Rémi jerked awake and blinked his eyes into focus. Softness cushioned his cheek and warm arms held him tight. Smiling, he nuzzled Alyssa’s naked breast, his tongue darting out to lick the rosy tip. Would she be up for another round?
But as the nightmare returned to him, his smile faded. He touched his cheeks. Still dry. He hadn’t cried over his mother since she’d celebrated his first day of school by falling off the wagon. The old bitterness welled up in his throat, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
He grimaced. Alyssa and those memories did not belong in the same bed.
Careful not to disturb her, he slid out from between the sheets and, after one backward glance, left the room. Passing through the kitchen, he retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and headed out to the porch. Like the night before, he settled into the old rocking chair.
He’d dreamed of his mother again. Twice in as many days. Why now, when the nightmares had stopped years ago? The answer eluded him. Fuck. He was a counselor, and he’d been good at investigations when he’d been with the Montréal police. Surely, he could figure this out.
What was the same about both nights? Twisting the cap off the bottle of water, he took a long sip to soothe his dry throat. In the days preceding both nightmares, he’d revealed his mother’s drug addiction to both Corey and Alyssa. That had to be the common thread. So that was it, then. No more talking about his mother, no more nightmares.
Leaning his head against the worn wood of the chair, he breathed in and out, letting the tension flow from his body. But something niggled at his mind. He was missing something: another common thread. There’d been pig blood all over Alyssa’s motel room, then today, there’d been blood from her head wound all over her. He shuddered. That was a sight he never wanted to see again.
So, there were two possibilities: the revelations or the blood. To be safe, he’d stay away from both. Now the shack, that was another matter. He planned to see it up-close and personal. Something in there was so important the owner had tried to shoot him and Alyssa to keep it secret. And he was going to find out exactly what that something was.
The moon was full and still high. He had light and he had time.
His decision made, he reentered the house and tossed his empty bottle in the recycling bin, then tiptoed into the bedroom to retrieve his clothes. Alyssa made a soft snoring sound before rolling onto her side, a smile on her lips. A warm, happy feeling filled his chest, and he almost slipped back between the sheets to join her.
Shaking his head, he left the house and headed for the stable. The clearing where they’d seen the shack was accessible off the eastern border of his property. The easiest, quietest way to cover the three or four kilometers was on horseback.
Recognizing Rémi’s scent as soon as he pushed open the door, his stallion Whisper whinnied. Not to be outdone, the two mares, a chestnut and a gray, joined in. Rémi laughed and picked up a few apples from the basket of treats he kept for the animals. After giving one to each mare, he opened the gate to Whisper’s stall.
“Hey, boy. You up for a ride?” He scratched the black Arabian’s forehead and offered up an apple. Whisper’s big lips tickled his palm. Quickly, Rémi tacked up the horse and, after grabbing a flashlight and his binoculars from pegs above the workbench, led him out of the barn. He hopped into the saddle and squeezed his heels against Whisper’s sides, sending the stallion cantering eastward onto the reserve.
Darkness still shrouded the woods. When he was as close to the shack as he could safely get on horseback, he dismounted and gave Whisper another apple, instructing him to stay. He’d trained the horse himself. Whisper wouldn’t move until either he returned or called him.
With the flashlight lit and angled low, he picked his way through the trees. An owl hooted a few meters away. He froze, listening, until he was confident it had been a natural sound and not a warning. Alert, eyes sweeping the woods around him, he wound his way through the dense underbrush toward the shack. With each step, he took care to minimize the crunch of leaves and the cracking of twigs. Raksótha had taught him to be as silent as a big cat on the prowl.
A scent tickled his nose—burning wood. Was someone actually living in the cabin? Or maybe using it for camping? He switched off the flashlight, but kept it in his hand. A weapon.
Nearer to the edge of the clearing, the gentle breeze carried the sound of voices and laughter. Deep, male. More than one.
Slowing his pace, he crept closer until he had an unobstructed view of the shack through the binoculars. Two men sat in cheap folding lawn chairs upwind of a small campfire. From this angle, their faces were obscured by smoke. Were they teenagers who’d found a place to get drunk? Or something more sinister? Either way, he had to be sure. He had to see their faces.
He tucked the binoculars into the neck of his shirt and scanned the area for a better spot. Shit. In all the locations offering decent cover, the smoke would be in his way, or the men would have their backs to him. One thing was certain—he wasn’t waiting here all night for one of them to move. Alyssa was still sleeping in his bed, but she’d be getting up early to go to work. And he didn’t want her waking up alone.
He loosened his fingers from where they’d clamped around the flashlight’s grip. The answers were so close. So close, yet so far. Unless… he looked across the clearing. Unless he belly crawled ten feet out in the open and hid behind the big rock, giving him a prime viewing seat.
Should he risk it? His gaze swung to the men. One cracked open a can. Probably beer. He smiled and slid to his stomach. Using his hands and elbows to pull and his feet and knees to push, he inched his way out from under the safety of the trees. The wild grass grew tall enough to shield his head and shoulders if he stayed low. Five feet into his journey, his knee landed on a stick. In the quiet night, the sound exploded like a firecracker. He sank to the ground and stilled, eyes trained on the men.
One jumped to his feet and grabbed a long gun that had been hidden in the weeds. “Shit. What’s that?”
Fuck. His lungs seized as he recognized the ugly rasp of Pete’s voice.
“Probably just a raccoon.” Double fuck. What was Corey doing with Pete all the way out here? Was this some sort of Guardian initiation?
Pete dropped the gun to the ground and sat in the chair again. “Gimme another one, eh?” he asked, holding out his hand. Figuring they’d forgotten about the raccoon, Rémi started crawling forward again.
Corey reached into a small cooler and tossed Pete a can, keeping one for himself. “What’s got you so spooked anyways?”
“That SQ bitch came snooping around today.”
For a brief moment, Rémi dropped his head as guilt swamped him. Alyssa had nothing to do with any of this.
“She’s lucky you didn’t shoot her head off,” Corey said with a chuckle that made Rémi want punch him. There was nothing funny about Alyssa getting killed.
Pete snorted. “I tried, but that blonde-pussy-loving apple we all know and hate kept getting in the way.”
“I’m surprised you let that stop you.”
“It wouldn’t have except….” Pete tapped his bottle on the chair’s plastic armrest.
“Except what, man? I know you’ve got a major hard-on for her.”
“The buyer was here and things got weird. The boss started talking about the army coming down on us if we killed the bitch. What does he think this is? The fucking Oka Crisis? It’s not 1990 and the army’s too busy screwing around in Afghanistan to mess with us.”
“Think he’s gone soft?” Corey asked.
“Nah. Man’s so hard, he shits nails.”
Corey laughed then took another sip from his can. “Ellie told me about the task force. The SQ wants this native squad real bad. What I don’t understand is why.”
Rémi paused. The kid asked a good question. Why was the SQ so determined to have their own squad, native or not, policing Blackriver? It certainly wasn’t their usual practice. In fact, he’d never heard of them doing tha
t. Even in Kanesatake, the SQ only entered the reserve when it was requested to do so by the band council.
Pete bent forward and reached for his assault rifle, an AK-47 by the looks of it. “Those motherfucking government lovers on the council are gonna cause a red-on-red war if they accept that.”
In the heat of their discussion, the men’s eyes were on each other instead of scanning the clearing and the edge of the woods. Two feet remained between him and the relative safety of the boulder. Should he chance it? The gun was in Pete’s hand. If Pete spotted him, he’d waste no time blowing Rémi’s head off.
Corey tossed his empty can into the fire. Wood popped and sparks shot up. Rémi stretched out and shimmied the remaining two feet. Protected from eyes and bullets, he rested his back against the rock and filled his lungs.
“The chiefs won’t let that happen. And neither will Chaz.”
Pete lay his weapon across his lap and pointed with his thumb to the shack behind them. “You’re right. He’s got too much riding on this to let one skinny white cunt take us down.”
Silence reigned as both men seemed lost in their own thoughts. Rémi peeked over to check out the shack. Were the Guardians stockpiling weapons in there? From the conversation, he couldn’t tell. Whatever they were hiding, the Guardians intended to defend it.
Pete reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A joint. “Feel like having some fun?”
Rémi bit back a groan. Party time. Fucking great.
“Is it any good?” Corey asked.
“Fucking fantastic.” Pete twirled the joint between his fingers.
The smoke cleared, and Rémi got an unobstructed view of the eager, almost desperate look on Corey’s face. An overwhelming feeling of failure engulfed him. Nothing he’d said had gotten through. The kid had no willpower whatsoever. Matches materialized in Corey’s hand and he leaned forward to light the joint. Pete took a drag, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he exhaled. He handed Corey the joint and watched the kid fill his lungs. A smile cracked Corey’s face as he blew out.
Pete reached for the joint. “What did I tell you? Top of the fucking line or what?”
“This is awesome stuff,” Corey said, staring up at the stars. “In a few weeks, when the deal goes through, the Guardians are gonna rule the rez.”
“Bring on the government lovers, bring on the SQ. Pretty soon, we’re going to be armed like a fucking Iroquois army. There’ll be no getting rid of us then.”
Despite the heat of the night, a shiver wormed up Rémi’s back. If the Guardians managed to find the funds to arm themselves, Blackriver was in for a major disaster. But what were the Guardians selling? And who was the buyer? If Rémi could figure it out, maybe he could head off the worst of it.
Pete pumped his fist in the air and shouted, “To the Guardians taking their rightful place in the community.”
Corey turned to him and smiled. “To the Guardians.”
The shiver turned into a shudder. He had to stop the Guardians. The question was how? Resting against the boulder, Rémi looked up at the lightening sky and listened to the wind. Raksótha had taught him that if you listened hard enough, the spirits would give you the answers you wanted. But the gentle breeze wasn’t saying much.
Rémi closed his eyes and prayed for a storm.
Alyssa stared in amazement at the plate Rémi set in front of her. Not her usual dry toast and coffee. “Steak and eggs. For breakfast?”
Cutting into his own meat, he grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “You need to keep your strength up.”
She laughed and sliced off a bite. The meat, a tender medium-rare, melted in her mouth. “You’re quite the cook, Mr. Whitedeer.” She was more the burn-water type.
He acknowledged the compliment with a smile and continued eating. She wanted to ask him where he’d gone after they’d had sex, why he’d left the house and hadn’t returned until after sunrise. But she had no right; she wasn’t his girlfriend.
Picking up his mug of coffee, he sat back. “I see question marks dancing in your eyes.”
Apparently, he thought she did have the right. Interesting. “Where’d you go last night?”
He blew on the hot liquid before taking a sip while studying her. Then he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Sometimes I have insomnia. Whisper and I went for a ride.”
Even though he’d offered some personal information, his expression struck her as closed, like he was hiding something about his ride. “Whisper?” she asked, determined to dig for more details.
“My stallion. Do you ride?”
“Not since I was twelve and spent a week at a riding camp.” She smiled at the memory. Although she hadn’t been very good, she’d loved spending time with the horses.
“Beside Whisper, I have a couple gentle mares. We could go riding some time.”
“I’d love that.” Maybe Rémi would be a better teacher than the instructors at the camp. “Do you have trails on your land or do you ride onto the reserve?”
He stared at her. “Blackriver has hundreds of kilometers of trails.”
“Is that where you went last night?” So much for subtlety.
His brow creased and he tossed his napkin on the table. “What are you getting at, Alyssa?”
Okay, now he was pissing her off. “You said we were partners. You said we shouldn’t keep things from each other. If you discovered something that impacts the task force, you need to tell me.”
He picked up his cup of coffee and swirled the dark liquid around. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Uh-huh. So why couldn’t he meet her eyes? Whatever. He’d tell her when he was ready. She certainly hadn’t been completely forthcoming with him either. Glancing at the time on the stove’s display, she jumped out of her chair. “Oh, Jeez. I have to go. I’m meeting MacLean in forty-five minutes.”
Rémi stood and collected their plates. “No problem. I’ll drive you back to the motel.”
Alyssa hesitated. If a patrol unit saw her getting out of Rémi’s car so early in the morning, Gauthier would find out who she’d spent the night with. “Uh… maybe you could drop me off at the pharmacy. I need to pick up a few things.”
“Sure, we can stop on our way.”
Why was he so nice? Crossing her arms, she turned her back to him. “You know, I don’t want to make you late. And the pharmacy’s only a block from the motel. I can walk.”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around. “You don’t want anyone to see us together.”
Dropping her gaze to his chest, she pressed her hands to his hard muscles. Why did life have to be so damn complicated? “It’s for the best. Besides, I’m pretty sure you don’t want Chaz or Tommy to know I spent the night here.”
“Fuck them,” he said, but he let his hands fall and stepped back.
She lifted her chin to glare at him. “You didn’t seem to mind keeping things quiet, yesterday. Or was that just lust talking?”
“You’re right. It’s better for both of us this way.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. “Ready to go?”
Closing the distance he’d opened up between them, she slipped her arms around his neck. “In a minute,” she murmured as she pulled herself up onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his. Last night, he’d cared for her, had been so gentle and generous. She wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn’t come. This was the best she could do.
Rémi gripped her waist and deepened the kiss. His hands travelled down her back to cup her bottom. With a jerk, he pulled her tight against his hard, hot erection.
A low moan escaped her throat as his tongue pushed between her lips. Oh God. They’d gone from zero to sixty in less than fifteen seconds. That had to be some kind of record. At least it was for her. Mindful of the cut on her forehead, she pressed her cheek against his, panting for air. He chuckled and ran his long fingers through her hair. His lips touched hers in a soft chaste kiss. “Let’s continue this tonight.”
“Sounds like a p
lan.”
Thirty minutes later, she walked into MacLean’s office at the SQ station. After a few minutes of social niceties, they got down to discussing her case. He pulled out his notepad. “We followed up on your lead regarding the skatepark in town. So far, that’s a dead end.”
No surprise. She could hardly contain her enthusiasm. “Great.”
“Labs came back. You were right about the print. Vans skateshoe, men’s size ten.”
“Any fingerprints, hair?”
“None. He must have been wearing gloves.”
“And the human blood?”
“We ran it through the database, no match.” Maclean continued. “I also interviewed the staff at the motel. Clerk says he saw someone, a man, running through the parking lot around two in the afternoon. He didn’t get a look at the guy’s face. Based on your account, that’s about when we think the pig was killed.”
“Teenager or adult?”
He glanced down at his pad. “Undetermined.”
“Length of hair? Color?”
“Undetermined. Guy was wearing a hoodie.”
She huffed out a breath. “No disrespect, MacLean, but we haven’t got dick.”
“Any word from your informants?”
The girls she’d met in front of the dépanneur hadn’t called. “Nothing yet. I’m meeting with the task force later today, but I can do a little digging around before then.” First on her list was tracking Corey down. He’d lied to Rémi for a reason, and she was going to find out why.
“Patrols around the motel haven’t reported any loiterers. Have you received any other threats?”
Thank God her hair covered the cut on her forehead. She wasn’t going to tell MacLean or Gauthier about getting shot at or about the little shack in the woods, at least not yet. Anything the SQ did would either piss off the community or make her look like a victim. Neither would help her establish an SQ native squad. For now, she’d keep it to herself and investigate on her own. She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze dead on. “Nope, nothing out of the ordinary.”
Sugar and Sin Bundle Page 36