Cat's Lair (11 page)

“I was given to him when I was eleven years old.”

“
Given
to him?”

She nodded. “I’m his ward. I was raised in his house.”

“And you’re engaged to be married to him.”

For the first time her heart went crazy, hammering in her chest so hard she feared it would actually break through – or he could hear it. She forced herself to keep her eyes steady on his.

“Why would you think that?”

“There was a write-up in the New Orleans newspaper in the society section that states you are engaged to Rafe Cordeau. Are you saying that information isn’t correct?”

No one would dare write an article about Cordeau without his consent. No one. Not even a reporter who wanted a name for themselves. Rafe had planted that article and he was making a statement directly to her.

She shook her head but didn’t speak, her mind racing.

“Are you his fiancée?” Tucker asked, his voice a whip.

She shrugged. “If that’s what someone wrote in a newspaper, I suppose it must be true.”

Irritation crossed his face. He scowled at her. “You aren’t helping yourself by being a smart-ass.”

She raised an eyebrow. Her wrists throbbed. Her pulse raced, and she had a hell of a headache from falling on the floor. She didn’t want to sit for hours in the interrogation room. Every minute that passed was a minute she should be on the road.

“I’m not trying to be a smart-ass, Mr. Tuttle…”

“Detective,” he corrected.

She took a breath and heaved a sigh. “Detective Tuttle,” she said. “I just want you to get to whatever this is about so I can go.”

“This is about your relationship with Rafe Cordeau,” he snapped.

“I’ve told you what my relationship is. You seem to have the information already anyway. If that’s all you wanted to know, I’d like to go.”

His fist banged on the table. She could have told him silence was far more effective. Silence. Staring. And ice-cold eyes. Banging on the table got you nothing. She held still and watched him.

“When was your last contact with Cordeau?”

“I left when I turned twenty.”

“So a year ago.”

That didn’t deserve an answer. He could do math. She just stared at him. Waiting for him to get to it.

“It wasn’t the first time you left.”

Tuttle knew more than she thought anyone else was aware of. Someone was feeding the DEA information about Cordeau – a very dangerous game to play. She had to go carefully because that meant they had someone in his organization.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He waited a few moments but when she wasn’t forthcoming, he leaned toward her. “You ran away when you were fourteen years old. A woman by the name of April Harp helped you. She was murdered along with her entire family, and you were safe back in Cordeau’s house.”

It was an accusation. She knew her face had gone white. Her stomach lurched and beneath the table she twisted her fingers together. There were some memories that would never go away and some deeds there was no redemption for.

“Yes, that’s true,” she whispered.

“Why did you run away?”

“I wanted to see my mother.”

“She was already dead.”

“I didn’t know that,” Catarina said. “He didn’t tell me.”

“He had her killed. Two days after she delivered you to him, she died of an overdose that the coroner said she didn’t give to herself.”

“That isn’t news, Detective Tuttle. I was given that information
after
I was taken back to Cordeau, although how you can attribute my mother’s death to Rafe, I don’t know. Again, you seem to have information I don’t.”

“Taken back? You didn’t go voluntarily?” He pounced on that.

Now they were treading on dangerous ground. She said nothing, just watched him. He would want to bring kidnapping charges against Cordeau.

“Did Cordeau kill April Harp?” he demanded. “Did he order his men to kill her and her family?”

She remained silent.

“Did you help Cordeau kill her?”

Her stomach lurched again. “If you’re asking am I responsible for her death, I believe I am, yes. I didn’t kill her, but I left. I knew there would be consequences but I stupidly thought they would be for me, not someone else.”

“Were you there when she was killed?”

There was no statute of limitations on murder. She saw where this was going and shook her head. “There is no way, under any circumstances, that I could, or would testify against Rafe Cordeau. None. If that’s what your desired end result is, then we’re finished here.”

Tuttle sat back in his chair. “You know what he is. You know he’s killed people. Many people. He runs drugs. Prostitutes. Guns. Still, you aren’t willing to help us put him away.”

“You’ve had how many people willing to help you put him away? They’re all dead, Detective Tuttle. You can’t protect them from him. You certainly won’t be able to protect me from him. He owns men like you. He has connections everywhere. You aren’t going to bring him down and certainly not with my testimony.”

“You
saw
him kill April Harp. You were there.”

“I was held there,” she spat back. “Fourteen years old. All I wanted to do was see my mother. That was all. I saw a knife go into my friend’s belly and she was slit all the way to her breastbone. Then my hands were pushed into the gaping wound so that I would always remember her blood was on my hands. I heard the shots that killed her family, but I didn’t see anything else. I couldn’t see anything else. I was on my knees screaming and I couldn’t even cover my face because my hands were covered in her blood.”

She would never forget the horror of that moment. Rafe holding her in front of him. His man, Marcel, holding April. Catarina had been unable to look away, not even when Rafe plunged the knife into April and sliced her open. Blood sprayed all over her, but that wasn’t enough for Rafe. He wanted her to learn a lesson.

Rafe calmly forced her hands inside the horrible wound and whispered in her ear.
You
did
this,
my
little
Catarina.
You.
Their
blood
is
on
your
hands.
Don’t
ever
be
so
foolish
as
to
leave
me
again.
The memory was so sharp, so vivid, she was afraid she would vomit right there.

Rafe spoke softly. He never needed to raise his voice. He simply looked at his men and gestured toward the mess that had once been a live woman, now something he considered trash for them to take out.

April had cleaned their home, and Catarina had followed her everywhere. She’d been one of the few people who had been kind. She’d even helped Catarina learn to read and write, and Catarina had gotten her killed.

“Who killed her, Ms. Benoit?” Tuttle asked. “You didn’t say who held you there and pushed the knife into April.”

She raised stricken eyes to him. “I don’t know. I didn’t see his face.”

He sighed. “Now you’re lying to me.”

“My back was to him. He wore gloves. Black gloves. I never saw his face.” That was true. She hadn’t needed to see his face. She recognized his scent. His hard body. His voice that never changed. He terrified her.

“I’m going to get you some water.”

She was surprised by the compassion in Tuttle’s voice. He left the room briefly, just enough time for her to press her trembling hand against her mouth. She breathed in over and over, trying to keep from throwing up. She had nightmares and there was no way to ever get that scene out of her head, but talking about it was far worse.

The details. The smell. The horror of it. All along her mother had been dead. Rafe casually told her the truth. That was the thing about him. He didn’t hide what he was from her. He didn’t lie to her. He always told the truth. She’d been stupid enough to ask him if he’d killed her mother.

She
was
a
whore,
Catarina,
he had explained patiently.
She
didn’t
need
to
be,
but
she
turned
herself
into
one
because
she
couldn’t
live
without
drugs.
Addiction
is
a
terrible
weakness.
She
sold
you
to
me
for
drugs.
Her
stepchild
she
should
have
loved
and
protected.
I
couldn’t
let
her
touch
you.
I
couldn’t
ever
allow
that
woman
to
harm
you
through
her
addiction.
She
came
back
wanting
more
drugs.
She
threatened
to
take
you
back
and
sell
you
to
men.
She
claimed
that
I
had
conned
her
and
that
had
she
kept
you,
you
would
have
been
an
endless
source
of
revenue
for
her.

Catarina knew he told the truth, because he always did. The stark truth. He never tried to soft soap it. There were no such things as white lies. Her mother, or rather stepmother, really had done all those things. She was the only mother Catarina had ever known. Catarina, for whatever reason, was under Rafe’s protection. She’d been threatened and he’d removed the threat. Just like that.

That hadn’t been the only time he’d “protected” her. She’d been sixteen and had become a little rebellious. Not with Rafe. Never with him. But she always had shadows on her. Men who went everywhere she did. She’d gone to a movie and had slipped into the woman’s bathroom and she’d stayed there deliberately for a very long time, forcing one of the two men to come in to retrieve her.

She detested Marcel. He’d been the one to help kill April. Marcel had dragged her out and refused to allow her to see the rest of the show. She’d kicked up a fuss. In public, a serious break of the rules. He’d slapped her the moment they were away from prying eyes.

She never told Rafe, but he knew before she got home. He was there and his anger filled the room.
Filled
it. She stood in front of him, bowing her head, terrified of his wrath, kicking herself for being so stupid. She hated having men following her everywhere. She didn’t have friends to attend movies with, and she’d overheard the two men talking about how pathetic she was. She’d been crushed.

Rafe caught her chin with two fingers and tipped her face up for his examination. He pressed his palm to the cheek Marcel had slapped. Then he’d raised his eyes to Marcel and jerked his head at two of his personal bodyguards. The last she’d seen of Marcel, he was struggling as he was dragged from the house.

Don’t
hurt
him,
Rafe.
I
was
upset
with
them,
something
they
said
about
me,
and
I
acted
stupid.
 

No
one
has
the
right
to
put
their
hands
on
you
but
me.
Never,
Catarina,
not
for
any
reason.
I
won’t
stand
for
it.
If
you
need
to
be
punished,
that’s
for
me
to
decide,
no
one
else.
Any
man
touches
you,
you
tell
me.
 

That had been the first time he’d ever touched her gently. His hand had skimmed her face and then moved to her hair. His eyes, usually so cold, held something for one brief moment she couldn’t understand. But she knew she would never,
ever
, tell Rafe that someone hit her, slapped her, or put his hands on her. She knew it was a death sentence.

Tuttle returned with the water and Catarina drank it down and then pulled her feet up on the chair beneath the table, sitting tailor fashion. She rocked gently, trying to soothe herself long enough to get through this.

“I’m sorry those things happened to you, Ms. Benoit.” Tuttle even sounded sorry. His eyes were gentle. “Are you certain you didn’t see the face of the man who killed April Harp?”

She swallowed down painful memories and shook her head. “I was forced to face her at all times.”

Rafe hadn’t tried to comfort her afterward. He’d taken her directly to her room and locked her in, bloody hands and all. She’d spent hours in her shower, sliding down the wall and crying while she scrubbed the palms of her hands raw. In the end she couldn’t tell if it was April’s blood or her own on her hands.