information to the highest bidder, scare tactics, excessive force—and murder.
Of Savannah.
Slamming the door behind him, Cain took the stairs two at a time. Rumor had it that Alec would be at the race track in less than an hour. That something big was going down.
His former partner would be there to greet him. Guilty or innocent. One way or another, Cain would find out for sure.
Revulsion swept through Renee, but she refused to let it show. Angel's revelation was consistent with police speculation, a sordid claim that had run in all the local papers and a few of the cable networks. It was what her own brother had believed.
Despite all of that—the warnings and the evidence, the cold hard logic—there was still a place deep inside Renee that rebelled at the allegation.
How did a woman accept that the man she'd been falling in love with was a pathological liar?
"You think their relationship was just a tactic?" she asked with a detached calm she didn't come close to feeling.
Angel flicked away the maple leaf. "What man in love leaves his woman's bed to come to mine?" Her mouth curved into a cynical smile. "Not a satisfied one, that's for sure."
Despite the fair skin and blond hair she'd been born with, Cajun blood ran through Renee's veins. Her father's mother and mother's father were both full-blooded. She'd grown up adoring them, enchanted by the rich cadence of their voices and the hot passion that guided their actions. As a child, she hadn't known the flashes of temper and bursts of happiness were passion, she'd just known her grandparents were bright, vibrant people.
Knowledge of passion had come later, when she'd discovered she'd inherited that same intensity. When things were good, she could ride the wave and savor every moment.
When things were bad… It was hard to explain to anyone who didn't share her blood, hard to make them understand urges that were dark and punishing, capable of frightening even herself.
And Cain. She could still see him at the plantation ruins, standing in the incessant drizzle, begging her to abandon her investigation into her brother's death.
Calm down, cher . You're scaring me.
A big bad police detective like you? Aren't you the one who told me fear wasn't in your vocabulary?
That was before, belle amie . Before I met you.
He'd kissed her then, hard, deep, and by the time he was done, she'd believed every word he told her.
Now, sitting in the French Quarter on a chilly fall morning, pretending to be a palm reader while listening to skanky details of her ex-lover's secret life, Renee's heart pounded so fast she could barely breathe. Her blood thrummed in perfect, erratic rhythm, just as it had that sticky night when the rookie cop had revealed her brother's dying words.
"Why should I believe you?" It took effort, but she feigned fascination with the young prostitute's palm, when all she really wanted to do was shove away from the table and get out of town as fast as she could, go back to Nova Scotia and never come back, start over again and forget about justice. "Do you have proof?"
Angel's hand twitched. "Nothing concrete."
Renee didn't know whether she felt disappointment—or relief. "Then why did you call me?"
Angel lifted her eyes. "Because history has a habit of repeating itself, over and over again."
Sunlight glinted through the tunnel of old oaks that lined St. Charles Avenue. Renee sat in her rental car, across the street from the bed-and-breakfast whose address Angel had given her, watching and waiting. Even in the dredges of fall, the house looked vibrant, with red mums lining the walkway and bougainvillea dripping from the wrought-iron porch, huge baskets of bushy ferns swaying in the breeze.
Sipping on her coffee, Renee smiled when the streetcar rumbled by and momentarily obscured her view. When it was gone, Cain was there—holding another woman.
After what seemed like forever he pulled back and took her hand and kissed the back of it, a
Of Savannah.
Slamming the door behind him, Cain took the stairs two at a time. Rumor had it that Alec would be at the race track in less than an hour. That something big was going down.
His former partner would be there to greet him. Guilty or innocent. One way or another, Cain would find out for sure.
Revulsion swept through Renee, but she refused to let it show. Angel's revelation was consistent with police speculation, a sordid claim that had run in all the local papers and a few of the cable networks. It was what her own brother had believed.
Despite all of that—the warnings and the evidence, the cold hard logic—there was still a place deep inside Renee that rebelled at the allegation.
How did a woman accept that the man she'd been falling in love with was a pathological liar?
"You think their relationship was just a tactic?" she asked with a detached calm she didn't come close to feeling.
Angel flicked away the maple leaf. "What man in love leaves his woman's bed to come to mine?" Her mouth curved into a cynical smile. "Not a satisfied one, that's for sure."
Despite the fair skin and blond hair she'd been born with, Cajun blood ran through Renee's veins. Her father's mother and mother's father were both full-blooded. She'd grown up adoring them, enchanted by the rich cadence of their voices and the hot passion that guided their actions. As a child, she hadn't known the flashes of temper and bursts of happiness were passion, she'd just known her grandparents were bright, vibrant people.
Knowledge of passion had come later, when she'd discovered she'd inherited that same intensity. When things were good, she could ride the wave and savor every moment.
When things were bad… It was hard to explain to anyone who didn't share her blood, hard to make them understand urges that were dark and punishing, capable of frightening even herself.
And Cain. She could still see him at the plantation ruins, standing in the incessant drizzle, begging her to abandon her investigation into her brother's death.
Calm down, cher . You're scaring me.
A big bad police detective like you? Aren't you the one who told me fear wasn't in your vocabulary?
That was before, belle amie . Before I met you.
He'd kissed her then, hard, deep, and by the time he was done, she'd believed every word he told her.
Now, sitting in the French Quarter on a chilly fall morning, pretending to be a palm reader while listening to skanky details of her ex-lover's secret life, Renee's heart pounded so fast she could barely breathe. Her blood thrummed in perfect, erratic rhythm, just as it had that sticky night when the rookie cop had revealed her brother's dying words.
"Why should I believe you?" It took effort, but she feigned fascination with the young prostitute's palm, when all she really wanted to do was shove away from the table and get out of town as fast as she could, go back to Nova Scotia and never come back, start over again and forget about justice. "Do you have proof?"
Angel's hand twitched. "Nothing concrete."
Renee didn't know whether she felt disappointment—or relief. "Then why did you call me?"
Angel lifted her eyes. "Because history has a habit of repeating itself, over and over again."
Sunlight glinted through the tunnel of old oaks that lined St. Charles Avenue. Renee sat in her rental car, across the street from the bed-and-breakfast whose address Angel had given her, watching and waiting. Even in the dredges of fall, the house looked vibrant, with red mums lining the walkway and bougainvillea dripping from the wrought-iron porch, huge baskets of bushy ferns swaying in the breeze.
Sipping on her coffee, Renee smiled when the streetcar rumbled by and momentarily obscured her view. When it was gone, Cain was there—holding another woman.
After what seemed like forever he pulled back and took her hand and kissed the back of it, a
Similar Books
