by Jenna Mills
Breathing hard, Val braced her hands against her knees, revealing a tear at the back of her tight dress. "Damn him."
The men had come this way, first Alec just seconds before Cain had reached him, then about ten seconds behind them, Gabe.
Now the alley stood dark and deserted, quiet save for a collection of newspapers and leaves twirling in a mini tornado.
Frustrated, Renee watched Val, resisting the urge to go to her friend and throw her arms around her. Despite the fact they'd once been close, she had to pretend to be nothing more than a polite stranger, ignoring the shopping escapades and lattes they'd once shared, the pedicures and the dreams. Back then they'd seen a different future than the one fate had delivered—a future of weddings and babies, play dates and joint family vacations.
"Try not to worry." The pain and fear in her friend's eyes made her wish she could promise her everything was going to be okay. "Cain can take care of himself."
Jerkily, Val pivoted toward her. "I've seen how the man takes care of things. That's what worries me."
Renee winced, the venom in Val's voice driving home the fact that while Renee's life had stood still, the lives of everyone she loved had moved on, and changed.
"Gabe's got a blind spot when it comes to his cousin," Val said, wrapping her arms around her middle. "Thinks he can do no wrong."
Renee stepped toward her. "And you disagree?"
Val shook her head. "I just don't know anymore." She looked up, her smile so brittle it could only come from a broken heart. "Have you ever felt like you're losing something precious, something that you love, but the tighter you hold on, the faster it slips away?"
The question pierced deeper than it should have. Renee looked at Val standing there in a torn dress and smeared makeup, and felt the ache weave around her heart, and tighten. "I have."
Val pushed back the hair that had fallen from her stylish twist. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. It's just…" She stared down the alley a long moment before turning back to Renee. "Look, I know who you are, why you're here. And from the way you were looking at Cain earlier, I can tell you think he's some sort of fallen hero."
She was going to have to be more careful. "He's a complicated man."
Val surprised her by laughing. "You don't know the half of it," she said. "Don't get me wrong. I don't think he's evil. But I don't think he's a saint, either. All I know is that whenever people get tangled in his life, bad things happen."
"Like Savannah…"
"And Gabe, and me," Val went on. "If it weren't for Cain and what happened with the Trahans, we'd be married by now. Gabe would never have…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."
The breeze kept blowing in from the river, bringing with it a damp chill and the muted sounds of traffic and music, the razor sharp edge of realization—and resolve.
More lives had been shattered on that warm night eighteen months before than Renee had ever let herself realize. With a little luck, the truth would heal them all.
"Take the alley!" Cain instructed doing a quick sweep of the deserted street. "I'll take the warehouse."
"Got it." Gabe caught the .22 Cain tossed to him. "Be careful."
The words burned, but Cain nodded and ran toward the condemned building. They were talking about Alec, damn it. Alec. Cain should not have to be careful around the man who'd muscled Cain out of harm's way on more than one occasion.
But his cousin was right. Alec was no longer the man Cain used to know—the man who'd once broken down and cried about his inability to give his wife the one thing she wanted most. A baby.
The memory twisted through Cain as he ran. Alec Prejean, the cool, debonair detective who always had a smooth comeback, who unblinkingly walked the streets of the Ninth Ward, who'd somehow held it together when he'd pulled up to a crime scene only to discover his own brother in a pool of blood, had broken down behind an old warehouse and sobbed.
Cain had a lot of experience comforting women, but he hadn't had a clue how to comfort a man. In the end he'd squatted beside his partner and put a hand to his back. Somehow, that had been enough.
Neither of them had ever spoken of the incident. But now that man no longer existed. Alec had become the human equivalent of a crapshoot, and if Renee was right, he'd almost become an assassin.
Floorboards creaked as he climbed through a broken window and took in the gloom. The stench hit him immediately, the rancid combination of stale food and cigarette smoke and sex. He knew if he had a flashlight it would reveal other trophies littering the floor, leftovers from the all-night parties that attracted teens from parishes across southern Louisiana.
"Damn it, Alec!" he roared into the cavernous building. "What the hell are you doing?"
Movement to his right caught Cain's attention. He turned, the faint light oozing through the windows revealing a man in a doorway, and the semiautomatic in his hands. "God damn you, Cain."
Instinct kicked in, kicked hard. "Maybe," Cain conceded, "but what the hell has he done to you?"
Alec emerged from the shadows, revealing scraggly hair falling against his face and a scar at the corner of his eye. "You just don't know when to stop, do you?" he asked in a voice Cain instantly recognized, the one Alec used when closing in on a suspect, a low snarl that promised no mercy or reprieve. "You're so freaking saison de pluie to atone for your sins that you cannot see when to leave well enough alone. The world doesn't need another hero, partenaire, and neither do I."
"This isn't about playing hero," Cain said point-blank. "I think you know that."
"Allez vous faire voir," Alec hissed.
"I saw Tara last night." It was a cheap shot and Cain knew it. "She's worried about you."
Alec jabbed the gun toward Cain. "Stay away from her."
"Why?" His Glock waited under his sport coat, but instead of reaching for it, he dropped his arms and opened his palms, wagged his fingers in invitation. "She's dead to you, isn't that what you told her? Sounds to me like that makes her fair game." He let a slow smile curve his lips. "You never told me how pretty she looks when she—"
Alec moved so fast Cain barely had a second to brace himself. The impact of man to man sent him staggering into the steel-reinforced wall. "That's it," he taunted, deflecting a blow to his jaw and catching Alec's other wrist, holding the gun away from them both. "If you're so hot to take me out, I'm not going to let you do it like a—" he recoiled on a blow to his gut "—coward," he spat, with a hard open palm to Alec's nose.
Alec staggered, swiped the blood from his upper lip.
Cain snarled at the sight of his former partner standing there, blood on his face, gun dangling from his hand. "You're going to have to look me in the eye when you pull the trigger."
Alec swayed on his feet, lifted the gun. "Be careful what you ask for, partenaire."
"Why?" Cain pushed. Two and two were not adding to four, and he didn't like it one damn bit. "If you really wanted me dead we both know I'd be that way by now."
Wincing against a pain in his ribs, he stepped closer. "You're playing vigilante, aren't you? That's what's going on. Tell me. Let me help."
The lines of Alec's face tightened. "Didn't you learn anything two years ago? Didn't you learn what happens when you quit minding your own business?"
"You know me," Cain said on a deliberately glib shrug. "I've always been a slow learner."
Alec's eyes flashed. "Merde, Cain, he knows what you're doing! He knows you're on to him!"
Oncle. "Damn it, Alec, you don't have to do this alone—"
Alec was on him before he could finish, the butt of his gun slamming against Cain's temple. Pain blasted him, but it was nothing compared to the shock. He felt himself sway, felt himself fall, felt his head smack against the cold concrete. As the edges of his vision went black, he saw Alec move to stand over him, saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his temple, but couldn't do a damn thing to stop him.
"And
he has ways to make you stop," Alec vowed, and the world went dark.
The Quarter welcomed her like an old friend. Renee walked along Royal Street
, the warmth growing inside her with each step she took, despite the breeze blowing off the river. So much had changed since she'd been gone—people, relationships, hopes and dreams. And desires. Just outside town there were roads where wetlands had sprawled, shops and fast-food restaurants where she'd once gone on a photo shoot with Cain. But in the Quarter, life ambled on as it had two years before, two decades before. The more the world at large expanded, the more technology invaded everyday life, the more stubbornly the Vieux Carré clung to the old ways.
Lost in the blur of past and present, it took a moment for the sound to register. She stopped abruptly and fumbled for the .22. Then she spun. And laughed.
The street was deserted, devoid even of window shoppers or tourists reeling back to their hotels, college kids roaming from bar to bar. The sound had come from memory, the night two years before when Cain had sneaked up on her.
Cain. She'd stayed at the casino for over two hours, but he'd never returned. Neither had Gabe. She'd tried to convince Val not to worry, but with each second that passed the other woman had grown more agitated. Renee had tried to soothe her, but she was supposed to be a stranger, and there'd been little she could do.
Finally Gabe had reached Val on her mobile phone and she'd left, telling Renee Gabe didn't know what had become of Cain.
That's why he was on her mind. That's why she imagined the noise behind her. It would be so like him to wait outside the casino, to follow her and—
The attack came without warning. Renee thrashed as the man caught her from behind and dragged her toward a darkened courtyard. "This is getting old!" she hissed, realizing she'd been right after all. "You can't just sneak up on—"
The blade to her throat stunned her. "Shut up," the man snapped, slapping his free hand to her mouth. The voice was—wrong. Not low and drugging. Not hoarse and thick and seductive. Not … Cain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
New Orleans
Twenty months earlier
"You reporter types don't learn, do you? You juz keep sticking your pretty little neck where it don't belong."
I hate being backed into corners. I hate being trapped. But as I scan the sunny courtyard, with its inoperable fountain and clay pots spilling over with colorful impatiens, I realize my options are limited. Oncle's man is too big. Too strong. And he has a knife. "Look, I didn't think—"
"That's your problem," he says, tracking me deeper into the courtyard.
The step back is automatic. So is the glance at my purse, lying next to a statue of the Virgin Mary near the iron fence that separates the patio from Toulouse Street
. My gun is inside my purse. If I can reach it…
I dart to the side and run toward the statue, but the man grabs my hair and yanks me toward him. My head snaps back and my eyes burn. "You don't want to do this!" I warn.
He laughs. "Speak for yourself," he snarls as he shoves me into the disabled patio fountain.
I go down hard, slamming first against concrete, then into cold stagnant water.
"Words don't work with people like you," he says, and then he's diving in after me, straddling my body with his own.
On a low growl I slam my head forward and smash it against his nose. He yowls in pain and jerks away, backhands me across my cheek. "You little bitch!"
Pain explodes through me, but I keep twisting, thrashing.
Snarling, he reveals the blood between his teeth and comes at me again. I ram a knee into his gut and try to lever myself out of the water, but he's like one of those movie creatures that just keeps coming. He grabs my wrists and yanks them over my head, wedges me against the side of the fountain and rips at my shirt.
"You so don't want to do that."
The voice is low and steely, one-hundred-percent lethal. My hair is wet and falling into my face, but I don't need to look to know who's just entered the courtyard.
The sound of a gunshot brings the man on top of me rearing back.
"Next time it will be at the base of your skull," the newcomer promises, and with a vicious oath, Oncle's man rolls from my body and runs.
Alec Prejean charges after him, but just as quickly he's back, helping me out of the water and kneeling beside me, running his hands along my arms. "Jesus, God, Vannah. Are you…? Did he…?"
Cain's partner has seen the worst life has to offer, just like Cain has. He's witnessed depravity. He's knelt beside fallen officers and cradled victims of gang shootings, embraced grieving parents. I know that. I've seen it, heard about it. Alec is legendary for his calm. He has this rare ability to shut off every ounce of emotion and do what needs to be done.
That's why the stammer in his voice, the hesitation in his touch, surprises me. "I'm okay," I manage, but the wince gives me away.
"The hell you are—where does it hurt?"
I start to say nowhere, but then I breathe. And the stabbing pain in the right side of my rib cage make me wince.
"Christ." Dark spots push against the edges of my vision as he takes my hand and squeezes. "Help's on the way."
"But how…?"
"Your brother got worried when you didn't show up."
"I wasn't that late," I manage. Alec shrugs out of his big leather jacket and drapes it over my damp blouse. "You know your brother." I do, but— "And Cain," he adds.
The longing is sharp, deep. The realization stuns. I do know Cain, better with each passing day. And despite the dangerous game we can't stop playing, it's him I want kneeling beside me, holding my hand. Because I know. I know the games are just a smoke screen, a protective device. A prelude. We keep dancing around each other, because the second we stop, we'll be left confronting a truth, a passion, that could destroy us both.
I'm supposed to be investigating him, for God's sake. My boss has warned me—
But then Cain is there, barging into the courtyard and stopping abruptly, swearing viciously and running toward me. I have no idea how much time has passed. Ten seconds. Ten minutes. I only know he's here, dropping to my side and leaning over me, scooping me into his arms and murmuring desperate words that feed some vulnerable place deep inside.
"Cain…"
"I'm here," he whispers, running his hands over my body. The juxtaposition between the gentleness in his voice and the ferocity in his eyes devastates me. "I'm here."
For the moment, that's all that matters.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
New Orleans, present day
"Oh, mon Dieu, are you okay?"
Standing in a puddle of yellow porch light, Renee brought a hand to her throat and felt the sticky warmth of blood against her fingertips. "I—I need to see Cain."
The pretty blonde peering from behind a partially open door wearing a soft pink chenille robe and fuzzy slippers eyed Renee. A small sign proclaimed the old Victorian to be a bed-and-breakfast, but the innkeeper's stare inspired neither welcome nor refuge.
It was the cool, assessing look of a cop.
"Mon Dieu," the woman muttered again, then stunned Renee by fumbling with the chain and opening the door, practically dragging her inside. "You're that True Crime producer right?" she asked, shutting the door and turning the dead bolt, sliding the chain in place. "Renee…"
"Fox," she supplied. "How do you know—"
"Let's get a look at this." Briskly, the innkeeper urged Renee's fingers from her neck and made a soft clucking sound. "Mon Dieu, who did this to you? Are you hurt anywhere else?"
Renee shook her head. "I need to talk to Cain."
Need. There was that word again.
"Of course you do," the woman said, gently inspecting Renee's neck. "But he's not here yet. I swear, I never know when he's going to show up. I've given up trying to figure him out."
The laissez-faire tone struck Renee as odd. Clearly the woman expected Cain, but there was no possession or jealousy in her voic
e, nothing remotely close to the way a woman feels when her lover is late and another woman comes looking for him.
"But you do expect him…" She let her voice trickle off and flashed a tentative smile. "I'm sorry. I've barged into your home in the middle of the night, but I don't even know your name."
The woman pulled back and lifted a hand to her face, left a smear of blood against her cheek. "Oh, I just assumed since you're here…" Her eyes warmed. "I'm Tara. Cain and my husb—ex-husband were partners." She reached for Renee's wrist. "Now let's get this cleaned up."
Tara. Surprise came hard and fast. Trying to hide it, Renee let the woman she'd heard so much about lead her into a spacious room with rich jade walls. They passed a formal dining table and moved through a butler's pantry before entering the kitchen. A flick of a switch bathed the room in light.
Tara directed her to a bulky farmhouse table. "Go ahead and have a seat while I get a bandage from my bathroom." All business, she bustled out of the kitchen, leaving Renee sitting alone in the big kitchen that looked cold, but wasn't.
Slowly she lifted a hand to her neck and traced her fingers along the shallow cut.
Tara. She'd heard so much about her, from Alec, from Cain, but the two women had never met. Tara had been working as a consultant back then, spending weeks on assignment in Scotland. Alec had missed her desperately, talked about her incessantly. They were trying to start a family. Had been for a while. Alec joked about how tough all the practice was, but the anguish in his eyes, his voice, had been impossible to miss. Only toward the end had he mentioned his concern for his wife, the worry that their inability to conceive was taking a toll on her.
Renee closed her eyes and brought her hands to her face, felt the ache tighten through her chest. So much had changed. Alec had seemed deeply in love with his wife, that love evident in every word he spoke. But time had moved on for them, too. Moved on for Alec. He wasn't the man she remembered.
Maybe he never had been. It was hard to know anymore, hard to separate the lies from the truth, the sins from the penance.