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trees to envelope her. S’mores tread through the creek, snorting and kicking water up at her body, soaking the bottom of Cody’s pant legs.
    “What the hell am I doing?”
    Her question echoed over the water. The mare twisted around to look at her, grunted, and continued playing.
    Cody crossed her arms and rocked side to side. “When have I ever let him stop me from doing what I know is right?”
    What was the point of her weapons training? Hadn’t she done it to prepare for whatever was after Remy and the moment he had to face his enemies?
    “So, why break up with him?”
    Silence met her query. Slowly the realization took root in her chest, spread to her gut, and through her veins. He wanted her to lose her temper and shut him out. But the momentary pain she’d glimpsed on his face after she called it quits should have been enough to warn her he wasn’t intending for her to break it off. “Remy LeBeau, you sneaky bastard, you purposely set me up.”
    Glancing heavenward, she smiled. Nope, her faith hadn’t fled.
    Cody grabbed up the reins and smooched to S’mores. “Come on, baby. I’ve got to figure out how to find that man and get him back. Before he gets himself killed.”

Chapter Four
    Muffled strains of Vivaldi’s “Cello Concerto in C” floated around the room. Candles were scattered about, their flickering flames the only source of light. He let the leather chair cradle his body, his head resting on the cushion, the glass of iced Scotch propped on the boxed armrest. Loosening his Louis Vuitton silk tie until the knot slipped free, he popped the top button on his shirt and sipped the Scotch. The ice clinked against the thick crystal tumbler when he set it back on the armrest.
    Exhaling, he closed his eyes and let his free hand conduct an imaginary cello quartet. Days like these called for a little Vivaldi and his lighthearted music.
    His was the most feared name in all of New Orleans. Yet one man defied him. Still.
    Jared Savard.
    A growl rumbled in his chest. That cop broke his first rule of employment: never try to grapple for power with him. He swirled the whiskey, the clinking ice invoking images of torture.
    Savard was the perfect contract killer. Occasionally, he’d hire outside of his normal pool of thugs; like in the case of the professional assassin. But Savard’s thirst for blood and sadistic killing rituals drove fear into those who were stupid enough to cross swords with him. And the NOPD cop proved most useful in eliminating a longstanding thorn to his side, averting attention off of him and obtaining the sole thing he’d sought for years.
    Freedom.
    Taking another sip of the Scotch, he savored its rich flavor. Things like this expensive whiskey hadn’t been among his indulgences almost twenty years ago. With patience and a few timely deaths, now he was a king. Lord of many.
    The man in charge of Savard’s life. And Savard’s recent dealings begged for re-evaluation of his services.
    For weeks he’d sat on the decision to eliminate Savard or not. Keeping the cop after his stunt with hiring that professional assassin and getting her killed, potentially exposing any information she had about him—it put his empire at risk.
    He threw back the rest of his drink and let it burn a searing path down his throat. Slamming the glass down on the armrest, he scooted forward in the chair, glaring at the candles on the table in front of him. The flames danced and wavered before his eyes. He reached out and let his fingers hover above the fire. Heat prickled his skin; warning signals traveled through the nerves in his hand and arm.
    Savard’s actions had brought another problem to surface. One he should have buried forever. Damn his faulty memory.
    He lowered his fingers until the flame kissed his skin.
    His empire would not crumble because of one power-hungry pawn. He pinched the wick, snuffing the flame. Savard would pay with his life.
    Pushing up out of the chair, glass in hand, he tread to