Page 189 of Forever Never
“Hello?” he rasped.
“Brick, it’s Juanita Houston from the coffee shop. Sorry for calling this early after you had such a late night at the bar.”
Juanita ran the cafe across the street from the ferry landing and knew everything about everybody.
“What can I do for you, Juanita?” he said, trying to muffle a yawn.
Remi rolled over to snuggle up against his back, and he looked down at her, feeling his chest flood with warmth. She didn’t look angelic in the early morning light. She looked more like a nymph, recharging her energy just to cause more trouble.
The wave of love, of possession, that crashed over him threatened to level him.
“I know you asked a few of us to keep an eye out for that Vorhees fellow.”
His muscles tensed, and he jackknifed up.
“Yes,” he said, his voice terse.
“Well, you know how I don’t mind a little digging—”
Naked, Brick launched himself off the bed and headed for the closet, snatching his gun off the dresser. “Did you see him? Here?”
Remi stirred on the bed behind him.
“Oh. No, no. Not anything like that.” Juanita chuckled.
He blew out a breath and closed his eyes.
“But I think I saw his wife get off the first ferry.”
He glanced at his watch. The ferry would have landed less than ten minutes ago.
Swearing under his breath, he reached for his sweatpants.
“Was she with anyone? Did you see which way she went?”
“I got swamped with the morning rush,” she said. “But I figured I should let you know.”
“Thanks, Juanita,” he said, dragging on the pants and sweatshirt.
“Oh, sure. I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I see her again or that Vorhees guy.”
“Appreciate it,” Brick said. He hung up and jammed his feet into sneakers, leaving them untied.
“What’s going on?” Remi asked groggily.
“Nothing, baby. Go back to sleep,” he said, pausing only long enough to press a kiss to her forehead.
“Nothing doesn’t require a gun,” she rasped after him. But he was already on the stairs.
The doorbell rang just as he hit the first floor. Keeping his gun at the ready, he reached for the deadbolt and threw open the door.
“Dad?” Brick was dumbstruck on his own doorstep.
“Camille?” Remi, dressed only in one of his t-shirts, pushed past him and carefully wrapped her arms around the woman standing next to his father.
She reminded him of one of his grandmother’s prized swan figurines. Delicate and lovely. Spencer had broken it accidentally, in the midst of gangly puberty when he’d had no more control over his own body than a marionette.
The swan had shattered, its long graceful neck snapped. But instead of careless accidents, Camille’s porcelain skin bore the evidence of grisly, purposeful violence.
