Touch&Geaux (21 page)

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.”

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y sat on the wrong side of a battered wooden table in

T
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?”

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“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

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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 cal .”

“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.

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“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 landfal . 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.

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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 hal , 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.

As soon as Liam cleared the entryway, a gun appeared

from behind the corner, pressing to Liam’s temple. “Oh dear,”

Liam drawled.

Owen Johns stepped away from his hiding spot and out

of Liam’s reach with practiced speed, keeping the gun trained

on him.

Zane groaned. The one man here who wouldn’t listen to a

word either of them said.

“It’s okay,” he tried anyway. He held up his knife. “I’m fifty

percent sure he’s on our side.”

Owen’s lip curled and he grunted. “Last time I saw him, he

was dead, so forgive me for being a little wary.” He narrowed

his eyes at Liam. “Get on your knees.”

“This isn’t that sort of game.” Liam sighed. “Go fetch me

your master and we’ll discuss it together.”

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Owen bristled at the condescension, but he began to relax

his stance. “The others have been arrested.”

“What?” Zane blurted.

“I watched from across the street. Took all of them.”

“Would it be possible to dispense with some weaponry

here?” Liam drawled. “My fingers are going numb.”

“Not a unicorn’s chance in Hell,” Owen grunted.

“Now, what would a unicorn be doing in Hell?” Liam

asked.

“You can ask him when you get there.”

Zane slid his knife back into the sheath Liam had given

him for it. “What else do we know? Why were they all taken?”

“I can only assume someone figured out who Ty was,”

Owen answered grudgingly. “Someone fingered him for the

murder.”

“What murder?” Liam asked. For the first time, he

sounded genuinely confused.

“The one you committed,” Owen snarled. “Killed a girl,

left a hoodoo curse bag behind. The same one you stuffed in

Ty’s bed.”

“I’ve not stuffed anything in Ty’s bed in some years. And

I didn’t kill anyone last night, certainly not some girl with

a voodoo curse. Are you all still this insane? I thought that

faded with time.”

Zane pointedly cleared his throat. “You think someone

saw him and recognized him from when he was undercover?”

Owen nodded.

“Or someone’s setting him up,” Liam offered, turning to

meet Zane’s eyes for emphasis. “Someone who knew he’d be

here.”Zane gritted his teeth. If that were the case, the cartel

merely had to get to Ty in jail and he was done. They had him

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cornered already and Ty didn’t even know they were after

him. “What do you know?”

Liam shrugged. “He went by the name Tyler Beaumont

while here. Not exactly original, but one shouldn’t stray too

far, am I right?” Liam winked at Owen.

“Oh God, I forgot how annoying you are,” Owen

grumbled. He still had his gun up. Where had the man gotten

it? Zane remembered someone saying Owen was a head of

security at some big corporation, so he might carry all the

time. But knowing what he did now, Zane could only assume

Sidewinder carried all the time no matter what, in case they

were called to action. The thought made Zane both sad and

exceptionally angry.

Liam shrugged and finally lowered his hands. He edged

toward the interior of the room and sat in one of the chairs,

smirking at Owen as the man followed him with his gun.

“Garrett, what the fuck is going on?” Owen growled.

“Let’s just say, Mr. Bell was persuasive in getting an

audience with me. There’s some stuff in play that’s going to

get ugly.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Bloody stuff,” Liam answered.

“We need to get to Ty and the others,” Zane said. “I’ll

go down there, identify myself. We’ll clear this up and get to

work.”

Liam tutted and shook his head.

“What?” Zane demanded, already exasperated by the

man.“Identifying yourself will leave you wide open. The New

Orleans Police Department is a sieve, it always has been. If

the cartel lads don’t already know Ty’s there, when word gets

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out that a Fed was in there throwing weight around? You’ll be

dead before Ty’s out of his cell and Ty will soon follow.”

“Why? What cartel guys? What the fuck are you talking

about?” Owen asked. He was growing more agitated, and he

was still holding the gun.

Zane took him by the shoulders so the gun was no longer

trained on Liam, and he forced Owen to meet his eyes. “Listen

carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. Liam is with

the NIA, but he’s undercover taking jobs as a paid assassin.

He was hired by a cartel in Miami to come here and kill me

and/or Ty, but he’s trying to help us.”

“Why?” Owen asked.

“I . . . I don’t really know.”

Owen glared at Liam. “So you’re really NIA like Ty said.”

He slid his gun into the holster under his arm, but advanced

on the man, pointing his finger. “You’re the one got us tossed?”

“That was not my intention,” Liam said, cool as ever as

Owen seethed over him. “What the Marines did to you lot

after was unconscionable and had nothing to do with me. I

am sorry it happened, but I am no longer officially affiliated