Texas Temptation

by Kathryn Brocato

“Here we are, sir.”

  Remy graced the man with half a smile and entered the room. Behind him, the door snapped shut.

  Rick stood from one of four overstuffed brown leather chairs near the only window in the room. “Want one?” He held up a beer bottle.

  “No, thanks. I’ll take a Coke, though.”

  Rick grabbed a bottle out of the wet bar and handed it to Remy. They sat across from each other in the matching chairs. Carbonation hissed from the cap. The Coke fizzed on his tongue, and the jolt of sugar promised a false sense of energy for later.

  “What’s on your mind, Cajun?”

  Remy capped the bottle and propped it on the end of the armrest. “What are Iron Man and Luc Santorini hiding?”

  Rick’s hand paused mid-lift, and he set the beer bottle on his thigh. “As far as I know, not a thing.”

  “Rick, don’t jerk me around. The three of you worked this RS killer case the first time. I believe you’ve told me everything you know. But they’re withholding something.”

  “I don’t know what it would be. Look, Remy, I’m the ME. I did my part in every one of those autopsies. Anything outside of the morgue isn’t my territory.”

  Remy bit back a curse. Of the three, he was certain Rick would be more open. Remy’s fingers played a cadence on his Coke bottle. “Fine, then let’s take it from Jack’s angle. What’s so special about him?”

  “Beats me.” Rick’s eyebrows rose and his eyes widened. “Wait a minute.”

  Remy shifted forward. “What?”

  “Jack took it real hard when those cases went cold. He planned to retire on a high note, and well, this RS killer sent him into a tail spin.”

  “Why? We can’t solve every case that comes across our desks.”

  “Yeah, but it got personal for Jack.” Rick swigged his beer. “Jack’s wife had a boy from a previous relationship. The kid was dating a gal who fit the victim profile right down to the rodeo connection. She loved it, wanted to be a barrel racer, if I recall. The two were planning to get married that summer.” He took another drink. “The RS killer got her. Kid went ballistic. Blamed Jack for not catching the guy.”

  Remy sat forward more, setting the Coke bottle on the floor. “Rick, why didn’t any of you think to tell me this?”

  “I didn’t think about it at the time. And Carlos is loyal to a fault when it comes to Jack. As for Santorini, he’s out of the loop as far as it concerns DPD. If I remember correctly, Luc had to leave right after the case stalled. Health issues or something like that.”

  And here he was back again, trying to solve the same case that made him leave. Remy and Moreno were going to have a li’l tête-à-tête.

  “What was the kid’s name?”

  Rick’s face scrunched. “Brad something. His mom’s name is Susan. She and Jack were married about twelve years before he died.”

  “How could you forget his name?”

  Rick glared at him. “Cajun, I work with the dead ones, not the living. I don’t worry too much about recalling their names.”

  Clenching his jaw, Remy let his frustration go. After all, Rick was adding to this case in leaps and bounds. “Jack retired right after the last killing. How long after the stepson’s girlfriend was killed did he leave?”

  “That’s the thing.” Rick glanced down into his beer bottle, then met Remy’s stare. “She was the last one. Victim number six was Brad’s fiancé, Terri Halbrook.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Can you come to the lab? Alone?”

  Remy had waited most of Monday morning for Summers’s call, but not like this. He cast a furtive glance at Anderson. His partner appeared absorbed in his reading. Remy swiveled his chair a hundred and eighty degrees.

  “Why all the secrecy, Summers?”

  “I need your opinion on something. And you alone.” She spoke as if she walked at a fast pace.

  Why drag him all the way to the lab for a second opinion? “Can you fax it to me?”

  “And risk having Moreno’s PI bloodhound get it? No.”

  Remy fought the grin. Bloodhound summed up Santorini nicely. “He’s not here.”

  “Oh. Well, just the same. You’re the lead investigator, and you need to see this.”

  “How do you expect me to slip out of here unnoticed?”

  Summers sighed. “LeBeau, you’re a cop. I’m pretty sure you’ve been able to get yourself out of a tight spot before.”

  Yeah, with a lot help from the right people. Remy massaged the center of his forehead. “This doesn’t constitute as a tight spot.”

  “Men,” she exhaled. She sounded exasperated. “Just get down here ASAP.”

  The dial tone hummed in Remy’s ear. She demanded a lot. Sort of like a certain redhead cowgirl. He spun back to the desk and replaced the handset.

  Anderson glanced up. “News?”

  Their confrontation on Saturday still hung heavy between them. If Remy did what Jolene wanted, he’d widen the rift between him and Anderson. Theirs had been a good match, and Remy wasn’t about to get strapped with a new partner because they couldn’t get it together for one case.

  Jolene said she didn’t want Santorini getting wind of this. She didn’t say anything about Anderson. Remy would take a chance with her wrath.

  “Get your gear and let’s head out.”

  Anderson stood, grabbing a black windbreaker. “Where — ”

  Remy held up his hand. “I’ll explain in the elevator. As far as everyone else is concerned, we’re grabbing lunch.”

  Frowning, his partner jammed his arms into his coat and nodded. Remy slid into his coat and they left unaccosted. Neither spoke until they were on the elevator and riding down.

  “What gives?” Anderson asked.

  “Summers has something. She doesn’t know you’re coming.”

  “Why not?”

  “She asked me to come alone. I decided to ignore her and bring you along.” Remy glanced over.

  Anderson stared at the opposite wall, deep creases folded on his forehead. “I don’t know what to think about that.”

  “Don’t. Consider it a step in the right direction on my part.”

  The doors swooshed open and they exited. Jolene waited for them by the front desk.

  “Why is he here?” she said as they approached.

  Remy clipped on his ID tag. “It’s either both of us or neither of us.” He met Jolene’s glare.

  She heaved a frustrated sigh and flicked her hand as if to swat away a fly. “Fine. This way, gentlemen.”

  They trailed her down the hall to her lab. Once inside, she locked the door. Remy and Anderson looked at each other.

  “Sorry.” She removed a manila file from a drawer. “I don’t want anyone barging in.” She skirted around her exam table and slid out magnified photos of the tattoo from Joni Bricket. “While we were testing the ink, I started looking at the tattoo closely and noticed something we didn’t see before.”

  “What about the ink?” Remy asked.

  “Oh, here.” She grabbed a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “That’s the list of tattoo places that use this brand of ink. The manufacturer sent it over about twenty minutes ago. But back to the tattoo.” Jolene turned on a projector and slid a photo under the screen. “From a casual observation, this looks like an ordinary rose tattoo. But if you start looking deeper, right in the middle you notice a set of initials.”

  Both men moved closer to the screen. The rose was blown up to four times the normal size to the point Remy could see the pores on the skin.

  He squinted at the place she pointed to on the overhead. “I’m not seeing it.”

  “Stare harder, LeBeau.” She jabbed the end of her pen at the particular spot.

  Two letters suddenly jumped out at him.
BD. “Mon Dieu.”

  Anderson whistled low. “I think our victims just told us who their killer is.”

  • • •

  Cody slapped the last ledger shut and tossed the pen on the table. She arched her back to relieve the knotted muscles. Finally, she could start packing. First, food.

  From the refrigerator’s bottom shelf, she dragged out Thanksgiving leftovers, piled the containers on the counter and set about making a quick lunch. Halfway through the process her Trace Adkins ring tone jangled from her coat pocket. Licking cranberry juice from her fingers, she dug out her cell.

  “Hey, JC.”

  “Did you make up your mind?”

  Cody sealed a plastic tub. “Yeah. I’m going.” She cradled the phone between her shoulder and head and returned the container to the fridge. “Still wanna travel together?”

  “Yep. We’ll take my trailer, since … well … you know.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  “Have you seen LeBeau lately?”

  “No.” She switched sides with the phone. “Why?”

  “Just wonderin’ is all.”

  JC didn’t just wonder. Did those two say something the other night when she passed out? When they parted, they appeared to be on better terms. Maybe she shouldn’t poke the snake while it snoozed.

  “Want me to bring my gear over to load today?” She turned off the flame under the pan.

  “Naw, we’ll do it tomorrow. And don’t bring a ton of extras. I’ll have the back-up gear.”

  “Come on, JC. I don’t carry that much stuff with me.”

  He snorted. “You’re outdone only by Kim in that department.”

  “Right. At least I don’t drag my whole wardrobe with me.”

  “Gotta be prepared.”

  Cody snickered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Disconnecting, she set the phone on the counter and dished up her meal. The Jason Aldean song played as she removed a fork from the silverware drawer. Boy howdy, she got popular fast. She answered.

  “Cody, it’s Remy.”

  “Shouldn’t you be working?”

  “Doing that. Had a question for you.”

  “And that would be?” She shoveled food in her mouth.

  “Got any plans for tonight?”

  Bits lodged in her throat and she coughed. She swallowed hard. “Are you asking me on a date? Again?”

  “This time, yes, it’s a date.”

  “Is that safe to do?” She jerked a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped her mouth. “I mean, isn’t there a serial killer watching you?”

  “At this point, I don’t care.”

  “What about me? I’d think you’d let me have a say in this, since I could be a potential target.”

  “Are you telling me you aren’t going to Vegas? Yah, that’s what I figured. I think you’ve answered your own question.”

  There was that.

  “So, if this date happens, where are we going?”

  Remy chuckled. “Oh, this date is happening.”

  How was it she attracted cocky men like a puddle of water attracted bugs during a drought? But when it came to Remy LeBeau, it didn’t seem so bad. Warmth flooded her veins at the prospect of being alone with him.

  “Did I lose you, cher?”

  “No.” Cody shivered, dislodging the erratic thoughts coursing through her head. “What did you have in mind for tonight?”

  A car door slammed in the background, and she could hear the faint sounds of traffic.

  “I’m thinking dinner in Fort Worth. After that, depends on you.”

  “This is totally spur of the moment for you.”

  “True.”

  Her attention was drawn to the dining room window and the mares grazing in the pasture. She hadn’t been on a leisurely ride since this whole mess started. Maybe a horseback ride with him on the safety of her ranch would be better than traipsing all over Fort Worth at night.

  “I have a better idea. You grab something from town and bring it out here.”

  “Then what?”

  Cody grinned. “You’ll see.”

  “I’m not liking the sound of your voice.”

  “Trust me, Cajun.”

  “I like that even worse.”

  She laughed. “What time should I expect you?”

  The jingle of a bell drifted through the connection. “Let’s say sixish. I’ll call if I’m running early or late.”

  “Fine by me. Later.”

  “Adieu, ma cherie.”

  As she ended the call, chills coursed through her at his smooth slide into French. If he caused such a strong reaction with a few words, what was he like … No! She wouldn’t go there. Not like last time. When she jumped the gun and everything blew up in her face. Cody drew in a deep breath and stiffened her body.

  Her food had cooled, as had her appetite. She covered the plate and set it in the fridge. Time to start packing. Hopefully that could keep her preoccupied.

  • • •

  Remy closed his phone and stashed it in the pocket of his coat. Anderson waited inside the third tattoo place on the list Summers gave them. While Remy talked to Cody, his partner eyeballed him. Once they got back to the car, an interrogation was certain to follow.

  He entered the business and was blasted with a heavy metal frontal assault. Could the owner be any more stereotypical?

  “Please tell me you didn’t get yours in a place like this,” he said to Anderson.

  “Nope.” His partner smirked. “Got mine done in a real upstanding joint in California.”

  “T’es en fou.”

  “Whatever you said, sure.”

  Remy grinned. Maybe falling back into his native tongue wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It certainly turned Cody inside out.

  A lanky man sporting a few of the trade items on his arms and the punk rocker trademark clothing approached them. “Can I help you?”

  Both men revealed their badges.

  “Are you the owner?” Anderson asked.

  The guy shook his head. “Bo! Some cops wanna talk to you.”

  Remy’s muscles coiled, ready to spring. Any illegal activity going on here, and the boss just got a heads-up to make a run for it.

  A door from the back opened and Bo entered. Compared to his employee, the boss appeared clean-cut in a brown T-shirt and jeans with no holes. A few tattoos peeked out from under the shirtsleeves.

  “What can I do for you, officers?”

  “Detectives.” Remy held out a photo of Joni Bricket’s rose. “Do you recognize this tattoo?”

  Bo took the photo and studied it. He flicked a finger against it. “I do. I did that tat.”

  Marvelous! “Do you remember who got it?”

  Handing the picture back, Bo moved behind his counter and pulled out a large black binder. “I did that tat on two women. Took some pictures of it because of the detail I had to put in it.”

  “Two women?” Anderson asked.

  “Yeah, three came in that day, but one chickened out.”

  Remy glanced at his partner. Had the three victims known each other?

  “Here they are.” Bo flipped the binder and slid toward them. “All three walked in together, told me they wanted a rose done in green with a set of initials in the center.”

  They peered at the photo of Joni Bricket and Clarisa Jacobs revealing the green rose. On the edge of the picture stood Heather Trisk.

  Anderson muttered a curse.

  “Did they talk?” Remy asked.

  “Customers always talk like we can’t hear a thing. Those two,” Bo pointed at the women, “went on about some ex-boyfriend and what a freak he was. Apparently they all dated the same guy and broke
up with him. This was their way to join the BD club they called it. Except the one woman flipped out and wouldn’t go for it.”

  “Did they ever mention the guy’s name?” Anderson asked.

  Bo shook his head. “Just called him BD. The one gal — ” He tapped a finger on Joni Bricket. “She acted like the leader of the group. I asked why an Okie was here in Dallas to get a tattoo. She laughed and told me she was here for a rodeo.”

  “When did this take place?” Remy asked.

  Sliding the binder back, Bo flipped the plastic covered photo over. “November of last year.”

  “She was here for the Dallas Roundup,” Anderson said.

  “How is it you remember so much about this?” Remy asked.

  Bo shrugged. “Not too long ago some guy comes in here asking about that same tat. Said he saw it on some chick and wondered if anyone else had it.”

  The killer had been checking up. They had the break they were looking for.

  “Could you describe the guy to a sketch artist?” Anderson asked.

  “Maybe. It’s been a while back, but I could try.”

  “That’s all we ask.”

  • • •

  Carlos parked across the street from Susan Hawthorne’s home. He scanned the area. The yellow-painted house with blue shutters looked like the perfect urban home. Well-kept flowerbeds covered in mulch and straw, prepped for the coming winter months. Missing was the white picket fence.

  “Jack lived here?”

  Carlos glanced at Luc and shrugged. “I think the house was light brown or something like that when he was alive.”

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  They exited the car. Carlos adjusted his jacket as he waited for a car then crossed the street. In the large picture window a gauzy curtain shifted aside. It glided back in place when they reached the sidewalk.

  “Did you call her?”

  Carlos unzipped his coat halfway. “She didn’t answer.”

  “How’d you know she was home?”

  He mounted the porch steps. “I had the house monitored.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “Remember,” Carlos lowered his voice. “Let me do the talking.”

  The interior door whipped open as he lifted his fist. Susan stepped into the doorway, using the screen door as a barrier. Diminutive in stature, her short brown hair was streaked with silver and she wore a scowl that could make a cold-blooded murderer confess to anything.