The screen darkened, then turned fuzzy. With a click and a whirl, the VHS tape started to rewind. Cody turned off the TV and continued to stare at the blank screen.
“What is wrong with me?”
Swiping the tears away, she grasped the locket hanging beneath her over-sized tee shirt. Too much death, too much destruction, and she’d become part of it. Again. She kissed the locket, and let it fall against her chest. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the blanket over the back of the sofa and left.
She crept up the stairs, pausing at the top to look into their home office, then glanced down the hall. Dad’s door was closed. Cody entered the office, stopping before the built-in bookshelf. Her fingers danced over the book spines and halted on the one she sought. Removing the book, she tucked it under her arm and carried it to her room.
Curled up on her bed, she clicked on a bedside lamp. Slowly, she flipped through the pages to the yellowed envelope. For seven years she kept it hidden in the well-loved copy of Gone with the Wind, a book Dad would never touch. And for seven years she still hadn’t found the courage to open the letter Momma wrote two days before she was killed.
The calligraphy scroll of her name covered most of the envelope. Cody ran her thumb over it. Each time she brought the letter out she imagined what Mom had said within the folds of the sheets of paper. She turned it over and touched the sealed flap.
A child-like voice yelled for her to open it. Read Momma’s last words.
Cody clenched her hand into a fist. No. She wasn’t ready to let go.
Stuffing the letter inside the book, she snapped it shut and slid it under her bed. She turned the lamp off and flopped onto her bed. Wet heat prickled in her eyes. It was her fault. She should’ve never let it end that way. She’d been so stupid … so naïve. Would it have mattered? Cody hadn’t been behind the wheel of the vehicle that forced Momma off the road. But she as good as helped the deed along.
She buried her damp face into her pillow. Momma, I’m so sorry.
Chapter Three
Cody slapped her leather gloves on the counter in the ranch office, picked up a pen, and entered the morning’s feed rations. From his perch behind the desk, Dad rocked back, making the old chair squeak. She shot a look in his direction, then continued her data entry.
“Being mad at the world isn’t going to make it go away.”
Weight dragged on her shoulders. Finished with her writing, she tossed the pen on the clipboard and faced him. “Who said I was mad?”
“Kiddo, no one has to say it. Your body language screams it.”
Cody grabbed her gloves. “I’m just tired, Dad.”
“Pretty sure you are, since you didn’t hit the hay until about four in the morning.” He stood and circled the desk. “Let me handle your workload today. Try to get some sleep before tonight’s go round.”
The offer tempted her, but she knew it was pointless. She wouldn’t sleep any better in the light of day. Hard labor would keep her mind off last night’s grisly discovery and the past. “Thanks, but I can’t.” She headed for the door.
“Cody.”
Placing a hand on the doorframe, she glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Life might not be going the way you want it, but no one’s going anywhere. We’re still here.”
She smiled. “I know. I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time I tried to force everyone out of my life.”
“Good.”
Giving him a finger wave, she left the office. Would she ever be able to hide her emotions? She crossed the yard, nodding to a few of the ranch hands as they passed. She entered the stable where she stalled her barrel horses, and a chorus of whinnies greeted her.
“Hey, boys and girls.”
Five beautiful heads in various shades of brown hung over their stall doors. Cody situated herself between her two favorite mares and stroked their heads as they lipped her hair. Chocolate Graham and her daughter, S’mores Chocolate Graham, nickered low and whooshed warm breaths in Cody’s ears.
The other men in her life, Maverick’s Flash, CG Flyer, and her newest addition, Casual Note, gave agitated whinnies. “Sorry boys.”
After loving on each of them, Cody began the chores.
Once they’d devoured their grain, she let them out into their exercise yards. She watched them buck and snort. The two mares touched noses and seemed to pass secrets like a human mother and daughter. Just as she’d done with her momma. Tears coated Cody’s eyes and she turned away. No more crying. She’d done enough of that.
As she lugged a bale of hay out of the hay room, a newer model black Corvette pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the open bay doors. Cody halted mid-step and gaped at the vehicle. She’d never seen the car before. The early morning sun glinted off the windshield, blocking her view of the driver. She adjusted the heavy bale and inched forward as the car door opened. Her grip slackened as the driver stepped out.
Looking like a clothing model straight out of the pages of Eddie Bauer in a pair of jeans, an evergreen and blue plaid button-up shirt, and a tan leather jacket, Detective LeBeau removed a pair of reflective sunglasses. After she dropped the hay bale on her foot, Cody remembered to breathe. God was playing some kind of cruel joke on her.
“Damn it to hell,” she snapped and shoved the bale off.
“You all right?”
Startled, she looked up. LeBeau stood next to her, concern etched on his unshaven face. Mercy, the day-old stubble only enhanced his appearance. Heat coursed through her veins and her stomach did a funny twist. “I’m … fine.” She heaved the bale onto her knee, the hay pricked her legs through the denim and the pain sobered her like a slap to the face. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She carried the bale into Graham’s stall. “About what?”
“Last night.”
Patting her back pocket for her knife, she huffed and switched sides. “We already discussed this, Detective. I’ve nothing more to add to the investigation.”
“Looking for this?”
She lurched around. He held up her pocketknife, an odd glint in his dark eyes.
“Yes, thank you.” She held out her hand.
He jerked it out of her reach. “We still need to talk.”
Cody scowled. “Don’t toy with me, Detective.”
His eyebrows shot up. The knife wobbled in his fingers.
Glaring at him, she crossed her arms. “Fine, we’ll talk.”
He flashed a knee-weakening grin and handed over the knife. “Want some help?”
Snatching the knife from him, she deftly flipped the blade out. “Not a chance.”
“Why? Don’t think I can handle it?”
With half the bale in the hayrack, Cody carried the other half into S’mores’ stall. “I didn’t say that.”
LeBeau leaned a shoulder into the stall wall and crossed his arms. “You don’t think I can do the work.”
Dusting the hay from her clothing, Cody squared up to him. She gave him the once-over, then propped a hand on her hip. “Detective, I have no doubt you’d be able to handle the work. But you ain’t exactly dressed for this. And … ”
“And what?”
She eyed him. “Have you ever worked around horses?”
“No.”
“Thank you for proving my point.” She jabbed a finger at a far corner. “Now get over there and stay. I can finish quicker with you out of my way.”
Nodding, he complied with her demands, amusement flickering on his face.
Cody rolled her eyes heavenward, and then returned to the hay room for another bale.
“How many horses do you have?” LeBeau called out.
“About a hundred.”
“Yourself?”
&
nbsp; She emerged from the room lugging a larger bale. “That’s all the horses on the property.” Dropping the bale in front of the boys’ stalls, she sliced the twine and grabbed a stack of hay slabs. “Only five are registered under my name.”
“And the rest?”
She peeked out of Maverick’s stall. “Dad’s and about six other people. Some of them belong to our ranch hands.”
Renegade, their red Angus bull, let out a bellow. LeBeau lunged away from the wall. Cody grinned and darted back into the stall.
“And we have about three hundred head of cattle.”
“Anything else I should be worried about?”
Finished with the hay, Cody latched the stall doors. “We have three dogs, two of which belong to our foreman. And I think there’s two or three litters of barn cats roaming the place.” She tapped a gloved finger on her chin. “Occasionally we’ll have a coyote sneaking around. I think my dad shot a black bear one time. Then there’s the rattlers, deer, and all sorts of varmints.”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Hey, we don’t get many city slickers out here.”
A corner of his mouth curled up. “Is that what you think I am?”
Cody swallowed hard. Why did the man have to look so blasted good looking? He was an arrogant jerk. The wrong type of guy to lose her head over. “Well, you don’t exactly announce to the world you aren’t.”
LeBeau closed the gap between them. The subtle scent of cedar and spice clung to him. No peppermint today. Cody fought the urge to close her eyes and drink in the aroma. It had been forever since she let a man this close who wasn’t family or a friend.
“Your assumptions can land you in some hot water, Ms. Lewis.” His voice lowered, the accent he tried hard to hide breaking free.
Would he stop calling her Ms. Lewis? Each time he uttered it, she resisted the urge to look for her momma.
She grabbed his hand. He stiffened and tried to pull free. Keeping a tight hold, she slowly drew his hand closer, and when the tension left him she turned it palm up. She broke eye contact and examined his palm. The skin was rough with traces of calluses on pressure points and pale scars lined the inside of his thumb and forefinger. Not the hand of a desk jockey.
Cody looked up, releasing her hold. “What’s a Cajun doing in Dallas?”
Clenching his hand, he rubbed his fingers together. “Why’s a thirty-year-old woman still living with her father?”
“You’re not here to talk about last night.” She brushed past him. “You’re prying into my mother’s murder.”
LeBeau caught her arm and spun her around. “Hold up there, cowgirl.”
The heat of last night returned, searing the feel of his hand on her arm. Cody jerked free. “Don’t touch me.”
He held up his hands and took a step back. “What makes you think I’m here to talk about your mother’s murder?”
“The last detective who showed up here unannounced started poking his nose around where it didn’t belong and tried to pin the murder on my dad. What he didn’t expect was to find nothing to incriminate my dad.” Cody jabbed a finger into LeBeau’s chest. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not here to point fingers. I’m just looking to see if there’s a connection.”
“I’m sure.” Cody turned and stalked to the door. “You know how to find your way out.”
“Ms. Lewis. I mean, Cody.”
She whipped around. “What?”
“Give me the benefit of the doubt here.”
“There was nothing from my mom’s case. Her truck and trailer were forced over a mountain ledge. Both she and her horses were killed, and the whole thing started on fire.” Cody about-faced. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. Good-bye, Detective.”
• • •
If Remy could avoid the morgue he would. Too many gut-wrenching memories were tied up in a place like this.
He rolled a toothpick between his thumb and finger, then stuck it in his mouth as he stared at the ME. Rick rubbed a spot on his forehead as he read over a report. A faint whine drifted through the crack in the office door. Shuddering, Remy sank lower into his seat and clamped down on the toothpick.
“This wasn’t our killer’s first victim.”
He shifted the toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “There’s more?”
“A whole lot more.” Rick slapped the file shut and slid his reading glasses on top of his head. “He’s back. Well, at least I think he’s back.”
Remy sat forward. “Who’s back?”
“The Rodeo Sweethearts killer.”
“Come again?”
Rick sighed and cupped the back of his neck. “My first case as chief ME was the Rodeo Sweethearts killer. He’d kill women with naturally red hair and green or blue eyes who frequented the rodeo circuit. Stab them, like this guy did, between the fourth and fifth ribs and puncture the heart. Once they were dead, he’d hack into them.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of case files. “Then he’d leave a single red rose.”
“I feel a but in your statement.” Remy took the offered files and dropped them in his lap.
“I should’ve retired when my wife wanted me to.” Rick rocked back in his chair. “The but is the Rodeo Sweethearts killer always left the bodies in a public area. Dumping our current victim in a private trailer is not his MO.”
“How long has it been since he last struck?”
“Five years. Right before you moved here.”
“Could be a copycat.”
“Doubt it. The police didn’t release the info on the red rose because the rose was always left under the body. Only the killer would know that particular detail.”
“Or a protégé.” Opening the top file, Remy scanned the contents. “Who was the detective working the case?”
“Jack Hawthorne, but he died two years ago.”
Remy trailed his finger down the report. “His partner — ” He froze on the name.
“Carlos Moreno.”
Jerking his gaze up from the report, Remy met Rick’s narrowed one. “The lieutenant?”
“Now you know why you were hand picked. You’re a fresh set of eyes on this, LeBeau, and an outsider. It never settled well with Moreno when these cases went cold. Almost cost him his promotion.”
Made sense why Moreno required Remy to report in twice a day. “This is what was buggin’ you last night.”
“Yeah. Wanted to make sure before I said anything to you.” The corners of Rick’s eyes crinkled as he yawned.
“Go home and get some sleep, Doc.” Remy stood and moved to the office door.
“Planned on it. Where you headed?”
“CSU. Need to check on their progress.”
“Careful.”
He paused, hand on the knob. “Why?”
“Watch out for the new supervisor from Santa Fe. She’s a firecracker.”
Marvelous, as if he didn’t have enough problems on his hands. He was used to the former supervisor’s eccentric ways, and now the CSU department decided to play musical chairs.
“She’s not afraid to throw her weight around either.”
“Speaking from experience, mon ami?”
“Just sayin’.”
Remy waved and exited the office. As he strode down the hall, he flipped through the stack, counting the cases. Six women with their lives cut short and families who still grieved. If Rick’s theory panned out, they had a seventh murder, and the cold cases would move to active.
Tucking the files under his arm, he pushed through the exit door and entered the parking lot. A cool, wet November wind tore across his face and flipped open his jacket. Right about now he’d give anything for an hour of the bayou’s sweltering summer. Jacket lapels clench
ed in his fist, he hurried to his car.
He cranked the heat and pulled out of the lot. Merging with the midday traffic, he followed the snail’s pace to the crime lab. Why didn’t Moreno say anything about this in their morning discussion? Ole Iron Man had a lot of explaining to do.
Stopped at a four-way intersection, Remy stared at the light. Watching Cody lift and carry those hay bales, he couldn’t help but admire the way her biceps strained the sleeves of her shirt. Yet a part of him drew a line of caution. Any woman who could toss an eighty-pound bale of hay around like a feather was not a woman to get into a spitting match with.
The light turned. This attraction to Cody came out of nowhere and blindsided him. Oui, she was beautiful and probably had a flock of cowboys chasing her skirt. If the woman wore a skirt. Her eyes held a spark of intelligence and humor. She seemed to enjoy watching him flounder.
It had been a long time. After losing Marie, he swore he’d never put another woman in danger. But it appeared Cody Lewis came with her own set of troubles.
He turned the car into the Dallas Police headquarters lot and parked in his designated spot. Out of the car, he ran for the door.
The security guard waved him in, then resumed his monitor scans. Remy headed down the sanitary white halls to the CSU supervisor’s office.
What type of woman was willing to give up her job in Santa Fe and come here? He poked his head in the office.
Empty.
The lights were on, so she shouldn’t be too far away.
Drumming his fingers on the metal doorframe, Remy stared down the hall. Better find someone who could tell him where to find the supervisor.
Halfway back to the security guard’s desk he bumped into a blond-streaked, wild-haired brunette with her nose buried in a thick folder. She jerked back and fumbled with the file.
Remy grabbed her shoulders and caught a stray piece of paper. “Sorry.”
The woman frowned, took the report, and slid it inside the folder. She removed her black-framed glasses, revealing bright blue eyes. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the supervisor.”
“That would be me.” She thrust out her hand. “Jolene Summers.”
Texas Temptation Page 148