Relentless Pursuit (17 page)

In other words, get the hell outta my office.

Within minutes, both men were gone, and Hilliard had just added another problem to his growing list.  Thankfully, they hadn't asked about Remy specifically.  He'd hate to lie to them, but he'd have done it in a heartbeat before confirming Dubshenko had targeted his finest detective.

Priority number one—find the leaks and plug 'em.  Immediately.   As much as he wanted to call Remy, he'd refrain.  He was a grown man, fully able to take care of himself and his female companion.  Hurt like hell though.  Remy was like his own son, and he hated he was out there with no backup, nobody to turn to if things went south.  With Dubshenko hot on his heels, things needed to get kicked into high gear.  Find the leak—and find Carlo Marucci.

Marucci had been with Dubshenko at the time of the phone call, right before the bombing.  Chances of him still being alive were slim to none.  Though if Dubshenko was smart, and nobody ever considered Dubshenko a fool, he'd keep Carlo as a bargaining chip for the sister.  He'd wanted to keep Remy's brother, Max Lamoreaux, totally out of the picture, but they needed to find Carlo Marucci and get him out of Dubshenko's hands.  A bullet to the chest should have killed him, but as long as he was alive, there was a chance he'd flip on Dubshenko.

Turning the key, he slid open the desk drawer and pulled out the burner cell phone Max had given him earlier that morning.

Whether he liked it or not, the Lamoreaux brothers were his best shot at taking down Dubshenko.    He exhaled a deep sigh, knowing what needed to be done.  Instead of calling Remy—he dialed his brother, Max.

Chapter Eighteen

T
hey'd walked for hours.  It had to be hours, her feet felt like giant flaming balls of lead at the bottom of her legs.  Each step forward almost more effort than Jennifer could muster.  If they didn't find shelter soon she might just lie down in the middle of the dusty dirt path and erect a big flashing sign telling Dubshenko to come and get her.

Sweat pooled between her breasts and trickled down into her midriff, only to be soaked up by the knit waistband of her new shorts.  If she never saw another pair of yoga pants for the rest of her life it wouldn't bother her one little bit.

“Hang in there, Jinx, we're nearly there.”  Remy glanced over his shoulder, and smiled encouragingly.  Fat lot of good that did; she wanted to smack him upside the back of his head.  Nearly there—he'd been saying that for the last half hour at least, maybe longer.

“How near is near, big guy?  If I don't sit down soon…”

“Right there.”  Remy pointed to the left of their nearly invisible path, between the trees.  There stood the most beautiful site she'd ever seen.  Little more than a shack, at least there were four walls and a roof, with a wooden deck surrounding the entire thing.

“Amen, hallelujah, and woot woot!”  Jennifer laughed and felt a surge of energy rush through her, and she sprinted past Remy headed for that little piece of heaven on Earth.  Blessed shade, maybe a working bathroom, indoor plumbing.  All the comforts of home.  The only thing better would be if it also had food.  Right now she'd wrestle one of the crocodiles they'd spotted earlier for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Jinx, hang on a second.”  Remy grabbed her by the upper arm, stopping her in her tracks.  “Give me a sec—let me make sure there's nobody else around first.”

Yeah, right, dummy.  Just like you to leap first and pay for your rashness later, she thought.  She nodded, and stayed where she was while Remy eased forward skirting around the lush green bushes, dead leaves from seasons past crunching under his steps.  He silently approached the dilapidated shack. The porch creaked beneath his added weight as he snuck closer to the front door.  Pulling the gun out of his waistband, he leaned forward and peeked into the dirty, cracked window. 
All clear
.  With a stealthy gait he headed toward the screen door.  Time stretched by, the seconds ticking like a wind-up clock in her brain.  He pulled open the door an inch at a time, and she listened for the expected eerily loud screech of rusty hinges.  There was nothing but a quiet swoosh of sound as it swung outward, and he jiggled the handle of the inner wooden door.

“Damn.”  His whisper floated up to where Jennifer stood, and she watched him start scouring the porch, obviously searching for a key.  The heck with this, she thought.

She eyed the dirt and detritus around her feet, finally deciding on a fist-sized rock.  Its jagged surface dug into her hand as she balled up her fist and carried it directly to the porch.

“Use this.”  She handed it to Remy, and he quirked his brow before chuckling.

“Cupcake, I'm a cop.  We tend to frown on breaking and entering.”

She snorted in an unladylike manner.  “So if you find the key, we're only entering, right?  Forget it.”  Taking careful aim, she tossed the rock through the window. The tinkle of breaking glass was abnormally loud in the quiet of the bayou.

“I did the breaking in.  Want me to do the entering, too?”  She caught the twinkle in his eye and couldn't help herself, she laughed.  It was a moment out of time, where they were in perfect sync and it felt good.

“I think I can handle that, sugar.”  She'd never admit it, but she loved all the nicknames he called her.  He probably didn't mean anything by it, but they made her feel—special.  Heck, he probably called every girl he met some special name, that way he didn't have to actually remember their names.  As gorgeous as he was he probably had women climbing out of the woodwork to be with him.  He had his choice of all the beautiful, sexy women in New Orleans, and here he was stuck with Jennifer the Jinx.

Remy knocked the rest of the glass out of the window frame, letting it fall inside the shack, and eased his long toned body through the opening.  Within seconds the front door swung inward, and he stood there with a big smile.

“Come on in, darlin'.  Looks like nobody's home and hasn't been for quite a while.”

He turned away, heading for the kitchen, opening cupboards looking for food.  Canned goods lined the shelves, their bright and shiny labels a godsend to her.  Her stomach chose then to rumble, and her hands flew to cover her middle, embarrassed.  Maybe he didn't hear that?  He didn't turn around or comment, and she sighed in relief.

“Looks like this is somebody's fishing cabin, and it's been stocked pretty well.  We've got plenty of staples here.  He strolled across and opened the refrigerator, closing it quickly as a rancid stench filled the space.

“Yep, just what I thought.  No electricity.  They stocked the shelves, but didn't clean out the fridge.  Nothing cold, I'm afraid.”

Jennifer started pulling down cans, checking labels.  There were boxed crackers, dried beans, oatmeal, and even some grits.  Enough she could make a decent meal.

“Think the stove works?  Looks like it’s a gas one.”

“Lemme check.”  Remy pulled open a couple of drawers before he found what he was looking for—a box of matches.  Striking one, he turned the knob on the stove and held the match to the burner.  A whoosh of sound accompanied the flame that shot up, and he grinned, yanking his hand back.

“Gas is working.”

“Yes!  I'm going to fix us some dinner, and we can figure out what our next move is.”

The sweltering heat from outside permeated the kitchen, the tin roof reflecting some of the sun’s merciless rays. But with the temperature in the upper nineties she was hot and uncomfortable, but mostly starving.  Figuring soup and crackers would be fast and filling, she wiped a layer of dust out of a pot and dumped three cans of soup in, placing it on the burner.  Grabbing down two bowls and some silverware, she turned to the sink, and turned on the faucet.  Orange-colored and smelling stagnant, water sputtered and chocked its way through the pipes into the sink.  She let it run for several long minutes until it ran clear, and washed the dishes and silverware they'd use.

“Dinner's almost ready.”

She turned and realized Remy was nowhere to be seen.  Where'd he go?  “Remy?”

The swishing sound of the screen door opening had her spinning around, her hand planted against her stomach.  Fear roiled in her belly at the thought Dubshenko had caught up with them.  Instead, Remy strolled through with their pack and slung it down onto the wooden plank floor.

“You scared me half to death.”  Jinx inhaled a shaky breath, and turned away hoping he didn't see the trembling of her hands.  She picked up the spoon, gave the soup a quick stir and felt arms wrap around her from behind.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I didn't mean to scare you.  Just wanted to take a quick look around outside, make sure nobody was around.”  Without thought, she leaned back into his embrace, relishing the feel of his arms encircling her.  It had been such a long time since she'd been held.  Too busy working, trying to get ahead in her career and stay on the honest, straightforward path, and not fall back into the habits ingrained in her misspent youth. She'd rarely dated and hadn't been seriously involved with anyone for more than two years.

“When I couldn't find you, and heard the door, I thought maybe he'd found me.”  One shuddering breath betrayed everything she'd been holding inside, and she carefully laid the spoon atop the stove, afraid she'd drop it.  Remy leaned his head forward, resting his cheek against the top of her head.  A whisper of touch against her cheek before his fingertip trailed downward along the nape of her neck, sliding lightly against where it met her shoulder.  His left arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against him and she let her head fall back against his shoulder, submitting willingly to his exquisite touch.

“I promised you, babe, I'll keep you safe.  Haven't I kept us one step ahead of him this whole time?  Tomorrow, at first light, we'll head out.  Get a car somehow and head over to Superstition, Texas.”

“Where?  I've never heard of it.”

“I've got some friends who live there.  It's a small town in East Texas.  We'll get to their place and you'll be safe.  Between the four of us, nobody will touch you.  They're all former military, so they know what they're doing and know their way around weapons.  Plus, they are all mean sons of bitches.  Dubshenko or his goons show up there, well, let's just say it'll be the last mistake he ever makes.”

Jennifer straightened stepping away from him, and picked up the spoon idly stirring the soup.  Darn it, she'd felt comfortable in his arms, wanted to stay there and rest in the glorious feeling of warmth and safety that oozed from Remy. But if there was one thing her family had taught her it was that you can't rely on anybody but yourself.  Somebody tries to help you out—use 'em and lose 'em.  When this mess was all over and done with that's exactly what she'd do.  Staying too close to Remy was dangerous—not just physically, but emotionally.

“Give me a minute and I'll have this ready to serve.  Do we still have any of the bottled water left?  I don't think you want to drink the stuff coming out of the spigot.”

Remy looked at her, really looked at her, and Jinx forced herself to look away from those piercing brown eyes.  He saw too much, like he peered all the way to the depths of her soul.  She already felt raw and exposed. He didn't need to know how much his closeness and his touch called to something in her like she'd never experienced before.

“I'll check, but I think we do.”

“Great.  Let me serve this up and we can eat.”  She poured the soup into the two bowls, giving Remy the larger portion, and grabbed the crackers off the counter where she'd put them earlier. She’d hoped they weren't too stale to eat.  A feast fit for a king.  Well, the king of the bayou anyway.

Okay, so far so good.  The soup was hot and tasted amazing after the long morning and afternoon they'd spent.  Food hadn't been a priority—surviving Dubshenko's assignation attempt topped the list.  Now, filling her belly with something as simple as a bowl of canned soup felt like one of life's little pleasures.  Plus, the crackers hadn't been stale, either.  She chuckled.

“What brought that on?”  He looked up from his own bowl at the sound, and she saw that it was nearly empty.

“Just thinking about today, and how far we've come. That a simple meal of canned soup makes the mental highlight reel.”

“Yeah, I get it.  This was good, thanks for fixing it.”

“It's not like I cooked a gourmet meal or anything.”  She scoffed at this thanks.  “Dumping a can into a pot and putting it over a burner isn't exactly rocket science.”  She got up and went to the stove, lifting the pot.   “There's a bit left, want some more?”

“Nope, I'm good.”  Remy rose and gathered up his dishes from the table, carrying them to the sink.

“Leave those, I'll take care of them.”

“You don't have to,” he protested.  “You cooked, I'll clean up.”  She shrugged.  A few dishes weren't worth fighting over.

“I'm going out on the porch for a few minutes, before we lose all the light.  Want to join me?”  She slid the screen door open and sidled onto the wooden porch out front, leaning against the railing that ran its length.  The sounds of abundant life filled the air, heavy with humidity and heat.  Perspiration trickled down between her breasts, always a problem for her.  Being a curvy gal, there were certain places on her that seemed to be natural crevices, and her cleavage definitely fit the bill.  Summertime was the bane of her existence.  Being full-figured as people euphemistically called it, was a hard cross to bear when the weather heated up.  She loved her body, wasn't ashamed of it, but she'd learned dressing for comfort meant keeping more covered than not.  No matter what the fashion magazines and Hollywood might spoon feed the public, she'd had learned men gravitated toward a woman with a little extra oomph.

Bikinis became a no-go unless she desired a ton of unwanted attention.  She wasn't fat by any means, her curves had been described more than once as luscious.  She looked damn good out of her clothes as well as in them.  Unfortunately, sometimes people lost the ability to reason when 38 double D's were tastefully on display.  It became easier to dress conservatively whenever she was out and about in public.  Now, in private…well that was a whole different story.