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"He's a cop."
"So are you!" she snapped. "It didn't stop you from breaking the law."
Her words slapped everything to a halt. She felt a sting of guilt that aggravated her. She wasn't the one who had something to feel guilty about. And yet, she couldn't let go of the feeling that she'd hurt him. Fourcade, the granite cop, the pillar of cold logic. No one else would have thought him capable of feeling hurt.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "That was bitchy."
"No. It's true enough. C'est vrai."
He went to a dormer window and stared out at nothing.
"I just think it's another possibility," A
An angle he didn't want to consider, Nick admitted. For exactly the reason she had said. Bichon had been his case. If he'd worked side by side with her killer and never seen it, what kind of cop did that make him?
He ran the possibility through his mind, trying to see it as if he'd never had anything to do with the case or with Stokes.
"I don't buy it," he said. "Stokes has been here four or five years, suddenly he butchers a woman and becomes a serial rapist? Uh-uh. That's not the way it works."
He turned around and walked slowly back toward A
"No blood, no semen, no skin. Nothing from the rape kits." Then a memory surfaced. "At the Nolan rape, I saw Stokes picking pubic hairs out of Je
"Check it out. Meanwhile, get me the case numbers on the rapes. I'll call Shreveport and tell them I'm Quinlan. See what they have to say."
A
"Don't be sorry, 'Toinette," he ordered. "It's a waste of energy. You had something on your mind, you laid it out. We'll see where it takes us, but I don't want you getting sidetracked. These rapes aren't your focus. The murder is your focus and Renard is your number one suspect. Pam Bichon herself, she told us that. You don't wa
He was right. Pam had seen Renard for a monster and no one had listened to her. In turning away from Renard to look at other possibilities, was she also ignoring Pam's cries for help-or was she simply doing the job?
"Why couldn't I have been a cocktail waitress?" she asked on a weary sigh.
"If you weren't a cop, you wouldn't get to drive that hot car," Nick murmured.
The humor was unexpected and welcome. A
Obsession didn't seem like such a good thing to succumb to, considering where it had gotten Fourcade. But was it obsession she was afraid of or Fourcade or herself?
A
Could Stokes have done this? With what motive? Lindsay Faulkner said he had flirted with Pam, that Do
It sounded weak to her. Maybe she wanted to look at Stokes only because he yanked her chain or because she knew he was a lazy cop.
Could Do
He had been drinking the night of the murder, as he had been tonight. Liquor was the key that opened the floodgates on ugly emotions. She'd seen it happen time and again. But to this level of brutality?
"You were in it from the start," she said to Nick. "Did you ever think Do
He joined her at the table. "I've seen people driven to all ma
"I talked to the bartender who served Do
"I know. I read the statement. But it was Friday night," A
"There's one big stumbling block, chère. Il a pas d'esprit. Do
"What about this possible co
"That's no mob hit," he said. "Mob wants somebody dead, they take 'em out in the swamp and shoot 'em. They wrap eighty pounds of chain around the body and throw it in the Atchafalaya. Bump 'em and dump 'em. No boss would have this kind of psycho on his payroll. Killer like this, he's too unpredictable, he's a risk. I've said it all along and I say it again: This was personal."
A
"Keep your eyes on the prize, 'Toinette. Don't turn your back on Renard just because you see other possibilities. He's calling you, sending you presents-same as he did with Pam. Same as he did with that gal up in Baton Rouge. There's two dead women in his wake. You leave Do
And then what? she thought, but she didn't ask the question. She simply let the silence settle between them, too hot and too tired to go any further with it tonight. The loft was warm and stuffy, the unexpected heat of the day having risen up into the rafters. The ceiling fans only stirred it around.
"Had enough for one day?" Nick asked. He brought the cigarette to his lips, then pulled it away and tossed it on the table beside the pack.
A
"Stay the night," he said. As if he had flipped a switch, the energy he radiated became instantly sexual. She felt it touch her, felt her own body stir in response.
"I can't," she said softly. "With everything that's gone on lately, Sos and Fanchon worry. I need to be home."
"Then stay awhile," he said, tilting her chin up. "I want you, 'Toinette," he murmured, lowering his head. "I want you in my bed."