Every Deep Desire Page 7

  “Why?”

  “Sheriff Jimmy Boudreaux called.” Garza pulled into traffic, his face all brown sharp edges and black stubbled shadows. “A body was found on your property.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A man was murdered…” Garza glanced over with his bullets-for-eyes. “That happens often on your property.”

  “Not often. Just occasionally.” She stared out the side window before he noticed her lack of enthusiasm for visiting the Isle. “I wasn’t aware the SPD did business with the Isle.”

  Garza changed lanes like a man on a mission. “The Isle doesn’t have the staff to deal with a murder.”

  That was a snort-worthy understatement. “Why do I need to go?”

  “The suspect.” Garza turned on his flashing police lights. “He’ll only talk to you.”

  * * *

  “Where’s my wife?” Rafe gritted his teeth, driving them into his skull. He sat, handcuffed, on a chair in the church rectory/sheriff’s office in the Isle’s center of town. If five buildings in the woods on a barely paved street with no cell service was a town.

  “You’ll see her when I get answers.” Jimmy Boudreaux, who for some reason had been made sheriff of the Isle, rested on the corner of his desk. He’d pulled his hat down low.

  Rafe grunted while the local EMT and Deputy Sheriff Tommy Boudreaux—a.k.a. the sheriff’s brother—stitched up his shoulder. “I want to see her now.”

  Jimmy’s fist hit the desk. “Then answer my damn questions.”

  Tommy disinfected the wound, and a sickening ache shot from Rafe’s shoulder to his gut. He spread his legs wide and forced his feet against the floor to even out the pain.

  “Jeez, Rafe,” Tommy said. “Have you been doing ’roids? What do you bench-press?”

  “Between three and four hundred pounds. And a lot of prison pull-ups.”

  “Can we continue?” Jimmy asked.

  How many times did Rafe have to answer the same damn questions? He hissed when Tommy pulled the last stitch through, cut the thread off, and slapped on a bandage. “I don’t know anything.”

  “You expect us”—Jimmy pointed to the other men in the room including Pops and Grady Mercer—“to believe you were released from Leavenworth—”

  “Where you were serving time for going AWOL and treason.” Grady rubbed the Marine tattoo on his arm. The same one Pops wore. Third Force Recon, Alpha Company.

  Pops’s face tightened until Rafe worried it would sink in on itself.

  “Believe what you want.” They would anyway.

  Jimmy shot Grady a shut-the-hell-up glare. “The day you return you’re found on Capel land, covered in blood—”

  “My blood.”

  “And you know nothing about the man who was shot before you were found bleeding near your father-in-law’s old trailer site?”

  Rafe shrugged. He’d nothing else to say.

  Tommy worked on the gash on Rafe’s left arm. “What’s this?”

  Shit. It had been a long time since Rafe had worried about that. “A tattoo.”

  “Why?” Tommy smirked. “Your right arm full up?”

  Pops stomped out, his boots echoing on the steps.

  That’s right. Rafe’s right arm was covered in inked names. Believe the rumors.

  Tommy, either too stupid to take Rafe’s silence as a warning or too mean to care, said, “When Juliet learned about them, did she cry?”

  Heat rushed through Rafe, and he rose until Tommy shoved a needle into his deltoid and hit the plunger. The sting burned, and Rafe fell into his seat. “Ow!” He tried to rub the site, but his hands were cuffed. “Shit.”

  Tommy smiled like he’d just won the girl. “Antibiotic.”

  Rafe leaned back until the front chair legs lifted, balancing the weight with his legs. There’d be time later for a reckoning on his wife’s behalf. He’d make damn sure of it. Instead of responding to Tommy’s taunt now, Rafe pointed to the real tattoo. The only one on his body that meant something. “It’s a heart with a sword through the center.” Along with a word underneath, which Escalus had sliced. A parting gift Rafe appreciated.

  Tommy used a wet towel to clean the mud and reveal the intricate ink work. “The sword hilt is lilies.”

  Rafe flinched when the towel cleaned the cut. “The hilt is a cross fitchy. It’s from the Crusades.” The design was older, but he didn’t want to discuss it. “Does it need stitches?”

  “Nah. Just butterflies and a bandage.”

  “Great.” Then cover the damn thing up. “And I’ll take some ibuprofen.”

  Jimmy snapped his fingers in Rafe’s face. “Can we get back to the questioning?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  A man came to the door in a gray jumpsuit with an embroidered nametag: SPD Medical Examiner. “Sheriff, can we talk?”

  Calum Prioleau appeared next to the ME.

  “Shit,” Jimmy said.

  “Pleasure to see you again too, Sheriff.” Calum, wearing a cool-and-collected smile, sat in the only other chair in the room. Behind the sheriff’s desk. A knight in pressed seersucker.

  Tommy stood, closed his first aid kit, and threw a disgusted glare at Calum. “I’ll talk to the ME for you, bro.”

  “Thanks.” Jimmy kept his gaze on Calum. “You here for a reason, Mr. Prioleau?”

  Calum nodded at Rafe. “To see a friend.”

  “Your friend is going to be here a while.”

  Rafe stood, knocking the chair over. The cuffs cut his wrists. “You’ve no proof I was near the manor.”

  Jimmy got in his face. His hat’s brim hit Rafe’s chin. “The vic was shot by a sniper.”

  Calum stood. “As his defense lawyer, I suggest you drop this line of questioning.”

  Jimmy took off his hat and slammed it against his thigh. “You have to be shittin’ me.”

  “I’m not. Unless you have a weapon, a bullet, or a track…” Calum glanced at Grady.

  “The rain.” Grady spat. “Pops and I couldn’t find a thing. But if Gerald Capel was still here, he’d find something to put Rafe away until Judgment Day.”

  “No doubt,” Calum said. “But you didn’t find Rafe anywhere near the crime scene. You don’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant for his truck. It’s time to let him go.”

  “There’s a gunman on the loose,” Jimmy said.

  “Your problem, not ours. And considering the Isle’s police force consists of you and Deputy Tommy, I suggest you make nice with the SPD. Maybe they’ll help.”

  While Calum and Jimmy argued about warrants and injunctions, Rafe moved to the window. He needed to get this damn show on the damn road before he committed a damn felony.

  A stocky man stood in the dirt lot near the white church. He wore jeans with a badge on his belt, a white shirt, and a green tie. One hand on his hip, near his weapon, the other on Juliet’s arm.

  “Calum. We need to go. Now.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Jimmy said. “Not until I talk to your parole officer.”

  Rafe’s head ached like he’d been bitch-slapped, and he craved water, a pain pill, and freedom. With his wrists in cuffs, he ran both hands over his shorn head. I have a parole officer?

  Before Jimmy could ask for the parole officer’s name, Calum handed him a card. “There’s his name, rank, and phone number. Now free my client.”

  Jimmy opened a desk drawer, threw a tan uniform T-shirt at Rafe, and uncuffed him.

  “Get dressed and stay here. Grady, come with me.”

  The moment Jimmy and Grady left, Rafe followed.

  Except Calum barred the door. Although not as tall or wide, Calum put up a formidable defense. “You’re not meeting Juliet looking like a reject from a gladiator movie.”

  Rafe held up the T-shirt that would b
arely fit. “Do you have clothes I can borrow?”

  “After you shower.” Calum checked his watch. “We’ll go to one of my apartments—”

  Rafe rushed his friend until Calum put both palms against his chest with enough strength to stop him.

  “No.” Hard eyes and straight lips replaced Calum’s easy demeanor. “My game. My rules. We have a few minutes until Jimmy returns, and there are details to discuss.”

  “Like my parole officer?”

  Calum’s face flushed. “Like why I got you out of prison.”

  Chapter 8

  Juliet leaned against Garza’s car in the dirt parking lot, between the church and the rectory/ sheriff’s office. Insects buzzed, and her peripheral vision clouded, like the humidity had smoothed the edges with Vaseline. Jimmy Boudreaux and Detective Garza completed the triangle. “What happened?”

  “All I know,” Jimmy said, “is Grady found Rafe near your daddy’s trailer site.”

  “Did Rafe kill that man?”

  “No,” Garza said. “The sniper shot came from the river. Between the time Grady heard the shot to when they found Rafe, there’s no way he could’ve run from the river to that side of the property. The vegetation is impenetrable.”

  “Juliet.” Jimmy’s voice dropped. “Rafe wants to see you. He’s…agitated.”

  She tasted the dusty tang of the Isle. Like crushed dandelions and swamp sludge. She knew what Rafe was like when he was worked up, and everyone on the Isle knew she was the only one who could calm him down. As much as she didn’t want to talk to Rafe again, she didn’t want Pops or Grady to take the brunt of Rafe’s temper. “Alright.”

  “While you’re with Rafe,” Jimmy said, “see if you can get more information.”

  “Like what?”

  Jimmy pulled his hat lower. “I couldn’t get a search warrant for his truck but I’d like to know if he had a weapon And why was he out there?”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  “Rafe and I have never gotten along,” Jimmy said. “You know that better than anyone.”

  Because Jimmy and his brother Tommy used to torture her when they were kids. But there was no reason to say what they were both thinking.

  Detective Garza added, “It’s a delicate situation with your ex-husband’s reputation.”

  “You mean because he went AWOL and ended up in prison?” she asked.

  “Most of the men of the Isle have served. They consider Rafe a traitor.” Jimmy turned his head toward the church where a group of men stood. “Are you okay with us going to your property? It may be a two- or three-day search.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And the body?”

  “The SPD is taking care of it,” Garza said. “The ME will escort the body into town.”

  “Does anyone know who the victim is?” she asked.

  “Some stranger.” Jimmy handed her his phone, which displayed a photo.

  The man had half his scalp and part of his face blown off. Mud and blood soaked his body. She looked away, her stomach regretting her earlier coffee.

  Jimmy closed the photo. “There are rumors you’re selling your land. Any chance he’ s a possible buyer scoping out the property?”

  “I’ve never seen him before. And no one was visiting the property. According to Pops, it’s impossible to get there now.”

  “If you think of any reason someone would go out there, let me know. I have to get the search parties going.” Jimmy touched her arm, but she backed up. “You going to be okay?”

  She nodded. “I’ll deal with Rafe.”

  With a nod, Jimmy headed toward the twenty men standing in the shade of an oak tree preparing to search her land for a rogue sniper. She almost laughed at the irony of the men of the Isle near the church. If justice existed, the men would be blasted by lightning. Angels didn’t appreciate hypocrisy. And neither did she.

  “Do you know them?” Garza asked.

  “Yes.” Their family names intertwined with hers in every Bible on the Isle: Marigny, Prioleau, Toban, Montfort, Mercer, and Habersham. Except none of them had ever offered her a moment of kindness during her poverty-stricken childhood, after Rafe went AWOL, or the night her father died. The only one besides her father who’d ever cared for her, protected her from their taunts and scurrilous words, had been Rafe.

  She smoothed down her dress. “The people of the Isle hate me.”

  Garza shoved his hands in his front pockets. “I doubt that.”

  “It’s not personal.”

  “Hate is always personal.”

  “The people of the Isle have disliked the Capels since Anne Capel was accused of witchcraft in the seventeenth century. They think the land is cursed. It’s not a big deal.”

  He smirked. “It’s a good thing Sheriff Boudreaux doesn’t need me for the search party.”

  She caught the dismissive tone in his voice and added, “People on the Isle have been caring for themselves for three centuries. And the SPD has a reputation for botching murder investigations on the Isle.”

  “You mean Senator Wilkins’s death?”

  She nodded. “Did you know the SPD detective on that case was also murdered? I believe he was the detective you replaced.” At his nod, she said, “Jimmy dislikes the SPD.”

  “Makes sense.” Thunder cracked above their heads. “Ready?”

  She nodded, and Garza led her to the white building that held the church rectory and sheriff’s office. Rain started as she went in.

  Calum stood with his back to her, hands on his hips. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Rafe, covered in mud, muscles, and tattoos, held Tommy Boudreaux up against the far wall. Tommy’s feet dangled, and he had a bloody nose. Rafe’s fingers gripped Tommy’s neck, his other hand was pulled back in a fist ready to fly again.

  Tommy kicked the wall while he clawed the hand at his neck. “It was a joke.”

  Rafe raised Tommy higher, his back muscles contracting beneath a khaki-colored T-shirt three sizes too small. “Apologize.”

  Garza came in next to her. “Let go. Or I start arresting.”

  Rafe ignored Garza and ordered, “Say it.”

  Calum glanced at Garza. But Calum’s eyes widened when he saw Juliet.

  She ignored her oldest friend and focused her frustration on the men against the wall. This didn’t surprise her at all. Rafe and Tommy had always been at odds. Actually, Rafe and the world had always been at odds. The only person he’d never been against had been her.

  “I’m sorry.” Tommy’s words were garbled. When Rafe let Tommy go, he dropped to the ground. “You’re crazy.”

  Garza went to Tommy and helped him up. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Calum said. “Excitement’s over.”

  “Bullshit.” Tommy pointed at her. “Your man’s an animal.”

  Rafe spun around. His jeans were encrusted with dirt, and the tight tan T-shirt outlined his stomach muscles and wide shoulders. Bandages covered his arm, and streaks of blood ran down to the blue satin ribbon still tied on his wrist. His knuckles were bruised, and his other arm was tattooed from wrist to shoulder.

  Not images. Names.

  “Rafe?” Philip stood in the doorway behind her, staring at his brother.

  “Philip.” Rafe’s voice sounded sharp and low. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pops called me.” Philip reached to take Juliet’s hand, but she pulled away.

  She needed space to breathe. “I’d like to speak with Rafe alone.”

  Philip stormed away. Garza took Tommy by the arm and led him out. Calum hovered.

  “Please, Calum. I’ll only take a few minutes. Is there bail?”

  “No. Jimmy has no evidence to hold Rafe. Once I sign the paperwork, Rafe is free.”

  “Then do it so we can leave this godforsaken Isle.
”

  Calum paused in the doorway, one hand on the jamb. “Don’t take too long. Rafe and I have things to do.”

  When he was gone, she used her arm to brush the stray hair out of her eyes and faced Rafe. “What happened after you left me at the square?”

  “Nothing.”

  She sighed heavily. Why was she even helping him? Because she needed his signature on her deeds. That was all. “You get a strange text, drive out to the Isle, lose your T-shirt”—she pointed to the bandage on his arm—“get hurt, and end up arrested for murder. Yet nothing happened.”

  “Shit,” Rafe muttered under his breath. Then he leaned his backside against the desk, both hands gripping the edge while his body fell forward. The pose reeked of strength, power, and…defeat. “I came out here to protect you.”

  When she found herself focused on his fully tattooed right arm, trying to read the elegant script, she retreated to the window overlooking the church. Jimmy was talking to the men of the Isle, hands on his hips, probably giving orders. “Somehow these things that are all about me end up all about you. Why is that?”

  She glanced back at him and realized his face was splattered with mud…and blood? If he hadn’t killed that man, what had he been doing? Because it hadn’t been nothing.

  “I don’t know. I never meant to hurt you.”

  The statement rippled through her. “When? Today? Or eight years ago? Because your letter said otherwise. Not to mention those.” She nodded to his arm covered with ink.

  “All of the above.” He ran a hand over his head and stood to his full height. His physical presence filled the room with masculine heat and his oh-so-familiar musky scent. “I know I’ve made a mess of things, but I can fix it. I just need your help.”

  She laughed. A back-throated, this-is-crazy kind of laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Deadly serious.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and used the calmest voice she could muster. “I can’t do this again, Rafe. Do you have any idea how hard I fought to reclaim my life? To build a safe, secure world for myself? I worked and studied for eight years to get my bachelor’s and master’s degrees, start my business, be financially and emotionally independent. And now you come back into town, surrounded by half-truths and violence, and you expect me to help you?”