No Hero (3 page)

She felt every inch of his regard, as if he’d swept his fingertips over her instead of his gaze. “I have my sources,” she said primly, ignoring the thought of his long, clever fingers trailing over her skin. “You know I can’t reveal them.”

His black eyes glittered. Hostility rolled off him in waves, like heat off a summer sidewalk. “I know I can get a court order and have you put in jail.”

She shifted her gaze to the corded muscles in his neck, the jut of his jaw, anywhere but those disturbing eyes. He was tight with tension, his shoulders stiff, his face haggard. All the sadness wasn’t gone, she realized. He wasn’t just angry, nor was he just doing his job. “Those kids, they were from the Johnson Center,” she stated, making herself meet his gaze.

He blinked slowly, then everything in his bearing changed. He peered at her from beneath half-lowered lids and forced a derisive smile. She knew it was forced, because his eyes were still sad. “That’s your information?” he mocked. “Stevens? Get her out of here.”

“Wait!” she cried. “The first kid’s throat was slit, wasn’t it.”

He frowned and rubbed his temple, then glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have somebody’s life to ruin later this morning?” he asked tiredly. “I don’t know why you interrupted your beauty sleep to come out here, but—” He began to turn away.

“Dev—Detective Gautier, please,” she said quickly. “I have a DVD. You really need to see it.”

…

NOPD Detective Devereux Gautier paused a split second to frown at the woman who’d uncovered the past he’d tried so hard to bury. And exposed his shame for all the world to see.

“A DVD?” he repeated impatiently. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Even shrouded by all that curly red hair, Reghan Connor’s green eyes sparked visibly to life, and her expression shifted from desperation to anticipation. He knew immediately that he’d given himself away. Despite how he felt about her—or maybe even because of it—deep down he doubted she’d have shown up here if she didn’t truly believe she had something.

When he’d looked up a few moments ago and seen her standing in the middle of his crime scene as if she belonged there, all the frustration and grief and anger of the past week—hell, of the past five months—had boiled up inside him until he’d felt as if he’d explode. After what she’d done to him, she ought to be scared to come within fifty yards of him. But here she was, looking more earnest and more nervous than he’d ever seen her.

“It’s important,” she said. “It could give us answers.”

“Us?” he echoed, raising a wary brow.

She ducked her head and a wavy strand of hair fell out of the clip that held it. It would be a hell of a lot easier to deal with her if she’d cut off that damned hair.

One delicately boned shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “You. Whatever.”

He jammed his fingers into his back pockets and stared down his nose at her, enjoying the fluttering of her eyelids and the slight tremor of her bottom lip that told him she was intimidated. She was a brave one, though. Big men, dangerous men, had crumbled under this same glare. “A DVD?” he said again, with more than a hint of skepticism. “Okay. So give it to me.” He held out a hand.

Her eyes widened, and her hand fluttered to her throat. “Oh,” she said. That shoulder lifted again. “I didn’t bring it with me.” She crossed her arms, pushing the small, perfect breasts that were obscured by her blouse into clear definition.

“Hey, Detective Gautier,” a voice called from behind him.

He angled his head toward the officer. “Yeah?”

“How far you want us to take the door-to-door?”

“Check with Givens. He’s the primary.”

“He said to ask you. Said you’re more familiar with the area.”

Good old Givens. The junior detective would appear a lot smarter if he’d quit taking every opportunity to rub Dev’s nose in the fact that Captain Hamilton had refused to let Dev take lead on the case. Hamilton was right. Dev knew the victims personally. That made it a conflict of interest. “Okay,” he said on a sigh. “Make sure you cover anyone who might have been around here in the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Widen it another couple of blocks anyhow.”

“You got it, Detective.”

Before he could turn his attention back to Connor, Givens hailed him. “The medical examiner’s here. If you want to hear what she has to say.”

Dev spotted Dr. Elizabeth Lowery standing near the body. He ground his jaw and turned back to the reporter. “I’m a little busy here,” he said, letting his frustration slip into his voice. “So why don’t you run along home now. You can bring your DVD to the station later.
One of my officers will be happy to take your statement.”

Her green eyes flashed. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. His gaze went to her mouth before he could stop it. He’d tasted those lips, touched those teeth with his tongue. Desire curled in his belly. Unwanted desire. Determinedly, he cut his gaze back toward Liz. The sight of her bending over Darnell’s mutilated body dissolved the yearning.

Connor glanced at her watch, then squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. “I should have brought it. I guarantee you’ll be glad to have it,” she said. “It’s an interview I did with Gerard Fontenot. He’s got to be involved in this. He said some things—about you.”

The name was like a bucket of cold water. Dev’s whole attention snapped back to her. “Fontenot?” It took him a beat to catch up with what else she’d said. “In case you’ve forgotten, Fontenot is in prison in a wheelchair.”

She waved that off. “You need to see it. You need to hear what he said.” Her emerald green eyes turned opaque and he saw something in them that Dev had never seen before. It looked like fear.

He must be more tired than he thought to believe that. “Look, Connor. I don’t have time for this right now. I’ll get with you later.”

“Dev.” It was Givens again. “I could use your help here.”

Dev nodded without taking his eyes off her.

She averted her gaze and wrapped her arms around herself. “Okay,” she muttered. “Sorry I interrupted you, Detective. I’ll expect to hear from you.” She began to retreat, then stopped. “It really is important.”

He frowned at how easily she’d agreed. Too easily. An almost silent humming began in the back of his brain. It was something he’d always had—a sort of internal warning system. He didn’t know where it came from or how it worked. He just knew that when it happened, he needed to pay attention.

Reghan Connor was smart and sly and a little bit ruthless. In his experience, she’d do almost anything if she thought she’d get a story out of it. But the hum inside his head was telling him that she believed what she’d said about Fontenot. It wasn’t in her nature to give up without a fight—she was like a snapping turtle once she got her teeth into something, not letting go until it thundered, as the old saying went. She certainly never let go voluntarily.

Which meant there was definitely something going on here.

She took a second step away from him and started to turn. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. He ought to let her go and good riddance, but he was too seasoned a cop to dismiss a lead, even if he was ninety-nine percent certain it was false. There was always that one percent.

“Hold it.” Dev reached out, checking himself before he touched her. “I’ll send an officer with you to pick it up.”

She shook her head. “Don’t bother,” she said shortly. “I’m sure you don’t want to spare anyone. They’re all very busy.”

“Stevens!” he yelled without taking his gaze from hers. “Follow Ms. Connor home. She’s got a DVD for us.”

Stevens appeared at his elbow. “Yes sir. This way, Ms. Connor.” He reached for her arm, but she recoiled, glaring at Dev. For a second, it looked as though she would say something else. Then she whirled and stalked off. Stevens tagged along behind her.

Someone called Dev’s name, but he wasted precious seconds watching Reghan Connor walk away. She had a graceful dignity about her, even dressed in faded jeans and a loose blouse. More and more of that bright hair escaped its restraint with each step she took. Maybe the next time he saw her he could goad her into cutting it so he’d no longer have to fight the sensual image of it trailing across his naked, sensitized skin.

He pushed his thoughts toward why she’d come here and away from how she looked leaving. She’d been awfully interested in how the victim, Darnell, had died. It wouldn’t completely surprise him if the details of the murders ended up on her show later that morning. It
would
, however, royally piss him off. If she compromised this investigation, he’d go over to her fancy little Garden District house and wring her dainty little neck.

Against his will, the thought of his hands on her neck propelled him back to their one date. His fingers twitched as he recalled how he’d encircled her smooth, supple nape as she lifted her face to his, the delicate warmth of her breath fanning across his lips as he kissed her. And felt the firmness of her flesh as his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts.

That ache of desire hit him again…just as the familiar ripping sound of a body bag zipper jerked his attention back to what was really important. He rubbed his aching temples, then turned on his heel and walked over to where Liz was stripping off her gloves.

“About time,” Givens groused. “What was going on over there? Isn’t that the Connor woman? That reporter? Can’t believe you were talking to her.”

Dev grimaced and made a dismissive gesture as he met Liz’s gaze and hiked a brow.

She nodded solemnly.

Damn
. “Same weapon?” he asked, knowing from her expression that it was.

“It’s a little easier to tell with this one. He’s only been in the water a little over twenty-four hours.” She wadded up the gloves and tossed them into a bag. “I’ll know more once I do the autopsy. But the same person definitely could have killed this vic, too.”

“Darnell,” Dev said quietly, his attention on the body bag that was being lifted into the CSU van.

“Hmm?” Liz muttered as she gathered up her equipment.

“His name was Darnell.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me he’s another kid from your center?”

“Yeah. I gave him the Saints T-shirt, and he bought those tennis shoes himself. He was so damn proud of them.” Dev clenched his jaw as pain and regret buffeted him. When he’d gotten the call that the body of a young black man had washed up down by the docks, he’d mentally ticked off the teens at the Thibaud Johnson Center. He’d thought everybody was accounted for—at least within the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Therefore he’d been hopeful that this wasn’t one of his kids. Until he’d seen the body.

“I’m sorry,” Liz said. “It’s hard when you know them.”

He shook off the grief. “We’re keeping their connection with me and the center out of the media. Just like the weapon.”

“No problem. Check with me this afternoon. Right now I’ve got twin boys who’ll be up and getting ready for school in less than two hours. I need to get home.”

“Thanks, Liz,” he said, waving as she left. Then he looked at Givens. “How’s the canvass going?”

Givens snorted. “How do you think? It’s the usual song and dance. Not a soul remembers a thing. Certainly not a medium-height black kid with new high-top Converse All Stars hanging around for the past day or so.”

Dev grimaced. “Yeah. Just like Brian. Nobody ever sees anything.”

“It’s a rotten truth,” Givens commented, “when kids down here by the docks looking to get high are about as rare as seagulls.”

“Brian and Darnell weren’t doing drugs.”

Givens shrugged. “That’s not what I was saying.”

“They had to stay clean. They’d both qualified for a new federally funded scholarship program, specifically designed for homeless kids.”

“Yeah? Both of them?” Givens wrote something on his notepad. “How many kids are up for these scholarships?”

“I’ve got two more. One more that’s ready for the qualifying exam. Jimmy Treacher. And one whose nomination has just been accepted. His name is Nicky Renato.”

“I suppose there’s a lot of competition for those spots…” Givens said thoughtfully.

“What the hell are you saying?” Dev growled, although the same thought had crossed his mind. “That my kids are killing each other?”

“You’re the one gave me the lead,” Givens said. “It’s not a stretch to think there might be a smart teenager at your center who thinks he or she deserves the scholarship more than these two. People have killed over less. You know that.”

Dev raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m just—”
Too close to losing it.

Rather than yell at everybody within hearing distance, he stalked over to the edge of the levee to calm down. He looked out at the river. He knew exactly where his anger was coming from.

Two kids from his center had been murdered within little more than a week of each other, and the investigation had turned up nothing—no suspect, no weapon, no clues. And no connection, besides the obvious that they’d both been residents at the center Dev himself had started and named after the man who’d rescued him from the streets, giving him the first place in his life where he could feel safe.

He heard Thibaud Johnson’s gruff voice in his head.
You can always find a connection,
cher
. The thing that won’ connect that’s the thing
plus importante
.
C’est vrai
.

It had taken Dev a long time to completely trust the cop who’d caught him running from a liquor store with a stolen bottle of Jim Beam under his threadbare jacket, then had taken him home instead of to jail. Fourteen at the time, after two-plus years of running and hiding, Dev hadn’t trusted anyone. But eventually, Thibaud had earned his trust, and he had earned Thibaud’s.

Thibaud had been dead for seven years but Dev still missed him every day, and would for the rest of his life. If he were still around, Thibaud would no doubt have made an acerbic comment about Brian’s and Darnell’s deaths, which would probably give Dev exactly the insight he needed to solve the case.

Talk to me, Thibaud
.

He heard stealthy footsteps behind him. A lean, scruffy man of indeterminate years walked up beside him, his face hidden by matted dreadlocks and a disreputable cap. Dev met the vagrant’s eyes. It took him a beat to recognize Rick Easterling, a vice cop who specialized in undercover work. Rick had definitely earned the nickname the guys at the station had given him. He really was “the man of a thousand faces.” Outwardly, Dev didn’t react to Rick’s presence. He just turned his attention back out over the water.