, quelling the rage bubbling in his gut. His partner demanded too much. If Remy let one word of who he was or what happened before he moved to Dallas slip, everyone’s lives would be at risk. The fool had pushed the wrong button by bringing Cody into this.

  But he was right. Remy couldn’t afford to get any closer to Cody. He had to cut ties with her. Not only had he set her in the path of the Rodeo Sweethearts killer, he’d made her a target of his enemies if they ever came after him.

  Remy strode down the hall and found Anderson waiting for him outside Aaron Clark’s room.

  “Nurse says we can see him, as long as it’s brief,” Anderson said.

  “Fine.” Remy knocked, and opened the door a crack. “Mr. Clark, it’s Detectives LeBeau and Anderson.”

  “Come in,” Clark said.

  “Mind telling us why you’re here and why we’re here?” Anderson asked.

  “This.” Aaron lifted his hospital gown and revealed a five-inch slash along his side. “And this.” He lowered the gown and rolled back the capped sleeve to show them another angry slash on his bicep.

  “What happened?” Remy asked.

  “Some dude in dark clothes and a hoodie attacked me last night. If I hadn’t been carrying my board, I think I would’ve been killed.”

  Anderson jerked out a pad and began writing. “Tell us what happened exactly as you remember.”

  Aaron squirmed lower on his bed. “I was walkin’ home last night from a friend’s place. About a few yards from my door, some guy yells at me. I turn and the next thing I know my arm’s being cut open. He goes for my chest, and I block the knife with my board. He screams something and starts slashing this huge blade back and forth. I smacked him upside the head with my board, and he fell. I ran for my apartment, but he caught up, and then gave me this cut on my side. A woman heard the commotion and started screaming, which scared the asshole off.”

  “Did you see his face?” Remy asked.

  “No, the hood covered it.”

  “Could you give a description of him?”

  Aaron nodded. “I think it’s the dude who stole my ID and bought that knife.”

  “Why do you think that?” Anderson asked.

  “’Cause right before he cut my arm, he said he should’ve taken care of me before they found out.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Carlos stepped out of his office as the stairwell door opened and Luc emerged. The PI made a beeline for the break room. Carlos glanced at LeBeau’s and Anderson’s still empty desks. They better return with good news.

  Leaving his office doorway, he joined Luc in the break room. “Where’ve you been?”

  Luc peered over the rim of his mug, then lowered it. “I was chasing a tangent.”

  “And?” Carlos grabbed a mug from the stack next to the large coffeemaker.

  “And it bombed.” He leaned left to peek out the doorway. “Where are your men?”

  “Out on a call. Should be back soon.”

  “What’s LeBeau’s story? When did he join the department?” Luc’s questions peppered Carlos.

  “He joined nine months after the last killing.” He frowned as the realization sank in. “About two months after Katrina hit New Orleans.”

  “A refugee?” Luc turned to leave the break room.

  Carlos shrugged and followed. “I can’t see him leaving his city without a legit reason. Brass gave strict orders to leave his file alone.”

  If DPD brass buried LeBeau’s transfer and dossier it meant dirt, probably six feet deep.

  Luc headed down the hall to the conference room he and his team were using. “Are you sure you want to continue trusting him with this case?”

  “I wouldn’t have assigned him if I didn’t. Three years and he’s solved eighty percent of his cases.”

  Luc whistled. “That’s some heavy stats for a three-year detective.”

  “He’s a stubborn cuss. Probably better than you and me.”

  They entered the conference room and Carlos stutter-stepped to a stop. Jolene Summers stood, removing her dark-framed glasses.

  “Who is that?” Luc whispered.

  “Our CSU supervisor,” Carlos whispered back.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “Beats me. Didn’t even see her come in.”

  Her blue-eyed gaze darted between them before she slipped through the maze of chairs and equipment. She held out her hand. “I take it you’re Mr. Santorini, the private detective?”

  Luc took her hand and they shook. “It is.”

  “Ms. Summers. What brings you here today?” Carlos asked.

  She dragged her attention from Luc and grimaced at Carlos. “Sorry, lieutenant, but I needed to follow up with Detective LeBeau on the partial print. I haven’t heard whether it was a match with the military data base.”

  Luc flicked his hand up. “We might get that. Noah.”

  The computer whiz flung up a piece of paper and continued typing one handed. “Boss-man.”

  Carlos meandered after his old friend as Luc snatched the paper from his man and then settled into a chair. Summers stepped up to the table Luc was using as a desk.

  “Dead end. No match.”

  Carlos frowned. “You were certain this guy was military.”

  “It was a theory. For all we know, his father was the military connection and taught him what he knew.”

  Summers crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “But it’s something to play with.”

  Luc tapped his chin. “Can that knife tell us anything more?”

  “Sorry. The blood was too degraded, and the only fingerprints on it were of the two known people to handle it. In my opinion it did what it was meant to — detour us.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Carlos looked over his shoulder, as his two best detectives entered the room. Anderson and LeBeau nodded and said “sir” as they joined the entourage at the table.

  Anderson laid a composite sketch on the tabletop. “We might’ve hit a nerve.”

  Carlos lifted the piece of paper and tilted it to examine hooded figure with nothing more than his chin showing. “This isn’t much to go on.” He looked at the two. “And where’d you get this?”

  “We followed the knife’s purchase trail to a kid named Aaron Clark.” LeBeau shifted his stance and braced his hands on his waist. “His bank account was used to buy the knife, and we’re still trying
to get the delivery info. But I guess our killer didn’t expect us to dig so deep. After we talked to Mr. Clark yesterday, he attacked the kid last night, intending to kill him. A woman scared him off before he could finish the job.”

  Carlos’s body hummed. “He’s trying to clean up his trail. And we can’t present this to the public, not without a face.”

  “But we’ve got more to go on than ever.” Anderson leaned against the table. “We know he’s about six foot, weighs around two hundred pounds, and definitely a male. He spoke to Mr. Clark.”

  “And you’re both certain this is the same guy, not some random stabbing?” Carlos asked.

  “Mr. Clark said his attacker said he should’ve taken care of him before we found him.” LeBeau’s eyebrows peaked. “What’s that say to you, sir?”

  Carlos let the sketch flutter onto the tabletop and scanned the faces of each person. “It tells me, we need the evidence to convict him.”

  Summers shrugged. “Sorry, but right now, it’s just not there.”

  Pushing off the table, Anderson faced her. “What about the tattoo?”

  Luc rocked forward. “What about it?”

  A light flickered through Summers’s pretty eyes, and she smiled. “Maybe.”

  “Care to enlighten us?” Carlos asked.

  “Tattoo parlors tend to buy specialty inks. Some of these guys are particular about their art, and that means they only get the best inks. If Summers’s team can figure out what kind of ink was used on Joni Bricket, we can narrow down our search.” Anderson said.

  “But she was from Oklahoma; she probably got it there,” Carlos said.

  “Then we call them.”

  LeBeau frowned. “How do you know so much about tats?”

  Anderson tapped his right arm. “Got one.”

  “Figures.”

  Summers eyed Anderson. “That would be interesting to see.”

  Anderson gave her a wink. “Some other time.”

  Carlos waved his hands. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We roll with this.” He pointed at Summers. “How soon can you get the testing done?”

  “If we get started today, maybe late tomorrow, more likely Monday at the earliest.”