by Cynthia Eden
“You should stay the fuck away from him.” He barely seemed to breathe the words.
“What?”
Remy didn’t repeat his words.
But she’d heard them, and they just made her angrier. “Was that a warning? Or a threat?”
He leaned toward her. “I’ve been helping you, and you didn’t even know it.”
“Helping me? By searching my room? You did that, didn’t you? Because you’re Kace’s right-hand.”
No confession but… “I saw when you took your transmitter out of your bra the first night at Fantasy. I never breathed a word about it to Kace. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing.” But she made a mental note. The guy was willing to deceive his boss. What else might he do?
“He’s not rational when it comes to you.” Again, Remy’s voice was barely a whisper. “I saw that today. He lost it when he thought Marie was you.” A swallow. “I was the one who’d fucked her, but he was the one who went crazy—because he thought it was you. You’re going to get in the way, and I can’t have that.”
“It sure sounds like you’re threatening me. You’re going to want to watch yourself.”
“No, you’re the one who has to be careful. You’re the one—”
The door opened. “I am tired of this,” Deidre announced with a dramatic sigh. “My clients are being attacked by this department, and it’s ending.”
Bree didn’t look away from Remy. “No one is under attack.”
He was already on his feet. “Remember what I said.”
How could she forget it?
***
“Don’t worry.” Remy climbed into the back of the SUV with Kace. The driver took off. “I didn’t tell them a damn thing.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Kace turned his head so that he could study his friend. “And I didn’t tell them that you were fucking Marie.”
Remy flinched. His hands fisted. “One time. It was once, and it was a mistake.”
“Was it?”
Now Remy looked at him. “You think I did that? That I killed her?”
He let a slow smile curl his lips. “Of course, I don’t.”
Remy’s breath released in an expulsion of air.
“The security cameras weren’t running yesterday. Did you realize that? The Feds made the discovery first thing. My cameras are always set to run, but someone had disabled them.”
“Someone,” Remy emphasized, “who knows too much about your business.”
Yes.
“You think the person is tied to the club?” Remy hooked his seatbelt. His fingers trembled faintly.
“I think the person is tied to me. I think it’s been about the past all along.”
Remy glanced at his now fisted hands. “You haven’t talked to me about your past. I’ve been working with you for almost a year, and you still haven’t told me…you never told me about Sheldon Taggert or Brittney Lang.”
Kace pushed a button near his seat, and a privacy screen rose, blocking the driver from hearing their conversation. “There isn’t much to tell about Sheldon Taggert. The dead don’t speak.”
“It’s me,” Remy said baldly. “You can tell me. Dammit, my job is to protect you, but I can’t protect you if I don’t know the truth.” His fingers flexed. Released. “Did you kill him?”
Kace laughed. “Haven’t you heard? That man died in an auto accident. That’s why you shouldn’t drink and drive. Bad things happen.”
Remy seemed to gather his thoughts, then muttered, “You are a bad thing.”
“Yes, I am.”
“What about Brittney?”
“I was tried and found not guilty of her murder.” He exhaled slowly. “Such a keen interest you have in my past.”
“If I don’t know what you’re hiding, then I can’t do my job. I can’t protect you from the threats out there.” Remy’s voice seethed with frustration.
“Maybe it’s not about what I’m hiding.” Kace let his smile stretch. “Maybe it’s about what you’re hiding.”
Remy didn’t move. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelash. Then…“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you know how I feel about people who betray me, Remy?”
“Probably the same way I feel. Fool me once, and you’re dead to me.”
“Exactly.” He lounged back in his seat. “Do you have anything you want to tell me, Remy? I believe the old saying is that confession can be good for the soul.” Provided, of course, that the person had a soul.
He wasn’t so sure that Remy St. Clair owned a soul—or a heart.
***
“I don’t understand.” Abby gripped the mug of coffee in her hands. Mascara had dried on her cheeks. “You’re…a Fed?”
Bree cleared her throat. “I was working undercover. Trying to find the man responsible for the murders of—”
“The New Orleans Strangler?” Abby cut in with a cracking voice. “But you didn’t. You didn’t find him. You didn’t stop him. Marie is dead. I…the cops told me. Uniformed cops came to my house. They told me she was dead, and they brought me here.” The coffee sloshed because her hands were shaking. “I thought she’d quit. She just quit Fantasy. She wasn’t supposed to be dead.”
Bree waited for Abby’s gaze to rise. When the other woman looked at her, Bree said, “I need to know about Marie. What can you tell me about her?”
“She was quiet. Flirted a little too much with Remy, but not with anyone else. She…she’s dead?”
Bree nodded.
“And you’re a Fed.” Abby’s shoulders hunched. “Does Kace know?”
“He does.”
Abby flinched. “He’s not going to want me talking to you. I-I should call him.”
“I just want to find Marie’s killer. That’s my job. If you have any information that can help me, then, please, tell me. Give me something, Abby.” She was practically begging.
But Abby shook her head.
Dammit. “I don’t want another woman dying.”
Abby stared at the dark coffee.
“You knew the other women, too, didn’t you, Abby?” Bree pushed. “You know all of Kace’s employees at his clubs.”
“I train most of them.” Again, she was staring at the coffee. “I…knew the others, yes.”
“What connected them, Abby? What was it about them—”
“They all looked the same. Blond hair. Like…you.”
“But was there more? Something that went beyond the surface? Something that you noticed?”
Once more, Abby shook her head.
“You never saw any customers paying too much attention to them? Never heard of the girls having trouble with anyone?”
“The cops interviewed me and the wait staff right after Lindsey was found. Told them and I’m telling you, there was nothing.”
But there had to be something. “The girls never mentioned feeling as if they were being watched?” Because she believed the killer had watched his victims. It wasn’t some snatch and grab. The women had all been carefully chosen and that implied stalking.
“No, they never mentioned it. We didn’t exactly have long conversations. They did their jobs. I did mine.” She sniffed. “I think I should leave now.”
“Wait.” Bree curled her fingers around the other woman’s wrist. “Tell me about Amelia Sanderson.”
Abby stared at Bree’s fingers. “Not much to tell about her. I had to let her go when she wouldn’t leave the boss alone.”
“But did Amelia make any threats when she was fired? Say anything that stuck out to you?”
A furrow appeared between Abby’s brows. Her head tilted back as she finally met Bree’s gaze. “She did. She…she said Kace would be sorry. That he’d regret what he’d done.” Her tongue slid over her lower lip, and she leaned conspiratorially toward Bree. “I got the impression that she thought…Amelia thought she had something on the boss. Something that she could turn over to the cops. A woman scorned and all that—she can be a dangero
us thing.”
Bree didn’t look away from Abby’s eyes. “Do you know what she had on him?”
Abby pulled her hand away from Bree. “Kace has been a good boss. I don’t have anything else to say.”
But there was fear in her eyes. And Bree wondered…was she afraid of talking to the Feds? Or afraid of Kace?
***
Bree parked in front of the wrought-iron gate. She’d gotten a rental car, a small, blue sedan. She straightened her shoulders as she approached the gate. Lights illuminated the house and pushed back the night’s darkness. There was a camera perched nearby. She suspected Kace was watching her through that camera.
“Open the gate,” she told him as she put her hands on her hips. “Let me in. We need to talk.”
The gate didn’t open. The camera just kept staring at her.
“Kace, I’m not leaving. Just open up, would you? Just—”
A guard appeared. He walked from behind the house, and her eyes narrowed when he stepped under a light, and she recognized the tattooed form of Franco. He headed toward the gate with slow steps. His head ducked a bit. “Boss isn’t here, Bree.”
She curled her fingers around the bars. “Where is he?”
“Had some business to take care of. Asked me to stay and keep an eye on the place for him.”
She’d tried calling Kace. He hadn’t answered. Not overly surprising, but the hours had passed in a too fast blur. The day had vanished, and there’d been no contact from him. She needed to talk with Kace. They had a murderer to catch.
“You should leave.” Franco didn’t exactly sound friendly any longer. “Boss doesn’t want a Fed hanging around.”
He sure hadn’t seemed to mind the night before. Bree crossed her arms over her chest. “And neither do you, huh?”
His stare swept her. “Liked you. Thought you were nice enough. But you don’t screw over the boss.”
He wasn’t going to let her past the gate. Fine. “Tell Kace this isn’t over.”
Franco didn’t respond.
Huffing out a breath, Bree spun and marched back to her car. She walked around the front of the vehicle, headed for the driver side door and—
Car lights flashed on. Bright lights that had her throwing up her hand. Night had already fallen, and the street had appeared deserted just a moment before.
But now those lights were on her, and an engine was growling, snarling, and she realized the other vehicle was coming straight for her.
Bree didn’t bother yanking out the gun she had holstered at her side. What good would that do? Even if she shot the driver—the driver she couldn’t see—the vehicle could still hit her. So, she focused on hauling ass. She leapt over the hood of her sedan.
Franco shouted.
She heard the terrible screech and crunch of metal. The sedan jolted as it was hit, and then the other driver was speeding away.
Bree had fallen to the ground, but she jumped up. She raced after the other vehicle. An SUV. Dark. No tag—
A hard hand grabbed her and spun Bree around.
“Are you all right?” Franco stared at her with wide eyes.
“Did you see the driver?” Bree bit out.
He shook his head.
She hadn’t seen the bastard, either. But maybe the security footage had caught him. Kace had so many cameras around his house—they must have seen something. She yanked out her phone. Called Karin. “I need an APB on a SUV, heading north on St. Charles…”
***
Kace pressed the phone closer to his ear. “She’s okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Franco’s voice was low. “SUV was waiting down the street. Didn’t even see it in the dark. Came right for her.”
A chilling numbness snaked through his chest.
“She’s wanting your security footage so the cops can try and get an image of the driver.”
“Give her the footage.”
“But—”
“Give her whatever she wants. I’m on my way there.” He ended the call. Turned and rolled back his shoulders.
Remy slumped on the other side of the room. Blood dripped from his lip, and several dark bruises had already formed near his jaw.
“Get him home,” Kace directed the men who were nearby. “And get a cleaner in this place.” Blood lined the floor.
Who would have thought that Remy was such a bleeder?
When the men went to him, Remy shoved their hands away. He staggered to his feet. “Don’t need…help.”
The guy was so wrong. Kace walked toward him, flexing his fingers. “I expected a better fight from you. Usually you’re a much more skilled opponent.”
Remy squinted at him. “And you usually don’t try to take my head off when we spar. This shit was different.”
Was it? Kace smiled. “Better be careful. You seem to be favoring your ribs. I hope I didn’t break any of them.”
“Liar.” But Remy smiled—smiled through his busted lip, as if they were just sharing a moment of camaraderie. They weren’t.
“That would be you, Remy.” Kace stared at him. You’re the liar.
Remy’s smile slipped. “Kace?”
“Bree was nearly run down a few moments ago. I’m going to see her now.”
Alarm flared in Remy’s eyes. “I’ll come, too. You might need—”
“No, Remy, you’re not needed right now. Take care of those ribs.” His hands flexed. “I’ll be seeing you again very soon.”
Remy swallowed.
Kace grabbed a towel on his way out of the gym—his gym. His driver was waiting for him at the door.
“Feel better, boss?”
He looked at his bruised knuckles. Thought about the fact that Bree had nearly been run down while he’d been punching the hell out of Remy. “Not even close.”
The driver took one look at Kace’s face and didn’t say anything else. He yanked open the back door. Kace hurried inside. “Get me home. Now.”
The driver hauled ass getting him back to his place in the Quarter.
When they turned on the street to his house, police lights illuminated the scene. A swirl of blue. A tow truck was there, latching to a crumpled sedan.
And Bree stood near the sedan, her arms wrapped around her stomach.
“Stop the car,” Kace ordered.
The driver stopped. Kace jumped out of the vehicle. Went straight to her. Bree turned as he approached, her eyes flaring wide, but he didn’t stop. He closed the distance between them, wrapped his hands around her arms, then raked her with his gaze.
She flinched, and he lifted his left hand, seeing the red, raw skin near her elbow.
A growl built in his throat.
“Just a scratch,” Bree said quickly. “I had to jump across the hood, and I—”
“Franco.”
The guy rushed toward him. “Boss, shit, you got here fast. I, um, I gave them the footage and—”
Kace’s head turned. He focused his fury on the other man. “She’s hurt, Franco.”
“I, uh, I just told her that she couldn’t come into the house. Like you said, I—”
“Where were you, Franco, when the vehicle was coming toward her?”
“I was…I was behind the gate. I didn’t realize—”
“Stop.” Bree’s shaking voice. “He didn’t hit me. He rushed to my side as fast as he could, okay? So back off Franco.”
He’d do no such fucking thing, and Franco knew it.
“I thought you were done,” Franco mumbled. His head ducked. “When you said—”
“No one touches her again. No one gets close to her. As long as she’s in this town, she’s mine.” The words tore from Kace. “Make sure everyone knows. You fuck with her, I destroy you.”
Bree’s mouth dropped in shock. “Kace, what—”
Franco nodded and hurried away.
“He didn’t do anything wrong.” Her voice was low. “Except not let me into the house, but that’s on you. That’s—”
He pulled her closer, being care
ful not to touch the scratch near her elbow. “You shouldn’t be in this damn town. Don’t you get what a target you have on your back?”
“I want the killer to come after me. If he really has got me pegged as his next victim, then I want it, I—”
“What. The. Fuck?” For a minute, his whole world went red.
“Bree?” It was a slightly nasally voice. One of the other agents. Dominic. The sloppy dresser. “Everything okay, Bree?”
“Go screw off, Dominic,” Kace snapped. “We’re talking.”
“Hey!” Outrage sharpened his voice. “You can’t—”
Kace spun toward him. “I can’t what?” His voice was low. Too low for the cops milling around to hear. Bree would hear, but she should hear this. She should start to take off the blinders and realize what the hell was happening. “I can’t tell you what to do? I can tell you any damn thing I want, Dominic. You owe over seventy-five grand at my casino in Biloxi.”
Dominic’s mouth opened, closed. “That’s…you don’t—”
“I sure as hell do. The way I figure it, I own you. Because I know all about your addiction. Your debt. I know just how desperate you’ve been to erase that debt. And I know what you’ve done so that you could keep going to the tables.” He held the other man’s stare. “Ready to lose your life? Or you want to keep playing my game?”
Dominic glanced at Bree.
Then he turned and walked away.
“What in the hell was that?” Bree demanded.
He pulled her closer. Stared down at her gorgeous face. “You’re in so deep, and you don’t get it, do you? Good guys, bad guys. They all want the same thing. To take me down. To destroy me, by any means necessary.” The rage burned so hot inside of him. “And I fucking gave them all the means.” Because he hadn’t possessed better control. Because he’d thought he was the one in charge all along.
But he hadn’t been.
Bree had shot his plans straight to hell.
“We’re going inside.”
Her hair slid over her cheek as she shook her head. “Uh, maybe you should stop giving orders—”
“We’re talking, and I don’t want every rookie cop in the NOPD gaping at me while we do it. It’s not safe out here for you, don’t you get that?”
“The killer—”
“I’m not talking about the freaking Strangler. I’m talking about all my enemies, Bree. We both know a hit and run isn’t the Strangler’s MO. This wasn’t him. This was just someone…” He sucked in a deep breath. Tried not to hold her too tight. “Someone who wanted to hurt me.”