Touch & Geaux (Cut & Run, #7)

by Abigail Roux

  He pointed to the phone and then to his feet. The detective was coming here to interview them again. “No, no, that’s fine. But I’m afraid Agent Garrett isn’t here right now, maybe we can delay it until he is.”

  Ty shoved his phone in his pocket and rushed to the bed to grab his jacket. He couldn’t be caught in the room. He glanced at the others, and they both waved him toward the door. Nick tapped his watch and held up five fingers: five minutes to get clear.

  Ty made a gesture to let them know he’d find them, then wrenched the door open, only to stop short when he found himself face-to-face with a man holding a phone to his ear and a badge, two uniformed policemen flanking him.

  “Son of a bitch,” Ty grunted.

  “Well, Tyler Beaumont,” the detective drawled. He shut his phone, and Nick cursed behind Ty. “I should have known you’d show up with a load of trouble and a couple fake badges.”

  “Wake up, darling, we’re wasting time here,” a voice said in the darkness.

  It was the same name Ty called him sometimes, but it wasn’t the same word. There was no drawl to it, no affectionate smirk in the voice. It was British, said with sarcasm and disdain.

  Zane forced his eyes open, wincing as light lanced through his brain. A blond man came into focus. He leaned over Zane, holding a penlight. He shined it in Zane’s eyes, and Zane groaned and turned his head away.

  “Wakey wakey,” Liam crooned.

  “Go to Hell,” Zane grunted.

  “No need to be testy, Zane. I’m here to help you.”

  Zane ignored the throbbing in the back of his head to glare at the man. “By bashing me in the head?”

  “Nothing less would have stopped you from going back in that pub and making a huge mistake.”

  Ty. Zane tried to sit up, but his hands and arms were tied down. He was stretched out on a concrete floor, trussed up with ropes around his ankles, knees, and wrists. Liam sat beside him on the ground. “What is this?” Zane growled.

  “Merely precautionary,” Liam said. Zane was already tired of the way he talked, all dark threat laced with that cheerful British accent. “Hear me out, and then I’ll let you go.”

  Zane didn’t trust that for a second, but as long as Liam was talking, Zane had a chance of slipping his ties and escaping.

  “You see, I know Tyler Grady. Quite well, to be frank, and he’s a danger to you. To everyone, really, but we can’t all be perfect.”

  “Tyler who?” Zane mumbled as he stared up at the ceiling.

  “Oh, that’s sweet. Still protecting him even after what he’s done.”

  Zane cut his eyes sideways.

  “That’s right, Zane. I know what happened. I knew before you did. And I know more. Do you care to hear?”

  “No.” He couldn’t stand the thought of hearing more of Ty’s sins, not from this source.

  Liam leaned closer, casually resting his elbow on Zane’s chest so he could look down into his eyes. “It’s okay. I understand. Ty broke my heart too. It’s a small but spectacular club. Welcome.”

  Zane licked his lips, trying to regulate his breathing, desperate to slow his heartbeat so the man wouldn’t feel it banging against his chest.

  “It’s not really his fault, it’s just how Ty works. He’s easy to fall for when he’s got that mask up. He makes you love him because he knows that’s the easiest way to get what he wants from you. You trust him, you see something worthwhile, something vulnerable in him, and you think you can help. Six months later, he has all your secrets, and he’s gone.”

  Zane was shaking his head as Liam spoke.

  Liam reached to pop the button on his shirt. “You’re lucky your heart was merely broken.”

  Zane’s eyes darted between Liam’s hand and his face, his mind whirring. Liam yanked another button loose, then another. He pulled his collar down to reveal two circular scars on his chest. Bullet wounds. He tapped one with a finger. “Courtesy of the love of your life.”

  Zane stared at the scar.

  “A .45 caliber MEUSOC pistol. Standard for Force Recon, you know. Back in the day.”

  “You’re SAS?”

  “I was. I see he’s told you the story.”

  Zane was silent. This really was the man Ty had been talking about. The man he’d been involved with in the service, the man he’d shot. He was handsome and charismatic, exactly the type Ty would be drawn to. Zane could see that much. That, and he carried a gun.

  Zane wanted to question him further, but doing so would reveal how much he already knew. He wanted Liam to keep talking.

  “No matter. I’ve always said the past is the past for a reason, yeah? Although it does occasionally come back to bite you in the arse. Do you remember a man named Antonio de la Vega?” Liam asked, his blue eyes narrowing.

  Zane’s breath caught. “Name’s familiar. Zorro, right?”

  “Oh come now, Zane, don’t be coy with me. We’re all friends here. We can share.”

  “Friends don’t tie friends up.”

  “Oh, you’ve got the wrong sort of friends then,” Liam purred. He laughed, a surprisingly warm, pleasant sound. “I quite like you. You’re fun. Listen, Ty’s already called me once so he knows I have you. I’m not going to harm you, I promise. And I keep my promises, unlike some of us. But I need to lay some groundwork before I call him back, so do me a favor and indulge me. Antonio de la Vega?”

  Zane gritted his teeth, but he supposed he didn’t have much to lose. “I heard he was dead.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Nor is it news.”

  Zane groaned. “I remember him. Head of the Vega cartel, out of the Republic of Colombia. Feeds into the larger set of Gulf cartels.”

  “Excellent. He is indeed very dead. You were one of the FBI agents to infiltrate them. The last one left alive, to be exact. You lot almost took him down, from what I understand. Quite a nice body of work.” He paused to glance down the long line of Zane’s body.

  “Eyes are up here,” Zane grunted.

  Liam was smirking when he looked back at Zane’s face. “There’s a bit of a price on your head.” He paused, waiting for a response. When Zane merely stared at him, he nodded. “When that plane crashed with Antonio de la Vega in it, his brother took over. You remember his brother?”

  Zane did. Antonio de la Vega had been smart and controlled, stingy and almost surgical with his use of violence. He’d lived by a certain code of loyalty and honor. He hadn’t been a bad man to work for, and illegalities aside, Zane had quite liked the man. He’d been saddened when he’d heard of his death. But the younger de la Vega was a different animal altogether. He had a temper. Zane nodded curtly.

  “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.