by Deja Black
Just days ago, they’d closed the Jordan case. While it wouldn’t bring the mother or the children back, they’d sealed the deal on locking up the husband for life. Remi was still exhausted from the work they’d put in on that one, but justice was served.
“Angry, yes. Eyes torn out of her skull over a man? No. Has to be more than that.” Waving his Nikon around for emphasis, he said, “Those words on the wall? There’s something worse than a crime of passion happening here.”
“Hell, Kaden. We’ve dealt with cases where crimes happened for less than that.” Remi peered over to the newbie. “Tell us what you know, Sammy.”
Depending on what she’d learned, he’d text Chin and ask him to do some footwork for him. The sooner they started, the better the chances were of finding the victim’s killer—or killers. The amount of damage from her struggle, the arrangement of the body. It wasn’t adding up. They needed to dig beneath the surface.
“Well, sir. She’s a professor at UofL, a photography teacher. Most of the art here is hers.” Remi guessed the work displayed was the professor’s. De La Cruz loved color. It was in every vibrant piece they saw, and her photos seemed to eerily blend in with the blood spatter from her corpse. “She has or had a husband, three children all adopted. The family is out of town right now visiting her mother-in-law.”
Well, the husband could have done it.
“And before you think the husband did it, he and the kids were on a plane at the time of death, sir. They just arrived in New Mexico.”
“Has he been—”
“Yes, sir. His mother will be flying back with him and the kids tonight.” She looked down at her pad again then back to Remi. “He’s a mess, so there was no way he did this.”
“Never assume.” There wasn’t a checklist for murderers. They came in all shapes, sizes, and ages. And, there were some who could challenge a graduate of Juilliard playing the role of the grieving widow but were later discovered to have plotted, executed, and benefited from the loss of their loved ones.
“Yes, sir,” Sammy said quietly. He could all but see the byplay going on behind her eyes as she digested what he said.
“Continue.”
She slid her finger over the screen as she read. “Well, she’s taught at UofL for the last fifteen years, married for ten of those years. She has pieces displayed in the Dumanovsky Gallery on 4th Street.”
“Dumanovsky?” Remi questioned.
“Yes.” There was the name again. His mémère had always taught him to trust his instincts, and an odd feeling was settling in his belly. It bore looking into.
“Anything else?”
“Well, she’d started working on a project with a professor in Bowling Green, Kentucky at Western University. That’s all for now.” A project? That would be a place to begin.
“Well, you’ve given us a start.” He caught the quick look of pride and nodded. “First, let’s find out what the nasty words on the wall mean. Then, maybe we’ll visit that gallery, too.”
When Remi and Kaden returned to the office, they’d lost some of their morning humor. The viciousness with which Marisol De La Cruz’s life was ripped away was enough to steal anyone’s joy—the triumph of getting one step closer to Peter Romanoff.
Remi needed to get back to work, and Peter wasn’t going anywhere he wouldn’t know about. Remi almost smiled when he thought of Caleb’s car being tailed.
Protect and serve.
“I’m going to get these pictures on a screen, see what they can tell us,” Kaden remarked as he walked down a hall into the abyss of the department. He was on the scent now. Kaden would find him when he had something to share.
For himself, Remi decided to listen to Davis’s advice and locate someone to translate the words from the wall. With the image of the bloody writing on his phone, he headed toward the communications department.
“Ah me, Vous êtes une vision. Mes yeux vous adoraient,” Remi sang as he walked into the communications room. He loved it in here. The room was bright with beautiful prints hanging from the walls. Music played. Sometimes it was salsa. Sometimes classical. Other times, chants played—never in words he understood, but he loved the sonorous and flowing notes, the haunting melodies.
It always smelled spicy, too, the seasoned melting pot of the precinct. A vivacious, dark brunette lifted her head and took him in from head to toe. Katherine. Her chocolate brown eyes offered promises, and if his head wasn’t filled with hopes for someone else, he might have taken her up on them.
“Well, now. If it isn’t my favorite Cajun poet, singing love songs. And am I your vision, sweet thing? The one you adore?” she said with a throaty rasp.
“Always, beautiful. I am here and ready to serve you, Katherine Delray. You should let me cook for you sometime soon. I do a mean shrimp gumbo. Know how to make your mouth water, Cher.” His exaggerated inflection made her laugh as intended, and she rolled her eyes accordingly.
“Honey, you could make my mouth do anything you want,” she purred.
He liked Katherine. They’d had a satisfying run of evenings together, scratched each other’s itches. In the end, they’d just decided to be friends. He was looking for wife material, and she for a one, two, maybe a three off, but marital bliss was not in the cards for her. Her words. So, they’d ended on a positive note with a permanent rain check for the future.
When she neared, Remi caught one of her shiny brown curls around his finger. “Love this color on you.” Katherine was a natural blonde, but she rarely kept her hair that hue, more in favor of dark and lush.
She winked at him. “Thank you, darling. Now, what do you need, Remi Devereaux? You didn’t come here just to flirt with me. Gimme’.” Katherine held out her hand. “Davis told me you’d probably be coming. Boy can be an ass, but he does his job. Let’s see it.”
Remi watched while Katherine’s dark head bent over his phone.
“Some sort of Russian, Slavic... It would be best if Trevin had a look at it. I’m mediocre with this, but he’s better.” She walked to a walled off area at the back of the room. There was a tapestry on the wall, a lamp illuminating the room faintly. Shy eyes looked up, startled to find intruders in his sanctuary.
“Trevin, darling. Have something I need you to take a look at for Detective Devereaux here.” Katherine turned to Remi. “Trevin is going to take care of you, Remi.” She passed Remi’s phone over to Trevin’s shaking hand.
“I... I don’t,” the little guy started nervously.
“Yes, Trevin. We discussed this. Time for you to grow, sweetie, and Remi doesn’t bite. Well, unless you ask him first.” Katherine turned and walked away, her round hips offering a pleasant view. “And, I want to hear all about it later, too!”
It was a shy Trevin that Remi saw looking at him, his glances quick, then darting away. He was a tiny thing, slim built. His glasses reflected the dim light in the room, and he had a tic that resulted in continuously sliding the frames up his nose, again and again. The movement was definitely noticeable, but Remi decided to ignore it. Treating him like the professional Katherine wanted him to be, would mean dismissing his agitation.
“So, Trevin. What can you make out of that?”
Trevin cleared his throat and looked at the screen before him. “This the new Galaxy, right?”
“Yes,” Remi said patiently.
“Uh. It takes fabulous pictures. The words are very, uh, specific.” Trevin’s pauses and starts were going to slow down things, but with the warning look Katherine gave before she left, he could wait.
“Yeah? So, what do they say?” A little prompting wouldn’t hurt while the translator stared at the words as if he was transfixed.
“Lyuboy, kto mozhet obratit’sya po etomu puti budet nayti tol’ko razoreniye i razrusheniye v kontse kontsov. Krov’ ostavat’sya chistoy.” Trevin said. He looked up at Remi, smiling tentatively.
I’m dying here. Dying. “Trevin, Cher. I don’t speak Russian. If
you would be so kind as to tell me what those lips of yours just said, I would appreciate it.” The sweet blush was appealing as he worked to encourage the translator to go on.
“Trevin?”
Snapping out of it, Trevin started. “Uh, yes, sir. Remi, sir. It’s Russian.”
“I gather. Now, Trevin. What does it say, Cher?” Patience.
“Cher. French.” Okay, now Trevin was analyzing him. He would probably have to kill Katherine for this.
“Trevin.” He allowed some of his impatience to leak into his tone.
The translator blanched. “Oh, I’m sorry. I get lost sometimes. Words and all. Languages, I mean.” He paused, took a moment to inhale. “It means: Any who may seek this path will find only ruin and destruction in the end. The blood will remain pure. Those are the words.”
Well, he had it. Now, what to do with it?
“Thank you, Trevin. Thank you. You did well.” Remi rested a hand on a narrow shoulder and gave it a pat.
“You’re welcome, uh, Remi. Remi, sir.”
When Remi left Trevin, he headed back to his desk. Not surprisingly, Katherine popped up.
“How’d he do?”
“Should have known you wouldn’t be too far away,” Remi sat at his computer to plug the words.
“Well, of course, baby,” She leaned back on the edge of his desk, her long legs stretched out before her. The striped pencil skirt showcased a great ass and a shapely pair of legs. Combined with a red, silk blouse, she was a pleasure to look at.
“He was able to get me the meaning. Took a moment. I’m thinking you could have told me the same thing, though, and in less time,” he said as he typed away. Trying to get Trevin to focus and give him the translation probably caused him to start an ulcer, but everyone had to begin somewhere.
“Yes, well. Trevin needs a confidence boost every now and then. One that comes attached to you would do much to help that along.” Remi felt her eyes tracing over him. “So, I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Remi didn’t look up, typing away on his computer. “Was busy, Katherine.”
“Hmm.” Remi felt her eyes on him. “With a what or a whom? I know you two just wrapped up the Jordan case. The news spread over the precinct like a brushfire, and I’m surprised you both didn’t take some much-deserved time off.”
Remi sighed. That case had been a rough one—senseless. They’d worked hard to ensure the father didn’t get away with some insanity plea. They’d found the deleted emails and calls to his girlfriend, and the gun taped beneath his car.
The signs he created of a struggle, then calling to say he’d found his family shot after a possible break-in would convince many of his innocence, but Remi had a feeling, one he couldn’t ignore. It hadn’t made him happy to be right, but it would give the woman and her children justice. That was all that mattered.
“I finished the paperwork on that one. There’s no way Neil Jordan is getting off.”
“That’s great to hear. I saw the pictures. Poor babies.” Katherine shook her head. “So, honey, if it’s not a what, it’s a who?”
Remi laughed. Katherine was relentless when she wanted something. “Yeah, but I have nothing to say. It came as a surprise, and I couldn’t say no,” Remi’s face warmed.
“Well, from the look on that face, it was a hot surprise. Anyone I know?”
“No, gorgeous,” Remi’s eyes roamed over his notes. “No one you know. I don’t know him, yet.” He diligently typed the wording exactly the way Trevin said. Suddenly, time slowed, and he panned back to what he’d just uttered. Damn.
“Him?” Katherine paused, her dark brown eyes looking Remi over, the heat in their depths bringing up the temperature. “Well, now. Remi, I do believe you’ve just surprised the hell out of me.”
She stood up and leaned close to whisper in his ear, her perfume subtle and inviting. “And left this girl with all kinds of fantasy material for later.” She stood slowly, her fragrance shifting with her movement.
“My, my, my.” Katherine was fanning herself and strolled away, that luscious bottom of hers creating quite the picture as heads swiveled to take in the view.
Remi sat back and glanced around. No one stared at him. Sanchez was typing away, speaking to a woman with overflowing tears. Chin paced back and forth, jaws brutally masticating a sandwich. No brilliant lighting, no blazing spotlight, no rumbling earthquake. Nothing.
Still, it didn’t stop Remi from feeling like his world shifted. He was pursuing Peter. His life would be new, wouldn’t it? People would see him as the gay detective rather than just a detective. Was he ready for that?
Kaden flopped into his seat then rolled it around to sit next to Remi.
“What’s up with you?”
“What? Nothing. Just thinking.” Remi recognized Kaden’s notebook which was probably filled with notes he’d written describing the placement of the body, the words, and the room itself.
Leaning forward, Remi pulled up the images of the home, the blood splatter, and the bloody words on the wall. Displaying the information Trevin gave him on another screen, he tried to understand what it all meant.
“Well, okay. If you say so.” Kaden wasn’t buying his false focus, but he went on anyway. “So, what did you find out in Babel’s Tower?”
Remi snorted at the christened nickname of the linguistics department. Deciding to shake off the whole moment with Katherine, he filled Kaden in.
Any who may seek this path will find only ruin and destruction in the end. The blood will remain pure.
What did that mean? Was it a cult? Some new age religion thing? If he were home, he’d check into some type of ceremony—pagan or voodoo. But, he was in Louisville, Kentucky. Was there a supernatural presence here? Gunfights in the street were more likely. Louisville’s history gravitated around Churchill Downs rather than spiritual folkways and mysticism.
Remi and Kaden discussed the possible significance of the missing eyes. Sometimes a brutal slaying like this was because of rage. This one was more than that. It was organized, the blood sprays almost artistic, and the body arranged.
Kaden researched the photos that were found in the home. Turns out that not all of them were De La Cruz’s. Some were former students with one name, in particular, snaring Kaden’s attention.
“Peter has pictures there?”
“Yes. Just so happens your guy is, or was, one of De La Cruz’s students at UofL.”
“Well, then. Might be a need for one of us to look into that relationship,” Remi said, his tone professional.
Kaden leaned back, a smirk on his own tanned skin, his chin angled toward him.
“I guess one of us has to talk to Peter?”
Remi’s grin was slow. “Have to cover all angles.” He stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles, then rested his arms behind his head, his biceps bracing his head. “Can’t hurt.”
Shaking his head, Kaden rolled back to his computer and plugged away, the smile on his lips glowing from the light of the screen.
Chapter Six
It was nice being home alone sometimes. But, to be honest, Peter was never alone. There was always one of his wolves, or three, stationed nearby—whether they were in his condo or outside the door, walking the floors or in the lobby.
Caleb wouldn’t have it any other way, and he wasn’t going to be the one to question his Second’s thoughts on his safety.
The sun blocking curtains were closed, the room dark just the way he liked it. Sighing, he settled into the cushions further as he watched the two brothers on the television decide to face off against the vampires. They never quite got them right, did they?
Even though he was part nelapsi, and other than what his uncle Kristoff was able to tell him, or the little he’d gathered on the internet, his knowledge of vampires was limited.
Reviled as monsters, nelapsi were stronger than their vampire cousins, able to not only walk in the sun but to thrive as th
e humans did. These were benefits of being an older, more ancient race. But, that was as far as his knowledge of his own people went.
The vampires that lived in the Tolliver compound were very careful around him, never engaging him. It wasn’t fear, but the fact that he was an anomaly. While he was a child of the blood, he was not a vampire.
Even greater, he was half wolf-half nelapsi. Kristoff said they weren’t sure how to approach him with no one like him before. Humans and paranormals were alike in that they all tended to avoid the unknown, the different.
And yet, Remi Devereaux was unusual, too. He called to Peter’s creatures, soothed them. They didn’t just accept him but desired him.
Peter was a Korol, a descendant of the line meant to rule. But, when his mother and father, a wolf and a nelapsi, married and later brought him into the world, a fracture in the bloodline occurred.
Instead of the line of the ancients in the hearts of his mother and father, his soul possessed the spirit of a nelapsi and of a wolf, two creatures that battled for dominance.
He needed balance, a Supruga, a mate who would meet the needs of both beings, settle their internal war enabling him to finally come into his ability.
Before this week, before Remi, Peter was aware of the presence of the wolf and nelapsi within him. How could he not be? Unable to take either form, though, he was in a sort of stasis. The need to drink blood was there. The call of the moon, too. But, neither form was strong enough for him to grasp. He trained, fought, led, and was given his Second in preparation for the day he would lead his own coven—a coven unlike any other, with him as Korol.
This was the first time in his life he felt his entire self in agreement, focused, and that focus was on Remi.
Now thoughts of Remi caused his pulse to race, the blood to thrum through his veins. His creatures shifted, aware. Remi Devereaux was causing this. His kiss, his scent. Even the salt of his skin tasted delicious to Peter—teased his canines with the lifeblood that flowed beneath, made his nelapsi hunger, thirst.