“You!”
Remy jerked to Jacobs. The grieving father bolted from the bench and barreled down on Manning.
“You killed my daughter!”
Wide-eyed, Manning’s lawyer backed into Anderson and barricaded him in the interrogation room. Manning ducked one fist. As he came up, another connected with his jaw. Crack!
Remy lunged into the fray, hooking an arm around Jacobs’ beefy limb. With a grunt, he hauled the raging father back against the wall. No sooner had he pinned the man than Jacobs roared, “Get off me!” as he bucked.
The man’s age belied his power — Remy went flying. He landed hard on the thinly carpeted floor. Pain exploded down his spine.
Jacobs charged Manning.
Remy rolled unsteadily to his feet.
Manning blocked a fist and rammed a hard right into the man’s gut. Jacobs grunted. Rage wove through his darkened face. He rammed an elbow in to the sweet spot on Manning’s back. The cowboy slumped to his hands and knees.
Remy yanked his Ruger from the holster. “Jacobs, stop!”
“Stop!” Anderson echoed as he pushed out of the room, weapon drawn.
Jacobs’s head snapped around, his gaze flicking from Remy to Anderson. Slowly, he raised his hands and backed away from JC.
“Behind your head,” Anderson said.
Interlocking his fingers, Jacobs placed his hands on his head. Anderson sidestepped JC’s prone body, holstered his weapon, and grabbed Jacobs’s arms, jerking them down and cuffing him.
“What the … LeBeau.”
Slipping his gun back into the holster, Remy turned to Moreno. “Difference of opinion, sir.”
Moreno glowered. “Not in my department.”
Manning’s lawyer helped his client onto his feet. “I want charges brought against this man for assault.”
“No.” JC flinched, touching his face. “No charges.”
Jacobs gaped at the cowboy.
“Mr. Manning, this man attacked you, in a police department. Might I remind you, that’s a criminal offense.”
JC glared at his lawyer. “I said, no charges.” His cold gaze slid to Artie Jacobs. “He’s grieving the best way he knows how.”
Remy glanced at Moreno, then took a step toward JC. “Your lawyer’s right, JC.”
Jutting out his chin, JC walked past them. “I don’t care. Let ’im think what he wants. I know the truth. I’m not pressing charges.” He staggered out of the department, his lawyer barking at his heels.
“Are we pressing the matter, sir?” Anderson asked. “He did assault LeBeau.”
“LeBeau?”
His eyes locked with Artie Jacobs’s. Not so long ago, Remy would’ve done the same thing if his wife’s killer had walked into the room. How could he fault the man for acting on his grief? Remy shook his head.
Moreno grunted. “Fine. Uncuff him, Anderson.”
“I’m sorry.” Jacobs’s voice cracked as he rubbed his wrists.
“Ain’t we all.” Moreno walked back to his office. “LeBeau, take him to the morgue. Don’t come back here, Mr. Jacobs.”
Remy massaged his lower back. This case might kill him.
Chapter Eleven
Cody felt like someone was pounding an anvil sitting right above her eyes. Stupid numerals kept floating and converging. She threw the pencil across the kitchen and pushed away from the table. She’d been at this for five hours. Time for a break.
Slamming her arms into a black canvas coat, she headed outside. A damp chill, heavy with the musk of cattle and horses, swirled around her as she strode toward the stable. Large dark-gray clouds loomed on the western horizon. They were in for a soaking.
Cody smiled at the whinnies greeting her. Her horses were always thrilled to see her. She slipped into Graham’s stall and buried her hands in the mare’s warm mane. Graham curled her head around and nuzzled Cody’s shoulder, nickering low in her throat.
“Wanna go for a ride?”
Graham mouthed Cody’s coat. Chuckling, Cody laid her head against the mare’s neck.
“Guess that means yes.” The scuff of boots on cement made her jerk.
“Cody, ya in here?”
Hope fluttered through her chest. If JC was here, maybe he’d forgiven her. Yet again, Dad had been right. She gripped the stall door and peered around the corner. “Over here, JC.”
Slipping out of the shadows, he came down the aisle, walking with a stiff gait. He held something wrapped in a plastic grocery sack.
“Still mad at me?”
“Maybe a li’l.” With a flick of his finger, he pushed his Stetson away from his eyes and looked up.
Cody gasped. “What happened to your face?”
JC touched the violet-red bruise on his cheek and shrugged. “Nothin’ much.”
“Nothing much.” She banged out of the stall and invaded his space. “I don’t call that nothing. You look like you were in fight.”
His gaze darted to the horses, and he held out a hand to S’mores. “You could say that.”
Cody’s abdominal muscles cramped, stealing her breath. Did he and Remy get into a fistfight? It shouldn’t surprise her. On a given day, JC rivaled Dad in the overprotective department. “Who did this to you?”
JC scowled, then winced. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m your friend, JC.” She brushed his cheek.
He swatted her hand away and backed a step. “Yeah, well, my friends look out for me.”
So he wanted to play the blame game. Cody planted her fists on her hips. “As I recall, so did my friends.”
“I did look out for you.” JC pointed a finger in her face. “As long as that McCord fellow was around, you weren’t listenin’ to nobody.”
The horses rustled and nickered softly. Cody glanced at the colt, CG Flyer. He snorted and shook his head, his black mane flying. The colt was easily agitated by raised voices, and Cody suspected he had a wild streak in him. Sure enough, he kicked his stall door.
Grabbing JC by the collar, she hauled him out of the stable. Outside, he jerked her hand away.
“What was that for?”
“Preventing my colt from breaking down his door and attacking you.”
JC jabbed a finger into her shoulder. “You need to geld that boy or get rid of him before he hurts someone.”
“He’s perfectly fine with me.”
“You always liked the bad boys.”
“Guess you fall into that category.” She ground her teeth and crossed her arms. “Why’d you bother to come here if all you’re going to do is pick a fight?”
“I didn’t want to. But I’ve got a reason.” He unwound the grocery sack then held it out. “Found this in my gear. Figured it was yours.”
She took the bag and opened it. Frowning, she pulled out the black Benchmade knife. “JC, this ain’t mine.”
“Don’t you have a pocket knife like that?”
“No.” Plowing her hand into her Wrangler pocket, she slid out her slim knife. “I’ve still got mine.” She examined the two knives, then swallowed hard and dropped the Benchmade back into the sack. “You don’t just buy this kind of knife at the farm and ranch store.” Her gaze met JC’s.
“What’re you saying?”
Pushing past him, she ran across the stable yard. “Dad!”
“Cody, what’s wrong?” JC called after her.
She bolted into the riding arena, JC right behind her. “Dad!”
He jerked around. “Cody, what’s wrong with you? You never yell — ”
“Look at this.” She thrust the bag at him. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
With a scowl, he took the bag and looked inside. His puckered face smoothed into hard planes. He closed the bag. “Where�
�d you get this?”
“JC found it with his stuff.”
Dad stepped around her. “Son, this isn’t yours?”
“No, Logan. Never seen it before in my life. What’s all the ruckus about?”
Cody bit her lip as her father looked back at her.
“Get this to LeBeau. Now.”
• • •
Lightening rippled across the sky followed by the rumble of thunder. Cody parked her truck along the curb and killed the engine. Fat raindrops pelted the windshield, blurring the blue neon sign. The Corner Pocket. This was where Detective Anderson said she could find Remy.
She flopped back into her seat. “Maybe we should take it to his partner.”
“Detective Anderson told you he wasn’t available. You need to give it to Detective LeBeau.” The passenger door popped open and Dad started to exit the cab. “Grab leather and ride it out, Cody.”
With a click of her teeth, she pulled her jacket over her head, hopped out of the truck, and dashed for the awning where Dad waited. He held open the pool hall door and ushered her inside. Apparently he didn’t want her changing her mind.
Three Dog Night and the stale stench of cigarettes made Cody flinch. Sunday Night football, Cowboys versus the Redskins, played on all the televisions. The click of pool balls mingled with the boisterous voices of competitive men.
Dad nudged her arm. When she looked at him, he pointed to the back of the building.
Great. She had to carry a crucial piece of evidence through a mad house of testosterone. Dad gave her a slight shove, and she tripped forward. Scowling at him over her shoulder, she pressed through the jumble of bodies and tables. A few heads turned as she squeezed past. Feeling the stares, she glared at the gawkers until they looked away. After fifteen some odd years of dealing with supposed Casanovas, she’d perfected the art of rejection. It worked every time.
Except on a certain Cajun.
Bent low over the table, Remy stared down the length of his pool stick, poised to strike the cue ball. The midnight-blue tee shirt stretched over his back revealed the contours of his muscles and shoulder blades. Tousled, as if he fingered it, his dark hair gleamed in the light from the lone chandelier above the middle of the table.
Cody swallowed against the tightness in her throat and willed her erratic heart to slow down. No way was she attracted to him. Remy didn’t belong in her world.
With a flick, he tapped the cue ball. It glided across the green felt and smacked the eight ball, tipping it into the corner pocket. Glancing up, Remy did a double take and straightened to his full height.
A funny vibration zinged through Cody’s stomach. She was a goner.
He frowned, his eyebrows dipped down in a V. “What are you doing here? And alone?”
“I … ” Her voice cracked, and she cleared it. “I’m not alone, my dad is here. I couldn’t reach you on your cell. Your partner said I could find you here.”
Running a hand over his face, he groaned. “I forgot to tell you this morning.”
“Tell me what?”
“My numbers were changed.”
A haunted feeling skittered up her spine. “Why?”
“Police business.” He propped the pool stick against the wall and thumbed quarters into a slot. Balls clinked and clattered into the catch. “Why were you calling me?” He set the balls on the tabletop.
Cody’s gaze was riveted to his hands. She warmed at the thought of his fingers touching her face. Hugging her body, she shrugged off the sensation. “JC came out to my place. Who gave him the bruise?”
He straightened, his shoulders tense, and darkness shadowed his eyes. “You think I did it?”
Liquid steel slid through her veins. He wouldn’t intimidate her. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
Remy slapped the rack around the balls and rearranged them. “Once more, police business.”
“So you did hit him?”
He snapped to attention. Cody recoiled at his anger.
“Ms. Lewis, I didn’t touch a hair on your friend. He found himself face to face with Clarisa Jacobs’s father.”
Cody shook her head. Artie Jacobs never liked JC and voiced his opinion every chance he got. When they broke up, the man gloated. “I should’ve known.”
The crack of wood on wood made her jerk.
Remy stalked around the table toward her. “You knew about the volatile relationship between JC and Jacobs? After I asked you this morning if there was anything you hadn’t told me about them.”
She slammed her palm into his chest, halting his advance. His heart thundered against her hand. “You asked about Clare and JC, not Artie.”
Remy grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away but didn’t release his hold. “I don’t have to be specific, Ms. L — ”
“Don’t!” She jerked free. “Don’t call me that.”
The anger fled from his face, and a strange light flared in his eyes.
Cody backed a step. “My momma was Ms. Lewis. Not me.”
His shoulders sagged. “Sorry.”
He seemed contrite, but so had her ex-boyfriend when he wanted to placate her. Someone needed to smack her upside the head for letting her hormones get the best of her when it came to men. Her emotions hog-tied, sacked, and stuffed in a trunk, she turned to walk away.
“Is that why you ran all the way to Dallas? To demand if I hit your friend?”
She froze. The knife! Cody plunged her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out the bag. She faced Remy. “No. I need to give you something. But first I want you to make a promise to me.”
He scowled. “I don’t make a promise if one, I can’t keep it, and two, if it’s tied to a murder investigation.”
“Either you make it, or I walk away with what could be crucially important to you.”
“This is nonsense. I could have it taken from you. One phone call and I’ll have a warrant in a half hour.”
“And it’ll be long gone.”
He spewed a long stream of what was probably swear words in his native tongue. Cody tilted her chin and stared him down. He returned the glare.
“What’s it going to be?”
Crossing his arms, he perched on the corner of the pool table. “Cher, my ancestors ain’t got nothin’ on you when it comes to stubbornness.”
Cody fought the smile. “The Lewis’s are Texas born and bred. General Santa Anna was scared of us.”
He chuckled. “I don’t blame him.” Drumming his fingers on his bare elbow, he sighed. “Fine, what am I promising to?”
Taken back by his willingness, she was at a loss. She’d expected to have a long, drawn out fight over this. But nothing about this man made sense. “Um, I need you to promise not to run off half-cocked after JC.”
“This oughta be rich.” He waved his hand at her. “I won’t.”
Not too reassuring. She held out the bag. “JC found this in his stuff. It was planted there.”
• • •
Now she was hiding evidence from him? Remy gritted his molars. Every time he turned around, Cody was sticking her pert nose into places she shouldn’t. When he didn’t take the bag, her green eyes flashed and she shook the sack.
He grabbed it and froze. The object between his fingers felt like the handle of a knife. Jerking it away, he ripped open the bag and looked inside at a black grip with a butterfly emblem. His gaze darted to Cody.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I told you. JC found it in his gear. He thought it was mine and dropped it off this afternoon.” The red streaks flared out from her nose. “It’s not his, and he didn’t even know what it was.”
“And you do?”
“That’s a Benchmade knife, military design.”
Glancing around, Remy clo
sed the bag, and took hold of Cody’s arm. “How do you know that?” He propelled her into a corner.
“My dad served in the Army. He’d recognize any weapon designed for military use.”
Marvelous, now she was a weapons expert. “I suppose you touched it.”
“Yes, JC and me, not Dad. We’ve probably contaminated any trace or blood evidence on it.”
Remy jolted. “How in the world do you know about that?”
“After my momma was killed and they tried to pin the murder on my dad, I learned everything I could about forensic evidence.” She slipped her arm free, fierce determination glittering in her eyes. “No one makes a fool out of a Lewis.”
His phone vibrated in his jean pocket. Damn thing. He kept his eyes locked on Cody. “You think it was planted on JC to frame him?”
“Not think, I know. If he’d done it, why would he bring it to me?”
The phone vibrated again. “To throw us off.”
Cody rolled her eyes. “JC’s smart, but not that smart.”
Removing the phone, he glanced at the caller ID. He answered. “What do you need, C-Bar?”
Anderson sighed. “There’s another body.”
Remy turned away from Cody. “Where?”
“Propped up against Jack Hawthorne’s grave stone.”
Swearing, Remy yanked his coat off the hook and stuffed the bagged knife into a pocket. “That isn’t exactly a public spot.”
“She’s been here a while. Might’ve been the first one.”
“So, how’d they find her?”
“They didn’t.” Anderson cleared his throat. “I did.”
Remy hesitated in putting on his coat. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Cody watching him. “Podna, would you mind explaining why you were at the cemetery and I wasn’t informed?”
“I went on a hunch.”
“That could’ve gotten you killed.”
“Look, LeBeau, I knew you were tied up. Besides, I did what you would’ve done on your own.”
Anderson had him there. Closing his eyes, he dragged in a long breath and let it out. So, why didn’t he think of this idea sooner? Because of a certain sassy cowgirl standing next to him. He snapped his eyes open. “Just let me know next time. We’re supposed to be working this case together.”
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