Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  “I’m not willing to accept anything as coincidence at this point. We have to check it out,” Brett said. “And we will.”

  “Should we worry about Sonia, then? Suggest she see a different doctor?” Meg asked.

  “Let’s not jump the gun,” Matt answered. “We’re pretty sure that puffer fish poison is being used, and chances are someone with medical knowledge is involved, but we don’t have any evidence that it’s Treme.” He looked thoughtful. “It’s almost unbelievable just how completely the poison mimics death.”

  “I tend to think Randy Nicholson was dying anyway, and someone simply took advantage of that fact,” Brett said. “Treme may be guilty of nothing more than too easily accepting that a patient’s known condition was what killed him.”

  * * *

  Diego made a vague excuse and left right after dinner. He hadn’t said anything, but Brett had a feeling his partner had met someone.

  After a while Brett began to feel he had worn out his own welcome. They’d hashed and rehashed the case, but without more evidence, there was nothing left to say.

  They’d also talked about other things. Matt was intrigued by the Everglades, and since he knew the area well, Brett had filled him in on all there was to do in the area: air-boating, visiting the Seminole and Miccosukee reservations, and checking out the museums at the Seminole Hard Rock in Hollywood, Florida, and in Big Cypress.

  He’d realized then that he’d been talking purely to fill time, and that it was after 1:00 a.m. and he needed to go. He rose, but once again Meg spoke up. “Unless you can’t sleep without your own pillow, it’s crazy for you to leave. We’ll only be heading out again in a few hours.”

  He thought about the emptiness of his place, something he hadn’t really even noticed until these past few days—with Lara. His life certainly wasn’t bad. He liked the people he worked with, and they all enjoyed a lot of the same things. Watching the local teams—the Heat, the Dolphins and the Marlins—play. Fishing. Boating. Diving. Camping in the Keys, the occasional weekend in the Bahamas.

  But there was really nothing for him at home. Ichabod probably only came over to give him a mercy meow or two.

  Lara was looking at him with those eyes that seemed both as blue as the sky and as green as the sea. “I wish you would stay. I should say the more the merrier, but frankly, the more agents running around with guns, the safer I feel,” she said.

  She was trying to sound flip. Maybe she saw his hesitation.

  “I’ll get pillows and pull out the sofa,” she told him, taking the decision into her own hands.

  “No need. I’m fine with it the way it is,” he said.

  “Don’t argue with me,” she said with a smile. “It’s no trouble, and I want you to be comfortable.”

  “And honestly, I can be comfortable sitting in a chair,” he said.

  “Great, the kids are all in for the night. I’m going to bed,” Meg said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Matt said. “I’ll go make sure the gate’s locked, then I’m heading to bed, too. Good night, all.”

  Alone with Lara, Brett felt suddenly awkward. For several long, awkward moments they both sat without speaking.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Lara finally asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I guess we should get some sleep,” she said.

  “Yes, I guess we should.”

  But neither of them moved.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” Lara murmured.

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “I really didn’t want you to go,” she said. “But I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Scare me?”

  She was wearing a light summer dress; her legs were bare and tucked beneath her, looking longer and sleeker than they had any right to be. Her hair played around her shoulders like spun gold in the lamplight.

  She smiled. “I kind of came on to you last night.”

  “Did you?” he asked. “I was taught never to assume.”

  “And what were you trying not to assume?”

  “What were you asking?”

  She flushed and looked away, picking up her glass, which held an inch of soda and some ice chips. He’d never seen anyone swirl a glass with more sensuality before.

  “Well, Agent Cody, call me crazy. I guess I’m the one making assumptions now, but I was thinking of sex.”

  “With me?”

  “Okay, now you’re being ridiculous. Yes. With you.”

  “You and me?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think that identifies the situation exactly.”

  He stood, walked over to her and took the glass from her hand. “I thought you’d never ask. It would be my most absolute and total pleasure.”

  He set the glass down and took her hands, then pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

  “Oh, Agent Cody, now you are assuming,” she said with a smile.

  “No, I’m quite positive I’ve got it right,” he assured her.

  He tightened his arms around her and brought his mouth down on hers. She seemed to melt into him, her body molding perfectly to his, sending a searing longing ripping through him. Their first kiss was hard, desperate, all liquid heat and dueling tongues. When they finally pulled apart he started to sweep her up in his arms, ready to carry her upstairs, knocking over everything in their path, completely forgetting for the moment that there were other people in the house.

  She remembered, though, and stepped back. “I’ll walk up the stairs under my own power—no, I’ll run!” And then she was gone.

  He was right on her heels.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lara’s mind was racing almost as quickly as her heart as she reached her room and waited for Brett to join her.

  She couldn’t help thinking about the possible repercussions of what she was doing. Apparently she’d spent too much time in politics, where life was all about creating positive consequences and avoiding negative repercussions. Which was this going to lead to? She told herself she was crazy. They were in the middle of trying to solve a terrifying mystery, and he was the agent in charge; anyone in the world would say that this was the wrong time to get involved with someone, and the wrong time to get sexually involved with anyone, especially him. And while her walls were concrete block and stucco, they weren’t alone in her house. She wouldn’t lie to Meg if she asked what was going on. For all she knew, Meg might already know how she felt.

  So what kind of spin should she put on this?

  Then Brett walked into the room behind her, and she suddenly realized that she didn’t have to analyze or explain herself. She wanted him, wanted this, wanted to be with him more than she had imagined ever wanting a man. She slipped into his arms again. They kissed, hot and delicious, as both of them struggled out of their clothes. Her dress was gone, along with her bra; his shirt followed and she felt her breasts press hard against the burning muscles of his chest. She ran her fingers over his shoulders and down his back. She felt the protrusion of the gun shoved into his waistband. He put his hand over hers, then removed the gun and stepped away to set it on the bedside table. He looked at her in the dim glow of the streetlights that filtered through her drapes. She ran to him and leaped into his arms, and they kissed again, wrapped around each other, half-naked. Finally they fell onto the bed, where she eased her fingers into his waistband, seeking the zipper of his jeans. He reached for it at the same time, and they struggled a little awkwardly, laughed and then he took off his jeans while she shimmied out of her panties. Finally they were together again.

  “My God,” he murmured, whispering against her ear, and he lowered himself over her, the whole of his body like a fire, a shimmering flame that danced across her sensitive skin. “I dreamed about you,” he whispered. “After diving…seeing you in a ba
thing suit.”

  “How very…male of you.”

  “Yes. And it wasn’t even that sexy a suit.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she said breathlessly.

  “Well, maybe it was on you.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she only smiled.

  “Admit it. You dreamed about me, too.”

  “What an ego you have!”

  “Admit it,” he repeated, his mouth moving over her flesh. “You dreamed about me, too.”

  “Not at first.” She trembled, then shuddered. His lips were moving lower on her body. A pit of something like lava seemed to boil inside her, ready to streak through her, awakening every nerve in her body. “Not really.”

  “Kind of? Almost?” The heat of his whisper tickled her ear.

  “I noticed you, I will say that.”

  “Only noticed?” His kiss landed on her throat. “You weren’t the least bit interested?” His next kiss landed on her midriff; his fingers teased her flesh.

  She laughed, despite the sensations sweeping through her, or maybe because of them.

  “Noticed—and not in the best light,” she teased.

  He dropped a kiss on her abdomen.

  “And there I was, dreaming away,” he whispered.

  She threaded her fingers through the thick darkness of his hair. “Liar,” she murmured. He looked down at her, and she touched his face and said, “But I think maybe, just maybe, there was always something there.”

  “Always,” he said. “We just had to pay attention.”

  She felt the pressure of his thighs between her knees, and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

  Then they looked at each other in simultaneous alarm.

  “I’m not on any birth control,” she murmured. A flush rose to her cheeks. “I haven’t…seen anyone in a long time, and…”

  He winced and rolled to her side. “I never intended to stay,” he said softly. “Much less for anything like this to happen.” He turned and caressed her cheek. “There are other things we can do.”

  “Wonderful things,” she agreed. “Though it will be almost like torture.”

  “Good torture,” he said, and smiled.

  She leaned over him and pressed her lips to his shoulder, then trailed them along his flesh until she felt the sharp contraction of the muscles in his belly. Then she moved lower, only to feel his grip tighten on her shoulders as he shifted her onto her back, his face above hers, a smile on his lips as he kissed her mouth, and then her throat and her breasts. He moved his liquid caress lower and lower until she was gasping and writhing and trying to escape his hold, but only so she could stroke and kiss him in return.

  And then, to her amazement, he leaped out of bed, and for a split second she wondered what in hell she had done.

  “My wallet!” he said.

  “I’m, uh, sure it’s still in your pants. Why?”

  “Sex education.”

  “What?”

  “Always be prepared. Stuck in the back, behind the credit cards.”

  She stared to laugh, and when he dug the condom out of his billfold, they were suddenly as giddy as children.

  “A treasure,” she said.

  “Better than gold.”

  “And diamonds.”

  “Way better than diamonds.”

  “Actually, I don’t even like diamonds. Better than…all the tea in China, all the fish in the sea, all—”

  “The dolphins in the world?” he asked.

  “Don’t push it,” she told him, and they fell together, kissing and laughing.

  And then the laughter was gone, and they made love in earnest.

  When they climaxed, Lara knew that the reason she hadn’t been interested in other men for a very long time was because she’d always wanted it to be like this. She’d wanted someone like Brett Cody.

  And when he touched her, everything in life seemed worth the wait, and even the struggle for truth seemed like an easier task.

  And when early morning came and they made love again, she prayed she’d been right and together they might actually solve this string of horrors. She was glad when he asked, “We’re not making any pretenses, right? I’d feel like an idiot trying to pretend I slept on the couch.”

  “No pretenses,” she told him. And she smiled suddenly. Little did the lovely Sonia Larson know that the little white lie she had told Grant Blackwood at the fund-raiser would turn out to be the truth.

  * * *

  Each of the long rows of bricks set flush in the ground had a number, as did each brick. This cemetery, unlike the one they had visited the day before, was in the middle of the city, down in Kendall, and situated between a fire station and a telecommunications company. There was no impression of grace, no flowing sense of peace here, no feeling of history; it was no Woodlawn or Bonaventure.

  Still, it wasn’t ugly; it was a park, of sorts. There were trees and trails—and the rows of bricks with their numbers.

  This was where the unclaimed, the forgotten, were taken. It was a potter’s field.

  They had decided it was time to use the city’s records to try to find Antoine’s final grave.

  Brett closed his eyes for a minute. The knowledge that so many people had died unknown, unremembered, was disheartening.

  If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was somewhere else. And, standing there, even in such a place, he almost smiled. Because last night had changed everything for him. Life could be hard and brutal, and he spent his days pursuing evil, so it had been incredibly good to have a night in which he’d felt as if he’d touched something that was exhilarating and purely good.

  And waking up to see her face…

  To touch her cheek, to see her eyes open and a smile curve her lips…

  Diego cleared his throat, and when Brett opened his eyes he saw his partner frowning at him as if he was afraid there was something wrong.

  “What?” Brett asked.

  “Your eyes were closed.”

  “The better not to see,” Brett said drily.

  It was bright and early, and there weren’t many people around, not that many people were likely to come here anyway, even though the highways were clogged with people heading to their jobs. This being Friday, most of them would be looking forward to the weekend.

  A man walked by with his dog, despite the no-dogs-allowed sign just outside the gate. But standing there, with Diego, Phil Kinny and the work crew, Brett thought that walking a dog in a cemetery seemed like the pettiest of crimes.

  “There was an autopsy, and I have the records,” Kinny said as the cranes worked to dig up the poor pine coffin holding the man who had been buried with a number rather than a name. “Cause of death was listed as a heart attack.” He hesitated. “There are a number of tests that weren’t done because, believe it or not, the morgue works on taxpayer money and there’s never enough of it. Certain tests for poisons and other factors aren’t done, not when cause of death appears to be obvious.” He turned to look at Brett. “I may learn something for you. Then again, I may learn that this man died of a heart attack while walking down the street.”

  “I know. But paranoia on the streets about zombies is growing. This is the information age. The public knows a lot more is out there than what we’ve shared with them. Thing is, what used to be word of mouth now becomes word of internet. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this, Phil, and as quickly as possible,” Brett said.

  “I’ll do my best,” the ME promised. “I’ll get right on this, and I’ll call you as soon as I know something, but I’ll be asking for a number of lab reports, and even if I put a rush on them, they’ll take time.”

  When the coffin was in the county hearse and headed for the morgue, Diego turned to Brett. “We going back out on
the bay now?”

  Brett nodded.

  “And the ghost hunters think we’ll find a body out there?”

  “Randy Nicholson is out there somewhere. Zombie, dead man…who knows? The bay is as good a place to look as any.”

  “I have no problem with spending the rest of the day diving,” Diego assured him. “The Bureau and county legal departments are still wrestling with Diaz-Douglas, but they tell me they’ll win in the end. It will just take time. I’m with you, certain those people sent an empty casket to the cemetery. They have to answer for it. But the paperwork is killing me. Don’t you wish we could go rogue sometimes? We could say screw the law and make the bad guys talk. Or not. I don’t really see me torturing old Mr. Douglas.”

  “No, but bureaucracy is a pain in the ass,” Brett agreed. “Still, if we find Antoine Deveau in this casket, that’s another step toward finding out what’s going on. I’m really hoping we can find at least part of Randy Nicholson in the bay somewhere, because that will give Kinny three bodies to work with. Matt is with Pierre Deveau now. We’re hoping he can identify ‘Boss Man’ from a sheaf of photos Bryant has been keeping on suspected members of the Barillo family. If he can, we can make an arrest and just maybe get him to talk.”

  “Yeah—if torture was legal. No one in that family talks.”

  Brett shrugged. “They may not talk, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be tripped up. And we have to solve this one.”

  The good thing was that no one intended to let up. Even without the paranoid populace, they had the full support of the powers that be.

  Murderous zombies were not good for tourism.

  They reached Sea Life ahead of their ten o’clock appointment to meet the Coast Guard and headed up to the offices, where Rick, Lara and Meg were waiting. So were their wetsuits, and the two men changed quickly; the rest of their gear would be supplied onboard.

  “How’s Cocoa doing?” Brett asked, trying not to look at Lara, because it was impossible to look at her and not smile like an idiot.

  “She’s swimming around and around. It’s as if she knows. As if she’s waiting for us to get the show on the road,” Rick said.