(New Orleans Connection Series Book #2)
Excerpt:
All Jinx noticed when she peeled her eyes open was darkness. A wall of nearly impenetrable blackness, though her eyes slowly adjusted and images formed. Well, that plus the fact her head was killing her. Flat on her back a heavy weight pinned her to the ground. A warm, solid, breathing weight. Muffled sounds began penetrating the fog of smoke, and the smell of…was that sulfur…as her brain kicked into gear and she remembered the explosion, and the gorgeous dark-haired cop throwing himself on top her, protecting her from the blast.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” The words whispered beside her ear rumbled in a hoarse voice laced with concern. Gentle fingertips brushed the tousled hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. A bright light shown downward, and she instinctively raised her hand blocking out the glaring intrusion. Flashlight, she realized, squinting against the beam.
“I'm okay. What happened?”
“Bomb. Probably a homemade pipe bomb from the look of things. Lots of bang, though not as much damage as C4. The pizza delivery guy carried it into the station.” The cop's weight slowly eased off her, and Jinx immediately missed the security of his body pressed tightly against her. Odd, she usually couldn't wait to get out from beneath a man's heavy bulk. This felt different. Comforting, protected. Safe.
“Here, let me help you up.”
“Thanks.” She placed her hands into his outstretched ones. He gently tugged, steadying her when she wobbled on her cut heel.
Damn, why'd I take off my brand new shoes? Oh, yeah, right. Crazy Russians in my house.
A controlled kind of chaos surrounded them as a tall black man with salt-and-pepper hair, she thought she remembered him being called Hilliard, directed people, plainclothes and uniformed. Another uniformed cop lay on the ground as several people tried to stem the blood pouring from his mangled right hand. The beams from multiple flashlights streaked down the walkway between desks, and the warm humid night air poured through the gaping hole in the side of the building where the windows had blown outward. Outside, the shouts of officers trying to control the unruly crowd of ghoulish spectators, and the murmurs of the growing crowd hoping for a glimpse of the controlled chaos, could be heard.
“Ambulances are on the way, cap.”
“How many injured?” The captain's deep baritone oozed confidence and calm, a rumble that echoed over the babble of voices. Jinx rubbed her hands along her upper arms, felt the trembling wash through her in the aftermath of the earlier adrenaline spike. Hold it together. Gotta get out, check on Carlo.
“Are you hurt? Bleeding anywhere, sweetheart?” The detective, the one who'd been protecting her, what was his name again—Remy—was asking her questions. Concentrate, Jinx. Tell him everything's great so you can get to Carlo.
“I'm fine, just had the wind knocked out of me. Look, things are crazy right now. You need to help your friends. I'll head out and you can…”
“Lamoreaux, she doesn't leave,” Hilliard's voice interrupted. His sharp brown gaze seemed to see straight into her, plumb her every secret.
“You don't need me to stay. Obviously I made a huge mistake. I'll head home and straighten everything out and…”
“Sorry, sugar, but you're not going anywhere,” Remy's voice interrupted. His hand latched onto her elbow, cementing her in place. She tugged, trying to wrench herself free, without any luck since his grip was solid, forceful and oddly comforting.
Remy glanced once toward his captain, nodded and turned back to her. “You heard the captain, you're here for a bit longer. Let's get out of the way and let the emergency crews do their stuff.” Turning to the captain, he added, “Cap, I'm taking her down to interview two. Keep me posted.”
Hilliard gave a brief wave of dismissal. Remy's hand slid against the small of her back as he guided Jennifer through the rubble and debris as they carefully made their way past the blast zone, and into the open area of the entrance to the station. The front doors were splayed wide, the warmth of the night air permeating the foyer. Temperatures had soared during the afternoon, and the atmosphere felt muggy, making it hard to breathe. Dust particles danced in the flashlight beams, yet Remy trudged forward continuing to the other side of the building. Guiding her down another hall, the darkness was illuminated by cops rushing forward, more flashlights and even a couple of lit flares penetrated the bleak gloom. Pausing in front of the second door they came across, Remy glanced at her. She knew he checked for signs of injury, his eyes raking her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. His scorching look pooled heat deep in her belly and a spark of attraction arced.
Merde, now was not the time to be thinking about how attractive the cop was. How his eyes had crinkled at the corners when he'd smiled earlier, or the slight upward tilt of his mouth when he'd called her sweetheart. Think about your brother. Dubshenko denied shooting him, but Jinx knew what she'd seen. The argument she'd heard. The loud pop of the gun firing.
“Have a seat, Jennifer. Make yourself comfortable,” Remy chuckled then added, “at least as comfortable as you can get under the circumstances.” He laid the flashlight on its side so the light shone across the table top and onto the brick wall.
“I believe you. About Dubshenko shooting your brother. The good news—Carlo is still alive. The bad news—Dubshenko has him.” He stood and walked over to a file cabinet in the corner of the small interrogation room, yanked open the second drawer and fumbled around inside.
Jinx waited with her arms wrapped around her body, not saying a word. She was afraid to say anything at this point. He was right. Dubshenko had Carlo, and if she gave the cops any information he wouldn't hesitate to kill him and dump his body in the swamps, never to be found.
“Ah, ha! Here we go.” An old fashioned cassette tape recorder landed on the table. The light from the flashlight gleamed against its black and chrome plastic surface. The sheen was dull and worn from age and heavy use. Next, a couple of cassette tapes were plunked down on the table.
“Normally, we'd videotape our interview for both documentation and for your protection. Since the electricity is off, we're gonna do this the old-fashioned way.” Grabbing up one of the cassettes Remy fed it into the recorder, and pressed play. The scratchy sound of the tape feeding was audible in the quiet of the room.
“Great. Hopefully this baby has halfway decent batteries, and doesn't conk out on us partway through.” He smiled, and Jinx felt that little zing she'd noticed earlier.
Grabbing his chair he flipped it around, straddling it so he faced her. He pressed the play and record buttons simultaneously with an emphatic stab of his fingers.
“This is Detective Remy Lamoureaux of the New Orleans Police Department interviewing Ms. Jennifer Smith at 9:15 p.m., July fifteenth. This is a witness statement being recorded strictly on audio as there has been a bomb explosion at the station and power is currently off, so no video recording is possible. Ms. Smith, in your own words, I need you to repeat what we discussed earlier this evening regarding the shooting of your brother, Carlo.”
Taking a deep breath, Jinx stated, “I have nothing to say.”
End of Excerpt