Cole Dempsey’s Back in Town

by Suzanne McMinn

  “Now, Miss Louvel, I didn’t say we weren’t going to follow up on this information,” he said in a much more agreeable drawl. “I suppose I could assign one of my officers to look into the case.”

  Cole placed his hand over Bryn’s. Her fingers gripping the metal edge of the orange chair were shaking. She looked at him, and he gave her a grim smile as he squeezed her cold fingers before he turned back to the chief.

  “We’d like a detective assigned today,” Cole said firmly. “Unless you can explain to reporters that you’ve got another murder under investigation in Azalea Bend right now that’s taking up your time.” He cocked a dubious brow as he continued to level his hard gaze. “There has already been an attempt on my life that could have cost Bryn hers. This is not the time for delay unless you want another body on your hands.”

  The chief’s mouth set in an annoyed line. “I’ll have an officer get in touch with you today.”

  “Thank you.” He gave the chief his cell number and asked him to have the officer who was assigned the job contact him as soon as possible. “I’ve been working with a private investigator, and Bryn and I have already been interviewing people who knew Aimee that summer. We’d be happy to share what we’ve found out so far with the officer.”

  They’d managed to skirt the issue of Randol Ormond’s MIA status, to Cole’s relief. In the meantime, maybe they’d find him.

  Heat smothered them as they left the law-enforcement building and crossed the street to the parked rental car. He could see the paranoia in Bryn’s darkened gaze. She glanced around as if she half expected a car to appear and try to run them down.

  “You did great in there,” Cole said, taking her hand as they crossed to the car. He opened the door for Bryn, wishing he could find some way to take that scared look out of her eyes. “You did it. You fought for Aimee.”

  Bryn’s expression didn’t relax. “They don’t want to reopen it. If something happens to us, they’ll shut it down that quick. And we don’t really have a cable network covering the crime, remember?” She sat down in the passenger seat and Cole went around to the other side.

  He keyed the ignition, his insides twisting. She was good and stressed all over again. “Let’s go back to Bellefleur.” He reached over and took her chin in his hands, pulling her agonized, lovely gaze to him. “You’ve had enough of this today.”

  The plantation waited in the cloudy murk of the afternoon. More rain threatened, and the dark gloom of the house against the forbidding sky made him wish he could turn right around and leave it. Take Bryn away, somewhere airy and bright and safe.

  She keyed the lock in the front door and pushed it open. Cole shut it behind them, closing out the buzz of the tractor where Emile Brouchard continued to dig up one of the wild side gardens. Bryn went straight to her office.

  “I have to call Drake,” she said quietly. “He deserves to know what we’re doing. He’s part of this, too.”

  Cavanaugh wasn’t going to like what they’d done. Cole watched Bryn punch in the numbers on the phone, her face cast in tired lines. He wanted to do nothing more than gather her into his arms and hold her, but she’d been withdrawing from him all day. He didn’t know what to do to pierce her shield. And maybe she was right to keep her heart shielded. If he was smart, he’d do the same.

  But he wasn’t very smart around Bryn.

  “Drake?”

  Cole watched Bryn lean her forehead into one hand while she held the phone and told Cavanaugh about the accident, the calls to the cable networks, the request to reopen the case.

  “We’re in the process of retaining an expert to examine the forensic document.” She was quiet another long beat, listening to Cavanaugh. “People aren’t going to blame you for what your father might have done,” Bryn insisted softly. “It’s not your fault. And I can’t walk away from it. I have to find out what happened to Aimee. There’s a murderer out there.” She rubbed her forehead. “Have you had a chance yet to go through your father’s things? Have you found anything?”

  She lifted her head, squeezed her eyes shut for a minute, then put the phone down and looked at Cole.

  “He hung up. He’s pretty upset.” Emotion gleamed in her eyes. “And he’s right. It’s not fair, but this could damage his campaign. Look at what happened to me. It’s not my fault, but Mrs. Guidry cancelled events at Bellefleur. Drake could lose his campaign over this if it goes public about Hugh Cavanaugh sabotaging a murder investigation to protect my father. Hugh Cavanaugh’s still a well-known name, not just in Azalea Bend. He served in the state congress, too, and he did a stint as transportation commissioner. Drake rose so quickly in politics on his father’s name, and this could really hurt him.”

  She hadn’t turned the light on in the office when she’d gone in to make the call, and in the cloudy dark, her eyes looked impossibly exhausted.

  “He’s coming in to Azalea Bend tomorrow. He’s going to talk to Chief Michel. I know he’s going to try to get this stopped.”

  “It’s too late for that, Bryn.”

  “I feel awful,” she said shakily. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up over this, Bryn,” he said gently. “We’re doing what we have to do.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look any happier.

  “You called Drake a friend,” he said suddenly. “But he asked you to marry him.” Cavanaugh’s relationship with Bryn bothered him, and he didn’t know if it was more than jealousy or not. He didn’t like this new, possessive part of himself that had come out since he’d returned to Azalea Bend.

  “We were always friends,” Bryn told him. “But after Aimee died, we got closer. It wasn’t romantic. Or at least, not on my part. Then, somehow, it changed. And I didn’t realize it had changed. I should have known, should have said something. He would come into town every once in a while and we’d meet for dinner. A few weeks ago, he told me he wanted more. He wanted to get married. I was shocked, and I told him I’d think about it. But then—”

  “Then what?” He waited, tension he couldn’t define scraping his veins.

  “I told him last week that I couldn’t marry him. I thought he was all right with it, but I’m not sure he is. And now, all of this is happening. I feel as if I’ve lost a friend.”

  She looked so sad, and he didn’t know what to say. The truth was, if she was through with Cavanaugh, he’d be glad. He’d never liked Drake and he didn’t like him now.

  The phone chirped beside her. Bryn looked at it tiredly as if she couldn’t stand to talk to one more person, and Cole reached over and picked it up.

  “Bellefleur.”

  “This is Detective Joe Wardell, Azalea Bend Police. I’m looking for Cole Dempsey or Bryn Louvel. I’ve been assigned the Aimee Louvel case.”

  Well. Chief Harlan Michel hadn’t wasted any time. Whatever mess had been made fifteen years ago, Michel didn’t want to be tainted with it. Cole gave Bryn a thumbs-up as he sat down in the chair opposite her desk. “It’s the officer assigned to the case,” he told her, cupping his palm over the phone. “This is Cole Dempsey,” he told the detective.

  Bryn waited, eyes awake now.

  “I’d like to set up a time I can meet with you and Miss Louvel tomorrow,” Wardell said. “I’d like to come to Bellefleur since the murder occurred there, see the scene for myself. What time would you be available?”

  Cole looked at Bryn. “Any time tomorrow would be fine.” Bryn nodded.

  Wardell suggested one o’clock. “I’d like to go ahead and get some information from you now,” he went on. “The chief passed the forensic document on to me that you left with him. And he also mentioned you had been interviewing some of the people here in town.”

  Cole gave him a rundown of the information he’d given the chief.

  “I’ve got a few hours before I go off duty tonight,” the detective told him when he finished. “I’m going to do my best to find out if Tommy Navin is still in Azalea Bend. I’ll see you at one tomorr
ow.”

  The detective gave Cole his cell number then hung up. Bryn watched Cole with anxious eyes.

  He reached across for her hand. It felt small and cold in his. “We’re not in this alone anymore, Bryn.”

  They fixed dinner together. It was eerily domestic. Bryn would never have thought to imagine Cole working in a kitchen, but he seemed at ease as he whipped together a simple sauce for the fresh shrimp Bryn had picked up over the weekend. She peeled the shrimp while he seemed to enjoy himself digging through her herbs and spices, selecting the ingredients to season the dish. She finally contented herself sitting back and watching, enjoying the lean-shouldered look of him in his dark T-shirt and snug jeans. She could look at him forever, and that was scary.

  She liked him in her kitchen far too much.

  “I didn’t know you cooked,” she said after they sat down to the meal.

  “I have a lot of talents you don’t know about,” Cole said.

  He gave her a hot look across the table that sent remembered sweetness curling low inside her. She wanted to tell him that she wished she knew more about those talents. She wished they were having a normal relationship that wasn’t strung tight by murder and grief and regret.

  “Is it all right for you to be gone all this time?” She wondered how long it would be before he had to leave Azalea Bend. And her.

  He nodded. “I took a leave from the firm. They understood what I had to do, and why. They know about my father.”

  “That’s why you became a lawyer, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “Your father. Or did you always want to be a lawyer?” She didn’t remember him ever mentioning an ambition to go to law school, but then she hadn’t known he’d lived off the swamps either. She hadn’t really known him fifteen years ago. And she wasn’t completely sure she knew him now.

  “I don’t think the idea crystallized in my mind until several years later,” he said. “But yes, it was because of my father. Even if he’d lived, he might not have had a chance in Azalea Bend. Too often, defendants like my father—who can’t afford to pay for representation—are left to the mercy of attorneys who don’t believe in them and don’t much care.”

  “You care,” she said softly, watching him, a sense of pride creeping into her heart.

  He rested his fork on the side of his plate, then pushed it back. “I give a lot of money and time to a free legal aid clinic in the city. The money I make from Granville, Piers and Rousseau makes that possible. That Cobra wasn’t even bought by me,” he told her. “The firm gives them to all the attorneys when they make partner.”

  He was so much more than she’d realized—fifteen years ago and now. And he’d managed to turn his grief into something positive.

  “I’m impressed,” she said.

  “Don’t be.” Cole’s gaze turned grim. “What I do is for myself as much as anyone else. I swore the day I left Azalea Bend that I would never feel that way again. Hopeless. Defeated. Powerless. My father was a nothing and a nobody to the police and the prosecution in St. Salome Parish. But to me and my mother, he was our whole life. And they just threw him away.”

  Her family had held all the power back then. Her family had made him feel powerless. And her family still held power in this town. It was her family name they’d used to get the chief’s attention.

  Even now, all of Cole’s money wasn’t as powerful as the Louvel name.

  Drake’s words whispered in her mind. He’s playing you, Bryn.

  His lean-shouldered, tall frame wasn’t that of the boy who’d made that painful vow to himself, but the hurt and hunger in his eyes was the haunting remnant. Now, more than ever, she understood that everything in his life was driven by what had happened fifteen years ago.

  And fiercely, she knew she wanted more from him, from this relationship. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself believe Drake was right, that Cole was playing her, but when it came down to it, was Aimee’s murder the only thing between them?

  The thought of it broke her heart.

  Something loud hit the front of the house.

  It took a confused second for Bryn to realize it was the front door. Someone was pounding on the front door.

  Cole was ahead of her, already out of the kitchen.

  He flipped on the chandelier in the front hall.

  The thunderous blows on the door hadn’t stopped. Cole jerked it wide. Bryn stood in the opening from the hallway to the kitchen.

  Edward Navin’s bloodshot eyes fired at them from the shadows of the portico.

  Chapter 16

  Cole barely registered his intention before Edward Navin struck out. He rocked sideways, lessening the impact, but the blow still connected. Instant pain roared, but instinct and adrenaline took over. The strong odor of alcohol wafted around him as something shattered against the hall floor.

  Cole followed with a jab that sent the older man stumbling backward. Navin hit the doorjamb, blood spurting from his mouth and nose.

  “Call the police, Bryn,” Cole hissed. Dammit, he’d opened the door on this drunk and Bryn had nearly paid for it. “Get out of here,” he ordered Navin, but Navin wasn’t finished and he was blocking the door.

  Navin straightened, reeling slightly. “Stop asking questions about Tommy,” he slurred. “Tommy didn’t kill Aimee Louvel.”

  “The police are on their way.” Bryn appeared in the doorway of the office. She looked pale, shivery. Glass and liquid shimmered over the entry floor. The smell of whiskey hit him again. That’s what Navin had struck him with—the bottle of whiskey.

  “Bitch! Leave Tommy alone! Both of you!” Blood spat from Navin’s mouth. He took a threatening step and Cole stepped in front of him.

  “What don’t you want the police to find out about Tommy?” Cole demanded, blocking his path to Bryn. “Did Tommy have sex with Aimee Louvel? Did he get Aimee pregnant? Where was Tommy the night Aimee Louvel died?”

  “He was at home!” Navin hissed drunkenly. “He didn’t have anything to do with it! And if you don’t stop asking questions about him, I’ll kill you myself. You and that stupid Louvel bitch. Just shut up about my son. He’s none of your goddamn business.” He coughed and spat out something sharp and white. “You broke my tooth, you bastard,” he mumbled crazily.

  “You came here looking for trouble and you got it,” Cole grated harshly. Adrenaline was wearing off and his head throbbed like hell. “Where is Tommy? Is he in Azalea Bend?”

  But Navin was done talking. He took a stumbling lunge forward, fist flying. Cole blocked him with his arm, but the damn drunk wouldn’t stop coming. He threw a punch that connected with Navin’s jaw and the man reeled backward again, this time onto the portico. He hit the portico floor with a thud, his head lolling back. Blood and spittle oozed from his mouth. He didn’t move.

  Cole looked at Bryn. She stared back, her eyes huge and anguished.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “I’m fine,” he told her. She wasn’t hurt, that was all that counted. “I think he’s out.” He looked back at Navin, needing to be sure. He didn’t take his eyes off the man.

  They waited in the damp heat of the threatening night. Lights rayed through the oaks, and a police cruiser came to a stop beside Edward Navin’s beat-up Ford.

  Officer Martin Bouvier strode up the steps.

  “He came here making threats,” Cole told him. “He was drunk, angry about the questions we were asking about Tommy.”

  “I heard the chief reopened the investigation into your sister’s death.” Martin looked at Bryn. “You think Tommy had something to do with it?”

  “Maybe,” Bryn said quietly. “We don’t even know if Tommy’s still in Azalea Bend.”

  “I couldn’t get anything out of him,” Cole said.

  “He’s a drunk. I’ve picked him up more times than I can count. He’s a mean drunk, too. You got off easy.” He finished taking their statement, poked his notebook back in his pocket. “I could use some help getting him to the car.”
<
br />   Cole helped Bouvier muscle Edward Navin’s heavy, limp body into the back of the cruiser.

  “We’ll get his car out of here in the morning,” the officer said. “Lock up.”

  Cole turned back to Bryn in the empty silence after the cruiser disappeared through the black shadows of the oaks.

  “You’re not okay,” she said softly.

  “Trust me, I’m okay.” Cole went to her and did what he’d wanted to do for the last half hour. He enfolded her cold, soft body in his arms, inhaled her fresh, sweet jessamine scent. She was trembling, and he realized with a shock that he was, too.

  He would have fought to the death for her. But all he could do was hold her, tightly, and the fierceness of her embrace in return left his heart in aching pain.

  She drew in a shaky breath finally and pulled back. She looked around the glass-strewn hall. “I’m tired of cleaning up floors,” she said.

  “I hope this will be over soon,” Cole said, though he had no way of promising her that. “They’ll question Navin in the morning. They’ll find out where Tommy is.”

  “I can’t believe he killed Aimee.” Her eyes glistened damply. “I can’t believe she was pregnant. I can’t believe she was having an affair with Tommy Navin and never told me.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” Cole told her gently. “But we’re going to find out. Whatever happened, we’re going to find out. And we’ll deal with it together.”

  Bryn’s eyes were still brimming with tears, but she valiantly blinked them back, refused to allow them to escape.

  She touched his face. “You’re hurt. Let me do something. Get a cold towel, some ice.”

  He didn’t think that would help, but he could see she needed to do something. He locked up the house, went around to every door and window while she got an ice pack from the kitchen. They cleaned up the foyer floor together. Upstairs, she laid the cold pack on his jaw and curled up beside him. He touched her hair, her back, the silky curve of her shoulder, reassuring himself that she was fine, that she was safe.