“Oh no!” a woman cried out. “Bill, he’s been hurt.” She knelt next to Remy.
“Ma’am, call nine-one-one. And say officer down.”
Remy probed the cut with his fingers, and bit back a moan. This was going to need stitches.
Flashbacks tore through his head. The blood. So much blood. His blood. A scream. Marie! He squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his jaw. Not now. Mon Dieu, don’t let this happen now.
The wail of sirens ripped him back to the present. Rubber screeched against the pavement and doors slammed shut.
“Police!”
Heavy footfalls and the clink of gun belts made Remy open his eyes. Two uniformed cops hovered over him. One cursed and pressed his shoulder radio.
“Dispatch, it’s confirmed. We have an officer down. Contact Lieutenant Moreno, ASAP.”
The second patrol cop knelt next to Remy. “Detective, what happened?”
“I think the serial killer tried to kill me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“You needed twenty stitches, Detective LeBeau.” The surgeon removed his gloves with a snap.
Remy let his head loll back against the useless hospital pillow. “Only twenty?”
The surgeon frowned. “You’re lucky, it’s a flesh wound. ’Course, by the looks of that scar on your shoulder, this isn’t your first encounter with a knife blade.”
Remy’s gaze lanced the surgeon. “You didn’t make a note of that in my file?”
“No.” The surgeon stood, and the wheeled stool rolled into the supply counter. “And I won’t.” He scribbled on Remy’s chart. “You’ll need to come back in about a week or so to have the stitches removed. And I highly suggest you have someone stay with you tonight. You’re not going to be moving around too well.”
Remy grunted as the doctor left. He had to get dressed before any of the men out there waiting for him saw the scars. Those he wasn’t about to explain. Remy pushed himself upright. The Novocain the surgeon used while he put in the sutures hadn’t worn off yet. He lifted his bloodstained and ripped shirt off the edge of the ER bed and gingerly slipped his arms into the sleeves. His attacker left massive bruises on his body. Much as he hated to admit it, the doc was right. He’d need someone to help him tonight.
The exam room door creaked open and Anderson entered. He glanced over his shoulder, then pushed the door shut. “Moreno is in a mood.”
Remy fumbled with the buttons. “I bet.” After a third failed attempt at the middle button, he threw in the towel. “Did CSU find anything at the scene?”
“Nope. Your potential killer must have picked up that other knife before he fled.” Anderson held up a jacket. “Here.”
Remy took it and pulled it on. The zipper proved easier than buttons.
“What did the doc say?”
“Stitches and not go home alone tonight.”
“Well, you’ve got your pick. Me, Santorini, or Moreno.” Anderson held up his hand like he was going to tell a secret. “I’d stay away from Moreno’s place tonight. He’d probably chew you up one side and down the other for not carrying your back-up.”
“You it is.”
The door banged open and Moreno blew in. “Are they releasing you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anderson, take him home.”
“I’m not going home. I’ll stay with Heath.”
Moreno hesitated before leaving. “Fine. Come to the department when you feel ready tomorrow and not a moment sooner. We’ll get your statement then.” With that, Moreno blew out the same way he came in.
Anderson met Remy’s gaze. “He’s in panic mode.”
“Who, Moreno or Santorini?”
“Neither. The RS killer.”
Remy scowled. “We don’t know that.”
Anderson gave him a sly smile. “Yeah, we do. He just gave it away attacking you tonight. We’re closing in, and he knows it.”
“Let’s just hope we get him before he kills again.”
• • •
Carlos threw his coat into the hospital waiting room chair, then flopped down on it. He sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Luc, the maniac almost killed him. I should’ve had a patrol unit watching LeBeau’s place. This wouldn’t have happened.”
Taking a seat next to him, Luc made noise akin to a grunt in his throat. “I think he would’ve gotten to LeBeau one way or another. Anderson’s right. They made him panic.”
“Why purposely attack a cop?” Carlos removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This goes against everything we know about this guy. The Rodeo Sweethearts killer doesn’t kill men.”
“Maybe we need to face the truth that it’s a copycat.”
“Who would have the most to gain from it?”
Luc looked at him. “Brad Daniels.”
“Jack’s stepson?”
“You heard Susan today. Brad blamed Jack for Terri’s death. Joni Bricket’s body was dumped on Jack’s grave.”
Carlos frowned and he narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure about this? If we’re wrong, and he kills again … ”
“It’s probably the best lead we’ve ever had in this case.”
“But Brad? If we start investigating him, Susan is going to blow her top.”
Luc slumped into his seat. “Carlos, what do we have to lose?”
“Look at it from my standpoint, Luc. I was Jack’s partner during the first wave. I watched him implode and couldn’t stop it. Susan was right. I kept my distance when word of my promotion came up. I should’ve been around more.”
“And if you had? Face it, my friend, your promotion would’ve sank and you’d still be doing LeBeau’s job.”
Carlos’s gaze dropped to the floor between his loafers. “The mayor wants me to yank LeBeau from the case. To protect all who are involved.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” Carlos shook his head. “I can’t. Not when I think he’s close.”
Luc pushed to his feet. “Sit on it. Let’s see what the tattoo guy gives us with the sketch in the morning.”
• • •
Remy entered the darkened home before his partner. Shutting the door behind them, Anderson flipped a switch and set a bag on the floor. Remy squinted against the low watt lights and took in his surroundings.
The house was a remodeled Craftsman, redone to remain true to the original design. A staircase, handrail painted white with cherry wood rails, spiraled to the second floor. To his left was the living room, to his right the kitchen. He moved under the living room archway and peered in. Pictures and paintings covered the blue-gray walls. Oak floors gleamed under the soft glow of the lights. The seating area faced the fireplace. Some of the furniture was antique. Remy’s fingers ached to trail along the wood pieces. Feel the fine craftsmanship that went into making them.
The living room opened into the dining room. A modern styled oak table and chairs dominated the area. The place was probably bright during the day.
Anderson moved to the kitchen. “Want anything?”
“Water would be good.” Remy slipped further into the living room.
His partner’s life played out in the pictures, from high school football to graduation at the academy to his promotion to detective. Remy swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Once upon a time, that had been his life.
When they stopped to get some things, he’d slipped the sleeping pills into the duffel bag. The demons lingered now on the edge of his conscience. Once he tried to sleep, they would descend, dragging the memories and screams with them. He couldn’t face the nightmares. Not tonight or in the ensuing nights. Hopefully the combination of sleeping pills and painkillers wouldn’t render him useless.
A photo of a tow-headed boy in a silve
r frame sat on the corner of an end table. He picked it up. The boy looked to be about seven.
Anderson returned with a tall glass of water and held it out.
“You’ve got a kid?” Remy exchanged the frame for the glass.
“Nephew. My sister’s boy.”
“Why don’t you have a picture of him at work?”
Anderson gazed at the picture. “Sister doesn’t want me to. Long story short, my nephew’s dad isn’t a factor in their lives, and he works patrol on the northeast side.”
“He doesn’t know about the boy.”
“And that’s why you’re my partner.” Anderson jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. “Guest room is upstairs. I’ll take your bag there. Bathroom is the second door on your left.”
“Thanks.”
Skirting around the corner, he grabbed the bag from the entryway, hesitated and faced Remy. “Don’t you think you should warn Cody?”
The glass slid. Remy jerked out of his shock and grasped the tumbler before it fell. In all the hoopla, he’d forgotten. He grimaced. His phone was in his jacket pocket, in CSU’s hands.
“I need to borrow your phone.”
“Sure.” Anderson passed over his cell. “Think she’s up this late?”
Remy punched in her number. “Hoping on it.”
Her phone rang eight times before she picked up. “Hello?” The groggy caution in her voice encouraged him.
“Cody, it’s Remy.”
“Remy. It’s a quarter past midnight.”
“Sorry, but I wanted to check on you.” He glanced at Anderson, who remained rooted in the hall. No way was he telling her the RS killer had attacked and hurt him. She’d probably freak and demand to see him. Marie had done the same thing after his first shoot-out.
“Check on me? Why?”
“Because. Is the house locked up?”
“Yes.”
“Your dad there?”
“Yes.”
“Got a loaded gun nearby?”
“I don’t, but I’m pretty sure Dad does. What’s with the twenty questions?”
Fire seared a track through his torso. The painkillers were wearing off. “Just making sure. Sorry I woke you, cher. Had to satisfy my curiosity.”
“If you say so. Goodnight, Remy.”
“Bonne nuit, ma cherie.”
“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Cajun.”
He ended the call and handed the cell to Anderson.
His partner scowled. “Why didn’t you tell her what happened?”
“The last thing she needs is to worry about me.” Remy headed for the stairs.
“That got you in big time trouble with her a few days ago.”
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Remy faced Anderson. “We don’t even know if it’s the same guy.”
“Look at the facts, LeBeau.” Anderson counted off on his fingers. “Fetish with knives. The general area of where the blade cut you. Hates your guts. And knew your name and where you lived. If that isn’t the RS killer, then I’m going back on patrol.”
Remy held up a hand. “Fine. Evidence proves itself. But she’s okay tonight. I’ll get her into protective custody in the morning.”
“You gonna stake your life on that?”
“Look, Anderson. I don’t feel all that great. Sick even. And I’m too sore to tangle with Cody and her father tonight. I’ll approach her tomorrow on it, after I alert Moreno.” He started up the steps. “Honestly, if I was that asshole and had half a brain, I wouldn’t want to face a father with a loaded gun.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cody parked her truck near the Manning house and stared out the windshield. She mulled over Remy’s odd call. No one called in the middle of the night for nothing. She gripped the steering wheel, the black leather cover squeaked. The weird conversation didn’t matter much now. Today’s to-do list was loaded.
A curtain moved in a window next to the front door.
Cody cut the engine and hopped out of the cab. A crisp breeze with a hint of winter’s chill tugged at her coat and feathered across her face. She filled her lungs and snuggled deeper into the fleece lining. Tomorrow she and JC would hit the road for Vegas.
NFR here we come!
The screen door screeched open and banged shut as she rounded the hood of her truck. JC strode down the sidewalk. Unshaven, shirt wrinkled and the tails haphazardly tucked into his jeans, he shrugged into a faded green coat.
“Hey.” He yawned.
“Thought you’d be outta bed before now.”
Black Stetson settled on his head, a corner of his mouth cocked up. “We don’t all rise with the dawn, Sunshine.”
“Details, details.”
JC wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they strolled to the barn where he’d parked his rig. “What’s the rush? We have all day to load our gear.”
“I still haven’t packed yet. And you know how long that’s going to take me.”
“Forever. Got your stuff?”
“In my truck. I’ll pull it around.” Cody slipped out from under his arm and returned to her truck.
JC stood in the barn doorway when she brought her truck to a stop next to his trailer. He propped open the trailer’s tack room door with a sawhorse, then disappeared into the barn.
Cody lugged her barrel saddle out of the back seat. “I was thinking of leaving bright and early tomorrow.”
“Then you’re driving first,” JC said from inside the barn.
“And you’re buying breakfast.” She hefted her lighter saddle on the top rack, leaving the lower rack for JC’s heavier roping one, and draped the saddle pad over hers.
He entered the narrow room. Cody scooted into a corner.
“Guess it’s donuts and coffee.” His smoke-gray eyes glinted.
“Not on your life, Cheap-o. I want real food.”
“Donuts are real food.”
She playfully slapped him on the shoulder as she exited. “Eggs, bacon, and pancakes. And not in a Styrofoam container either.”
“Moving up in the world. She makes her first trip to the NFR and suddenly expects the royal treatment.”
“Hell yeah.”
Grabbing the last of her equipment from her truck, she stowed it in the trailer, then helped JC load his gear.
“Now that you’re finally going to the NFR, what’s next?” he asked.
Cody halted mid-step and stared at the bridle in her hand. What was next? She’d set out to finish what Momma started before her death. Not that she expected to win, but Cody could dream. And what if she did win? Champion barrel racer. Not many had the bragging rights to say they made it to the NFR, and precious few could say they won it all. Fewer still had ever won their first time there.
Just the same. JC wasn’t the first to ask. Nor would he be the last. She glanced back at him. Arms crossed, he leaned against the trailer a quizzical look on his face.
“I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about it much.”
He pushed off the trailer. “Better start.” He strolled past.
“Well, what about you?” She hung the bridle in the trailer and chased after him. “It’s not like I’ve heard a whole lot about your plans.”
He thrust a bucket into her arms. “’Cause you never asked. ’Til now.”
Hugging the bucket, she waited as he tossed brushes, curry combs, and the like into the bucket.
“I’m gonna keep roping until I can’t. Or build up a nice nest egg.” He retrieved the bucket, and leaned close to her face. “Then find me a good woman, marry her, have a few kids, and start my own roping school.”
“Really?”
Grinning, he flicked her hat brim. “Really.”
That was unexpected. JC had never seemed the kind to
settle down. Or to have a plan for his future. So, why couldn’t she get it together?
What about Remy? Was there a future with him? She’d lain in bed last night, mulling over the tid-bits she’d gleaned from him yesterday. How could she ever trust him, when he couldn’t return the favor? Maybe at one time he could, but something or someone had changed all that. Scarring him in ways she’d never understand until he talked about it.
In some ways Remy wasn’t any different than Austin. Manipulating and cajoling her to overlook what was plain in front of her. Could she walk that road again? Knowing what it had cost her the last time? Where the men differed lay in the reasons. Austin’s reasons were pure selfishness. Remy’s, well, his were motivated by … fear?
“JC.” She turned to him.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a guy.”
He poked his head out of the trailer, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Last time I checked.”
She waved off his flippant remark. “I had a weird moment with Remy yesterday, and I hope you can help me get inside his head.”
“Weird how?”
“A couple of times now, he’s made it clear he won’t divulge his past with me. And well, you know how well secrets being kept from me went over with — ”
“With McCord, yeah, I remember.”
“So help me get inside his head.”
JC laughed. “Cody, I don’t think you want to get inside a guy’s head. You wouldn’t like what’s in there.”
She glared at her friend. “Believe me, I know you think about more than three things.” She sighed. “What would make someone lose faith?”
“That’s saying LeBeau had any to begin with.”
“I think he did at some point.”
JC pushed his hat back and scratched his forehead. “Look at it this way. What made you? Or me? What would cause someone to give it all up so easily?”
Realization flooded Cody. Both she and JC had shut down and given up briefly after the death of a loved one. Eventually they came back. “You think someone he loved died?”
“We know he’s from New Orleans. He’s a cop. And he hasn’t lived in Dallas very long. What would force someone to leave a place they obviously loved a lot?”
Texas Temptation Page 166
