by Nina Bruhns
Despite everything, she sent up a prayer of thanks, and an extra one for Remi. FBI Agent Remi Beaulieux. If it hadn't been for his fast work, the paramedic said, Beau's chances would have been slim.
Kit couldn't believe this newest development. Well, that explained why Beau had maintained Remi's innocence so steadfastly. Knowing his cousin was an agent with the FBI must have made her look like some kind of fool in his eyes.
Why hadn't he told her? Because like Michael, he had decided he wanted her, and would use any means available to get her. Maybe at first it was just for sex, and then as his feelings for her grew, he used it to ensure she would stay with him. She didn't doubt Beau loved her. But the fact that he could deceive her so badly hurt like hell. It hurt more than anything she'd ever experienced in her life.
But she'd known all along it would happen, hadn't she? It always did. She sighed, reaching deep inside her for that internal Novocain that would help her through the next few days.
Weeks.
Years.
Lifetime.
* * *
Chapter 17
« ^
"FBI. I still can't get over it." Beau stared at the heap of jewels Remi had laid on the narrow hospital bed next to him, and then at his cousin's face. It had only been two days since he'd found out about Remi's true profession. "You're serious, right?"
"Dead."
Beau flinched at his word choice, but it sank in nevertheless. Special Agent Remi Beaulieux worked for the FBI. Who'd have thought? "I don't know what to say, old man."
"How about thanks for savin' your sorry butt and capturing the real bad guy? Who, by the way, is recovering nicely from his gator-related injuries before he faces prison. Serves him right for feeding those critters to protect his illegal still."
Beau gave him a grin, feeling mighty vindicated. "Thanks, mon ami."
Remi grinned back. "Don't mention it. Sorry I couldn't tell you about being with the FBI before. I know it put you in a very difficult position with the family, and with Kit."
"Why the hell didn't you tell me? I'm a cop, for cryin' out loud! Didn't you trust me?"
"You know I trust you with my life, Beau. But I was under strict orders from the Bureau."
"How so?"
"For the past eight years I've been working undercover, infiltrating some major scumbag operations. Being rejected by my family was an important part of my cover story. If these guys even suspected I wasn't the bitter, disinherited black sheep I said I was, my life wouldn't have been worth squat.
"I tried to get permission to tell you when I heard you were looking for me in Vegas. Denied."
Beau shook his head guiltily. "Oh, man, all those nasty things I said in San Diego—"
"Don't worry about it. You don't know how much it hurt not to be able to tell you."
"I knew there was something fishy going on. I could feel something wasn't right. Still, I can't believe it was Hunter Chenier doing all those jewel robberies. Doesn't seem his style."
"Let me tell you, he had everyone fooled. The cops, us, even the insurance companies."
At the mention of that particular topic, Beau closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.
Remi was silent for a moment, then said, "When I created my jewel thief cover to ferret out international fences for the bureau operation, I never figured anyone would actually start stealing jewels and implicating me in the thefts. Damn Juicy Fruit wrappers. Took us a while to figure out who it was."
"Unbelievable. But why did he do it?"
Remi sighed. "Greed. Jealousy. Who knows? Hunter's always been a little quirky. And he did hate us with a passion."
"That he did. I never realized quite how much until…" He broke off, inundated with memories of the night he and Kit had gone to LeRoy's. And what had happened before, and after…
Remi eyed him. "Well, he was leading us to some very interesting people, so we may have let him run with it a little too long."
Beau had to agree. "No kidding."
"Anyway," Remi continued, "I got in touch with Moorefield Insurance. When they identify their clients' jewels, I'll return them. That should square things as far as Kit's job goes."
"And what about Grandmère's jewels?"
This time it was Remi's turn to look guilty. "I put them in a safety-deposit box down at the bank a few months ago."
"A few months ago? But why?"
"Chenier was getting more and more out of control. I was worried he'd try to take out his personal vendetta against us by stealing them. Grandmère would have been heartbroken. You'd hate me. I'd be in jail. He'd be rich…"
Beau groaned. "You should at least have told me that much. Mon Dieu, Remi! I went chasing you all over hell's half acre."
"I know, I really screwed up. In fact, you were getting so close to the truth, we made the decision to bring in Chenier. That's why I left San Diego when I did. I couldn't believe it when I heard he'd been there at the same time and had shot Kit. That made us even more determined to catch him and put him away once and for all."
"So it was Hunter in Kit's room the other night."
Remi threw him a lopsided grin. "No, that was me."
Beau scowled. "And just what did you intend to do there?"
"Steal her away from you, of course." When he just glared, Remi sobered. "I'd been to see Grandmère and was going to leave you a note about Hunter. I climbed up the gallery and walked past her room to get to yours. When I saw Kit there alone in her bed, I was so surprised, I actually said her name aloud. Then I was petrified she'd wake up. I left as fast as I could and forgot all about the note."
Beau was dizzy from all the revelations. "You saw Grandmère?"
"You'd said she was dying. I talk to her every few months on the phone. But she'd never told me. I had no idea—"
"She knew about you? The FBI thing and all?"
"Not about the FBI. I couldn't chance anyone knowing the truth. It would have been dangerous. For me, and whoever knew."
Beau gave Remi a weary, but content, smile. "Putting the family first. Just like a Beaulieux."
His cousin glanced up. "I'm really sorry about the mess with Kit. If there's anything I can do to help…"
"Nothing to do. She's out of danger now that Chenier will be behind bars for a good long time."
"That's right, but it's not what I meant."
Beau knew just what he meant, and didn't really want to talk about it. It was still too fresh and way too deep a hurt. "Skip it, mon ami."
"Whatever you say, Beau." But once Remi sank his teeth into a bone… "Still, I think—"
"Look, Kit turned down my marriage proposal and took off without saying goodbye. How much clearer can the message get?"
"She told me she loved you, would do anything for you."
"She's got a funny way of showing it."
"You should have seen her face when she thought you were a goner. I've never seen a woman so distraught." Remi shook his head. "When that helicopter took off, she looked as gut-shot as you. Then I was called to Quantico, and by the time I got back she was gone. I can't figure it."
"So, what am I supposed to do?" Beau asked stubbornly. "Chase after her?" He brushed aside a weird feeling of déjà vu.
"Exactly. Admit it, you're miserable without her. Tell her so. Get down on your knees and beg if you have to."
Beau was still brooding over Remi's advice a day later when the doctor let him go home—under strict orders to stay in bed. He was ensconced in his big four-poster, but every time he closed his eyes, his head filled with visions of the night he'd spent in it with Kit. But she had turned down his proposal. He hadn't imagined that.
Just when he thought he'd go crazy and drag himself to a guest room, Delia entered with a pot of tea. "Feeling better, Mr. Simon?" She helped him to sit up and fluffed the pillows behind him.
He was still weak, and the gunshot wounds in his chest and leg hurt like hell. But he managed a determined smile. "Couple days and I'll be dancing at the club. Tel
l me what's happened while I was gone. Running low on anything?"
Delia's expression was oddly cool. "No, sir. Miz Colfax took me shopping before she left. Made sure I had enough supplies for two weeks."
Beau stared at the housekeeper. "Kit?"
"Yes." She avoided his eyes. "She was a godsend, Mr. Simon. While you were in intensive care, everyone else walked around in a daze, but Miz Kit held it all together. She helped me take care of Madame Beaulieux. Read to her every night, too." She set up the lap tray and poured his tea. "When she wasn't sitting outside your room at the hospital, that is."
She did that? Beau let the information pass without comment. Although he knew better, he had the strangest feeling he was being reprimanded for something. "And how is Grandmère today?"
"The doctor says she's much better. She misses Miz Colfax something terrible. And so do I." She darted him a defiant look.
That did it. He put down his teacup with a clatter. "Delia, do you have something you want to say?"
She drew herself up. "She saved Terrebeau, you know. Just like the legend said."
This was news. "Like how, exactly?"
She looked down at her hands, which were clasped in front of her. "We were all so upset the day you were shot. I … I'd left a pan of grease on the stove, for beignets. It had burst into flame when she found it."
She looked up, her eyes bright. "She put out the fire, Mr. Simon. The house surely would have burned down if she hadn't. I feel so terrible. It would have been all my fault." She dug around in her apron pocket and fished out a tissue. "And then you sent her away…"
"Me?" His mouth opened in surprise. "Delia, you know me better than that. I would never—"
"But she said…"
"Said what?" he prodded. "That I told her to go?"
"She would never say a word against you, Mr. Simon. She loves you too much." Delia glanced away.
Loves? "But?" Beau urged.
"She said you might feel uncomfortable if she was around when you came home from the hospital." She sniffed and sent him an accusing glare. "After everything that happened."
Everything? What everything? The door closed behind the retreating woman with a snick and he sighed. Delia obviously thought it had something to do with him and Kit sleeping together. Naturally he couldn't tell her what had really sent Kit packing was his marriage proposal. Kit was merely saving him the humiliation of being reminded of her refusal.
He shook his head to rid his mind of the overwhelming pain of that refusal.
Still, if what Remi claimed she'd said at the shack was true, if there was even half a chance she truly did love him, he owed it to himself to find out for sure. Remi was right, he was miserable without her. And with a breaking heart, he realized he'd do just about anything to get her back.
Just about anything at all.
* * *
"What do you mean, she's gone? Her deadline wasn't until tomorrow!" Beau listened to Remi with mounting frustration.
"When I called to inform Moorefield she was the one who'd traced the jewels, her boss told me she'd quit. No notice. No explanation."
"But that makes no sense! Her job meant everything to her." Beau was unable to keep a trace of bitterness from his voice.
"The day she quit, she used her savings to pay him back for the sapphires she'd lost. Why would she do that? She must have seen the necklace in the drawer at Hunter's shack while she was looking for that first aid kit."
Why indeed? Beau was afraid he didn't want to know the answer to that one. It twisted his heart to think she might have sacrificed her job for him and his family, believing it had to be a choice between the two. And all the while thinking he'd rejected her just for needing more time to consider his proposal. She might even have thought he'd gone to the shack to warn Remi she was after him. In that case, she'd be justified in leaving him. Thinking about all the possibilities shamed him to the core.
"She's disappeared. Moved out of her condo, and her car turned up on a used-car lot—minus both rearview mirrors, which had been ripped off for some reason. No trace of her anywhere."
Beau frowned, a sense of panic starting to wash over him. "I don't understand. Where could she have gone? And how am I going to find her to beg her forgiveness?"
* * *
Kit stared down at the old quilt square in her hand and then back up at her mother.
"It's all that's left of it, I'm afraid," her mother said. "I can't be certain it was made by Christopher Colfax's beloved."
It was a heart. Centered on a square of yellowed, quilted muslin. Looking so much like the ace of hearts, it nearly broke her own heart. Embroidered within the faded, threadbare red fabric were the tiny initials S.B. and C.C.
"It was." Kit could feel the truth in her very marrow.
"I wish I could tell you more, but a short notation in the family bible about him being shipped home after his death, his coffin draped with a quilt made by his southern lady love, was all I'd ever read about this ancestor. What a strange coincidence that you should meet his lover's family!"
"Yes." Kit laid the precious square on her bed and rose, struggling not to let the tears swimming in her eyes spill over. "I think I'll go out and help Dad for a while."
She could feel her mother's gaze on her back as she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and walk down the stairs and out the back door. Bless her mother for not prying. Every day since Kit had come home, she realized more and more how very special and wonderful her mother was. Filled with quiet support and understanding. Unquestioning love.
Too bad she hadn't inherited some of that understanding. If she had, maybe she would have seen what a fool she was being in time to do something about it.
Kit sighed, inhaling deeply of the smells of the farmyard. Smells she found herself remembering fondly. Dad's dog, Latte, bounded up, and she leaned down to scratch his head. Maybe she'd get a dog. Once she'd found a place in the country with a bit of land.
First, she'd have to get a job, of course. But it shouldn't be too difficult with her degree and computer skills—now that she wouldn't insist her job be fast-paced and exciting to cover the fact that her personal life was anything but. Maybe she could set up a business helping farmers go high-tech with their farm reports. The way she had with a certain Louisiana planter whom she didn't want to think about.
She gave Latte a final pat and walked determinedly toward the cornfields, where she knew her dad was inspecting the crop.
She was not going to think about Beau.
She'd called Madame Beaulieux that morning and had a nice chat. Naturally, Kit had had to endure a long, glowing report about how well Beau was doing. How he'd been up and about for several days, and able to walk quite well now with the help of a cane. How he'd helped the FBI arrest Hunter Chenier for the jewel robberies. And that he'd even gone into the city at the crack of dawn today with Remi.
Kit was endlessly grateful Beau was feeling better. But she wasn't going to think about him. If she did, she'd go crazy with regret.
She'd burned her bridges and there was nothing to do about it now. It didn't matter that she'd long ago realized how wrong she'd been to doubt him. Everything about Simon Beaulieux was honorable. He never would have deceived her. He didn't have a deceptive bone in his body. Hadn't he fessed up to being a cop at the first possible opportunity?
And he couldn't have known about Remi all along. She knew that now. If Remi had told him he was FBI, it must have been right before Beau was shot. How could she ever have doubted that? The word betrayal just wasn't in Beau's vocabulary.
Face it, she'd blown her chance with him completely. She'd left Terrebeau without seeing him and he would never forgive her for not trusting him—for not loving him enough to see the truth. He hadn't even asked after her. Not once, according to the indignant Madame Beaulieux. No, going back with heart in hand would do no good now.
Walking along the rows of undulating corn, she took another deep breath of clean country air a
nd knew in her heart she loved this farm where she'd grown up, and the life she'd led here.
Sure, her parents had spent more evenings than she could count just holding hands on the front-porch swing. But the thought of doing the same with Beau at Terrebeau made her realize that it was being with the person you loved that made life exciting and worth living. Not jetting around the world, chasing bad guys, or owning an expensive condo in the big city.
Oh, how could she ever have thought Beau could have less than honorable intentions? Why hadn't she seen earlier that despite his strength and will, Beau had never sought to control her? That he had only wanted to keep her safe and give her happiness? And that happiness had nothing to do with where you lived, or what you did, and everything to do with being with the one you loved?
Too late, she understood that Beau would never try to tell her what to do or how to live her life. With his proposal, he'd been offering his undying love and his hopes for their future, not taking anything away.
Love. That was what made all the difference in the world.
How would she ever live without Beau by her side to love?
She found her dad at the back of a field and for a couple of hours they walked silently along the rows of corn together, checking the leaves and ears, making sure the crop was growing well. When it was time for lunch, they made their way back to the farmhouse, arm in arm.
"Wonder who that can be," her dad remarked.
She looked up to see an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted the tall, dark figure standing in the yard, talking with her mother.
"That the man?" her dad asked as they approached.
She shot him a glance. Dad was too perceptive by half. "What man?"
"The one you've been trying to forget for the past week. Just give me the word and I'll flatten him for you."
Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she chuckled in spite of the swirl of sick anxiety lodged in her stomach. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, Daddy. But thanks, anyway."