by Paige Tyler
Remy grabbed his iced tea and downed the entire glass in a few swallows. Then he sat there a while trying to get his heart rate back to normal when all it wanted to do was start racing all over again at the knowledge that Triana was The One for him.
He had a sudden urge to ask the waitress to bring in a couple of bottles of the strongest whiskey they had behind the bar, but decided against it. Not only would it look bad as hell to have a cop in a Dallas PD uniform sucking down booze with his lunch, but Max wouldn’t have let him do it anyway. The idiot would probably sit there cheerfully breaking his fingers for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’ve been in love before,” he finally said. “Her name was Jess, and she was my partner in the U.S. Marshals, back before I became a werewolf.”
Max was so stunned he stopped, the waffle fries he’d stolen from Remy’s plate halfway to his mouth. “No shit?”
“No shit,” Remy confirmed. “I was naive enough to believe having a relationship with my partner wouldn’t lead to trouble at some point. It was against the rules, but I was young, cocky, and thought I knew it all. I figured I could have everything I wanted without having to pay the price. It turned out I was wrong.”
“What happened?” Max asked.
“We went after some assholes who’d broken out of the federal prison in Leavenworth and ended up trying to take them down without backup. My relationship with Jess made me lose focus at the wrong time. It got her killed and turned me into a werewolf.”
On the other side of the table, Max stared at him. “That’s it? You were in love, she died, and now you aren’t interested in women anymore? Wait a minute. What am I saying? I’ve seen you go out with lots of women. Hell, I’ve never known you to not be with a woman.”
Remy shrugged. “That’s different. Sure, I like women—I’m an alpha frigging werewolf. It’s just that I have no interest in anything serious with any of them. I let them know I’m in it for the fun and I only go out with women looking for the same thing. I rarely see any woman more than three or four times, except a select few. But those are special cases because both parties involved know it’s just a sexual thing. We’re both comfortable with the fact that we’re using each other for sex.”
Max shook his head as he pilfered more fries from Remy. “Damn. I’m a guy and even I think that’s messed up. You’ve committed your life to a series of meaningless fucks because a woman you were serious about died in the line of duty? You can’t really believe that Jess’s death is on your hands. I don’t know the particulars, but she probably would have died even if you hadn’t been sleeping with her.”
“But I was sleeping with her, and she did die.” Remy held up his hands so Max could see his palms. “See that?”
“See what?”
“The blood.”
Max lifted a brow. “Dude, maybe we can set you up with that shrink who talked to Cooper a while ago. He might even be able to text you her number, so you can call her now.”
“I don’t need to talk to a shrink,” Remy ground out.
Max looked doubtful. “I think maybe you do, because there’s no blood on your hands—figurative or otherwise.”
Remy stared down at his hands. “That’s funny, because I see it all the time.” He pinned Max with a look. “Watch someone you love die in your arms when you could have done something to prevent it, then tell me there’s no blood on your hands.”
Max sighed. “Okay. You blame yourself for your partner’s death. I get that. I hate to tell you this, but none of that matters. Because whether you want it to happen or not, Triana is The One for you. You’re going to have to come up with a way to deal with that.”
Remy didn’t bother denying it this time, not even to himself. He shook his head in disgust at his own stupidity. The moment he’d seen Triana on the dance floor, he’d known there was something special there. He should have run the other fucking way then, but instead he’d convinced himself he could reach out and play with fire for a little while and not get burned by the werewolf legend that had bonded the other members of his pack with their soul mates.
He’d been wrong.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or throw up. Of all the guys in the Pack who’d been secretly looking forward to finding The One for them, it had happened to him, the one werewolf who’d been praying it wouldn’t.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
Max sat there silently, apparently waiting for Remy to wake up and realize there was nothing he could do about the situation and that he was simply going to have to accept it.
Panic punched him in the gut. After what he’d gone through with Jess, not to mention the aftermath, he promised himself he’d never get close to anyone else. The mere thought of going through the pain of seeing another woman he loved die in his arms was almost enough to bring another shift on.
“I’m not going to deal with it,” he told Max. “This is my fucking life and I’m not going to let some stupid legend decide how I live it. When I go back to Dallas, I’m going without Triana.”
Max regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then snorted. “That’s your big plan? You’re going to stand up to this magical force from the cosmos that has been making some of the strongest werewolves in the Pack jump through hoops and just tell it to fuck off?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Remy growled.
Max reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, yanking out enough twenties to cover both their meals. It was only right, since the waffle-fry-stealing punk had eaten most of the food anyway.
After tossing the money on the table, Max gave him a curious look. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you have a frigging screw loose, so I’ve stopped expecting anything you say to make sense, but let me ask you one thing. What the hell are you so worried about?”
Remy swallowed hard. “I’m worried that I’ll have to live every second of my life looking over my shoulder, worried a mistake I make is going to get Triana killed.”
Max shook his head. “Yup, you’re beyond mental. Damn, Remy. Triana isn’t Jess. She’s not a cop; she’s a scientist in a lab, complete with the funny white jacket and a magnifying glass. She’s not in any danger.”
Remy got up from the table and headed for the door, not even bothering to reply. Max wouldn’t get it. How could he explain his gut was screaming that if he gave in and let Triana into his life, she’d be the one that would pay for his decision?
Chapter 11
Triana sat at a table in the back of the club on Dauphine Street with Kim, both of them trying their best to ignore the skeevy way the guys at the bar were leering at them. It was still early in the afternoon, and probably two or three hours before the normal evening crowd started trickling into the underground speakeasy to drink their fancy cocktails and listen to the blues musicians strum their instruments in the joint’s almost cave-like ambience, but that hadn’t stopped the half-dozen professional drinkers at the bar from starting early—or taking a marked interest in them.
“This guy is showing, right?” Kim asked softly.
Triana glanced at her watch. The man she and Kim were waiting to meet was already ten minutes late. Ten minutes wasn’t that late in this part of town, where it could take that long just to find a parking space, but with the guys at the bar eyeing her and Kim like they were candy in a vending machine, it felt a lot longer.
“He’ll be here,” Triana said firmly.
She had to believe that, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d dragged Kim all the way down here with her in the first place.
“You sound pretty convinced considering you don’t even know the name of the guy we’re supposed to be meeting,” Kim muttered.
Triana couldn’t argue with that since it was true. But Bodine had promised the guy would be there, and she trusted Bodine. Mostly.
She was here for one simple reason
—she’d opened that sealed envelope of crime scene photos Bodine had given her. Everything had changed the moment she’d seen them. She knew she shouldn’t have looked, especially since Bodine had warned her against it, but she’d been digging through the rest of the files full of information on her father’s death early that morning and the plain brown envelope had been lying there, bugging her. So she’d opened it and pulled out the photos.
She knew it wasn’t as much the need to see if there was new evidence in there as it was the curiosity of not knowing. She hated not knowing stuff.
Part of her realized this sudden burst of curiosity probably had something to do with the fact that she didn’t know what was going on with Remy. Last night had been strange. She’d first picked up on the vibe at her mom’s place, during dessert. Remy had been looking at her, not with the interested, hungry expression she’d seen earlier, but almost with a distracted and distant one. She also noticed he hadn’t laughed too much the rest of the evening either.
It had only gotten worse when they’d gone back to his hotel room. Yes, they’d made love, and it had been beautiful and amazing. But afterward, Remy had been tense and hadn’t spoken more than a word or two as she’d fallen asleep on his chest. She was sure she’d done something wrong but had no idea what.
She couldn’t help feeling Remy was pulling away from her all of a sudden. That had confused the hell out of her and left her sitting in her room at her mother’s apartment trying to figure out what had changed. When she couldn’t figure that puzzle out, she’d decided to work on another one instead.
Unfortunately, once she’d spread the photos across the top of the small desk in her bedroom, she’d realized why Bodine hadn’t wanted her to see them. To say they were horrible was an understatement. She’d known her father had been shot multiple times, but she hadn’t been ready to see the amount of damage.
She worked in an ME’s office, so she’d seen horrible things before and had dealt with them. She told herself she’d be able to look at them in a detached manner, maybe see a clue the police and Bodine had missed. She could treat it like another case at work.
But this wasn’t another case. This was her father, and it was different.
Tears in her eyes, she’d shoved the photos back in the envelope, never wanting to think of her father that way again, but it was too late. What she’d seen couldn’t be unseen. She’d never forget what those men had done to her father.
She was glad her mother had been out shopping at the time because she’d cried for a long time after that. Later, the pain and tears had turned to anger, and she’d started seething. That was when she’d vowed she would catch the people who had murdered her father. Suddenly, she didn’t want them in prison any longer; she wanted them dead. It was a horrible thing to think, but it was there, and she couldn’t act like it wasn’t.
That was also about the time Bodine had called and told her he’d spent the night talking with a guy who’d heard someone bragging about killing a “mean old man in a jazz club and putting a bullet right in his head.” The man told Bodine it had been a while ago, but he still remembered the braggart clearly because the guy had been one big-ass dirtbag.
Bodine had a good description and was going to start nosing around for the guy. “A big blowhard like him shouldn’t be too difficult to find. If he’s bragged about it once right out in the open in a bar, there’s a good chance he’s done it other times.”
That had seemed like a reasonable plan, but with thoughts of her father’s violent murder still fresh in her mind, Triana said she wanted to meet the guy and talk to him personally. Bodine hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but she’d insisted, pointing out she was the one paying the bills.
Triana glanced at her watch again, then sighed.
“What’s going on with you and Zane?” she asked Kim, hoping to distract herself from thoughts of how crazy it had been to come to a place like this to talk to a man who obviously hung out in bars with murderers. Kim could probably use the distraction too.
Kim smiled. “Nothing much. We mostly hang out and talk. He’s easy to talk to, and I have to admit, I could listen to that sexy accent of his all day.”
Triana considered asking exactly what her friend meant by mostly but then reconsidered. It was obvious that Kim was more relaxed than she’d been since Shawn the Jerk had left her. If Zane was responsible for that, she was fine with it, regardless of what they did or didn’t do when they were together. Triana was just happy to see a smile on her friend’s face again.
“Zane’s figured out I’m not really in a relationship place right now, that I’m rebounding and just need a way to get my frustrations out,” Kim continued. “We make out a little, but nothing serious. I don’t think it would be fair to Zane. He’s too amazing to jerk around. Besides, I’m still in love with Shawn, even if he isn’t in the picture anymore.”
Triana tried to read between the lines of those last few sentences, still not sure if Kim and Zane were sleeping together, but something told her they weren’t.
“How about you and Remy?” Kim asked. “Did you take my advice and use this week as a chance to make up for all that time you wasted back in high school?”
Triana smiled.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kim said. “So, are you guys going to be doing the long-distance-relationship thing then?”
Triana’s smiled faded at that. Before last night, she would have said the two of them were definitely heading in that direction, but now, she didn’t think so. The ache in her chest hurt so much she could barely breathe. It was her own fault. She’d let things get a little out of control, started feeling things for Remy way too fast.
“What’s wrong?” Kim asked.
“Nothing.” Triana pasted on a fake smile. “We’ve had a lot of fun this week, but I don’t think there’s a future between Remy and me.”
Kim’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, movement near their table interrupted her. Triana lifted her head to see a skinny, gray-haired man standing there. The way he looked at her made her think he wasn’t all there, and Triana was doubly glad she’d asked Kim to come with here. Even though she had no idea what Kim would do to help in a scary situation involving this man.
“Are you Triana?” he asked in a rough voice.
Triana nodded, sure he must be the guy she was there to meet. He certainly fit the part of a man who spent a large part of his life in a bar. His voice had that distinctive throaty rasp she imagined came from a lifetime of living off booze and cigarettes.
“That’s me,” she said. “Are you the person Marcus Bodine told me about?”
The guy nodded but didn’t sit. Instead, he looked back and forth between her and Kim. “Marcus said you’d be here alone.”
There was no question in the statement, just a simple declaration of fact.
“I didn’t think it was a very good idea to come here alone, so I brought my friend,” she said.
The man regarded them for a moment, then nodded. “Probably smart. This joint can get a little rough when the alcohol starts pouring.” He glanced at the bar. “For some of these guys, it never stops.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m Dominic. Marcus told me about how you’re looking for the man who murdered your father. I told him everything I know about the guy I heard bragging about killing someone. It might have been your father or someone else, or maybe he just made it up. I know you probably want details, but I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”
Triana really didn’t know what kind of details she was looking for, but as a forensic analyst, she knew that sometimes the littlest clues made all the difference.
“Just tell me everything you remember from that night,” she said. “Sometimes, talking helps you remember stuff you thought you’d forgotten.”
Dominic didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “I was barhopping that Thursday night. I remem
ber because it was payday. It was also getting near closing time, around four o’clock in the morning maybe. Most of the tourist types were off the street.
“There were a bunch of rough guys at the bar in this one place. Can’t for the life of me remember which place it was, though.” He shook his head. “Anyway, these guys were telling stories to prove to each other they were a bunch of badasses. Most of the stories were lame, like punching some drunk guy who was already too tanked to see it coming.
“But then this big guy started telling this story about walking into an empty jazz club and killing an old man. A lot of people laughed at first, but they all stopped when the dickhead started adding details about how many times the old man was shot and where. It got really graphic, and by the time he was done, half the bar had emptied out. No one wanted to be anywhere near this guy. He smelled like ten kinds of crazy wrapped up in a bag of horse crap.”
Triana swallowed hard. “Tell me exactly what he said.”
Dominic hesitated but then did as she asked. By the time he was done, Triana was convinced the man had definitely been talking about her father. He even said the old man had growled. That was something her father did when he was mad.
“What did the man look like?” she asked Dominic. “Can you describe him?”
Dominic thought about it for a while. “Like I said, he was a big man. I mean, the guy had muscles on top of muscles. He had a tattoo on his arm too—a ship’s anchor, I think.”
Triana glanced at Kim, wondering if her friend was thinking the same thing she was, that maybe the guy had been a sailor or worked on a ship. New Orleans was a port city, so there were a lot of sailors. But how many would fit this guy’s description? He sounded like a man who’d stand out in a crowd.
“Have you ever seen him again?” Triana asked.
Dominic shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
Regardless of what he looked like, Bodine would still need a lot of luck to find him, Triana thought.