Relentless Pursuit (4 page)

“I'm fine, baby sis.  Come home and everything will be good.  I promise.”  A pained hiss followed by interminable silence filled the now-crowded corner of the police station before Dubshenko's voice came back on.

“My dear Jennifer, as you heard, your brother is very much alive.  He wants to see you.  Why don't you and the good detective meet with us and we'll clear everything up, and things will go back to normal,
da
?”  Dubshenko's accent got heavier the longer he talked, and Remy, who'd dealt with him enough times to be aware of every nuance of Dubshenko's speech, knew what happened when the Russian got stressed.  The body count started to rise.

Definitely more to the situation than he's letting on.  He's panicked.

The rookie sprinted down the long pathway between the desks, and handed Remy the phone message.  Dammit, he didn't have time for this, but his instinct, a cop's never-to-be-ignored hunches, had him glance at the name. 
Theresa
.  His sister-in-law and best friend, who also happened to be a very strong and powerful psychic.  If there was one thing Remy learned after knowing Theresa for over a decade it was to never ignore any message from her.  If she called him at work, it was pretty damned important.

The note read
bad pizza
.  That was the whole message?  Bad pizza?  Screw it, he didn't have time for cryptic puzzles right now.  He'd have to call her back, or figure it out after he finished dealing with Dubshenko.

“Are you at Jennifer's house, Vladimir?  I'd love to drop by and talk to you and Carlo up close and personal.”

Dubshenko's laughter echoed through the speaker.  “Detective Lamoreaux, you always entertain me. 
Nyet,
we are not at the lovely Jennifer's house.  Carlo and I are on our way to The Pearl, awaiting her company for dinner.”

“Looks like you'll have a long wait.  She's going to be tied up for quite a while—with me.  I'm sure I'll find everything she has to say fascinating”

Dubshenko chuckled again, and the tiny hairs along the back of Remy's neck stood at attention.  Something didn't feel right.  Dubshenko wouldn't stay on the phone like this, not even for the opportunity to gloat over rubbing Remy's face in another failure to incriminate him.  He was more the type to shoot you in the face and walk away, not stand around and chat for the sake of chatting.  No, he was waiting for something.

“Please, Vladimir, promise me my brother is alright.  I'll come meet you anywhere you want, I swear.”  Jennifer snagged the phone right off of Remy's desk before he realized her intent.  He hated the desperate, pleading tone in her voice, the edge of barely suppressed hurt coloring her words.

Captain Hilliard shook his head.  Remy knew without evidence proving her brother had been shot they basically had zilch.  They didn't have any grounds to hold her.  What could they charge her with, other than filing a false crime?  He hadn't even started any paperwork yet, so they were between a rock and a hard place.

Remy believed her, though.  Dubshenko or one of his goons shot her brother.  As usual, luck was on Dubshenko's side, and Carlos still lived—for now.

“My dear, you heard him with your own ears.  Your brother is fine. Why don’t you come back?  I'll send my driver to pick you up.  I promise you a night you'll never forget.”  While Jennifer might not know Dubshenko well enough to read between the lines, Remy certainly did, and the threat was very real and very deadly.

In the distance the front door to the precinct slapped opened and a pimply-faced delivery boy in tattered jeans and a blue-and-white t-shirt walked in with one of those red vinyl containers used to carry hot pizza boxes.  He looked around before heading toward the front sergeant's desk.  A uniformed officer stopped him, spoke for a moment and looked around before he pointed back toward Remy's desk.    With a grin, the kid strolled between the desks headed toward the cluster of cops milling around his desk.

Bad pizza
.  Theresa's message flashed into his brain and klaxon alarms blared in his head.  The
Red Alert
signal from Star Trek screamed loud and clear. Nobody had ordered pizza.  One of the cops would've asked him if he wanted to chip in. That was the way they always did things.  Plus, it wouldn't be delivered straight back to the desks.  Deliveries were left at the front where the delivery guy could get paid.  Something stank to high heaven.

Son of a bitch
!  This was why Dubshenko was stalling, holding on the line.  He'd been waiting for…

“Everybody down!”  Remy shouted the words, throwing himself atop Jennifer and knocking her to the ground before shielding her with his body.  He drew his gun from his shoulder harness.  Bodies hit the ground all around him, officers responding with their own weapons drawn, and pointed at the pizza delivery kid.

“Whoa, dudes.”

“Hands in the air.”  The uniformed rookie, Peterson, grabbed the pizza container when the hapless delivery man started raising both hands, and placed the red vinyl carrier onto a nearby desk.

“Chill out, guys.  It's just pizza.”

“Who ordered it?”  Remy barked out the question, still covering Jennifer's body.  He could feel every soft inch of her sweetly curved body beneath his.  Her alluring curves fit him in a way he didn't have time to contemplate, but knew he'd remember later.  Cops climbed to their feet, including Captain Hilliard, who eyed the red vinyl Peterson now held with suspicion.

“It's on the house, man.  Gnarly dude outside gave me a hundred bucks to deliver pizzas for the fine cops at the New Orleans Police Department.  Special delivery—said to ask for Remy Lamoreaux.”

Bad pizza
.  The words whirled round and round in Remy's head.  Something wasn't adding up.  Theresa was rarely wrong about all that woo-woo crap.  If she saw bad pizza coming into the precinct, it meant something.

“What gnarly dude?”  Captain Hilliard's voice rang out.

“Tall, white-haired guy, talked kinda funny, like maybe he was from another country.”  The pizza guy cocked his head while he spoke.  “Gave me the carrier and the hundred bucks, and sent me right in.”

Remy started to rise off Jennifer's prone body when the uniformed cop who'd taken the pizza box from the delivery kid began peeling back the flap, the ripping sound of the hook-and-loop fastener coming apart.

“No, don't open…”

Remy's words were cut short as a deafening roar filled the air.  The explosion rocked the building, plunging them into blinding darkness.

Chapter Three

A
ll Jinx noticed when she peeled her eyes open was darkness.  A wall of nearly impenetrable blackness, though her eyes slowly adjusted and images formed.  Well, that plus the fact her head was killing her.  Flat on her back a heavy weight pinned her to the ground.  A warm, solid, breathing weight.  Muffled sounds began penetrating the fog of smoke, and the smell of…was that sulfur…as her brain kicked into gear and she remembered the explosion, and the gorgeous dark-haired cop throwing himself on top her, protecting her from the blast.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”  The words whispered beside her ear rumbled in a hoarse voice laced with concern.  Gentle fingertips brushed the tousled hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.  A bright light shown downward, and she instinctively raised her hand blocking out the glaring intrusion.  Flashlight, she realized, squinting against the beam.

“I'm okay.  What happened?”

“Bomb.  Probably a homemade pipe bomb from the look of things.  Lots of bang, though not as much damage as C4.  The pizza delivery guy carried it into the station.”  The cop's weight slowly eased off her, and Jinx immediately missed the security of his body pressed tightly against her.  Odd, she usually couldn't wait to get out from beneath a man's heavy bulk.  This felt different.  Comforting, protected. 
Safe.

“Here, let me help you up.”

“Thanks.”  She placed her hands into his outstretched ones. He gently tugged, steadying her when she wobbled on her cut heel.

Damn, why'd I take off my brand new shoes?  Oh, yeah, right.  Crazy Russians in my house.

A controlled kind of chaos surrounded them as a tall black man with salt-and-pepper hair, she thought she remembered him being called Hilliard, directed people, plainclothes and uniformed.  Another uniformed cop lay on the ground as several people tried to stem the blood pouring from his mangled right hand.  The beams from multiple flashlights streaked down the walkway between desks, and the warm humid night air poured through the gaping hole in the side of the building where the windows had blown outward.  Outside, the shouts of officers trying to control the unruly crowd of ghoulish spectators, and the murmurs of the growing crowd hoping for a glimpse of the controlled chaos, could be heard. 

“Ambulances are on the way, cap.”

“How many injured?”  The captain's deep baritone oozed confidence and calm, a rumble that echoed over the babble of voices.  Jinx rubbed her hands along her upper arms, felt the trembling wash through her in the aftermath of the earlier adrenaline spike. 
Hold it together.  Gotta get out, check on Carlo
. 

“Are you hurt?  Bleeding anywhere, sweetheart?”  The detective, the one who'd been protecting her, what was his name again—Remy—was asking her questions
.  Concentrate, Jinx.  Tell him everything's great so you can get to Carlo.

“I'm fine, just had the wind knocked out of me.  Look, things are crazy right now.  You need to help your friends.  I'll head out and you can…”

“Lamoreaux, she doesn't leave,” Hilliard's voice interrupted. His sharp brown gaze seemed to see straight into her, plumb her every secret.

“You don't need me to stay.  Obviously I made a huge mistake.  I'll head home and straighten everything out and…”

“Sorry, sugar, but you're not going anywhere,” Remy's voice interrupted.  His hand latched onto her elbow, cementing her in place.  She tugged, trying to wrench herself free, without any luck since his grip was solid, forceful and oddly comforting.

Remy glanced once toward his captain, nodded and turned back to her.  “You heard the captain, you're here for a bit longer.  Let's get out of the way and let the emergency crews do their stuff.”  Turning to the captain, he added, “Cap, I'm taking her down to interview two.  Keep me posted.”

Hilliard gave a brief wave of dismissal.  Remy's hand slid against the small of her back as he guided Jennifer through the rubble and debris as they carefully made their way past the blast zone, and into the open area of the entrance to the station.  The front doors were splayed wide, the warmth of the night air permeating the foyer.  Temperatures had soared during the afternoon, and the atmosphere felt muggy, making it hard to breathe.  Dust particles danced in the flashlight beams, yet Remy trudged forward continuing to the other side of the building.  Guiding her down another hall, the darkness was illuminated by cops rushing forward, more flashlights and even a couple of lit flares penetrated the bleak gloom.   Pausing in front of the second door they came across, Remy glanced at her.  She knew he checked for signs of injury, his eyes raking her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. His scorching look pooled heat deep in her belly and a spark of attraction arced.

Merde,
now was not the time to be thinking about how attractive the cop was. How his eyes had crinkled at the corners when he'd smiled earlier, or the slight upward tilt of his mouth when he'd called her sweetheart.  Think about your brother.  Dubshenko denied shooting him, but Jinx knew what she'd seen.  The argument she'd heard.  The loud pop of the gun firing.

“Have a seat, Jennifer.   Make yourself comfortable,” Remy chuckled then added, “at least as comfortable as you can get under the circumstances.”  He laid the flashlight on its side so the light shone across the table top and onto the brick wall.

“I believe you.  About Dubshenko shooting your brother.  The good news—Carlo is still alive.  The bad news—Dubshenko has him.”  He stood and walked over to a file cabinet in the corner of the small interrogation room, yanked open the second drawer and fumbled around inside.

Jinx waited with her arms wrapped around her body, not saying a word. She was afraid to say anything at this point. He was right.  Dubshenko had Carlo, and if she gave the cops any information he wouldn't hesitate to kill him and dump his body in the swamps, never to be found.

“Ah, ha!  Here we go.”  An old fashioned cassette tape recorder landed on the table. The light from the flashlight gleamed against its black and chrome plastic surface. The sheen was dull and worn from age and heavy use.  Next, a couple of cassette tapes were plunked down on the table.

“Normally, we'd videotape our interview for both documentation and for your protection.  Since the electricity is off, we're gonna do this the old-fashioned way.”  Grabbing up one of the cassettes Remy fed it into the recorder, and pressed play.  The scratchy sound of the tape feeding was audible in the quiet of the room.

“Great.  Hopefully this baby has halfway decent batteries, and doesn't conk out on us partway through.”  He smiled, and Jinx felt that little zing she'd noticed earlier.

Grabbing his chair he flipped it around, straddling it so he faced her.  He pressed the play and record buttons simultaneously with an emphatic stab of his fingers.

“This is Detective Remy Lamoureaux of the New Orleans Police Department interviewing Ms. Jennifer Smith at 9:15 p.m., July fifteenth.  This is a witness statement being recorded strictly on audio as there has been a bomb explosion at the station and power is currently off, so no video recording is possible.  Ms. Smith, in your own words, I need you to repeat what we discussed earlier this evening regarding the shooting of your brother, Carlo.”

Taking a deep breath, Jinx stated, “I have nothing to say.”

“Ms. Smith, you came in and said you wanted to report a crime, that your brother had been killed.  Is that correct?”

“Yes, but you know I was mistaken.  You heard Carlo on the phone, he's not dead.”