Blood Ties in Chef Voleur (13 page)

“Okay, then. Let’s get started. You’re going to be wearing a watch that’s actually a smartphone. Your biggest problem is going to be to pretend it’s just a watch. There’s a tendency to play with it, which distorts the sound. Also, a lot of people can’t keep their eyes off it or tend to hold it up, thinking either consciously or subconsciously that aiming it is going to help sound quality. You can’t do any of that.” He handed the watch to Jack. “Put it on in place of your watch and then forget it.”

Jack took the watch and put it on his left wrist, studied it for a couple of seconds, then nodded. After a slight pause, he looked up at Ryker. “Can I ask you something about your—surveillance?”

Ryker sent him a sidelong look. “Save it. We’re ready to go.”

* * *

R
YKER
SAT
DOWN
next to the tech and asked, “What have you heard so far?” as he focused on the screen before him. What he saw made him want to tear out of the van, break down the apartment door with his gun out and ready to shoot Paul Guillame.

Paul and Cara Lynn were sitting at the kitchen table. Paul held a handgun on her and she had her hands clasped in front of her on the table. Erase the gun from the picture and it looked as though they were having a pleasant conversation, although Ryker couldn’t hear anything and wouldn’t be able to until Jack got inside with the watch-phone.

Ryker rubbed a hand over his face and opened his cell phone and pressed a button. “In place?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Reilly Delancey replied. “I’m in position. I’ve got the solution, if necessary.”

Ryker nodded to himself. His twin brother, Reilly, was one of the best snipers in the state, maybe the nation. If he said he had the solution, then he had a straight shot, and if Ryker gave the word, Paul Guillame would be dead. “Hold steady, Reilly,” he said. “Out.”

* * *

“W
HAT
DO
YOU
think you’re going to do when Jack walks in that door?” Cara Lynn asked Paul.

Paul lifted his gun hand and cradled it in his left hand, which he propped on the kitchen table.

“Your hand must be getting tired.”

“I can hold out as long as you can, sweetie. Longer.”

“You can’t win against Jack. He’s almost twenty years younger than you, and a lot stronger.”

“I don’t have to win against him physically. I just have to outsmart him, and I know his weakness.”

Cara Lynn looked at her cousin, who was smirking at her. “What weakness?”

“Don’t underestimate me. I know people. I watch them. I understand them. I’ve watched your husband. He won’t let anything happen to you. He loves you too much.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong about that. The bedclothes over there?” she nodded toward the couch. “You were right the first time. We aren’t sleeping together. Haven’t been for quite some time. You know who he is. He married me for one reason and one reason only. To clear his grandfather’s name. To do that, he’ll destroy my grandmother—my whole family—even me. I refused to help him. In fact, that’s what he’s doing today. He’s talking to a private detective, trying to figure out a way to get the police to let him get a look at that last journal.”

Paul assessed her, his brow furrowing into a frown. “I don’t think I believe you. I’d like to. I’d like to think you feel the same way I do, even if it’s not for the same reason. I could use your help in protecting Lili’s name. But you’re not that kind. You’re an idealist, just like your husband. You believe that in the end, truth and justice are what’s important. So if you believe that Lili was guilty, you’ll be on Jack’s side. Not to mention that you’re totally in love with him.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“About what? Being on Jack’s side or being in love with him. I’m not wrong. Come on. You’ve read the old man’s letters, just like I have. I’ve read everything Jack had in that briefcase. Armand Broussard told the truth, as he saw it. He wrote down the facts. But I am the only person alive now who knows and understands the truth.”

“Paul, I believe you. I’m not—”

“Oh, shut up, little princess. Do you know why Lilibelle wanted Con dead? Because he wouldn’t leave that whore Kit Powers. He wanted to be governor and he was so arrogant that he thought he could win and the people of Louisiana would let him bring her into the governor’s mansion while poor Aunt Lili lived alone, humiliated by her cheating husband.”

Cara Lynn saw the anguish in Paul’s eyes and remembered what he’d told her. He’d loved his aunt—been in love with her. “And what about you? Why did you want Con dead?”

When he answered, he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking into the past. “She loved Con. He was her whole life. Every time he was unfaithful to her, he destroyed another part of her heart. But none of his whores hurt her like Kit Powers did. Do you know why?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. Cara Lynn wasn’t even sure that he remembered that she was there. “Because Con loved Kit. He never appreciated Lili’s background and breeding. He killed her. She was alive but her heart was dead.” Paul sighed and looked down at the gun in his hand.

He frowned, then looked up at Cara, and she knew he’d forgotten she was there until this moment. If she had been more clever, she probably could have taken the gun from his hand while he was lost in the past.

“I wanted him dead for two reasons, little princess. Because I loved Lili and because he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry for you, Paul. I’m sorry that Lili didn’t love you. I’m sorry you spent your whole life longing for something you could never have. It’s sad.”

“Shut up! What do you know about love? You couldn’t even see through Broussard’s pathetically transparent deceit.”

Cara Lynn was tired. Her jaw and her back ached from tension. She longed for the sound of Jack’s key in the door, but at the same time she was terrified that when he walked in, Paul would shoot him. The war inside her, between wanting Jack to save her and wanting to keep him safe was ripping her in two.

At that instant, the sound of a key being inserted and turned in a lock screeched unnaturally in the silence of the apartment.

Cara Lynn froze. “Jack,” she whispered.

* * *

W
HEN
J
ACK
UNLOCKED
the front door, he wondered if the image he’d seen on the surveillance van’s screen was what he would see. His key sounding in the lock could spur Paul to sudden, violent action. The sight of the weapon in Paul’s hand pointed at Cara Lynn had made Jack afraid that by walking into the apartment, he was putting Cara Lynn in more danger.

What if Paul was surprised by his sudden entrance? What if he panicked and shot Cara Lynn? Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if anything happened to her. If Paul shot her because of him, he had no idea if he could even remain sane.

He pushed the door open, expecting to see Paul sitting and pointing a handgun at Cara Lynn. Even so, the sight took his breath away.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, her back stiff, her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair cascaded in fat ringlets down past her neck, the way he liked it. The way it looked when she let it dry naturally.

Sitting facing Jack, his right hand holding a handgun pointed straight at Cara Lynn’s heart was Paul.

Chapter Thirteen

“Hold it right there, Bush—Broussard. Or I’ll put a bullet in Cara Lynn, right here, right now. Put your hands out—way out.”

Jack complied and held his hands out at an angle from his body, so that Paul could see them. Ryker was right about the watch-phone. It was almost impossible to ignore it. Although he always wore a watch, he was so acutely conscious of the specially designed device on his wrist that it was all he could do not to twist his neck and look at it.

“Turn around—all the way around, and keep those hands out.”

Jack stood there, looking at Paul.

“Do it!” Paul snapped.

Jack did it. “What are you doing, Paul? What do you plan to do, now that you’ve got us? Because I can tell you right now if you come near me you’ll regret it. And if you try anything with Cara, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

“Shut up! Shut! Up!” Paul screamed. “Don’t say another word. I know exactly what I’m doing. Tell him, Cara Lynn.”

Jack looked directly at Cara Lynn for the first time.

Her eyes were wide, with pale blue shadows beneath them. “He knows what he’s doing, Ja—”

Her voice broke on his name. He wanted to go to her, but he knew better.

“Empty your pockets,” Paul said.

“What? Why?” Jack asked.

“Don’t talk back to me, you punk. Just do what I say.”

Jack shrugged, then started to reach into his right pocket.

“Hold it!” Paul cried. “Put your right hand on your head. Use your left hand to empty your right pocket.”

Jack chuckled wryly. “I don’t know, Paul. That sounds complicated.”

“I’m warning you, Bush!”

Awkwardly, Jack reached into his right pants pocket with his left hand and dug out change, a disposable cigarette lighter, and a torn slip of paper. One by one, he set each item on the foyer table.

“Now the other pocket. Left on your head. Right hand in your pocket.”

Jack did as he was told. “My wallet’s in my back pocket, Paul,” he said. “How do you want me to get it out?”

“You keep mouthing off to me and I’ll make you sorry you did. Lift your right pants leg with your left hand. I want to make sure you don’t have a weapon in there.”

“Paul, you’ve lived around the Delanceys too long. I’m not a cop. I’m not an investigator. I’m just an architect.”

“Stop talking and just do what I say.”

Jack shrugged and obeyed him.

“The other leg. Right hand.”

Jack lifted his left pant leg. “All done. Now what?” he asked. “I’m still trying to figure out what you’re planning to do.”

“Tell him, Cara Lynn.”

Cara Lynn looked from Paul to Jack and back to Paul. She looked terrified. Jack wanted to send her a reassuring smile, but he didn’t know how Paul would react.

“He’s going to Paris,” she said softly.

“Paris,” Jack said, as if considering it. He knew that if he could get close enough to Paul he could overpower him, but the gun was an unknown. Or maybe he should say that
Paul
holding a gun was an unknown.

If he rushed him, would he panic and freeze, or panic and shoot? Jack was pretty sure the
panic
part was correct. It appeared by the way he constantly looked down at the weapon and flexed his fingers, plus the way that sweat was forming and dribbling down his temples and his neck, that he was not used to holding a gun. That made him very dangerous.

Paul moved and Jack tensed. But apparently all Paul was doing was fishing something out of his back pocket. Flexible plastic ties.

“I’m going to give Cara Lynn these two flex cuffs,” Paul said. “But first, take off that watch.”

“My watch?” Jack said, worried that Paul might decide to examine it. If he did, he just might figure out that it was a phone. Jack quickly unbuckled the band and took the watch off. He bent and set it on the floor.

“Now get your hands behind your back and walk over to that wall and stick your nose against it. She’ll cuff you. Then, once you’re incapacitated, I’ll cuff her.”

“Come on, man, you know you’re not going to get anywhere. I mean,
Paris?
Really? You won’t make it out of the city.”

Paul stood and walked over behind Cara Lynn. He put his left hand on her shoulder and stuck the gun’s barrel to her temple. “Do it.”

Jack’s scalp burned with anger and his pulse pounded with fear, but he did what Paul told him to. Once his nose was against the wall, he held his hands together behind him, fists crossed.

He wished there was a way to communicate with Cara Lynn to leave the ties loose, so he could easily break one. He’d never done it but he’d seen it done—on a TV show. It had looked easy, but it had also looked as though the flex cuffs were breakaways. Still, it was the only example he had of someone breaking out of them, so he hoped to hell it would work. The real question was going to be whether he could get them off or break them before Paul figured out what he was doing.

Once Jack was in position, Paul ordered Cara Lynn to stand. “Here. Take these. They’re like regular plastic ties,” he told her. “When you insert the end into the latch, you can only pull it one way—tighter. So wrap the first one around one wrist and pull it tight. Then take the second one and loop it through the first one, then wrap it around his other wrist the same way. Attach it so that the two ties are looped together and
tight
. Got it?

“Jack, Cara is going to come up behind you and I’m going to be right by her side. You try anything and I
will
shoot her. Do you believe me?”

Jack silently swore to kill Paul if he could get his hands on him. He nodded. He heard them approaching.

“Stand still, Jack, or you know what’ll happen.”

Jack held his arms rigid and his hands just far enough apart that Cara Lynn couldn’t pull the second cuff completely tight against his resistance. She tried a couple of times to tighten it then finally gave up.

Jack felt pretty sure that everything Paul knew about flex cuffs he’d learned from an ad in a magazine or from the internet. He doubted seriously that Paul had ever actually cuffed anyone. Still, he held his breath as Paul gave Cara Lynn’s handiwork a cursory examination.

“Now, back away, Cara Lynn. That’s right. Two more steps. Jack, on the floor. On your stomach.”

Cara Lynn watched Paul ordering her husband around with growing fear. She’d never seen Paul like this. He seemed not only angry, but excited. His gun hand was trembling slightly and his voice was tight with tension. She watched him closely, wondering if there was a way she could sneak up on him when he was so engrossed in making sure Jack was effectively trussed, that he’d forgotten about her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Paul?” Jack said, starting to taunt him again.

Cara wanted to yell at him to shut up, that he couldn’t see Paul’s face like she could. Paul appeared to almost be at his breaking point. She wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. The trembling in his gun hand had spread to his other hand, his arms and shoulders, and she could even see his lips quivering.

Jack kept talking. “Do you think you’re in some movie you’re directing in your head? Holding us at gunpoint. Cuffing me hand and foot. Flying off to Paris. You’re deluded. Don’t you know that the Delanceys are onto you?”

“Onto me? No, they’re not. Why would they be?” Paul sounded peevish and irritated, but his voice was higher in pitch and the trembling in his body was constant.

“Think about it. You staged your little lights out magic trick after the public reception was over. There was nobody but family and close friends there. How long did you think it would take for Lucas or Ryker or any of them to narrow the suspect field down to you?”

“The thief didn’t have to be a friend or family member.”

“Of course not. But the person who hired the thief did. Face it, Paul. They know it’s you.”

“Shut up and get on the floor!” Paul shouted.

To Cara Lynn’s dismay, Jack shook his head. “You want me on the floor, you’re going to have to put me there yourself. Or are you too much of a coward?”

“Jack,” she said, her voice raspy with emotion. “Do it. He’s out of control.”

Paul stiffened and his face turned nearly purple. “You’re treading on thin ice, Bush.”

“Jack—!” Cara Lynn said. She was terrified. Jack with his hands cuffed behind his back and Paul with a loaded handgun didn’t equal a fair fight.

She was standing to Paul’s right and slightly behind him. Jack was beyond her, facing Paul. At that angle, she could see Jack’s shoulder and arm muscles tensing as he tried to manipulate the flex cuffs without Paul noticing. That’s why he was taunting Paul. He was doing his best to keep Paul’s attention on what he was saying and not what he was doing.

“Thin ice?” Jack laughed.

“Get on the floor!” Paul demanded, brandishing the gun. “Now!”

Just as Cara Lynn had made up her mind that she could rush Paul and knock the gun out of his hand, he glanced at her. “Get over here near Jack,” he said, gesturing with the barrel of the gun, “so I can keep an eye on you.”

Reluctantly, she moved. “What more can you possibly want? Just take the stuff and go. We’ll count to three hundred. We’ll count to three thousand. I swear. Just go.”

He ignored her. “I’m giving you one more chance to get on the floor on your stomach, Jack.”

Jack shrugged and with that movement, Cara Lynn saw the tie on his left hand slip up his wrist toward his thumb. “I’m good right here.”

Paul raised his gun hand and lunged at Jack. He swung the gun’s barrel at Jack’s head. Jack twisted, but Paul connected anyway.

Cara Lynn saw blood spray into the air as if in slow motion. She watched the tiny red droplets hover for what seemed like seconds, before they fell. They sprayed across Paul’s face and neck and several drops hit her.

Jack went down. Cara Lynn leaped toward him, crying his name. And Paul backhanded her. The gun didn’t hit her but his forearm and elbow did and she fell against the kitchen table, then tumbled to the floor. She hit on her butt and her elbow, but the pain barely registered. She immediately righted herself and started crawling on her hands and knees toward Jack.

“Don’t move, Cara Lynn,” Paul said. He recovered his balance immediately and held the gun on her. “Don’t!”

She froze, shuddering at the idea of the gun’s barrel pointed straight at the top of her head. “Jack—?” she said.

At her words, Jack moved and groaned. He was on his side, his arms still behind his back. His face was smeared with blood, but when Cara Lynn looked closer, she saw that all the blood was coming from a cut on his chin.

He lifted his head, shook it, moaned, and let it drop.

Paul walked around him and approached him from the far side, so he could still keep Cara Lynn in his sights. “I told you not to mess with me, Broussard,” he said and lifted his leg to kick Jack over onto his stomach.

At that point, for Cara Lynn, everything became a blur. She saw Jack whirl, saw more blood as his legs slammed into Paul’s calves. Paul staggered as one leg went out from under him.

Jack’s left hand came free and he used it to grab at the gun as Paul hopped on one leg, trying to hold on to his balance. Jack used his right arm, from which the flex ties dangled to push himself into a crouch. He latched onto Paul’s right wrist with his left arm and was doing his best to wrest or knock the gun from Paul’s hand.

As Jack got his legs securely under him and vaulted upward, Paul swung his gun arm around toward Cara Lynn.

“Cara, down!” Jack cried.

She’d already seen the barrel of the gun point toward her and dove behind the kitchen table, covering her head with her hands. A gunshot rang out and something stung her on the arm. Then another shot exploded, then a third.

Then quiet. Cara Lynn’s ears were ringing, but there were no more explosions. She dared to look up. Paul and Jack were rolling on the floor. Paul still had the gun, but Jack had both hands around Paul’s wrist.

She watched, cringing every time the gun moved. But something wasn’t quite right. The two of them must have been getting tired, because they were slowing down. A lot.

Then the gun fired again. She ducked, but she was apparently tired, too, because she was moving too slowly. Slow as molasses as her grandmother always said.

The bullet plowed a furrow in the table leg in front of her, and she toppled over onto the floor and lay there, wondering why she was so exhausted all of a sudden.

In her line of vision, Paul’s ridiculously dyed hair and Jack’s dark brown head bounced around and around. Then, just as Cara Lynn decided she was too tired to watch any more, another explosion filled the air, someone yelped in pain and something heavy thudded to the ground.

Cara Lynn closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember why she’d thought it was so important to keep them open. Her last thought was that whatever kind of bee or wasp had stung her arm must have been huge.

* * *

C
ARA
L
YNN
SQUINTED
at what she figured had to be the sun. It was huge and bright. The only thing that wasn’t sunlike about it was that it was long and skinny—kind of like a big fluorescent light, and it wasn’t hot.

She opened her eyes to a narrow slit and suddenly the light was blocked by faces. She opened her eyes a little more and the faces started spinning, so she closed them again, really fast.

“Cara Lynn, it’s your mom.” She felt a soft, cool hand on her forehead. “Wake up, baby. Are you okay?”

She heard her mother’s voice quiver. What was the problem and why were there so many people hovering over her? She lifted her hand to shade her eyes—or at least she tried to. It felt like her hand was tied down. She tried again and again, it wouldn’t lift.

“Hold on, kiddo.” A big, warm hand touched hers.

“Lucas?” she said, hearing how hoarse her voice was. “What’s—?”

“Stay still, or the nurse will make us leave,” Lucas said, patting her hand. “Everything’s fine. You just ran into a little trouble. Mom, turn the overhead light out. I think it’s bothering her eyes.”

The world beyond her eyelids got a lot less bright.