Touch&Geaux (5 page)

“Where’s Digger?”

“He’s in the fucking cell next to me, Grady!” Nick

shouted. He regained control and whispered his next words.

“Ty, please. They find out I’m a cop, I’m as good as dead down

here.”

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Ty narrowed his eyes. “Is this like the time you called me

from Panama and said—”

“Ty!”

“Because the ‘I’ve been arrested for murder’ gag only flies

so many times,” Ty warned.

“Ty.”

“I mean, one day I’m going to stop coming.”

“Ty!” Nick shouted, attempting to be calm and serious but

clearly losing his patience. Another shout in the background

caused him to hesitate. “Please. You’re the only person we

know to cal .”

Ty swallowed with difficulty and frowned at Zane. Zane

nodded. “We’ll be on the next flight out.”

“Thank you, Six,” Nick whispered, and the nickname

caused the hairs on Ty’s arms to rise.

Another voice told Nick that his time was up and the call

ended abruptly, leaving Ty staring at his phone.

Zane had to say his name twice before Ty looked up at

him. “Let’s get moving. I’ll go book the tickets. Should we

call Mac?”

Ty shook his head. “We’ll try to fix this before we go back

Tuesday. Maybe we won’t miss work.”

Better to ask forgiveness than permission. That had

become their motto.

Zane grimaced as he turned to get his phone.

“Hey, what did you want to ask me?”

Zane shrugged and gave him a small smile as they headed

for the door. “It’ll wait.”

28

It was well past midnight when Ty and Zane walked

through Louis Armstrong International Airport in New

Orleans. The shops and restaurants were all closed and barred

up, and very few people were walking the concourses.

Ty kept his head down, not speaking at al . He’d said

maybe ten words the entire flight from Baltimore, and his

barely controlled need to fidget during the 45-minute layover

in Charlotte had been like watching a chimpanzee trying to

figure out how to pick the lock on its cage. Zane knew all the

things that had to be swirling through his partner’s mind.

Nick and Digger—two of his oldest, dearest friends, brothers

in arms—were in trouble down here. Trouble that Ty might

not be able to help them out of.

Zane also knew Ty was concerned about showing his

face in New Orleans. He’d spent almost two years in a deep

undercover operation down here, and he hadn’t left on his

own terms. Simply being seen by someone he’d known then

could put him in a bad spot.

It spoke to Ty’s loyalty and love of his friends that he was

braving the city at al . Zane couldn’t think of many people

he’d head back into Miami for.

Ty was holding all of that in, though, keeping his worries

to himself and storing them in the tightness of his jaw and

shoulders.

They retrieved their one checked bag, which held a few

changes of clothing and two hard cases with their service

weapons in them, but Ty was too eager to get to the police

station to take the time to get the guns out and strap them on.

“We’ll get them out in the cab,” Ty reasoned. Zane trailed

after him, pul ing the suitcase along.

When they stepped out of the glass doors and headed for

the line of black and white United taxis awaiting fares, the

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humidity and warmth hit Zane like a physical blow after the

long winter in Baltimore.

Ty mumbled under his breath as they walked toward the

curb. “Ugh, late April. Never come here after May,” he told

Zane. “October to April. Place is uninhabitable otherwise.”

“Good to know.”

The sound of screeching tires drew their attention to

the end of the roadway, and a white van came tearing up the

loading zone lane. The few people in the crosswalk leaped out

of its way as it screamed past the line of taxis.

Ty took a step toward the curb, reaching under his suit

coat where his gun usually was as the van’s brakes squealed. It

rocked to a halt right in front of them.

Someone hit Zane from behind, wrapping his head up

in a black cloth and restraining his arms as he was shoved

forward. He could hear Ty shouting as he struggled with his

attackers, but they were both overpowered and shoved into

the back of the unmarked van.

The van pulled away from the curb as the sliding door

slammed shut.

“Stop struggling,” a voice ordered Zane as his hands and

feet were held down against a seat that smelled like Febreze.

“We’ll be there soon,” the kidnapper promised with a sadistic

laugh.

“Garrett, don’t kill anyone,” Ty muttered from another

row seat. He sounded calm, and Zane forced himself not to

thrash and struggle. They’d have a better chance of escape

once the van stopped moving.

Roughly fifteen minutes and a lot of traffic later, the

van came to a jarring stop. The door opened, and Zane was

dragged out and put on his feet. The hood was yanked off,

and Zane blinked a few times as he found himself standing

30

in what was unmistakably the French Quarter. He saw a

lamppost with black street signs for Bourbon and St. Philip.

The building in front of them was ancient, with timbers and

stacked brick showing through the cracking plaster. The

second story had no balcony or gallery like most of the French

Quarter architecture, just a few dormer windows with light

shining through their shutters.

An old wooden plank sign that said Lafitte’s Blacksmith

Shop was hanging over one of the many open doors. And there

were people everywhere. The van pulled away, leaving them

standing in the middle of St. Philip with their kidnappers and

dozens of drunk revelers staring at them.

The men who’d snatched them were laughing and patting

him on the shoulder. He glared at them, recognizing one of

the four as he finally got a good look.

Nick O’Flaherty. “You fall for it every time, man,” he said

to Ty, a hand on his shoulder as Ty glared at him. If Nick was

here, then Zane could only assume the identities of the other

three. Their faces matched those of the photos on Ty’s walls.

Sidewinder.

“Asshole,” Ty said, voice flat.

Nick grinned and pulled Ty into a hug. “You’re an asshole

too,” Ty said to Digger, who gave Ty’s back a pat and stepped

away.Ty was smiling, though he was trying not to, as each of

the other men greeted him in turn. Kelly Abbott was there,

and Zane was surprised to see Owen Johns present. The last

time he’d heard anything about Owen was after Ty had come

out to his recon team and Owen had stormed off.

“Zane,” Nick greeted. He held his hand out to Zane.

“Sorry about that,” he added, smiling widely.

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“You’re an incredible asshole,” Zane said. “What the hell

is this?”

Ty glanced at him and shook his head, starting to grin

wider. “I can only assume this is a birthday party.”

“For a psychopath?”

Ty gave him a sad smile and nodded.

“Elias Sanchez,” Nick answered, and with the name, the

five Marines grew more somber.

Zane inclined his head. Sanchez had lost his life not in

battle, but to a serial killer in New York City. The same killer

who’d almost taken Ty from them as well, the same one Zane

had killed.

“Tomorrow would have been his fortieth birthday,” Kelly

offered.

“No it wouldn’t,” Ty said.

“But tomorrow’s his birthday.”

“Kelly, man, he was the same age as me and Nick,” Ty

said with an exasperated wave of his hand. Nick covered his

mouth.

Kelly frowned and glanced around. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

Digger pursed his lips. “Anyway. Tomorrow’s Sanchez’s

birthday. Ty’s always refused to come party in NOLA, so we

knew we’d have to bait-and-switch you down here.”

“Wow,” Zane grunted. He had a feeling the Recon boys

had no idea why Ty refused to come to New Orleans. They

didn’t know luring him here could have put him in danger,

and knowing Ty, he wouldn’t tell them now. Zane decided to

keep his mouth shut.

Digger leaned toward Ty, raising his eyebrows. “And we

can’t celebrate anywhere else because why?”

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Ty rolled his eyes and looked at his feet, shuffling.

“Because Digger isn’t allowed to leave the state for another

year.”“Because why?”

“Because we sent a CIA kill team to his bayou and he

almost blew them up.”

They all snickered, little boys in the schoolyard talking

about a frog they’d stuck in the teacher’s drawer.

Zane looked around, his mouth hanging open. “You’re all

insane.”

“Welcome to Recon, baby!” Digger said with a slap to

Zane’s back that almost knocked him over. The man gave a

boisterous laugh and headed off toward a group of women

who stood drinking near the entrance to Lafitte’s. Owen

drifted away with him, having said nothing to Zane and barely

greeting Ty with a nod.

Zane looked around, still stunned by the turn of events.

They weren’t here for a rescue. They were here for a party.

“Life with Ty, huh?” Kelly said to him. He was smiling,

his hands in his pockets, just as relaxed and laid back as he

had sounded the first time Zane had met him. He was an

unremarkable-looking man, with hair a shade between brown

and blond and eyes that may or may not have been gray. Or

blue. Or green. But Zane remembered Ty talking about how

capable the team’s medic had been.

Zane nodded, trying to return the smile. “You never

know, I guess.”

Ty and Nick were in the middle of the street bickering

again. Or rather, Ty had his finger in Nick’s face and Nick was

laughing at him.

“Last time I fall for it, O’Flaherty, I swear to God! Next

time you call and need help, you’re on your own.”

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“Yeah, tell that to my boat!”

“You shot the holes in it!”

“Strategically! It still floats!”

“I coughed up glitter for a week after Panama, you prick!”

Nick put up both hands to fend off Ty’s ranting, but he

was laughing too hard to respond again.

“Every fucking time!” Ty shouted before he smacked

Nick on the side of the head and stormed off.

Nick doubled over laughing.

“So . . . how many times has he fallen for that gag?” Zane

asked.

Nick gasped and held up his hand, displaying all five

fingers. “This makes five!”

Zane began to chuckle. It was Ty’s one true weakness they

could exploit, his loyalty to them. He had come every time

they’d called, and would continue to do so no matter what.

Kelly chuckled at Zane’s side as they watched Ty disappear

into the bar. They followed after him, and Zane’s mind

immediately went to the last time he’d been in New Orleans,

to the last time he’d followed someone he loved down one of

these streets.

2003. New Orleans, Louisiana.

“Where are you taking us?” Zane asked as his wife led

him down a series of alleys in the French Quarter that looked

like they should be filled with vampires. Or prostitutes.

She looked back at him, her eyes sparkling and her hair

cascading down her back in waves.

“I promise you’ll love it.”

Zane smiled and followed, willing to give anything a

chance if it got her this excited. New Orleans was their treat

34

to themselves for their tenth anniversary, and Becky had been

looking forward to this for months.

“It’s this little dive I heard about. They do a sort of comedy

burlesque act. It’s supposed to be one of the hidden gems of

the French Quarter.”

“I hate to break it to you honey, but we’re not even in the

French Quarter anymore.”

After another thirty yards, Becky paused at a weathered,

wooden door set into a stone wal . They were close to the river,

heading past the Market and toward the outskirts of the French

Quarter. The carved wooden sign that hung perpendicular

from the wall named the pitiful little establishment as La Fée

Verte.

“I think this is it.”

Zane glanced around and smiled weakly. They were well

off the beaten path, the noise of the main thoroughfares

dulled by the thick walls and crumbling plaster. “If this isn’t

it, we’re going to end the night in jail.”

“You, hush,” Becky muttered as she pushed through the

door.Within was a surprisingly large room. It was ill lit and

crowded with scarred chairs and tables, most of which were

ful . The walls were brick stained by age, with patches covered

haphazardly by aging plaster and thick baroque fabric. A long

bar lined the far wal , and opposite that was a stage with a

single microphone stand and heavy, wine-colored curtains.

There were no windows, and the light in the bar came