“I'm afraid she was murdered.”
“Strangled,” added his companion.
As his fear for himself began to recede, he noticed that they were watching him closely. Funny that his fear for himself was the perfect shocked reaction for Suzanne. Dead. And he didn't get to do it. Well, it was safer that way, but it still sucked.
“I don't understand,” he said with perfect truth. It felt strange.
“Apparently she met someone in a French Quarter hotel.” The cop was still watching him closely. “They had sex, then he killed her.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts this afternoon, sir?” his partner asked.
They suspected him. It was almost funny. Good thing he hadn't needed to roofie his alibi. She actually liked it rough. This could have been so, dang ironic.
“I can give you the young lady's name—and I trust you'll be discreet with it?”
“Certainly, sir.” The two cops exchanged looks again, their faces going expressionless.
“We'll need you to come down and identify the body, sir.”
Bubba Joe adopted a suitably serious expression. “Of course. I just need to make a phone call and I'll come right down.”
The grieving widower. This might work for him, though it was going to be a bitch replacing Suzanne as his manager.
* * * *
Remy found himself retracing his journey to Oz in the fading light of a setting sun, only this time he knew what was waiting for him there. He and Dorothy had talked by phone last night, so he knew her aunt had showed up. He was withholding judgment until he met the woman, but he found her story unlikely and her timing suspicious.
Yesterday, work had been pressure cooked to a white-hot heat as speculation swirled about his run for the mansion and his relationship with Dorothy. He hadn't minded it, since he was mostly used to it, but he was glad to have a break before they launched their next salvo at the dinner party. It would be nice to be acting, instead of reacting, to events. And one hoped the guilty party was sweating it out somewhere.
What had started as an intellectual enterprise, a chance to satisfy his curiosity about a past event had, at some point in the last few days, turned very personal. The quest to find out who was behind Magus's killing was no longer about a sleeping murder. Murder had waked with a vengeance. Someone was very afraid and striking out without mercy. What was even more troubling, for someone who cared about the future of the state as much as Remy did, was the realization that the killer might also be politically powerful. What if he, or she, were to become governor of the state? It wouldn't be the first time Louisiana had had someone unworthy in a position of power. The state had even survived some pretty scaly leaders, but it still pissed him off. Just surviving wasn't enough anymore.
The people in the state deserved better and they were trying to get it. There was an ebb and tide in human events, where all the pieces came together to make something happen. If that tide passed, how long would it take the people of this state to recover this time? He wanted to be governor, but this wasn't just about him. Not anymore. Whoever had killed, whoever was now killing had raised the stakes.
He and Dorothy had dropped stones in a stinking, deep and dark pond, and the resulting ripples were spreading well beyond any personal agenda he or she might have. The night of the Zoo-to-Do, he'd wondered if they should back off, or if he should at least try to persuade Dorothy to back off. He now knew he'd never be able to convince her to do that and he knew it wasn't the right thing to do. He wasn't perfect, but he was a “man of goodwill.” He couldn't allow “evil to endure” without doing something about it.
All of this didn't mean he'd bitten off a lot. Beyond the obvious danger problems of their situation was the worry about how close he and Dorothy were becoming. He'd known it would be challenging to pretend to love Dorothy, but he'd thought it would because she wasn't that loveable. Now he was finding it hard to keep his head. She was far more beautiful, far more fascinating, than he'd expected. And beyond that, she was a good person. It sounded like such a cliche, but she had character. She had integrity. She had a sense of humor, charm and natural warmth. She was definitely, infinitely desirable.
In short, she would be dangerously easy to fall for. He had to keep reminding himself they wanted different things, but it was getting more difficult, because it was quite clear they both wanted each other. He hadn't fallen yet, of course, but the line had blurred between where pretense began and reality ended.
He spotted the opening to Oz and this time he didn't shoot past. As he turned off the highway his car didn't lurch and sway, though the remote Dorothy had given him for the gate went flying across the car. He muttered to himself, put the car in “park” and bent over to retrieve it. At first he didn't know what the large cracking sound meant. He almost sat up to look, but then he got it. He twisted around, without exposing his body to fire and saw another hole appear in the side window of his car. Even then it was hard to compute that someone was shooting at him. Someone was actually,
freaking
, shooting at him.
He grabbed the remote and pointed it at the gate, careful to keep a low profile. He counted to ten, the longest ten seconds of his life, then fumbled the car in gear and drove forward. Two more shots thudded into the body of his car before he felt sure he'd pulled out of range. He stopped and took a cautiously look over the edge of the door. Nothing happened, so he sat up.
He'd set himself up as a clay pigeon, but the truth was, he hadn't really expected to be shot at. Now he felt...pissed. Royally pissed. The killer had just made it very personal again. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to find him and stop him. Preferably with his fist first.
He took several deep breaths. He'd like to talk to Titus, too—
A jeep came careening down the road. Titus sat next to one of his security guys, his expression not a happy one. The jeep jerked to a stop by Remy's car and Titus jumped out.
“Go see what you can find out,” he ordered the driver.
Remy waited until Titus could see the four bullet holes in his window before he lowered it.
“You all right?” Titus asked.
Remy nodded. “I expect my insurance rates are going to go up.”
“I know someone who can fix it. Leave your keys with one of the guards. It'll be ready by morning.”
“Okay.” Remy stared at him for a long moment before asking, “You riding up to the house with me?”
“I'll wait for Finlay.”
“Fine.” He rolled the window up again, trying not to notice that the cluster of holes were where his head should have been. His heartbeat had slowed somewhat, during his brief exchange with Titus, but now it sped up again. It was one thing to
think
he was kicking the ant's nest, a whole other thing to
know
it.
He was conscious of Titus watching him. Man-like, Remy refused to let him see him sweat. He put the car in gear and pulled away, for the first time noticing the progress that had been made in the few days since he and Dorothy began their dangerous dance with a killer.
The yellow brick road had been repaired, the encroaching green trimmed back for an easier-to-the-paint-job passage. When he swept into the yard and found the house gleaming green in the golden light, he laughed out loud. This was a declaration of war, with a vengeance.
He parked his car with the bullet holes away from the house. He had a feeling Titus wouldn't tell Dorothy. He wouldn't want her to be worried about Remy. He was quite sure Titus would do nothing to further any bonds they might be building between them. What Remy didn't know, was exactly how Titus felt about Dorothy. Remy was sure that Titus didn't consider himself merely an employee. Yeah, he'd been there for her for a long time, but that didn't give him the right to act like a dog with a favorite bone. For one thing, he was old enough to be her freaking father. And his last important body guarding job had ended with Magus dead and Dorothy injured. If the opportunity presented itself, he was going to suggest Dorothy distance herself from Titus.
He saw Dorothy waiting for him under the same oak tree as last time. Today she wore jeans, a white tee and the inevitable gimme cap with the brim turned back. Her smile was wide and welcoming. It dug into a deep place inside him, warming him from the inside out. He forgot about the shooting and Titus. Driven by instinct and what he wanted, not what he should do, he started toward her. In his mind, she was already in his arms, his mouth on hers, his body home where it belonged. She didn't move, but there was nothing in her eyes to stop him. Three feet, then two feet separated them. One more foot...but before he reached her, the jeep with Titus and Finlay drove into the clearing, stopping him in his tracks.
He couldn't tell if she was disappointed. If she was, the expression passed so fleetingly across her face, he couldn't be sure. She'd gotten good at hiding what she felt. He supposed she'd had to, but it made him sad, particularly knowing he'd helped it to happen.
It was a pointed reminder of all the reasons they were wrong for each other. His body wasn't buying it, but for now his brain was back in control.
He started to say something to her, but stopped. He was tired of Titus being silent witness to everything they said and did. Surely he didn't need to be so omnipresent here in Oz? He looked at him pointedly, until he and his sidekick excused themselves and left. When he was out of sight, Remy looked at Dorothy.
“Any news?” Remy asked.
Dorothy nodded. “A very interesting call from Bubba Joe Henry.”
Remy's brows arched. “Really? What did that slime bucket want?”
“He had something he wants to give me. Of my mother's.” A troubled frown creased her brow. He wished he had the right to smooth it away. “He's hoping I'll meet him at his place in Baton Rouge tonight.”
“No.” Remy shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“That's what I told him, only a bit more ambiguously. I said maybe tomorrow, but he said he'll be busy making funeral arrangements tomorrow.”
“What?”
“It seems someone murdered his wife today,” Dorothy said evenly. “He didn't seem too broken up about it, though I'm sure he will be tomorrow for the cameras. Anyway, he said if I'd feel more comfortable, to bring Titus. He's sure I have no secrets from him.”
“I still don't like it,” Remy said. “What's his angle?”
“The only way to find out is to go. I should be fine with Titus.” She stepped closer. “I told him I wanted you to be there, but he said no. I think you make him crazy.”
She smiled at him. It was a great smile. It seemed to come from deep inside her and couldn't be contained by her mouth. It spread out around her like rays from the sun.
Reluctantly Remy grinned back. “Well, I do my best.”
After a moment, she sobered again. “Do you think her death is connected to our problem?”
Remy shook his head. “No way to know for sure, but I'll call my source in the NOPD. See what I can find out.”
“Thanks. I think I'm getting paranoid. They were all here back then. It's like we've all come back to where we were. Even the same things are at stake again.” She shivered.
He held out his hand. “Let's walk and talk.”
She took the hand he'd extended and let him pull her to his side. He looked down at her, enjoying the way movement made her hair lift and move. Like Dorothy the person, her hair was full of light and shadow and he was sure it would be soft against his hands if he ever got the chance to—
Okay, don't go there.
Not if he wanted to finish the walk with any dignity.
“About Titus—”
“You shouldn't bait him,” Dorothy said.
He gave himself a mental shake and added, “I didn't think you noticed.”
“When Magus was alive, about all I had to do was watch and listen. I guess it turned into a habit.”
“Then you've probably noticed he's a bit intense about you. It's not—” He hesitated.
“Good for either of us?”
“So you've noticed?”
Dorothy nodded. “When this is over, I'll talk to him, but I can't deny him his chance to find out what happened. He needs it, in his own way, as much as I do.”
He nodded. He still thought it a mistake, but it wasn't any of his business.
“So, this aunt of yours, what's she like?”
He saw a stone bench and steered her toward it. Being with her was nice, but it was too damn hot to walk far. He wished now, he'd paused to get something cool to drink.
Dorothy sank to the bench, her violet gaze studying him thoughtfully as she said, “What's she like? I think you should draw your own conclusions.”
“Any chance she's not who she says she is?”
“If she were younger, we'd be twins.”
“Okay, do you believe her story? It's pretty wild.”
Dorothy stretched her legs out, studying her sandal-clad feet as if they held the answers to the mysteries of the cosmos. “I didn't at first.”
“And now you do?”
“Let's just say, I'm not as skeptical as I was.” She slanted a lazy look at him and strand of her hair fell forward, near one of her eyes.
Without thinking, he smoothed the strand back in place. It took at least two, slow beats of his heart for him to register the feel of her hair against fingertips turned super sensitive. And then there was her skin. Silk would be jealous of her skin. Cashmere would wish it could be more like her. His breath stopped. His heart might have, too. Slowly, giving her time to pull back, he slid his hand into her hair and around to the back of her head.
She just watched him with her amazing eyes, their depths reflective, curious, and interested. But the pulse at the base of her neck doubled its pace. He adjusted his head, then the angle of hers and brought their mouths within striking distance of each other.
“I've wanted to do this for days,” he said huskily. Now he could smell her. Sweet, with just a hint of sass. “You smell good.”
She trembled under his touch, starting a wildfire in his midsection. “So do you.” She sounded breathless, a little amused, definitely interested. Still he waited.