Hunted (9 page)

The cabbie did a U-turn on the wide, tree-lined street and headed back the way they’d come. Clay stole a look at Zoe as they left the Garden District. She had her head back against the seat, eyes forward and she seemed lost in thought. “They get settled okay?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, but they won’t be there long.” She didn’t sound happy about that. When they passed by a streetlamp he could see the furrow between her brows.

“Something wrong?”

Her head turned, those pretty golden eyes focusing on him. “I’m worried.”

“About them?”

A nod, and her gaze shifted away toward the cabbie, who was now talking to someone using his hands-free device. Even though he was on the phone, when she spoke next it was in a hushed tone. “Without going into too much detail, the guy she’s running from sounds like really bad news. She refused to go to the cops because apparently this guy is tight with at least some of them, and even though things she’s told me make me think he must be a criminal, she makes it sound like he’s got an in with every level of law enforcement in the region.”

A warning tingle started up at the base of his neck. Had Zoe just put herself in danger by helping them? “Is there any way this guy knows you’re involved with her case?”

She met his eyes briefly before looking back out the windshield. “No. But the way she talks about him makes me wonder who the hell he is and what he does. Or what he’s done, for that matter. I wish I had a name to go with the reputation. Then I could figure out how to help her.”

Well, he, for one, was glad she didn’t have a name and wasn’t going to be able to dig any deeper. She’d been a practicing lawyer until recently, so if she’d had a name there was no way she’d let it go until she had all the answers she wanted. But he still wanted to be sure. “So you’re done with them now, right? You saw them safely to the shelter and now you’re out of the picture.”

She hesitated. “Technically.”

Oh, hell. “Zoe.” He waited until her eyes swung to him once more. “If this guy is dangerous and the woman is a flight risk, you need to stay out of it now. Let the social workers or whoever handle this if she won’t go to the cops.”

She shook her head, the angle of her chin defiant, and checked to make sure the cabbie wasn’t listening in. He wasn’t, because he was still on the phone. “It’s not that simple. I’m the only one she trusts. If I’m the only one she’ll turn to for help, I can’t say no and just cut contact with her. No one but the owner, the volunteers and the women we shelter knows where the house is. It’s privately owned and operated, so we have strict rules and have to sign a confidentiality agreement when we apply.

“All of us are fully screened, including in-depth background checks. My degree and past work in family law actually helped me get accepted. The cops don’t know where the house is, the neighbors don’t know what it is, and even the social workers don’t know where it is. Whenever one of them has a new case for us, either the owner or a volunteer always meets the woman needing help and her social worker at an unrelated location first. If we decide to take them in, the women have to sign the same agreement we do and sign off on all the rules and stipulations. That makes our shelter one of the safest in the state, and it’s why I wanted to work there. We make a difference in people’s lives.”

It was clear she was proud of her work there, and rightly so, but he wasn’t liking the sound of this particular case at all. He also knew that arguing with her about dropping the case was futile. One of the things he admired most about Zoe was her unyielding loyalty. In this case, however, he was getting concerned that it would become dangerous.

He let it go, for now, the silence settling over them as the cab headed back toward the French Quarter. They’d just turned onto Canal Street when his cell buzzed with an incoming text from Tuck.

Schroder’s let the good times roll a little too much. Some guys keep trying to pick a fight with us. You back yet?

He’d sent a picture of Schroder with the message, his mouth wide open in a humorous expression of glee that told Clay their medic was feeling no pain at the moment. The sight of his calm and easy going teammate pissed out of his mind amused him. He smirked as he typed in his reply.

Better roll him on outta there then. Want backup? We’re close.

Sure. We’ll meet you out front.
Tuck gave the name of the bar. Clay asked Zoe where it was.

“At the far end of Bourbon. Think they really stopped at every bar on the way to Lafitte’s?”

Clay vaguely recalled the place from his last trip here. “Looks like.” He instructed the driver to drop them off close to the bar and a few minutes later he and Zoe stepped out onto the corner of Bourbon and St. Philip.

Loud music pulsed from inside Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar and it was so crowded people were spilling out of it onto the sidewalk. Clay stepped up close to Zoe and wrapped his hand around her bare upper arm, trying and failing to notice how soft her skin was as they walked toward the crowd assembled in front of the bar. People paused to watch two men wearing red afro wigs and matching costumes hamming it up as they performed a choreographed dance for their audience.

“Do you see them?” Zoe called above the music, craning her neck to see over everyone.

“I see Evers.” His dark-haired teammate was standing on the sidewalk about ten meters west of the bar entrance, talking to two big guys. Clay waved to get his attention and Evers waved them over. With a guiding hand against the small of her back, Clay led Zoe through the groups of onlookers watching the show and over to where Evers stood.

Evers smiled and indicated the two men with a nod. “This is Hunter Phillips, co-owner of Titanium Security,” he said, gesturing to the sharp-eyed, dark-haired man.

“Clay Bauer. I recognize you from back in the day,” Clay said, holding out a hand. Phillips had been a Teams guy before becoming a security contractor.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around, I think last time at a training thing up north,” Phillips said with a smile. “Good to know we’re well represented over there at the agency.”

Clay grinned. “You know it.” He was proud to represent the SEAL community.

“And this is Gage Wallace, Titanium’s 2IC,” Evers said, indicating the broad-shouldered redhead with fully tatted arms next to Phillips.

“Former 2IC,” Wallace corrected. “I’m a glorified desk jockey now.”

Phillips raised an eyebrow at him. “There was no desk out in the field last week while you were running the newbies through their paces.”

“Okay, I’m
mostly
a glorified desk jockey,” Wallace qualified, shaking Clay’s hand.

Clay was very much aware of Zoe standing beside him, noted the way the men gave her appreciative looks and was strangely relieved when he saw they both wore wedding bands.

Not that rings meant anything. Guys could cheat just as easily as women could, and he’d seen it happen a lot in his line of work when guys were away from home, either on the road for training or overseas on deployment. Eve had accused him of cheating plenty of times, even though he’d never touched or flirted with another woman the whole time they’d been together. The ironic thing was, while he’d been loyal to her and their marriage, she’d never believed it.

“This is Zoe Renard, Tuck’s cousin,” he told them, mentally shoving his ex-wife out of his mind. They were done. Eve was part of his history and he’d moved on.

No, you haven’t. If that was true, you wouldn’t have turned down the woman next to you.

Zoe offered a smile as she shook the men’s hands, and Clay had to remind himself exactly why he’d turned her down earlier. Because he genuinely liked her. Admired her. He even enjoyed being around her, which was something he couldn’t say about most people, and he had a feeling they’d be more compatible in the bedroom than either of them realized. Could he really only do one-night stands anymore? He didn’t know, because he hadn’t tried anything else.

A dangerous thought, because part of him really wanted to try for more with Zoe.

“Nice to meet you both,” Zoe said. “Are y’all in town for the security conference Tuck told me about?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wallace said. “Got a few of our guys here with us.” His light blue gaze shifted to Clay once more. “You should come by with Tuck and Evers tomorrow, meet us for a drink in the hotel bar.”

“Maybe,” he answered evasively, then glanced behind him at the bar entrance again. “You seen Tuck and Schroder recently?” he asked Evers.

“Not for the better part of an hour now.” He turned to leave. “I’ll go get them.”

“Nah, I’ll do it.” Clay turned and automatically put his hand on Zoe’s back again, not wanting to leave her here making small talk with these guys while she waited for him to get the others.

Up ahead the male dancers had finished but people were still milling around on the sidewalk and out on the street where groups of tourists in horse-drawn carriages were snapping pictures of the famous bar. With his size it was easy for him to maneuver through the crowd but he put Zoe directly in front of him so he wouldn’t lose sight of her and made sure no one hassled her. She drew stares at the best of time, but in that corset she was a fucking man magnet, and he didn’t want anyone in here trying to get grabby or gawking at her cleavage.

They’d just pushed through the last few people to the bar’s entrance when a group of guys suddenly tumbled out backwards. Zoe froze and leaned back to avoid a collision with one of them but Clay caught her shoulder and spun her out of the way. The last guy in line put a hand out to steady his friend in front of him and pushed him forward. All four of them were red-faced and shouting at whomever they were arguing with back in the bar. They stalked back inside, their body language and expressions making it plain that they were about to start something.

Clay slid his arm around Zoe’s shoulders and entered the bar, keeping her close, but a glance toward the rear of the dimly lit bar showed Tuck and Schroder standing with their backs at the far dark brick wall, and the angry men heading straight for them. Tuck saw them coming and tensed, stepping in front of Schroder to intervene. He said something to the group, but they didn’t stop.

“Ah, hell,” Clay muttered, stopping where he was. He didn’t want Zoe anywhere near those guys if they were about to throw down. Tuck’s gaze flashed to Clay’s for an instant and he rolled his eyes in an I-really-don’t-need-this-shit-right-now expression before focusing back on the other men.

“What?” Zoe asked, standing on tiptoe to see better, then gasped when she figured it out. “Is it them?”

He switched her to his left side, away from any danger of fists and elbows if things got ugly. “Yeah.” The man in the lead of the group was toe-to-toe with Tuck now, thrusting his finger into the air inches from Tuck’s face. Tuck remained calm, hands at chest level, palms out, and shook his head. Clay couldn’t hear what the other guy was saying but it sure as hell wasn’t friendly and then Schroder stuck his head around Tuck’s shoulder and said something that made the others surge forward.

Shit.
He released Zoe, body tensed for action. “Stay here while I—” He never got the chance to finish.

One of the guys threw a punch at Schroder, who, even drunk managed to duck out of the way in time. Tuck caught the guy’s wrist and said something, his brows lowered in a menacing expression that Bauer recognized as don’t-fuck-with-me. He shoved the guy’s arm away and reached back to grab Schroder by the back of the neck.

Clay kept going, just in case, aware that Zoe was trailing after him but didn’t stop her, not wanting to take his eyes off the other men’s hands.

Tuck had taken one step toward the exit when the next guy in line decided to take a shot. His fist came back, cocked and ready. Clay automatically lunged over and grabbed him from behind, locking his arm around the guy’s chest, trapping his arms against his sides. The guy’s head snapped around and he glared at Clay for an instant before he tried to come up swinging.

Blocking the punch easily, Clay tossed the guy off to the side. The man reeled backward, arms outstretched. Clay saw Zoe there an instant too late, watched her eyes widen and her arms come up to shield herself a moment before the guy crashed into her.

They both tumbled backward and hit the floor, Zoe on the bottom, the impact throwing them into the legs of a wooden table hard enough to topple over the drinks sitting on it. The people sitting there shot out of their chairs and swiveled to see what was going on.

Fuck
.

Enraged, Clay rushed over and ripped the guy off her, tossing him aside without caring where he landed, and crouched down in front of Zoe. He cupped a hand around the back of her neck, concerned she’d hit her head. Her eyes were clear though, the pupils even. “Are you okay?”

She sat up and put a hand to her cheek, nodded at him with wide eyes before darting a look over his shoulder where the sudden increase in volume told him Tuck and Schroder had seen the incident and weren’t happy about it. “Just stay the fuck back,” he heard Tuck warn, and Clay recognized that steely edge to his voice. “We’re leaving. Get out of our way.”

Ignoring the others, Clay slid his hands under Zoe’s arms to pull her from beneath the table. “Come on.” Gently hoisting her to her feet, he pulled her hand away from her face where a bright red mark stood out over her cheekbone. God dammit, he should have thrown the guy harder.

He brushed a thumb over it and searched her gaze, and leaned forward so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music. “Hurt?” She’d hit the floor pretty hard and then skidded into the table, and that guy had to weigh around two hundred or so. Her bun had come loose, several chunks of black-and-purple hair now streaming over her shoulders.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled, her voice husky, expression a little dazed. “I think the back of his head got me.”

Mouth compressed into a flat line, Clay kept his body between her and the assholes responsible for all this as he turned to face the rest of the room. Bouncers were already escorting the other guys out the back. Tuck was almost to him, pushing Schroder toward the exit, and though the drunken assholes were still glaring holes in the backs of their heads, at least they weren’t going after his teammates anymore.