Tall, Dark, and Cajun

  Remy groaned.

  Rachel groaned.

  And Pete said, “Perfect.”

  Chapter 15

  Biting the bullet

  Okay, how hard could it be to call up Gizelle Fortier and say, “Hey, Gizelle, baby, looks like I won’t be able to make the meeting this afternoon”?

  Remy was thirty-three years old. Gizelle was at least seventy, he would guess. Or ninety. Why did he drag his feet over calling the woman?

  Because she was a witch, that’s why. And she would probably put a voodoo curse on him and some essential body parts.

  He did not, did not, did not want to go into a remote safe haven with Rachel.

  But he had to, had to, had to, if he expected to maintain any credibility with the DEA for this, or future, contracts.

  Talk about a Catch-22! Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. How could he ever put Rachel behind him if they plopped her butt in front of him for five friggin’ days?

  Finally, he bit the bullet and dialed the number. “Hello. Ms. Fortier? This is Remy LeDeux.”

  “Well, pickle my tush and call me a cucumber. Should I be dancin’ with joy or what?”

  Remy gritted his teeth and counted to five.

  “Rachel ain’t here. Not that she would wanna talk to you anyhows, you slimy varmint. Made her cry, you did.”

  Remy didn’t want to think about having made Rachel cry now. And, of course, he knew Rachel wasn’t there. She was throwing a hissy fit back at Tante Lulu’s where two DEA agents guarded her. At the last minute, she would phone her grandmother and say she got called out of town for an emergency, but that she would return in a week or so. The Feds didn’t want to let Rachel go back to Gizelle’s house today and raise any suspicions, just in case the drug perps showed up at her doorstep. Better that she knows nothing.

  Gizelle would be suspicious that Rachel didn’t even pack a bag, or that Remy might be with her, but Rachel had her instructions. Make sure her grandmother accepted the story of abrupt departure.

  “I didn’t call to speak to Rachel. I want to talk to you.”

  “Joy, Joy!” the old witch said.

  Her sarcasm really grated on his nerves. “I need to cancel our meeting for today.”

  There was silence at the other end.

  “Perhaps we could reschedule for one day next week.”

  “Are you backin’ out, boy?”

  He hesitated for only the briefest second. “No.”

  “You know, this deal ain’t final ’til the papers are signed. Iffen yer gonna diddle around, mebbe I’ll be the one to cancel.”

  “You have every right,” he assured her. “Just know that I wouldn’t be cancelling today if it weren’t imperative.”

  “Imperative, huh? Mus’ be real important fer a greedy LeDeux to give up a sucker deal.”

  Dieu, the woman was beyond bearable. She was intolerable. If she were a man, and she stood in front of him, he would knock her lights out for that insult. Not that his father didn’t take advantage of every opportunity to make a quick buck, but he was not his father, and dammit, she had no right to paint them all with one flick of her condemning brush.

  He inhaled deeply for patience and said, “How about a week from tomorrow—next Friday? Would you like to meet then in Luc’s office, say three o’clock?”

  There was a brief pause, then, “Mebbe.” With that, she hung up.

  Staring at the dead phone, Remy asked no one in particular, “Am I doing the right thing?”

  The dreaded voice said, Mebbe.

  Depends on your definition of what “it” is

  “Granny, an emergency has come up and I need to go away for a few days,” Rachel said into the telephone while Remy, Tante Lulu and the Feds looked on. Rachel had been backed into a corner on this going-into-hiding business, but she was not happy about it. Not one bit. And forget about them “offering” her a “safe haven” rather than them forcing her to go into hiding. That’s how she viewed the situation. No choice.

  “Right away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is someone hurt?”

  “Actually, David was beaten up pretty badly. He even had to go to the emergency room.” She hadn’t actually said that she was going to Washington to see David, but she knew that Granny must think that.

  “See. Thass what it’s like livin’ in the city. Muggers and mobsters and such all over the place.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rachel said noncommittally.

  “David? Is that the skunk what had the wires to his man-engine shorted out?”

  Rachel burst out laughing, which caused everyone in Tante Lulu’s kitchen to raise their eyebrows, except for Pete who was listening in on her call. “You could say that.”

  “You ain’t gettin’ back with him, are you? Menfolks has a way of playin’ on a woman’s affections when they’s hurt.”

  “No way will David and I be mending any fences. I’m just concerned about him, that’s all.”

  “Will you be comin’ back?” Granny asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

  “Of course. Hopefully, by Tuesday.”

  “Well, can I help you with packin’ ’n such?”

  “No. I’ve got to go right away. My flight leaves in less than an hour.” Which wasn’t really a lie since a hydroplane sat outside in Tante Lulu’s bayou which Remy would fly to God-only-knew-where to keep her in hiding. She couldn’t think that far ahead or she’d dig in her heels and hide under Tante Lulu’s bed.

  “Are you sure this isn’t about that Remy LeDunce? Yer not plannin’ on goin’ off somewhere to do it with him, are you?”

  Pete put his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Absolutely not. There will be no it going on, that I can promise you.” She glared at Remy who leaned back against the kitchen sink, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed, looking sexier than any man had a right to look. He glared right back at her, probably figuring out what they talked about from her end of the conversation. To give him credit, Remy was no happier about the situation they’d been placed in than she was.

  “Take care, honey.”

  “I will.”

  “When you get back, I have sumpin important to tell you about Remy that’ll put him on yer manure list forever, iffen he ain’t already there.”

  Rachel looked over at Remy and said, “Oh, he is already on my manure list, guar-an-teed.”

  Up, up and away in my beautiful hydroplane

  Remy looked over at Rachel, sitting next to him in the small Piper aircraft, stiff as a virgin before the sacrifice.

  This whole impossible situation was her fault, dammit. If she hadn’t gone into the swamps with his aunt, they wouldn’t be here now, dammit. If she hadn’t chosen to take a purse with her—Good God! Did she expect to find a mall in the middle of a bayou jungle?—he wouldn’t be taking her to a safe house now, dammit. If she hadn’t dumped him over his “problem,” this little trip could be heaven, instead of hell, dammit. Yep, she had only herself to blame, dammit.

  Still, he could see that she sat rigid as a board beside him. As a pilot, as a man, he couldn’t ignore that. He and Luc and René had once referred to themselves as The Cajun Knights because of this innate tendency toward chivalry that they all had, no doubt due to their attempts to be the op- posite of their very unchivalrous father. So, best to tamp down his anger, and be a knight.

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Of flying?”

  “Of course, flying. What else?”

  “My life, maybe. No, I’m not afraid of flying.” She resumed her no-talk zombie routine, which had been going on since they’d entered the plane about a half-hour ago.

  So much for chivalry! “Rachel, it’s going to be a long five days if you won’t talk to me. Can’t we call a truce here, at least ’til Tuesday?”

  “And what? Hop in the sack, to while away the time?”

  There’s a thought. Knights deserve some token for their good deeds. “I’m just making small talk. Try to
be pleasant.”

  “Are you insinuating that I’m unpleasant?”

  Bingo! “Who, me?” You are not behaving like Guinevere, m’lady love. Best you shape up or Lancelot is out of here. Not that you’re my love, anymore—lady or otherwise. And, truth to tell, I’m not much of a Lancelot.

  “What do you do for a living, Remy? I thought you flew tourists over the bayou, or charter flights for commercial real estate developers. Stuff like that.”

  “I did. Still do, sometimes.” Great! Now we’re going to chitchat. How’s the weather? What do you think of the elections? Think the Saints will beat the Buccaneers? Ho-hum.

  “Why would you expose yourself to this kind of danger?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I hate drug dealers, especially ones who deal to kids. Because it finally gives a little meaning to my freakin’ empty life. Because the money is good. Because I was bored. Pick one.” Knighthood sucks.

  “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “And I am?”

  The fact that she didn’t answer gave him her answer.

  “What am I going to do for clothes?”

  At least she’d moved on to another subject. “Tante Lulu threw some of Charmaine’s old stuff into my duffel bag for you.” The last time Charmaine had stayed at Tante Lulu’s was probably when she was fourteen and had run away from home, but Rachel didn’t need to know that.

  “Oh, great. I’ll be wearing a Hooters shirt and crotchless underwear.”

  Remy smiled. Could be. Charmaine was wild, even then.

  Without looking at him, she said, “Stop smiling.”

  “Why are you so mad at me? I’m not the one who suggested that you go into a safe haven with me.” Remy gave himself a mental thwap on the head. Rachel had changed the subject. Now he changed it back. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  “You could have refused.”

  “It’s my job, Rachel.”

  “You’re taking your job too far. If you had refused, one of the DEA agents probably would have gone into hiding with me.”

  “Hah! You’re nuts if you think I’d allow one of those horn dogs to be alone with you for five days. If anyone was going to be required to stay with you, it damn well better be me. Did you see the way those guys gawked at your nipples?” He realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth how bad they sounded.

  She turned sideways and sliced him with a dirty look.

  “Are you going to give me the finger again?”

  “No, but I might slap you upside the head.”

  Don’t bother. I’ve already done it to myself mentally.

  Rachel wore the same jogging outfit she’d had on this morning, except that it had dried. Darn it! No make-up. Her hair was going in about fifty different directions; she looked as if she’d stood in a wind tunnel, backwards. Not one of her finer moments. But to show how far gone he was, she looked pretty damn good to him.

  Does she appreciate my appreciation of her, though?

  No.

  “It’s just as hard for me to be around you, as it is for you to be around me,” he pointed out with pure male idiocy. “You might take that into consideration when you’re playing your aggrieved party game.”

  “Game? Game? You think I’m playing a game?” Her voice trembled with indignation.

  “We’re almost there,” he told her cheerily, not waiting for her to continue her Remy-Is-A-Jerk tirade. “Hold onto your seat, darlin’. It’s gonna be a rough landing.”

  “There? We’re there? Are you crazy? This is nowhere,” she shrieked, gazing out her side window at what must appear to her as a thick bayou jungle. Which it was.

  “Here comes the moat, baby,” he warned with a laugh.

  “Moat? What moat? I don’t see any moat.”

  “Just joking.” Really, Remy was an expert when it came to flying, and he knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. I am a Flying Knight, as well as a Cajun Knight, he told himself. I am also an Idiot Knight. She didn’t have to know that, though. So, he rocked the plane from side to side, up, then down, finally landing it in a narrow stream with a huge splash. About a hundred herons and other water birds took flight in a cloudy wave. Native trout, Bluegill and a lone gator swam for cover. Even the mosquitoes said, “Holy shit!” and flew away. Good thing Rachel didn’t know he’d done it deliberately as a form of pathetic revenge for all the heartaches and headaches, not to mention inconvenience, she caused him. Besides, this should teach her to appreciate a good knight.

  At first, silence prevailed. Then, Rachel, white-faced by now, unbuckled her seat belt and picked up a small, mesh bag of okras off the floor which Tante Lulu had insisted they bring from her garden. Without warning, she hit him over the head.

  Apparently, she knew just how pathetic he was, after all.

  Club Med it was not

  The first thing she saw when she entered the cabin was the snake. They probably heard her scream all the way to Big Mamou.

  Remy rushed in past her, lifted the coiled snake with a broom handle and proceeded to carry it toward the outside. “Don’t worry. It’s just a black snake. Not poisonous. Calm down.” He also muttered something about being a good knight and protecting “m’lady,” but she could be wrong about that, her brain being so numb with fear.

  “Calm down?” she shrieked. “There’s a snake in the safe house where I’m supposed to feel safe. And you better not be dumping that thing in the front yard, either. I don’t want that slimy critter slithering back in.”

  “I promise, I’ll take the slimy critter downstream. For chrissake, Rachel, stop screaming. You’re scaring the snake.”

  “And don’t kill the snake, either,” she shouted after him. “Killing a snake is bad chi.”

  He gave her a look that pretty much put her in the same category as brainless broads, then turned and left the house. “I’m really worried about a snake’s negative energy,” he called back to her from the porch, without turning around.

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

  He said a really foul word then.

  Geesh, I was just trying to help.

  While he was outside, she heard a motor turn over, followed by the sound of the refrigerator in the kitchen beginning to hum. She assumed he’d turned on a gas-powered generator somewhere.

  When he came back in and tried to take her shaking body into his arms, she shoved him away. “Don’t.”

  He lifted his chin proudly. “I was only trying to help. I wasn’t trying to nail you.”

  Nail me? “The longer I know you, the cruder you get.”

  “You bring out the best in me, babe.”

  “And don’t call me babe, either.”

  “Stop giving me orders, babe.”

  Remy visibly inhaled and exhaled several times, combing his fingers through his hair with frustration. “Look, this is an impossible situation. Unless you and I find a way to live together peacefully, it’s going to become even more impossible.”

  “You’re right,” she finally conceded. “Maybe if we set some ground rules, we can declare a truce—a temporary truce.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “Like?”

  “Like, no sex.”

  “Define sex.”

  “Nothing involving hands, tongues, lips, or intimate body parts. In fact, no hot looks or sexy talk, either.”

  “I’m not sure I can control my hot looks,” he said.

  Rachel wasn’t sure if he teased her or not, but she didn’t care. All he had to do was look at her in a certain way, and her bones melted. She wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Okay, no hot looks,” he agreed. “But I have conditions, too.”

  Uh-oh! “Like?”

  “Like, you are not bringing up my sterility in any way whatsoever.”

  “But—”

  He put up a halting hand. “I mean it, Rachel. You’re not going to ask me when the last time was that I was examined by a doctor. You won’t
ask exactly what the doctor said. You won’t ask if I couldn’t have more operations. You won’t ask if I’ve considered adopting kids. And you sure as hell won’t ask how I feel about not ever having kids of my own. Bottom line, I’ve accepted my physical limitations. You are not going to pity me or psychoanalyze me. It’s no longer any of your business. That’s my condition. Take it or leave it.”

  Well, he had certainly put her in her place with those rules. And, yes, she probably would have wanted to discuss every one of those things . . . still did.

  “Furthermore, I never should have told you at all because, frankly, I shouldn’t have let myself care so much. So, if you’re still looking for blood in the way of apologies, forget about it. The only thing I’m sorry for is that we got so involved in the first place. Live and learn.”

  Remy’s words cut her to the quick. At first, she could not speak for the constriction in her chest. In the end, all she could think of to say was, “You are a pig.”

  “Yep.” He raised his chin defiantly. “So, is it a deal? No sex in return for silence about my . . . uh, condition.”

  She agreed. What else could she do?

  The expression on Remy’s face turned so bleak then that she wondered if she was wrong not to probe deeper. But he had drawn the line. Besides, she felt pretty bleak, too.

  “How about if I clean up this place a bit, and you check for snakes thoroughly?” she offered as a way of changing the subject.

  He nodded.

  “Plus, you better bring in all those bags of supplies that your aunt sent.”

  He groaned.

  Tante Lulu had gone a bit overboard in packing up food supplies for them—everything from staples like rice to perishables like butter. Enough to last a month, instead of five days.

  It was a charming little raised cabin in the Cajun style with one large room downstairs, combining living room, alcove bed, kitchen and bathroom, with stairs leading up to a loft bedroom, but the place must not have been used for years because a thick layer of dust covered everything.

  “Chances are it was alone. Snakes don’t usually come indoors.”

  “I am not sleeping in this place tonight until I know it is snake-free. Good heavens, if that was the papa snake, there’s probably a whole herd of other snakes hiding out— the mama snake, the baby snakes, the cousin snakes, aunt and uncle snakes.” She shivered dramatically.