Книга - Bayou Payback

Bayou Payback
Joanna Wayne


Eight years ago, in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, three men lost everything. Now it’s time to reclaim what’s theirs… Detective Remy Comeaux lost his fiancée, but when he returns to New Orleans to expose corruption and meets the beautiful Nicole, she seems all too familiar.










Praise for bestselling author Joanna Wayne

“The shivers start building from the first chapters and don’t stop rattling until the last climactic page.”

—RT Book Reviews on Son of a Gun

“Wayne’s got the start of a great series here as she slowly unfolds the events and characters surrounding an old murder while presenting a frightening modern mystery.”

—RT Book Reviews on Cowboy Swagger




About the Author


JOANNA WAYNE was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.




Bayou Payback

Joanna Wayne

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To everyone who loves New Orleans—its culture, history, architecture, music, food and, most of all, the spirit of its inhabitants. And especially to those who lived through the devastation of Katrina and have helped in rebuilding the city they love. And a special nod to my Louisiana and Mississippi friends and family who truly know what it means to live in the path of Gulf hurricanes and their fury.




Chapter One


Remy Comeaux pulled up in front of the lavish Saint Charles Avenue mansion just before dark on Sunday evening. Nice digs, he thought as he took out his wallet and grabbed a few bills to tip the limo driver. Had he shown up in his beloved beat-up pickup truck, it might have been a little harder to crash the party. He wanted nothing to spoil the surprise he had planned for the guest of honor.

The last time he’d seen Lee Barnaby had been the day Katrina had roared into New Orleans, drowning Remy’s hopes and dreams along with much of Crescent City. The night he’d lost Carlotta. His fiancée. His reason for living. His heart.

Lee had been only the deputy superintendent of police then. Not that most civilians or cops referred to him that way. In everyday matters, it was simply Chief or Deputy Chief. Tonight Barnaby was celebrating his rise to the top rung of the department. Remy was back in town to make sure his reign was short-lived.

Remy adjusted the uncomfortable silk cummerbund of his rented tux as he walked up the paved path toward the plantation-style home with its massive white pillars and wide verandas. Light spilled into the gathering twilight, and music and laughter drifted through the open doorway.

An aging, mustached butler stood sentinel at the heavy wood-and-etched-glass double doors. He scrutinized Remy for a few seconds, as if he were trying to place him. Evidently the limo and monkey suit were not enough to sell Remy as an invited guest.

“Good evening,” Remy said. “Looks like I’m at the right place.”

“Yes, sir. Can I have your name, sir?”

“Andre Comeaux,” he said, using the first name of a cousin who just happened to be one of LSU’s former legendary quarterbacks. “Just flew in from the West Coast. Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“Yes, sir,” the butler said, finally buying his act and flashing a welcoming smile. “Welcome to the Delacroix home.”

“Thank you.”

“Mrs. Delacroix requests that her guests gather in the ballroom at eight o’clock. Until then, the first floor of the house and the back gardens are at your disposal. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I will.” Remy walked away as the next guests arrived and the butler went through his rehearsed spiel again.

It didn’t take but a minute of wandering for Remy to realize that locating Lee Barnaby among the throng of guests in the sprawling house might not be as easy as he’d figured. A waiter passed with a tray of cocktails. Remy accepted a vodka martini. This was his first and no doubt his last foray into New Orleans old-money high society. He may as well partake of the perks.

He had to admit the house was impressive, though he couldn’t imagine living here. Where would a man prop up his feet, pop a top and flick on the TV to watch a Saints game? Surely old man Delacroix had a man cave that was off-limits to Marilyn Delacroix’s interior-design team.

Remy made the rounds from room to room, doing his best to remain inconspicuous as he scanned the partiers. He didn’t come across Lee, but he recognized a few of the chief’s pets from his old days with the department. The suck-ups who’d done Lee’s bidding without question had no doubt moved right up the pay scale.

Amazingly, none of them recognized Remy, even though he practically ran into one of Lee’s go-to cops from the pre-Katrina days. Charlie Gibbons had been the man who’d fastened the cuffs around his wrists the night Remy had been hauled off to jail.

Had he noticed Remy, he’d have no doubt raced to give Lee a heads-up that trouble was stalking the party scene. Fortunately, good old Charlie was far too engrossed in the cleavage of the woman draped across his shoulder to notice Remy.

Admittedly, Remy had changed a lot in eight years. He’d gained a few pounds—all muscle. Working out at a local gym and coaching a boxing team of underprivileged boys had become his grief-and-frustration outlet once he’d moved to Houston and started his own private detective agency.

He’d let the military haircut grow out. His nose, which had had been broken a couple of times playing football and again when he was a narc detective, had finally been straightened by an expert surgeon. And the boyish grin that Carlotta Worthington had loved had been replaced by a wary, brooding edge—or so he’d been told.

He stepped into a spacious dining room with rows of tall windows that offered views of a meticulously tended English garden lit by what appeared to be strings of stars strung through the spreading branches of dozens of century-old live oak trees.

There were no chairs at the beautifully crafted antique mahogany dining table, but it and an equally impressive sideboard were laden with seafood. The oysters on the half shell looked too tasty to resist.

Remy had just slipped one between his lips when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned and looked into the deep violet eyes of one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen in his life, though she was likely twice his thirty-one years.

She smiled and moved her head just enough that her exquisite diamond earrings trapped the dazzling sparkles emanating from the multifaceted chandelier. “I’m Marilyn Delacroix. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Remy smiled. “No, I don’t believe we have. I’m an old friend of Lee’s, but I don’t get back to New Orleans often.”

“You should make time. In spite of what you might hear, the city is almost as vibrant and lively as before.”

“I can see that. And you throw a great party.”

“Thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”

A young woman in a black suit without the requisite sequins and huge diamonds hugging her neck and dangling from her ears stepped next to Marilyn before he had time to lie.

“I hate to interrupt you,” the woman said, her tone and manner all business. “Mr. Delacroix asked me to find you.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes, ma’am. He said the mayor has been held up and he’s not certain he can make it in time for the formalities.”

“Oh, dear. We can’t start without him. He’s giving Lee’s congratulatory speech.”

Marilyn turned her eyes if not her attention back to Remy. “Perhaps we can talk later. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. I know you must be as proud of Lee as we are.”

“Absolutely. He’s a breed unto himself.”

“My husband says it’s about time Lee received recognition for all he’s done for the city.”

And Remy was here to see that Lee got exactly what was coming to him. the sins of old had ridden long enough. It was payback time.

By the time Remy reached the ballroom, it was teeming with guests. Couples rocked the dance floor to the beat of a loud, jarring tune Remy had never heard before and with any luck would never hear again.

He scanned the room, growing antsy when he still didn’t spot Lee. Surely the guy wasn’t late to a party given in his honor.

Finally the band took a break. Remy’s ears enjoyed the moment until a woman’s laughter caught him off guard, so hauntingly familiar it sliced into his heart.

He took a deep breath. His mind was playing cruel tricks on him. he had to get a grip. He’d known returning to New Orleans would bring back the old memories, but he couldn’t let anything get in the way of what he’d come to do.

Yet when he heard the laughter again, he found himself walking toward the sound until he spotted the woman responsible for the free-spirited exuberance. She was facing away from him, but the straight, silky red hair that reached her shoulders was so much like Carlotta’s that Remy had to struggle to breathe.

She was taller than Carlotta, or perhaps the height came from the silver heels that peeked from below a swirl of emerald-green silk. Her waist was as narrow as Carlotta’s had been, her shapely hips well-defined.

Damn. Start falling prey to old desires and he’d make a fool of himself. Carlotta was dead. The woman with the lyrical laugh and burnished red hair was a stranger. Still, he was far too intrigued at this point to walk away without seeing her face.

He circled her and the young woman at her side, keeping his distance, but not so far away that he couldn’t see the fullness of her red lips or the nose that turned up ever so slightly. Her smile was dazzling. Her features were striking. She was an absolute knockout.

She wasn’t Carlotta.

He exhaled slowly, regaining a much-needed sense of equilibrium. But then their gazes met and for a second a sense of déjà vu ran so strong that it rocked his soul.

He turned away, exchanged his empty glass for a full one from the tray of a timely waiter and strode toward the double doors that led to the back loggia. He needed fresh air and to put some space between himself and the tantalizing redhead.

NICOLE SMITH’S GAZE followed the sexy stranger as he walked away. She was certain she’d never seen him before, yet for one brief moment, she’d felt as if she were drowning in the depths of his whiskey-colored eyes.

Her friend Deanie nudged her with her shoulder. “Who is that luscious creature and why haven’t I met him before?”

“I’ve never seen him before, either, but he must be a friend of Lee’s,” Nicole answered. “Likely someone on the police force.”

“May the force be with me.”

“Your husband might object.”

“Oh, yeah, him,” Deanie teased. “But you’re not married, and you’re the one he was staring at. Go check him out.”

“I’m here with Lee.”

“Exactly.”

Deanie made no secret of her negativity where Lee was concerned. She thought he was arrogant and chauvinistic, but it was only because she didn’t know him the way Nicole did. Sure, he was tough. He was a cop who’d risen through the ranks. But he had his sensitive side, and he spoiled her in so many ways that she actually wished she were sexually attracted to him.

“Go say hello to the hot stranger,” Deanie urged. “You know you want to.”

“If I do, it’s only because he looks vaguely familiar and I’m wondering if we’ve met before.”

“That’s as good an excuse as any to start up a conversation with a gorgeous hunk.” Deanie put a hand to the small of Nicole’s back and gave her a gentle shove in the stranger’s direction.

“I’ll go introduce myself if you go with me,” Nicole said.

“You are such a wimp, Nicole. Besides, I’m going to find Billy. Suddenly I’m in the mood for a little romantic adventure of my own.”

“If Marilyn catches you having a quickie in one of the upstairs bedrooms, you’ll be blacklisted forever.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Too stuffy. I’m thinking about under the fake stars in the back of the Delacroixes’ Saint Charles Avenue garden. How often does a lowly nurse get a chance to do that?”

Deanie sashayed off before Nicole could come up with an appropriate response. Deanie was bright, witty, daring, candid and totally unimpressed with money or social status.

The only reason she and her husband were here tonight was because Nicole had asked Lee to add them to the invitation list. Having Deanie around made these occasions a lot more fun for Nicole and she knew she couldn’t duck out of this one, not when tonight was all about Lee.

Lee—her date for the evening, and yet here she was, drawn to a sexy stranger with mesmerizing eyes and a killer body.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned and joined him on the balcony.




Chapter Two


“It’s a nice night for a party,” Nicole murmured as she stopped next to the stranger.

When he turned to face her, a ridiculous zinging sensation danced along her nerve endings.

“A splendid night,” he agreed. “And it just got a whole lot better.”

A slow burn crept to her cheeks. Impulsively, she checked his ring finger. It was bare. “I love spring in New Orleans,” she said, directing the subject back to the weather.

“So do I. But blink twice and it will have turned into the humid heat of summer.”

“Ah, you know the city. Do you live here?” she asked.

“I used to—a lifetime ago.”

Edginess crept into his voice, making him all the more intriguing.

“Are you a friend of Lee’s?”

“You could say that.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad you made the party.”

“If I ever run into him. I’m beginning to think he dodged his own celebration.”

“He’s here somewhere,” Nicole assured him, “probably surrounded by well-wishers or talking police business.”

“No doubt.”

She put out a hand. “I’m Nicole Smith. You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“No. If we had, I’m sure I’d remember.”

His hand wrapped around her much smaller one and he held it. Her pulse quickened.

“I’m Andre,” he said, smiling and meeting her gaze before finally letting go of her. “Hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you do great things for that dress.”

“Thank you.”

“Do the Delacroixes always throw such lavish parties?”

“Always.”

He looked around. “They have the perfect mansion for it.”

“The gardens are lovely, too,” Nicole said, “especially this time of the year. You should make time to see them.”

His brows arched. “Is that an offer of a tour?”

“No… . I mean…” She swallowed back a twinge of guilt and a rush of blood that made her positively light-headed. “I would offer, but I have to get back to the party.”

“That’s a gracious brush-off.” He leaned closer and slid his hand across the railing until their fingers touched.

Awareness sizzled.

“I should get back to the party myself, but it was nice meeting you, Nicole.”

“Likewise,” she murmured. She leaned on the railing and watched as he walked away, still reeling from the effect he’d had on her and faced with an undeniable truth.

Lee Barnaby had never excited her senses like that.

REMY WALKED BACK into the house determined to get his mind off the gorgeous redhead and back where it belonged. The woman had ignited so many sparks that he was still feeling the heat.

But he couldn’t act on the attraction. She reminded him far too much of Carlotta, and not just her laugh. It was her hair, her eyes, her enchanting Southern drawl.

Even if he weren’t about to jump into a blazing fire of his making, contacting her would be a mistake. And not fair to either of them, even if she were willing to see him again.

After another ten minutes of searching, Remy spotted Lee at the far end of the ballroom. He looked much the same as he had eight years ago, except that he’d put on a few pounds and his hair had started to gray a bit at the temples. Still, he looked younger than his age, which Remy knew was somewhere in the early fifties.

Remy cleared the few yards between them without Lee noticing him. He was seconds away from showing his face when Lee was joined by the seductive redhead.

Lee turned and slipped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into the cluster of people who surrounded him.

The gesture and the smile she flashed for Lee appeared overly familiar, almost intimate. Remy felt a tightening in his gut. The woman had seemed far too nice to get romantically involved with a dirty rat like Lee—even if he hadn’t been too old for her. Not that it was any of Remy’s business.

Remy stayed out of sight, watching silently until Lee whispered something in the woman’s ear that made her smile. Then the illustrious new NOPD chief turned and walked away.

Following quickly, Remy caught up with him just as he ducked into a small, hallway powder room.

Without breaking stride, Remy blocked the door with his foot before it could close completely. He pushed into the tiny room with Lee, then closed and locked the door behind them.

It was time to get reacquainted.




Chapter Three


“What the hell!”

“Hello, Lee. Nice to see you, too.”

Lee’s muscles flexed, and shock registered in every line of his ruddy face. “What the devil are you doing here, Comeaux?”

“Offering my congratulations. Isn’t that what this celebration is all about?”

“This party is for invited guests. You’re not one of them.”

“I figured the engraved request for my presence got lost in the mail. But you do look surprised to see me.”

“I am. I figured you’d crawled off and died somewhere like the gutter rat you are.”

“No, I just moved on to a higher class of rodents.”

Someone turned the doorknob from the outside.

“Out in a second,” Remy called.

“Get out now,” Lee muttered as the footsteps receded. “If You’re still in town come morning, I’ll have you arrested and thrown back in jail.”

“Same old Barnaby. But threats and intimidation won’t cut it this time. You’re the one who’s going down.”

“Like hell I am. You’re a criminal, Remy, a dirty cop who escaped from jail in the aftermath of a hurricane. No one will believe anything you say.”

“No, but they’ll believe the FBI and solid evidence.”

“None of you have anything on me!”

Lee spit the words at him as if they were curses, but Remy could see the panic bleeding into his eyes. He’d accomplished what he’d come to do tonight—churn up enough anxiety inside Lee to put a serious damper on his moment of triumph.

The worst was yet to come.

“I guess we’ll find out. See you around, Chief. Oh, and don’t worry about the scintillating redhead. I’ll see that she’s well taken care of while you’re behind bars and bonding with the guys you helped send to Angola.”

Lee’s face turned a violent red. Remy braced for a punch, but Lee merely called him a few choice names.

Remy had definitely pushed Lee’s buttons with the mention of the redhead. The possibility that they were lovers galled Remy. He fought to stop it from spoiling the moment as he opened the bathroom door and left Lee to stew in his own well-deserved angst.

Lee had crossed enough lines of law and honor in his career to lock him away indefinitely. FBI agent Ray Storm, with the help of Remy and his former best friend, Detective Mack Rivet, had been close to proving Lee’s guilt before Katrina had smashed Remy’s world like a boot coming down on a rotten banana.

Before Katrina, Remy’s participation in the operation had been professional. Now it was personal. This time he wouldn’t quit until Lee Barnaby had a one-way pass to prison.

The only thing that would stop him would be moving into the Comeaux family mausoleum down in the bayou country where he’d grown up. Lee Barnaby was not beyond seeing that he made that move.

That was why Remy couldn’t let down his guard for a second and why he had to work fast to gather the last shreds of proof. He wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than indisputable evidence that Lee was the most crooked cop to ever wear an NOPD badge.

NICOLE WATCHED FROM THE EDGE of the bandstand as Lee began his speech, thanking everyone for their enthusiasm and support and vowing to make the streets of New Orleans some of the safest of any big city in the nation.

Surprisingly, he seemed nervous, pausing frequently as if he’d lost the thought he wanted to convey. He wiped beads of perspiration from his brow more than once with a folded linen handkerchief, even though the room’s temperature was comfortable.

It was a side of Lee she’d never seen before. Normally, he reeked of confidence and charisma on occasions such as this. Something had clearly upset him.

In spite of her concern for Lee, she found herself scanning the crowd, searching for the stranger. She wondered if he’d had the chance to talk to Lee and regretted She hadn’t asked his last name.

Not that it mattered. The rush of emotion she’d felt with him couldn’t be trusted. At best it was a lustful burst of infatuation brought on by two glasses of champagne. She knew absolutely nothing about the man.

Lee quickly escaped the crush of well-wishers who surrounded him after the speech and made his way to her. Leaning close, his hand circled her waist and he put his mouth to her ear. “Let’s take a walk in the garden. I need some fresh air.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m great. I’d just like some alone time in the moonlight with my beautiful date.”

Also not like Lee. He was thoughtful but never particularly romantic. And even as he led her away, he seemed distracted.

They crossed the veranda where she’d talked to Andre and then descended the wide steps to the maze of paths that meandered through watermelon-red azalea blooms, lush greenery and sparkling fountains.

Fake stars diminished the silvery glow of moonlight but didn’t dim the serene beauty. But when Lee took her hand, his grip felt tense.

“You’re not acting like a man who’s just been showered with accolades,” she said. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

“Just police business. Nothing to cause you worry.” Lee grew silent and a second later dropped her hand and picked up his pace so that she almost had to run to keep up with his long stride.

They passed a couple who were so engrossed in each other that they barely wasted a glance on Lee and Nicole. Obviously, the garden’s magic was not lost on them as it was on Lee.

Nicole’s mind wandered back to the stranger. Her reaction to him was both disturbing and puzzling. It was if he’d tilted her world and loosed titillating sensations that had lain dormant for the past eight years.

Everyone in New Orleans had their own Katrina story. Nicole was no exception. But she was still alive, and like most of the others, she’d picked up the pieces and moved on.

But there were still the occasional moments when she experienced a yearning for what she’d lost, an ache so strong it consumed her. But never until this evening had she felt as sensually excited as she had with Andre.

That was surely a good sign, even if the feelings had been stirred by a man she’d likely never see again.

She was about to ask Lee if he’d talked to Andre, when Lee took her hand and tugged her to a stop in the dark shadows of a huge magnolia tree. The fragrance of the enchanting white blooms was intoxicating.

Lee’s arms circled her waist and he pulled her closer. She looked up and met his gaze. There was an intensity in his stare that she’d never seen before.

“What is it, Lee?”

“You know how I feel about you, Nicole.”

She swallowed hard, suddenly realizing why he seemed nervous and dreading what was coming next. She knew what he wanted from her. They’d talked all around the subject. It wasn’t unreasonable. And yet…

“I don’t think we should go there again tonight, Lee.”

“I think we have to, Nicole. We’ve been friends for years. We’ve dated for months. It’s time to move our relationship to the next level. I can’t keep fighting my feelings for you.”

“I realize that.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I trust you, but I need more time, Lee. You said you understood.”

“You’ve had eight years, Nicole. It’s not time you need. It’s just the courage to let someone into your life.”

She knew Lee could be right. Even Deanie kept insisting that she let go of the past and open herself to the future.

“Move in with me, Nicole. Give me a chance to make you happy.”

The proposition made her chest constrict until her breath seemed to be trapped inside her. “I can’t make a decision like that on the spur of the moment.”

“Then at least go home with me tonight, Nicole. I need you. I want you with me.”

He put a thumb beneath her chin and tilted her face upward so that their lips were only inches apart. She stepped into the kiss, aching to feel a sensual onslaught that left her dizzy with passion. At this point she’d settle for even a hint of what she’d felt with Andre.

There was nothing.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Lee, but I can’t.”

His arms dropped to his sides and her rejection drew his lips into thin, tight lines. When he spoke, his words had a clipped, cutting edge to them. “If that’s the way you want it, but you can’t expect me to wait forever.”

“I never asked that of you.” She’d never asked anything of him.

He loosely linked his arm with hers. “I really should get back to the party now.”

They walked in silence. Well-wishers gathered around Lee even before they climbed the steps to the veranda.

She left him to his admirers, called a taxi and went back to her condo. For all she knew, she’d just killed her relationship with Lee.

But when she crawled into bed alone, it was the stranger with the whiskey-colored eyes who tiptoed into her mind and stayed around for her dreams.

IT WAS THIRTY MINUTES past midnight when Remy finally pushed away from the desk in his hotel room. He’d spent the past three hours staring at his findings, which never fully solved the puzzle of exactly how deep Lee Barnaby had been involved in the pre-Katrina police corruption. Weary, Remy stood, stretched and then walked to the window.

He’d chosen an old hotel on the outskirts of the French Quarter, not for its quaintness or its reasonable price but because he liked the way the pace here slowed to a skulking crawl.

The bars were not as noisy as the ones on Bourbon Street. The inhabitants were an eclectic mix of cultures, socioeconomic levels and gender preferences. He could easily go unnoticed here.

But it was another part of the city that called to him tonight. Remy headed to his truck and took the short drive to an area that had taken the brunt of the flooding when the levies were breached.

What-ifs tormented his mind as he drove the once-familiar streets, finally stopping in front of the hospital where Carlotta had worked as a nurse. She’d loved her job.





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