Cut and Run 07 Touch & Geaux (20 page)

“Well. He believes the FBI agent who helped destroy part of his operation is the very same agent who killed his brother. He’s out for blood.”

“I didn’t kill Antonio.”

“We know.”

“We? You went from SAS to being a cartel henchman?”

“No, darling, I went from SAS to NIA.”

Zane rested his aching head on the cold floor. It seemed that what Ty had told him was at least partially true. “NIA.”

“Your very own National Intelligence Agency.”

“I know what it fucking stands for. What are they doing involved with this?”

“They’re not.”

Zane closed his eyes. “You’re freelancing.”

“Hmm. Juan Carlos de la Vega was contacted earlier this week and told the FBI agent who killed his brother would be here in New Orleans this weekend.”

“By who?”

“Whom.” Liam shrugged, pursing his lips. “I was merely contracted to take care of it.”

That got Zane’s attention, and fast. He raised his head. “I told you, I didn’t kill his brother.”

“No. But Tyler did.” Liam nodded condescendingly. “Don’t look surprised. It’s what he does, Zane.”

“So, what, you’re here to kill him for a paycheck?”

Liam quirked an eyebrow. “Does this low opinion of me come from Tyler, or from my actions, I wonder?”

Zane could only assume that was a rhetorical question, since he could feel where the blood had caked on the back of his head.

“I didn’t know who my target was until I got here, so you can stow the attitude. I can only stall for so long, however. When the job doesn’t get done, more will come. And you know what will happen then.”

Zane clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Now, you’re a smart boy, so I assume you’ve already detected the real problem. For you, that is. It’s not that someone wants to kill Ty.”

“That seems like a real problem to me.”

Liam waved that off. “As you like. The real issue, of course, is de la Vega’s henchmen don’t know what
Ty
looks like. They will, however, spot
your
beautiful face from a mile away. And I’m pretty sure they don’t believe in coincidences.”

Zane was silent.

“I’m going to untie you now,” Liam said. He leaned over Zane, still smirking. “You must promise not to try to maim me, because I will put you down.”

Zane snorted. Liam was at least six inches shorter than Zane, with compact, wiry muscles and very little bulk to him. “You’ll put me down?” he repeated, incredulous. Liam nodded. “You and what army?”

Liam grinned wider. He pulled a knife from a sheath in his boot and cut through the zip tie that held Zane’s feet together. As soon as Zane was free, he kicked up, aiming for Liam’s head. Liam blocked the blow with his forearm, then rolled over his own shoulder to crouch several feet away. He was still grinning.

Zane arched his back, pushing himself off the floor so he could pull his tied hands under his body and over his legs, bringing them in front of him as he rolled to his feet. He faced Liam, bent low, ready for an attack.

Liam shook his head. “I’m not here to fight you, love. I do enjoy the feisty ones, so if you’re willing, I’m ready to go. That being said, I’d rather not make you bleed anymore today. I’ll even hand you the phone so you can call Tyler yourself.” He pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and waved it enticingly.

Zane nodded. The man was convincing, but Zane couldn’t help but expect a trap. No one so calm and soothing could be up to any good. “Slide it over.”

Liam placed it on the floor and pushed it. Zane stopped it with his foot, not taking his eyes off Liam.

Liam held up the knife as well. “A peace offering, yes?” He placed it on the ground and shoved it toward Zane too.

Zane bent slowly, not taking his eyes from his opponent as he grasped the knife. He cut the tie on his wrists and then whirled the handle of the knife around his fingers, gripping it so the blade rested along his wrist, ready to fight.

Liam propped his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his hand. “Feel better now?”

“A little.”

“You’re armed. Go ahead and give Tyler a call. I’m sure he’s burning down the Quarter looking for you by now.”

Zane fumbled with the cell phone, using his free hand without moving his eyes from Liam’s. He hit send twice, assuming it would be Ty’s number. Nerves skittered through him as the phone rang. Liam remained in a crouch. His composure and reassurance were infuriating.

When Ty’s voice mail picked up, Zane frowned harder. “Ty,” he gritted out. “You answer your goddamned phone in the middle of sex but you can’t pick up now?” He jabbed the phone off, cursing.

Liam’s brow creased. “He didn’t answer?”

Zane shook his head.

Liam ran one finger along his lower lip, frowning harder. “Odd, that.”

Zane took deep, calming breaths and tried to push past his whirlwind of thoughts to find a point of clarity. It all boiled down to whether to trust Liam Bell’s word right here and now. And it was hard to a trust a man who’d smashed your skull in and then tied you up.

“Don’t get me wrong, Zane, it’s been a while since I knew him. But with all his faults, he always made a bloody good cavalry. If he’s not answering, he’s in trouble.”

“You’re right,” Zane whispered, hating to agree with the man. If Liam had said the sky was blue right now, Zane would have felt compelled to argue that it was in fact merely refracting light.

“I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”

Zane shifted from foot to foot, as if the battle in his mind was taking place in his body as well. He finally held up the knife. “I want another one of these. Then we’ll talk.”

Ty sat on the wrong side of a battered wooden table in a small interrogation room with no air conditioning. He wasn’t handcuffed, not yet, and they’d yet to read him his rights. But he had no illusions about being able to get up and walk out. The easiest way out of this would be to identify himself as an FBI agent and be done with it. But there were too many risks, too many loose threads left over from his days undercover, and he’d have to play the part he’d once played down here until he had more information.

He had some time if Liam intended to meet him at 2 AM.

The door creaked as it opened, and the same detective from the hotel sauntered in and tossed a heavy file on the table. An officer pulled the door closed behind him. Ty’s eyes strayed to the door as it clicked shut. They had him under guard. His knee began to bounce and he forced himself to stop.

He met the detective’s eyes, sprawling in his chair in a casual, insolent pose.

“Surprised to see you crawling to town,” the detective said.

Ty clucked his tongue. When he spoke, it was with the same affected drawl he’d perfected while undercover years ago. “Detective Poirot, wasn’t it?”

“Poirier. But you can call me Sir. It’ll be Boss here soon. Soon as we get you in chains.”

Ty narrowed his eyes. “And what is it I’ve done to deserve being chained up?”

“Did you kill that girl, Tyler Beaumont?”

“I did not.”

“Your crew we have in the lobby? Witnesses say they saw a man with them the night of the murder. Description fits you to a T. They say you ducked out, then your buddies closed up shop, wouldn’t let anyone leave. Smart. Make the police think the scene’s pure while you slip out the hole you crawled in through.”

Ty sighed and sat forward. “There’s a real killer out there somewhere. And you’re wasting your time here with me.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’m just in town on a jaunt, Detective. Little harmless fun.”

“You suppose Ava Gaudet would think your little jaunt is harmless?”

Ty cocked his head, trying hard not to react. Ava had been his main contact here during his undercover days. Another few months in town and he probably would have married her. “We made our peace. What’s she got to do with a murdered girl?”

“That murdered girl calls her to mind. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tattoos. Even had one of them cute little feathers tucked behind her ear.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Poirier laughed. He tapped the file on the table between them. “I have you here for half a dozen offenses in the two years you were on our radar. Breaking and entering. Money laundering. Racketeering. Assault and battery. Did you beat your girl too? Her daddy sure thinks you did.”

Ty remained motionless. He had to keep his cover if Ava Gaudet’s father had Poirier’s ear. He was the precinct commander. And he was dirty as hell. Only two people in town had known Ty was FBI at the time Katrina hit, and Ty knew neither of them would have given up that information, and certainly not to Louis Gaudet. It would have cast doubt on them by association.

Poirier wasn’t deterred by Ty’s silence. He continued flipping through the file. “All that, not to mention over a dozen drunk and disorderlies. You were in the tank more often than not every Thursday night. Like clockwork.” They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to flinch. Finally Poirier leaned his elbows on the table. “You ever get a little too drunk, Tyler Beaumont? Get a little too angry? A little too out of control?”

Ty crossed his arms, inclining his head. He’d met his handler in the drunk tank every three or four weeks. But he couldn’t tell Poirier that.

“You ever put your hands around a girl’s neck and squeezed? Watch the life drain from her?”

Ty didn’t rise to the bait, but he was beginning to question the wisdom of not identifying himself. He couldn’t, though. If he did and Gaudet got a hold of him, he’d never make it out of the police station alive.

Poirier narrowed his eyes, moving his tongue around inside his mouth like he was chewing on something. He picked up the folder and tapped it on its side, then opened it.

“I’d like to make a phone call.”

“Answer my questions first. Why are you here? You left under cover of water six years ago, why come back? Why now?”

Ty’s knee began to bounce again as he fought to concentrate on the interrogation and not worry himself into a fit about Zane.

“Was it Arthur Murdoch? He owned the tavern you worked for. You come for his funeral?”

Ty’s knee stopped. “Murdoch’s dead?”

Poirier nodded solemnly. “Gris-gris bag in his hand. Your name written on that little piece of parchment.”

Ty’s jaw tightened and he fought a wave of nausea. Murdoch had owned the dive where Ty had worked and lived. He’d been almost like a father to Ty, and he and his beloved mongrel had taken seats on the helicopter Ty had pulled every string to get before Katrina made landfall. He had known Ty was an FBI agent, and he’d sworn to take that secret to the grave. Now someone had killed him, pointing his fingers at Ty in the end.

“Either read me my rights, or I’m walking.”

“I’ll do that, right after you give me one last answer.” Poirier pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket and plopped it on the table. Inside was the gris-gris bag Ty had kept in his pocket. They’d taken it along with all his other belongings when they’d brought him in. “It matches the one the girl was holding. And the one Murdoch was found with.”

Ty could feel the blood draining from his face as he stared at the bag.

Poirier leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Tell me, Tyler Beaumont. Who was your next victim going to be?”

It was under an uneasy peace that Zane and Liam rode the elevator of the Bourbon Orleans to the fifth floor. Zane stood far enough away to be able to maneuver, keeping an eye on Liam even though the man had proved true to his word thus far.

Liam shook his head, smiling as he stared at the doors. “Are you always this paranoid?”

“When I’m still bleeding from our introduction, yeah.”

“Fair enough.” Liam glanced at him and winked.

Zane rolled his eyes. The man was insufferable. No wonder he and Ty had been an item. He forced Liam to move ahead of him as they made their way down the hall, and he hung back out of reach. He’d seen the fear in Ty’s eyes when he’d said Liam was here for trouble. And men like Ty didn’t scare easily.

Liam held up the room key Zane had given him and slid it in, stepping back as the little light flicked green. Zane pushed the door open and called out, “Coming in with company!”

No one responded, and Zane nodded for Liam to go in. Liam put both hands behind his head and strolled into the room, Zane moving behind with one of the borrowed knives in his hand.