Relentless Pursuit (6 page)

“Dammit, that hurt.”

“You forget yourself, Carlo.  Speak to me with respect, or do not speak at all.”  Bubba grunted his agreement with Dubshenko's words.

“Yeah, right.  Respect.  You're gonna kill me, so why should I be respectful?  So, what, if I bow down and kiss your Ferragamo's you're gonna let me live?”

Dubshenko tugged at the cuff of his shirt, before brushing off a speck of invisible lint from his jacket sleeve.  Impeccably dressed, even in the sweltering heat appearance was everything to a man like him.  “You might be interested to know, Carlo, there was an incident at the police station a little while ago.”  Carlo's heartbeat raced, the machine-gun’s rapid beating forced a rush of adrenaline through his body. 
What the hell has this bastard done?

“Apparently, somebody smuggled a bomb into the police station. It went off right after your sister talked with Detective Lamoreaux. “

“What?”

“Yes.  It seems a pizza delivery person walked in with a homemade pipe bomb concealed in a food carrier, and delivered it to the good detective.  Things are chaotic, but several people have been injured and there are reported…fatalities.”

No!

“Damn you, Dubshenko.”

Boiling rage spilled through Carlo, nearly blinding him with the urge to end the son of a bitch who'd dared to hurt his sister, and he lunged toward Dubshenko intent on wiping the despicable smirk off his smug face.  Before he'd cleared half the distance, Bubba slammed into him, taking him to the floor, his enormous bulk landing atop him with a resounding thud.  A whoosh of air left his chest at the impact of all Bubba's massive weight pressing him against the floor boards.

Carlo couldn't catch his breath.  His lungs burned with a silent plea for oxygen.

Can't breathe!

“Don't be a fool.  My associate will snap your neck like a chicken bone before you lay a finger on me.”  Dubshenko uncrossed his feet and the last thing Carlo saw was his shiny black Ferragamo-encased foot, right before it made contact with the side of his head.

Chapter Five

T
he purr of the motorcycle's engine always soothed Remy.  On a quiet night when the sweltering heat and humidity made the air nearly unbreathable and sweat coated his skin, hopping on his bike and letting her rip cooled him off, both physically and psychologically.  His mind ran free as he sped down the highway. The vibration and smooth acceleration flipped a switch inside him, and everything became focused and clear.

That so wasn't happening tonight.  For one thing, he wasn't riding alone.  Her arms twined about his middle holding on tight enough he couldn't breathe freely.  And her damn nails were digging into his stomach deep enough he could feel them through his shirt. 
Jennifer.

This entire night was one huge, screwed up disaster.  Remy still couldn't believe Captain Hilliard made him chief babysitter for their brand new witness.  Keep her safe, he said.  Pump her, not in the fun way, but find out what she's hiding.  Oh, yeah, Remy didn't have a single doubt she was hiding something.  Beginning with who she really was.  Jennifer Smith.  Right.  That wasn't a fake name, no siree.

Leaning the bike into the curve, he efficiently pulled into the gravel-lined driveway of his house, the one he shared with his
maman
. His grandmother.  Bless all the saints, he'd never been happier she was out of town visiting her friend, Molly Connor, down in Boca Raton.   He bit back a grin at the thought of his Cajun grandmother meeting Jennifer.  She'd have every secret the woman possessed out of her within the first five minutes.

He let the engine idle, keeping the bike upright for a few seconds, before dropping the kickstand into place and cut the engine.  Jennifer's nails still dug deep, her whole body trembling, even with the engine off.

“You can let go now, sweetheart.”  Her arms remained locked tight around his midsection, and she remained unmoving, her head still pressed against his shoulder.  He had the impression she'd have crawled inside him if it were possible.  He chuckled at the thought.  Yeah, well he'd like to crawl inside her, but in a much different way.

“What?”

“We're here.  Come on inside.  I need to grab a couple of things before we take off.”  Her arms slowly unwrapped from around his midsection, and Remy was surprised that he missed their feel.  It had been ages since he'd had a woman on the back of his ride, preferring that alone time, just him and his bike.  When he was with a woman, he drove the POS Buick he'd bought off his brother, Max.

“This is your house?”  Jennifer stood behind him looking at it, curiosity lacing her voice.  He looked at his home trying to see it through her eyes.  It wasn't a new house.  His grandparents had lived in it for over fifty years, buying it shortly after they'd married.  His mother and her sister had been raised in that house, only leaving when she'd married his father.  He and Max had practically lived there as well, spending nearly as much time there as they had at their own place.  This place was home to him.  When his grandfather died a few years back, he'd moved in with his
maman
, intent on taking care of her.  Instead, the feisty woman took better care of him than he'd ever done for her.  And he let her because he knew taking care of him gave her a purpose, something to fill the lonely days and nights since his grandfather passed.

“This is my
maman's
house.   My grandmother.  I live here with her.”

Jennifer looked over at him, then started toward the front porch.  Both sides of the sprawling, whitewashed wooden porch were covered with lattice, and along each wooden frame cascades of honeysuckle blossomed, its fragrance perfuming the night air.  The scent always reminded Remy of his grandmother and of home.

“I love it,” she smiled and climbed the three steps onto the porch, “it's filled with charming character and shows it's been well-loved.”

“Yes, it has.”  Jennifer's perceptiveness surprised him.  Most people saw an eighty-plus year old house, and thought it run down and out of step with all the newer, more modern homes. But Jennifer saw deeper, noticing the telltale differences that made it more than the sum of its parts.  It wasn't a house.  In every sense of the word, it was a home.  Maybe he'd underestimated her.  She seemed to have surprising depths that in another place and time he'd love to delve deeper.  Go beyond the superficial, and get to know the real woman.  Maybe after everything was resolved and Dubshenko was behind bars, he'd get the chance to see what made this beautiful curvy woman tick.  

“Come on, let's grab the stuff I need and hightail it out of here before Dubshenko finds us.”  Remy ushered her through the front door. He flipped on the wall switch and the room filled with light.  Jennifer's indrawn breath had him focused on her.  “What?”

“It's beautiful.”  She walked over to the sofa, running her fingers along the crocheted throw draped across the back.  Made of thin cording, the delicate stitches wove lacy patterns of pinks and rose tones against the tan backdrop of the couch fabric.  “This took a tremendous amount of work.  Did your grandmother make it?”

“Yeah, she did.  Most of the girly stuff in here is her handiwork.  She's been doing stuff like that for as long as I can remember.”  Remy bit back a chuckle, but Jennifer caught it and raised her brow in silent question.

“When my mom was pregnant with my brother, Max,
maman
started embroidering all kinds of fancy sh—stuff to start a hope chest for the baby.  When he turned out to be a boy she said it didn't matter, men needed hope chests too, so she kept at it.  Tablecloths, napkins, pillow cases and sheets.  All the things a daughter would need, she made for him.  She presented it to him when he got engaged to Theresa.”

“I think that's really sweet,” She paused before giving him a cheeky grin, “so, do you have a hope chest, too, detective?”

Remy couldn't stop the heat flooding into his cheeks, and knew his face was red.  He never blushed, but there was no denying this.

“Yep, I've got one too.  Though she says she’s still working on it.  I don't get anything until I'm engaged.”

“Well, whoever the lucky woman is, I'm sure she'll appreciate it.  This is beautiful workmanship.   She must love you very much to want to make sure you and your future bride start your lives out with love and care from your family.”

“I know.  I'm a very lucky man to have
maman
in my life.”

“Yes.  That kind of love is special.  Cherish it.  Not everybody is that fortunate in their family.”

Hmm.  He knew about her brother, she cared deeply for him.  But maybe she had other family she wasn't quite as close with.  That might be a place to start.

“If you're hungry, go ahead and grab something in the kitchen.  I'll just be a minute.  Wait—on second thought come on back and let's see if I can find something for you to wear.  That skirt won't be too comfortable for a long ride on the bike.”

“Wait, what?  I thought we came here to get your car.  I'm not riding on that rattling death trap for hours.  Nuh uh.   No way, no how.”

Remy didn't even attempt to hide his grin.  He planned on taking the car, but couldn't resist getting a rise out of her.  She looked so pretty when she got riled up.

“Sweetheart, we'll move much faster on the bike, and Dubshenko probably doesn't know I own it.”

“Probably ain't good enough, Romeo.  I am not getting back on that…that flaming rocket of destruction.  I'll stay here.  He won't find me.”

Remy shook his head.  “Jennifer, this is my home.  It'll be the first place he'll look once he realizes you're not at the police station.  He knows we've talked.  He's not a stupid man, he'll know you are with me.”

Jennifer paced back and forth in front of him, chewing on her thumb nail.  He'd picked up on that habit of hers earlier in the interrogation room.  Whenever she was deep in thought she nibbled on that nail, worrying at it.

“I still don't see why I can't go home.  Dubshenko wouldn't hurt me.”

“Right,” Remy shot back, cutting her off.  “He won't hurt you—you'll just disappear.  Everyone who's ever crossed him, uttered a single word against him, has vanished without a trace.  I will not see you become his next victim.”

Grabbing her wrist, he towed her down the narrow hallway to his bedroom at the back of the house.  It was a spacious room.  When he'd moved back in with his grandmother, he hauled Max over and they'd knocked down the wall dividing the two smaller bedrooms, combining them into one large suite, complete with en suite bathroom.  They'd spent a three-day weekend retrofitting and updating the bathroom to a hedonistic masterpiece.

“Through that door is the bathroom.  You might want to make use of the facilities while you've got the chance.  Once we hit the road, it'll probably be a while before we stop.”

Jennifer stomped over and flung the door open.  Her breath caught as she took in the dramatic upscale and luxuriously outfitted space.  Remy knew he'd surprised her with it.  Hell, he admitted, he wanted to impress her.  Let her see there was more to him than just the cop who wouldn't let her leave.

“Wow.  This is amazing.”  Her voice filled with awe as she spun around inside the bathroom.

“Thanks.  I like the way it turned out.”

“You did all this?”

“Sure did.  Well, me and my brother, Max.”  He pointed toward the shower.  “Steam shower, jacuzzi tub, heated floors, the whole shebang.”  Remy chuckled.  “Trust me, in the wintertime, the heated floors are a decision I've never regretted.”

Jennifer grinned.  “I believe it.  This is a dream bathroom.  I hope I can update my…”

“Jennifer, you'll get to come back to your home and your life.  Once Dubshenko is out of the picture everything will return to normal.”

She shook her head, and he watched her turn away, stepping further into the bathroom.  Turning to face him, she replied, “Detective, nothing will ever be
normal
again.”  With that, she closed the door, and the snick of the lock sounded as loud as a shot.

With a low growl, Remy stomped across his bedroom, yanked open his dresser drawer and pulled out clothes, tossing them onto the bed.  He slammed the drawer closed, then flung open the closet door, snatching a backpack off the hook attached to the back.  He shoved the few items into the bag and zipped it shut.

“I'll be right back,” he snarled through the closed bathroom door.  Dammit, he'd protect her, make sure she got her life back.  He had no intention of letting Dubshenko win—again.  Marching down the hallway, he threw open the door to his grandmother's room, going straight for her closet.  Rummaging through the hangers, he found nothing he thought Jennifer could wear.  He turned to the dresser and paused.  Did he really want to be pawing through his
maman's
drawers?  He really didn't want to see any of her unmentionables.

Right.  Suck it up, big man
.

He skipped the first two, starting with the third in the dresser.  T-shirts.  Those would work.  A huge grin split his face as he read a couple of the sayings.  Picking out two he knew would scandalize Jennifer, he put the rest back and went on searching.  Bingo!  The next drawer held yoga pants with drawstring waistbands.  His grandmother was a couple of sizes smaller than Jennifer, but they were stretch material—they'd have to do for now.

Okay, there was no way on Earth Jennifer was wearing his
maman's
granny panties.  He shuddered at the thought.  She'd make do with the pair she wore now or go commando.

Rein it in, big guy
.  The thought of her bare from the waist down definitely got a rise out of him.  Literally.  Or maybe with her in those yoga pants with the string tied in an itty-bitty bow.  One good tug and they'd pool around her ankles and…

“Detective?”  Jennifer's voice behind him had him slamming the drawer, holding the two pair of yoga pants in one hand, along with the t-shirts.

“Here.”  He shoved a pair of the pants and a shirt at her in a jumbled mess, and she grabbed onto them before the hit the floor.  “Put these on and let's get out of here.  We've already wasted enough time.  Dubshenko's already looking for us.  You can change in here.”