Free Revenge by Austin Winter Page A

faith that Cody believed without fail.
    Remy stared at his hands. Did he remember how? Slowly, he brought his fingers to his lips, kissed the tips, then touched his forehead, the right shoulder, then left, then back to his lips.
    “
Pardonnez-moi mon, Père, parce que j’ai péché
.”
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
The words sounded rusted, misused, and distrustful. His gaze lifted to the ceiling. “
O Père, ne me laissez pas souffrir
.”
Oh, Father, do not let me suffer.
    A light rap startled him. He tipped forward. Bracing his hand on the floor to stop his forward momentum, he eyed the door.
    “Remy? Everything all right?”
    With lithe movements, he bolted to his feet. “Fine, Vic. Your cat scared me.”
    Silence, then “Okay.”
    He heard the faint tread of her retreat. Relieved, he stripped off his stained jeans and tossed them on top of the shirt then returned to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water pricked his skin, sloughing the strain from his muscles. It could wash the traces of blood down the drain, but it couldn’t remove the stains on his mind.
    Murderer.
    He hung his head and water poured past his face in rivulets. “Forgive me.”

Chapter Ten
    New Orleans’ business district still looked and felt the same prior to Katrina. Some of the businesses had changed hands, but for the most part it was as Remy remembered. A part of him wished he’d returned during Mardi Gras. Much easier to get lost in a sea of strange faces.
    Smoothing back his hair, he strode along the sidewalk circling City Hall. In order for him to pull off getting into the office during the day, he had to look the part. That meant donning the suit he wore the day the lieutenant had handed down his “vacation” sentencing, and acting like a lawyer to the best of his abilities. As a detective, Remy spent a lot of time around attorneys, so he could pull it off. God help him if he tripped up and got caught—which he had no intention of letting happen.
    Remy hesitated under a shade tree next to a stone wall that raised the landscaping away from the wide set of stairs leading to the entrance of the building. Slowly removing his sunglasses, he scanned the street and studied the people passing by. He checked his watch: one-thirty; the trial had started. Vic said that Paul and a good portion of his legal team would be at this trial. The fact that Paul was actually heading the prosecution surprised Remy. The man had to be pushing seventy and should be enjoying retirement. Instead, he was taking on the New Orleans mafia.
    Hooking his sunglasses by an earpiece in the breast pocket in his suit jacket, Remy slipped the altered ID badge over his head and headed up the stairs. An adrenaline-induced buzz hummed through his body as he approached the security checkpoint.
The damn badge better work.
    Remy swiped the card then held it up for the on-duty guard. The guard peered at his picture, leaned back and flashed Remy a brilliant smile, waving him inside. Passing through the metal detector, Remy adjusted the leather satchel strap over his shoulder and made a beeline for the emergency staircase door.
    Before entering, he checked to make sure no one was paying attention to him, then he slipped into the stairwell. His footsteps echoed as he ascended the steps. Two floors up, his smartphone toned. He removed the phone from the satchel. Vic had texted:
Dumond is busy showboating. We’re going to be here awhile. Hurry up just the same.
    Remy stashed the phone in the bag and hurried to the floor that housed the DA’s offices. The door opened toward him, making it easy for him to peek inside. Thankfully, the emergency exit was stationed away from the main lobby and offices. Looked like he was next to the bathrooms. Dumping the bag next to the door, he pulled out a stack of file folders and a law book Vic had supplied him with from her library.
    Here we go.
    He swept into the hallway and strode down it like he belonged in the office. Breaching