Chapter 7

Trying to focus on anything at four thirty in the morning was difficult enough, but trying to pay attention to what the weatherman on the TV was saying about Ophelia while Triana was lying in his bed naked made it damn near impossible. One look was all it took to remind him of the night they’d shared.

Dinner at Muriel’s had been amazing and the beignets at Café du Monde had been even better. But while those things had been spectacular, they took a backseat to what happened after they’d come back here. Flat out, he’d never had a night like last night. He’d slept with plenty of other women before but never with a woman like Triana. Even now, he tried to find words to describe their connection and failed.

Simply put, she clicked with him sexually like no one else ever had. She was energetic, enthusiastic, adventurous, and insatiable. It was like they were a perfect match, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he had to get to the NOPD SWAT facility early, the two of them would probably still be making love. How the hell had he missed such a remarkable woman when she’d been right under his nose all those years ago? He must have been blind—or stupid.

“Do these people seriously get paid for this?” Triana asked. She was on her side, her head propped up on one hand, a corner of the bedsheet strategically covering absolutely nothing. “The guy just confessed to not having a clue what the storm’s going to do.”

Remy couldn’t answer the question. He was standing there with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, staring, so he tore his gaze away from Triana’s display of sexy brown skin and attempted to focus on the TV.

In a way, he kind of felt sorry for the people responsible for predicting where Ophelia was heading. As far as Remy could tell, this storm wasn’t following the rules. It was still wandering aimlessly in a westerly direction, but mostly it seemed to be stuck. The only thing the weather experts could say for sure was that the storm was getting stronger. Other than that, they were baffled.

The hell with the frigging weather. Remy had to get to work, storm or no storm. Going into the bathroom, he rinsed the toothpaste out of his mouth and shoved the electric razor around his jaw for a bit before heading back to the bedroom so he could rummage through the dresser for underwear and socks. Since it happened to be the same dresser he and Triana had made love on last night, it was difficult to think about something as mundane as socks, but he forced himself to focus before he got too hard to put on his damn underwear.

Triana didn’t make it any easier, choosing that particular moment to stretch, rolling around on the bed and arching her back like a kitty.

Stifling a groan, he turned his back on her, then dragged a pair of uniform cargos out of the closet and pulled them on. At least they were looser in the crotch than the jeans he’d had on last night. He pulled on the standard, dark-blue DPD SWAT T-shirt, then his socks and boots.

His car keys were in the room safe, but it took a while to find his wallet and room key card, which were on the floor by the front door. How the hell had that happened?

He patted the front right pocket of his cargos, realizing he was missing something. Frowning, he went in search of the jeans he’d been wearing the night before. Where the hell had he kicked them?

Triana laughed as he got down on his hands and knees and pulled them out from under the bed. Getting to his feet, he dug through the pockets and immediately found what he was after—a small, tan bag made out of chamois material and tied with a complicated knot at the top. A series of runes and letters were inscribed on one side of the bag. Well, they used to be. Now the marks were mostly faded.

“I can’t believe you’re still carrying the gris-gris bag my mom gave you,” Triana said, coming up on her knees and leaning forward to peek at it.

Remy slipped the good luck charm in the right pocket of his uniform pants. “I never go anywhere without it.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been carrying it every day since Mom gave it to you the day we graduated high school?”

He hesitated, almost telling her there had been a three-year period when he’d been in the Marshals that he’d gotten out of the habit. But that was too long of a story to get into—and too depressing. So he fibbed a little.

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

Triana eyed him skeptically. “You don’t believe in all this voodoo magic stuff, do you? You’re a cop. You know better than anyone that there’s no magic out there. There’s just good guys, bad guys, and science.”

He chuckled. Triana had always been into the science behind everything. If she couldn’t see it or prove it with an experiment, she wasn’t much for it. She’d always humored her mother about the stuff Gemma sold at the shop, but she’d never bought into it.

He shrugged, wondering what she’d do if she figured out he was a werewolf. Probably draw blood and look for a cure. “Don’t be so sure of that. Take it from me, the world is a lot stranger than you might think. The moment you’re sure you’ve seen it all, you run into someone who will prove you wrong.”

Remy expected her to laugh, but instead, she looked thoughtful. “Funny you should say that, considering the guy who showed up in the shop yesterday.”

“What guy?” he asked, checking his duffel bag to make sure he had all his tactical gear as well as another uniform to change into if he needed it.

Triana sat back on her heels with a sigh. “Same whack job lawyer looking for the necklace with the wolf head my father used to wear all the time. Apparently he represents some rich guy who wants to remain anonymous and offered my mom five thousand dollars for the thing.”

“Whoa.”

Remy remembered the necklace Triana was talking about, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t worth anywhere near that kind of money.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Triana gracefully climbed out of bed and padded over to him. “The funny thing is, Mom claimed she didn’t know what necklace the guy was talking about.”

“You think your mom has the necklace and just doesn’t want to sell it?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the fact that Triana was still gloriously naked.

She shrugged, which did rather amazing things to her perfect breasts. “Maybe.”

“Is that so surprising? I mean, it was your father’s. I imagine it’s probably important to your mother for obvious sentimental reasons.”

Triana nodded. “Oh, I get that part. Hell, even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t want her selling to the guy, because he came off as an arrogant prick. No, the part that struck me as strange was why someone is willing to spend that much money on a necklace, not to mention send a smarmy lawyer to be his mouthpiece.”

Remy opened his mouth to reply, but Triana chose that moment to stand up on her tiptoes, wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him. He’d already been aroused simply from being near her sexy, naked body, but the moment her lips touched his and he got a taste of her, he went from semi-erect to hard as a crowbar. He put his arms around her, fitting her more tightly against him. Damn, she was a walking, talking aphrodisiac.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” she asked, smiling up at him. “More training?”

What she was really asking was whether he’d be going out on any more drug raids. Remy knew he probably should have been honest and told Triana that was always a possibility, but he couldn’t do that to her. She was obviously relaxed and happy after last night and there was no reason to bum her out.

“Yeah,” he said casually. “We ran the training yesterday, so today the local guys are up. I think they plan on demonstrating some new room-clearing techniques based on a three-person team.”

Triana nodded, though Remy could tell she had no idea what he was talking about. She seemed relieved he wasn’t going to be putting himself at risk today. That was good enough for him.

“Well, have fun…I guess.” She kissed him again, making him burn with the need to taste even more of her. “You want to get together tonight?”

He grinned, sliding his hands down her back until he had a handful of ass cheek in each. Her bottom should have been listed as a New Orleans work of art. It simply defined perfection.

“That’s a clown question, and you know it,” he told her. “I’m up for anything you might have in mind.”

She rubbed her tummy against the hard-on hidden in his uniform pants. “Yes, you are, aren’t you? But I was actually talking about going out to the French Quarter again. I blew off a night out with my girlfriends last night and was hoping you’d be willing to come out with us so I could make it up to them while still spending time with you too.”

“Works for me,” he said. “My teammates probably wouldn’t mind coming, if that’s okay with you?”

Actually, he wasn’t really sure about that last part, but if he needed his pack mates to pull wingman duty, they’d do it.

Triana smiled. “It’s a date then.” She nodded down at his crotch. “You sure there isn’t something I could do to help you out with that before you go to work? I can work fast when I need to.”

He groaned at the visual and almost gave in, but then resisted the urge. If last night proved anything, it was that once they got going, they didn’t want to stop.

“You don’t know how much I’d love to, but if I don’t get downstairs, the guys are going to come banging on the door.” He caught a stray curl from where it rested against her breast and twirled it around his finger. “Rain check.”

She looked disappointed but nodded.

“Feel free to stay here and catch up on some sleep if you want,” he said. “I’ll put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.”

“I probably will.” Triana grimaced. “This is a crazy time to be getting up for work anyway.”

Before she let him go, she pulled his head down once more for another kiss, this time slow and passionate.

“By the way,” she said softly, “in case you didn’t notice, last night was fantastic—and I don’t just mean once we got back here to your room. Cross my heart, I’ve never had a better date in my life.”

Remy weaved a hand into her hair and tugged her in for a kiss that he hoped spoke volumes about how much he agreed. “Best. Date. Ever.”

“Something tells me tonight will be even better,” she said.

Smiling, Triana turned and headed for the bathroom, putting a little extra wiggle in her walk as she went—probably to punish him for leaving without taking her up on the offer of a quickie.

“Later, sweetie,” she said over her shoulder.

Remy watched her ass until it completely disappeared from sight, then grabbed his duffel bag and left the room.

Halfway down the hall, he stopped in midstride as he realized how painful it was to leave Triana. His inner wolf shouted at him to go back, even if only for one more kiss. Damn, he’d known the sexual chemistry between them was intense, but it was stronger than he knew—more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. He supposed that was what happened when you finally made love with the girl you’d been crushing on since high school.

Giving himself a mental shake, he started down the hall again.

Remy smelled the guys waiting for him long before he reached the elevators. Max, Brooks, and Zane were standing there with knowing looks on their faces.

“Good night?” Max asked as he pressed the button for the elevator.

“Good enough,” Remy said noncommittally.

Brooks snorted as the elevator doors slid open. “Dude, you are so full of shit.”

* * *

Triana left Remy’s hotel room and headed toward the diner on Magazine Street a little after nine that morning. While the sky might have still been bright and clear, the threat of the storm in the Gulf was starting to have a visible effect on the inhabitants of the city. It was hard to put into words, but she could feel the tension in the air as people walked along the sidewalks a little bit faster, smiled a little bit less. People were getting worried, and it was starting to show.

She stopped in the entryway of the crowded restaurant, looking for Marcus Bodine, the private investigator she’d hired, and spotted him sitting at a booth in the back, eating breakfast. She wasn’t sure how he knew she was there, but he glanced up and made eye contact the moment she walked in, motioning her over.

She’d just gotten out of the shower when Bodine had called, saying he wanted to meet with her as soon as possible. He had something she needed to see. Triana barely remembered putting on her dress, she’d moved so fast.

Weaving her way through the tables, Triana slid into the booth on the other side of the table from Bodine and flagged down a passing waitress.

“Coffee and whole wheat toast,” she said.

While the diner made a delicious breakfast, her stomach was too jumpy to consider anything heavier. For the first time in months, there was a chance she’d finally learn something about the man who’d killed her father.

“Sure you don’t want something else to eat?” Bodine said. “My treat. I swear I won’t even add it to the expense report.”

Triana almost laughed. So far, the PI had added everything to his expense report. The last one had had an entry for thirty-five cents, the cost of the parking meter outside the coffee shop he’d stopped at for a bagel while on the way to his office to email her the report.

“Toast is fine,” she said. “What do you have?”

Short and stocky, Bodine had a touch of gray in his curly brown hair, and dark eyes that didn’t miss a thing. He reached down into the messenger-style bag beside him on the bench and came out with a thick yellow envelope. Without a word, he shoved it across the table at her.

She started to open it, but he shook his head. “Not here. If anyone sees you reading that, it would lead to a lot of awkward questions.”

Triana was so curious her fingers itched, but she resisted the temptation to assume Bodine was being a drama queen and instead put the envelope on the seat beside her.

“What is it?” she asked.

He went back to eating his Creole Slammer, a big mess of eggs and hash browns smothered in crawfish étouffée. She loved her city’s down-home cooking as much as the next girl, but there was no way in heck she could eat something like that this early in the morning.

“It’s the entire case file the NOPD has on your father’s murder,” he said. “And I do mean the entire case file, including the coroner’s death investigation report.”

If she’d thought her fingers had been itching to see it before, it didn’t compare to how eager she was now. She’d been asking the NOPD for a copy of the file for over a year and hadn’t gotten so much as a return phone call. Apparently, it wasn’t something the police preferred to hand out, especially when the case was technically still open.

“How’d you get it?” she asked Bodine. She wasn’t quite sure if it was illegal to have a copy of a full, unabridged police report in New Orleans, but she didn’t think anyone would be thrilled about it.

Bodine didn’t even look up from his plate as he shoveled eggs onto his fork. “I stole it. When you get a chance to read it in private, you’ll notice the actual crime scene photos have been sealed in a separate envelope. It’s my suggestion that you skip that part of the report. Take my word for it, you don’t want to see them.”

She nodded, forcing herself to suddenly take interest in the coffee and toast the waitress had just delivered to avoid thinking about what might be in that sealed envelope.

“Any information you think is of particular interest?” she asked as she sipped her coffee.

Bodine glanced at the nearby tables like he was worried the NOPD had suddenly started following him. But after a few moments of surveillance, he must have decided the risk was low enough because he nodded.

“Several items. In no particular order,” he said quietly, “first, the detective running this case should probably be fired. Outside of the generic walk-around-the-block-and-ask-if-anyone-heard-anything type of questions, he’s done nothing. My personal opinion is that as soon as they saw your dad’s old rap sheet, they wrote this off as criminal-on-criminal violence and let the case sink.”

Triana immediately felt her face flush with anger. Her father had never hidden the fact that he’d had a shady background growing up or that he’d been in tangles with the law back when he was younger. But all that had been more than two decades ago. Everything had changed after she and her mother were in his life. Didn’t a man get any credit for turning his life around?

Still, as mad as she was, Triana knew that Bodine hadn’t told her anything she hadn’t already figured out on her own. She’d known the police hadn’t tried very hard to find her father’s killer, but it still hurt to have it confirmed.

“There were a few random notes in the file about some people thinking your dad had pissed off someone dangerous in the days or weeks right before his death, but nothing specific,” Bodine continued. “I’m going to dig into that angle a bit more.”

Triana didn’t say anything as she nibbled on her breakfast.

“The most interesting tidbits were found in the autopsy report,” Bodine added, scraping up the last of his breakfast with a piece of toast slathered in so much butter that it left yellow streaks behind on the plate. Triana had to wonder what this guy’s blood pressure and cholesterol averaged on a normal day. “There was also blood at the crime scene that wasn’t your dad’s—two distinct blood types beyond his—and lots of it. The coroner stated it was arterial, probably from the carotid based on angle and distance of spray. Unfortunately, there were no hits in CODIS or the Louisiana DNA databases.”

Triana looked up in surprise. “Dad was attacked by two people?”

Bodine shook his head. “More than that. The coroner was of the opinion that the amount of blood at the scene indicated both of those people would have bled out in something like twenty or thirty seconds. But their bodies weren’t at the scene, meaning there were at least three attackers and that whoever was left removed the bodies of the two who’d been killed. Why the hell someone would hang around to drag off their bodies but not the body of the person they’d killed is frigging beyond me. The coroner’s theory is also supported by the fact that ballistics showed three distinct large-caliber automatics used on your father. None of the weapons were found at the scene or anywhere nearby, though.”

“Three people shooting large-caliber handguns in the middle of the night and no one heard a thing?” she asked in disbelief. “It’s not like Dad’s club was in the middle of nowhere.”

Bodine shrugged. “My guess is that they used silencers, which is kind of scary, since it likely means that these men were professionals. Common criminals don’t walk around the street carrying silenced weapons.”

Professionals, huh? Something else the NOPD detective had never mentioned to her and her mother. “They were professionals, but Dad was still able to kill two of them?” She felt a completely stupid sense of pride at that. Her dad had gone down swinging, the way he’d always told her to face any obstacle life put in front of her. “I didn’t know he’d even kept a weapon at the club.”

Bodine looked around the diner again, making sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, then lowered his voice. “That’s where things get interesting. Those men weren’t shot. The coroner and crime scene techs were sure of that. The only guns fired in that club belonged to the men who attacked your father. There was blood found on the tips of all of your dad’s fingers though, implying that he ripped the men’s throats out with his bare hands. I have to admit, that conclusion makes me wonder if the crime scene techs didn’t mess something up during the collection. I know your dad was big, but I’m not buying the idea that he was able to rip two people’s throats out while getting shot multiple times.”

Triana wasn’t so sure of that. Her dad had never been one to mess with. As much as she loved him, she knew he was ornery enough to do something like that.

“So, is there anything else the police didn’t tell me about my father’s death?” she asked, not sure what to do with all the information she already had.

“Actually, there is.”

He hesitated as the waitress came by to drop off the checks. True to his word, Bodine grabbed hers and paid for it. Triana reminded herself to check the next expense report just in case. She waited while the PI calculated the tip down to the sixth decimal place. When he finally looked up at her, his expression was cautious.

“To tell the truth, I have no idea what to make of this last part, but it’s strange, so I think it’s something we should dig into,” Bodine said. “When you read the report, I’m sure the chemical names will mean more to you than they did to me, but bottom line—someone pumped your father full of animal tranquilizer just before he was shot. Again, I’m not sure how they’re connected, but the report said the levels would have been lethal to a human in minutes. Essentially, someone tried to poison your dad to death before they shot him.”