by Nina Bruhns
"Because I might end up in bed with you again, and that would be a really bad idea."
His attention whipped back to the conversation. "Doesn't sound so bad to me." He moved in, pressing his body gently into hers. When she didn't protest he put his arms around her. "I missed you. I couldn't sleep."
A sigh shuddered through her. "I missed you, too."
"Then—"
She stepped away from him and despite the warmth of the morning a chill went down his suddenly empty arms.
"We've both agreed nothing can come of us. And even if it could, we're too different to make it work."
"This is about Grace, isn't it." It wasn't really a question; he knew it was. Muse was punishing him for doing his job.
"No. Yes. Partly. The point is, I won't start something I already know will end badly for me."
"Too late for that, chère. We started a long time ago, the first minute we saw each other."
She looked down at the floor, toed the rag rug with her sandal.
"And what about me?" he asked. "Won't it end badly for me, too?"
"I doubt I'm the first woman you've slept with on a case."
He wanted to deny it. Hotly. But he couldn't. Sex was sometimes an inescapable part of undercover work. But it had never been like this. Never been a woman he'd had more than a fleeting fancy for. A woman he really cared about. Deeply.
He reached out, grasped her chin and lifted her face so she was forced to look at him.
"Muse, I…" Suddenly it scared the hell out of him what might come out of his mouth. Should he tell her how he really felt? Or should he let it go, admit she was right and let her go? The moment stretched, along with the silence, her eyes warily watching him. His heart beat a loud tattoo, drowning out the steady beeps of the security monitors.
And suddenly he realized, there really weren't any beeps. In less than a second he'd drawn his weapon, grabbed Muse and lunged for the closest solid wall.
"Get down!" he shouted over her surprised yelp, pushing her to her knees.
"What's going—"
"Somebody's breached the security system," he whispered, doing a careful visual of the kitchen, windows and doors. Clear. He pulled his extra weapon from his waistband and put it into her hands. "Stay down. Shoot anything that moves. I'm checking the monitors."
He sprinted low for the bedroom, scanned the split screens and saw what he was looking for. A man crouched just inside the back perimeter. He must have somehow disabled the system. Which meant a pro.
Remi grabbed his duffel bag, which he always kept packed, rejected the idea of fetching Muse's things which he was pretty sure were spread out all over her room, and dashed back to the kitchen.
"Let's go."
Easing open the door leading to the garage, he did a quick check then hustled her into the Porsche parked inside.
"Down on the floor and stay there."
She hadn't uttered a word since that yelp, but he'd seen the look in her eyes when she'd realized what was going on. He never wanted to see that look again as long as he lived.
He started the car and hit the garage-door opener at the same time, thanking God he'd chosen the Porsche and not a tall SUV. As soon as he thought the roof would clear he gunned it, careening out the driveway like a bat out of hell.
Shots popped after them, and he heard the rip of canvas, the thud of metal being pierced, and the zing of bullets ricocheting off something solid.
For a horrifying second he thought Muse would jump up to return fire, but he sent her a warning glare and she stayed put.
It wasn't until they'd made it past the village and lost themselves in a maze of local country roads that Muse looked up and gasped, "You're bleeding!" and he realized he'd been hit.
* * *
"Pull over this instant!" Muse ordered as she vaulted up off the floor and leaned over the gearshift to check Remi's chest wound.
He batted her hands away. "I can't. We have to get away from here."
"You'll do as I say," she said steadily enough, but her heart was beating out of control. "I don't want you fainting on me from loss of blood."
He muttered something in French and pulled the car onto a dirt road and stopped behind a hedge.
She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, finding it impossible to make her fingers work. Why couldn't the man wear T-shirts like everyone else on the planet?
"Let me," he said, taking over. The crisp white cloth had a huge pool of crimson around a long, ugly tear a few inches below his heart.
When he'd undone the last button, she anxiously yanked the shirt aside. She heard a sob and suddenly everything went blurry.
"I'm fine, Muse. Just a flesh wound," he said with a calm she couldn't understand, considering the amount of blood pumping out of his chest. "Get a clean shirt from my bag. There should be a first-aid kit in the glove compartment."
She heard the words but couldn't move. He reached past her and popped the latch, pulling out a white plastic box. "A shirt, Muse. The back seat. Sometime today."
Forcing herself to snap out of it, she floundered with his bag until she managed to unzip it far enough to drag something light tan from its depths. "This okay?"
"Perfect. Darlin', I appreciate you worryin', but remember we've got bad guys after us. Let's try to hurry, okay?"
She blinked twice and her vision cleared a little. "Okay."
She wasn't sure what he did, but within seconds it seemed, his chest was bound up in tan cloth and white gauze—apparently with her help because he kissed her and said, "Thank you," before he fired up the car again and bumped back onto the road.
She had to get hold of herself. Mental paralysis would not make matters any better.
"Where are we going?" she asked, proud of how her voice hardly shook at all.
"Home," he said, shocking her out of her daze.
"My apartment?" she asked in confusion. "Or Beau Saint-Coeur?"
"Beau sans coeur will never be my home," he said evenly. "We're going to Terrebeau."
"Your cousin's place? Aren't you afraid of involving them?"
"Yeah. But Beau's the only person left I can trust. Besides, I feel sorry for anyone who tries to mess with him or his people. Did I mention he's chief of police up there?"
She glanced over at the smile in his voice and felt a shade less afraid. Leaning her head back on the seat she closed her eyes. "So," she said softly, "I guess I get to meet your family."
Now that was a scary thought.
What would they be like? Would she like them? Would they like her?
And why did it matter so much?
At least thinking about meeting his favorite cousin might help distract her from worrying about Remi passing out from his wound, or about Davies's man catching up to them and then being shot down like in the last scene from that old Bonnie and Clyde movie. Neither of which she particularly wanted to dwell on.
"How far away is it?"
"Three hours normally," he answered. "But I think I'll take the scenic route."
* * *
It ended up taking more than five hours to make the drive to Verdigris, which was located a good bit up the Atchafalaya River, toward the middle of the state. They only stopped twice, which Muse insisted on to check his wound and change the bindings.
"Pretty country," she remarked as they drove down a narrow dirt road in between lush fields and groves of Spanish-moss-draped trees, with the occasional swamp thrown in just to remind you that you were in Louisiana.
"Yeah," Remi said noncommittally.
"Where are we?"
"Beau Saint-Coeur."
"Really?" she said, shocked. "But I thought—"
"I'm taking the back way into Terrebeau. You have to go over my father's land to get there."
He'd told her enough about his family situation that she wasn't quite sure what to say.
"Don' worry, I doubt we'll run into him. He's not one for working the fields. He leaves all that to Zeph."
"Your b
rother?"
"Half brother," he corrected, and the tone of his voice clearly said he didn't like claiming even that much.
Nonetheless she sensed he wanted to talk about it. "Who was Zeph's mother?" she asked.
After a short pause Remi said, "Sophia Lafayette. One of the housemaids."
"Ah."
"Daddy had a small house built for her on the other side of the property. She still lived there when I left."
"That must have been hard on your mother," she murmured.
He gave her an inscrutable look but didn't comment. Instead he pulled the Porsche off the road and parked on a patch of meadow overlooking the confluence of a good-size bayou and the big river.
"So Zeph works the land for your father?"
"Always did. I took off, and before that I was too busy makin' trouble. Not that he'd let me touch his beloved plantation even if I hadn't been." Remi glanced over, his expression wry. "Sorry. Didn' mean to have a pity party."
She gave him an understanding smile. "When was the last time you were here?"
"Few years back. I was involved in a case that brought me back to Verdigris." He grinned. "That's when Beau met Kit. She thought I was a jewel thief and tried to nab me. Caught the chief of police instead."
Muse laughed. "Your cousin Beau?"
"Get her to tell you the story. It's a doozy."
They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, looking out at the lovely scenery.
"Don't you miss them?" she asked, thinking of her own mother and sister, suddenly missing them with a pain that burned clear through her heart. "Wouldn't you like to live here, close to them?"
"That'll never happen," he said flatly. "Not as long as my daddy's still breathin'."
"And when he's gone? What about Beau Saint-Coeur? Surely as the oldest you'll inherit the plantation."
He shook his head with a humorless laugh. "Non, that I doubt. I was probably disinherited a long time ago. It'll all go to Zeph, I'm sure."
"How can you be so certain?"
"I better hope I am." He let out a long sigh. "If not I guess I'm stuck with it. This place has been in the family since long before the War Between the States. God knows every one of my ancestors would roll over in his grave if I sold it or gave it away."
Lord have mercy, that would be a difficult situation for anyone. At Dev's, she'd spoken disparagingly about his family ties. But seeing him now, here, she knew she had been dead wrong. It was obvious he took this responsibility of the land very seriously.
"You don't want it?"
He shook his head. "Too many bad memories." He unbuckled gingerly and got out of the car. "Don' think I have to worry, though. Daddy still doesn't believe I'm his."
She joined him, leaning against a nearby tree. "The man needs his eyes examined. Even I can see the family resemblance. Can't you prove it somehow?"
He glanced at her.
"You know, a DNA test or something. You could—"
"Already did that years ago. Decided not to tell him."
Her jaw dropped. "You had yourself tested?"
His shoulders lifted. "Against a sample from Grandmère. I'm his, all right."
"And you didn't tell him? Why not?"
"Too late. The damage had been done. I didn' care anymore." His eyes narrowed and he looked out at the bayou.
"Though I'll admit I've dreamed of mailing the report to the old bastard when he's on his deathbed. Just to send him to his grave feeling as guilty as possible."
"Remi! That's awful."
"Yeah. But you know what they say about revenge." His words were bitter, but she could tell from his face he didn't really mean it. At least, she didn't think he did.
Come to think of it, his expression was more than a little peculiar. She followed his gaze to where he was looking out at the water.
There was a man in a bateau putt-putting down the bayou. He spotted them and pulled the boat ashore.
"Do you know him?" she asked as the tall, sandy-haired man started walking slowly up the riverbank toward them.
"Oh, yeah." Remi said.
She turned to him, puzzled by the intensity in his voice. "Who is he?"
"That," he said, standing up straight and spreading his feet like a gunfighter, "is my half brother, Zeph."
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
This was just what Remi needed to round out a really perfect day. Not.
Well, at least Muse was speaking to him again. That was worth being shot for. He'd get through this, too.
Remi did his best to appear cool and professional as his brother approached, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the ripped, bloody shirt and bandaging around his chest.
"You run into your father?" were Zeph's first words. He looked like he might actually believe it, too.
Remi couldn't help smiling. Zeph always did have a dry sense of humor behind the serious facade. If the man weren't a stinking, usurping bastard, he might actually like the guy.
"Nah," he said, and glanced down at the blood covering his chest. "Just a little difference of opinion with some bad guys."
Zeph's brows flicked. "You should get some medical attention, Special Agent Beaulieux."
Remi crossed his arms over his chest, checking the grimace of pain the movement produced. "Suddenly worried about my health, Lafayette?"
Muse cut off any interesting reply his brother might have had by interjecting, "I've been telling him that for the past five hours," She stuck out her hand. "Hi, I'm Muse Summerville. I hear you're Remi's brother. Nice to meet you."
"Zephirain Lafayette," the other man murmured politely, shaking her hand. Zeph always was a bit shy with women. Probably something to do with being an illegitimate bastard.
"Half brother," Remi corrected. "Listen Zeph, we're going to be spending a few days at Beau's." He subtly adjusted his shoulder holster. "But I'd appreciate if you wouldn't mention to anyone you've seen us."
Zeph's eyes searched his. "All right."
"The bad guys were really shooting at me," Muse said into the awkward moment. "I don't relish the idea of them finding us. If you know what I mean."
"Yeah," Zeph said uncertainly, hesitated, then looked back at Remi and asked, "If I see any strangers nosing around town, you want me to phone Beau?"
Remi was momentarily taken aback, but managed to say, "That would be a big help," without sounding too astonished. Zeph was quiet and minded his own business, but he knew every living soul within a hundred miles of Beau Saint-Coeur, and therefore Terrebeau. His assistance as a lookout would be invaluable.
"Well, I'll be moving along. Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Zeph said and took his leave, striding back down the riverbank and pushing the bateau onto the bayou, headed for the big river.
Remi stared after him, not knowing what to think.
"He seemed nice."
Muse's observation brought him out of his bafflement.
"Yeah."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, really." Except that Zeph seemed to be attempting to bridge the gap in their lifelong animosity. Why would he do that?
"He was right about the medical attention, you know."
He gave her a smile. "It's just a scratch. Not worth sewing up."
"You must like having scars."
He fingered the one over his lip, which he'd gotten in a bar fight down in Oaxaca. "Adds character to a man."
She rolled her eyes. "What if it gets infected?"
"I'll take a careful shower when we get to Beau's." He ran a finger down her cheek. "You can join me, smear some ointment on it." He moved closer. "Or all over me, if you like."
She demurred when he reached for a kiss.
"Aw, come on, chère. Just one?"
She kept her face turned downward, but she didn't step back. "Remi, don't make this harder than it already is."
"Darlin', it couldn' get much harder than it already is." He felt the warmth of her breath on his throat as
she sighed. "You're impossible," she murmured.
"Non, I'm pretty damn easy," he replied, tipping her chin up with a finger. "I want you, Muse. Once is not enough for me. Not by far."
"Don't do this to me, sugarcane," she whispered. "Don't make me fall in love with you. I couldn't take it when you leave me."
It had surely been a day for shocks, but this one left him reeling.
He wanted to take her in his arms, tell her, "Who says I'll ever leave you?" and end the story on that note. A lingering kiss, fade to black with the words "The End" scrolling across the screen, and they'd live happily ever after.
But the real world wasn't like the movies. So he didn't snatch her back when she walked away from him toward the car.
"Let's go," she said without a backward glance, "and meet the rest of your family."
* * *
Terrebeau had changed.
Remi could see it in the manicured oak allée, in the well-tended gardens, in the splash of whitewash on all the fences, in the very air surrounding the old plantation house.
It was bright, cheerful and welcoming. What had always been a grand old dignified antebellum mansion was now a cozy home.
Kit had worked wonders.
"It's gorgeous," Muse breathed in awe as they parked in the circular drive in front of the columned entry.
Before they could open the doors, a small black-haired toddler burst onto the front verandah and yelled, "Who dere? Who dere?" then squealed, "Unca Remi! Unca Remi!"
The child plunged down the front steps like a Tasmanian devil and launched himself into Remi's arms with no regard to blood or bandages or gunshot wounds.
"T-Bone!"
Remi throttled the pain of being mauled by his three-year-old cousin-once-removed and lifted him into a big hug. He needed a hug bad, and this was just the guy to give him a real good one.
"Ça va, mon 'tit garçon? How's it goin'?"
"We va!" T-Bone wriggled in his arms and looked at Muse. "She you sis'er?" he asked loudly. "I'ma havea sis'er!"
"C'est vrai? That's great!"
"I'ma be da big sponsapildy." His eyes glowed with pride.