The group following behind the bride and groom is large and it is easy to be absorbed inside. I keep Teeny close and in the center. We try to fake the enthusiasm shared by the crowd around us but it’s hard. And I’m sure we look ridiculous.
Ethan stays to the edge, looking for Agent Hammond.
I catch sight of him in an alley on the side of the church. He busted through the crowd, same as us, but didn’t stop. He’s checking behind Dumpsters and coming up short. He glances back to the parade and Ethan pushes us deeper inside.
A large woman who seems plastered at nine in the morning hands me an umbrella and says, “Here! Shake whatcha mama gave you, honey. This is a celebration!”
I take the umbrella and hide us behind it. We stay with the parade for a couple of blocks. Ethan joins us under the umbrella and says, “He’s making his way back toward the phones we were just using.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Do you think he can figure out who we just called?”
“Hell, I don’t know. We’ll stay with this group until they get to where they’re going then try to get back to our room. We need to get off the street.”
The parade dances its way through the Quarter, ending in front of one of the fancier hotels. Once everyone starts heading into the lobby, Ethan, Teeny, and I break away from the group.
“Do you know where we are?” Teeny asks.
“Yeah, we’re about eight blocks from our hotel.” Ethan looks nervous.
“Should we take a cab? Would that be safer?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
We walk down the block, looking for an empty cab, but they’re all full.
“Let’s head toward the hotel and hopefully we can catch a cab at the next block. Keep your eyes open, though.”
I link my hand with Teeny’s and we start walking. All three of us are breaking our necks as we scope out everything that happens in front of us, behind us, and to each side.
“There are some really weird people here,” Teeny says.
“Yep,” I answer her absently. Is Agent Hammond out hunting us down for Thomas? I could see the excitement in his eyes the moment he saw us.
“And stinky people, too. Did you smell that guy we just passed?”
Ethan runs a hand over her head, teasing her hair. “Teeny, you need to be on the lookout for Hammond. Or Thomas. Or Mateo.”
Good grief, could the list get any bigger?
We go another block with no empty cab. We’re walking at a good pace and may actually get to the hotel before we find a ride.
Until Teeny stops in her tracks. Ethan and I stop shortly after her and look back.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. All the color drains from her face and her bottom lip quivers. I take the few steps back until I’m at her side, Ethan right next to me.
She pulls both of us inside a souvenir shop and all but hides in a rack of T-shirts.
“Teeny, what’s wrong?” Ethan asks.
“There’s a man out there. He’s looking down at his phone and I saw a bunch of small crosses tattooed on his neck. Isn’t that who Tyler said was after us?”
Ethan moves to the window in front of the store to look outside then ducks down just below the window.
I slip in next to Teeny and glance out the window. Stopped on the sidewalk is a man with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. And plain as day is a chain of crosses that almost circle his neck. They aren’t big but there are a lot of them. This has to be Mateo.
He looks at his phone, then taps the screen. Waits. Then taps some more. He’s communicating with someone.
While he waits, Mateo reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Shaking the pack, he realizes he’s out. And then he glances to the store where we’re hiding.
Ethan, seeing the assassin walk toward the door of the store, pushes Teeny and me all the way behind the T-shirts but there’s not enough room for all three of us. “Stay there,” he mumbles and then moves to the rack across from us, diving behind a row of hoodies.
The bell on the door chimes as Mateo walks inside. He goes to the counter and asks for a pack of Marlboros.
I hold Teeny close and keep her head down.
From my view between the hangers, the clerk, Mateo, and we are the only people in the store.
He takes the cigarettes from the old woman behind the counter. She’s looking around the store, though. She knows we’re in here and seems suspicious now that we’ve disappeared.
Mateo turns to leave when the woman calls out, “Where you kids at? You better not be stealing my stuff.”
He stops and looks back into the store. “Who are you looking for?” His accent has a thick twang to it. Maybe Texas?
She leans over the counter, trying to get a better look through the small store, and says, “Three kids. They ran in here a minute ago and now—poof—they gone.”
He lets the door close and walks slowly back to the counter. “What did they look like?”
The woman swishes her hand in front of her face. “A mess. Street kids for sure. And one of the girls, so young.”
Oh, no. She’s caught his interest.
Mateo eyes the room, taking in every detail. “Do you have a back way out?” he asks.
“No. Just that door here.”
Millimeter by millimeter, I slide lower behind the shirts. Teeny is shaking beside me and I grab her hands, hoping to keep her still. I can’t see Ethan but I’m worried he’ll do something stupid, just to distract Mateo.
His steps echo against the tile floor.
Closer.
My heart is beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
Closer.
He’s standing in front of where we’re hiding. All he has to do is move the T-shirts aside and we’ll be in plain view.
His hand settles on the black T-shirt that hangs right in front of my face and he starts to drag it to the side, the hanger scraping the rod sends chills racing down my spine.
And then we’re facing each other.
“Anna Boyd. I’ve been looking for you.”
I’m frozen.
And then Teeny’s gone—jumps out of the rack and head butts him right in the gut. They both fall back in a heap, probably because he wasn’t expecting her to attack him and he was caught off guard, and before I can move an inch, Ethan kicks him in the head.
The woman screams at us, threatening to call the cops, and Ethan kicks Mateo one more time, then grabs Teeny.
“Anna, we gotta go!”
I still can’t move, so Ethan grabs my hand and heaves me to my feet. Mateo starts to get on his feet just as we rush out of the store.
We run down the block and he’s right behind us. There’s no parade to blend in with this time, so we just start weaving through streets and alleyways. Teeny trips, splaying across the sidewalk, and Ethan scoops her up and keeps running.
We duck into an alley between a bar and another souvenir shop.
And it’s a dead end.
Mateo runs in the alley and yells, “Stop!” And then a nearby bottle shatters, tiny shards of glass flying everywhere.
Is he shooting at us? I heard a loud pop but nothing like when Ethan shot that hog or when I shot the target at the farm.
We skid to a stop and Ethan throws both Teeny and me behind a large garbage bin and then runs back toward the assassin.
Before I can get up I hear another loud pop. I scream.
“Stay down, Teeny,” I say, then peek around the bin, terrified of what I’m about to see.
Ethan is down on the ground, holding his arm. Mateo is standing over him, gun still out. There’s already a pool of blood forming underneath Ethan. He pushes himself up on his good arm to a sitting position then scraps together a handful of loose rocks, flinging them at Mateo.
Ma
teo takes a running start then kicks Ethan in the head, knocking him back. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it, you little shit.”
Ethan doesn’t move.
Oh my God…Oh my God…Oh my God…
“Come on out,” he calls out to Teeny and me. “There’s nowhere to hide. No matter where you go, I will find you.”
We don’t answer. Or move.
Glass and other debris crunch under his feet as he makes his way to where we’re hiding.
I search the ground for anything I could use. And then I see it—an old beer bottle. I’ve got one chance to get this just right.
He comes around the corner, gun pointed at us.
I get up slowly, the bottle clutched in one hand behind my back, and push Teeny behind me with the other one.
“Let her go. You don’t need her.”
His smile makes me want to vomit. “I don’t think so.” He looks back toward the street. “You’ll be coming with me now.”
Oh shit. Images of burning flesh fill my head. We’re not going anywhere with him.
He steps closer and it’s so hard to wait for just the right moment.
I bend over just slightly like I’m going to cry or something and then with everything in me, I swing the bottle in a high arc and bust it against his head, right between the eyes.
The bottle shatters and Mateo goes down like a rock, his face covered in blood.
He doesn’t move.
“Is he dead?” Teeny asks in a flat voice.
“I don’t know.” I grab his gun and point it at him. My hand curls around the handle and my finger rests on the trigger.
I could end this, right now.
No matter how hard I tense my arms, I can’t make the gun stop shaking. I stand there for a full minute, wanting to pull the trigger, but I can’t bring myself to kill him. Then a moan brings me out of my trance, and I shove the gun in the waist of my pants and race to Ethan, dropping down beside him.
“Oh my God, Ethan. Wake up!” I hook my arm around his non-injured side and pull him up. “Ethan, we’ve got to get you to a hospital. You’re bleeding so bad!” I strip off my jacket and wrap it around his arm while he yells out in pain.
Ethan tries to stand, but he’s wobbly.
“I’m calling an ambulance. Then the police. We can’t handle this.” I look around for someone to help, but the alley is empty.
“No! No cops. No ambulances. They’ll find us. I can make it back to the room.”
Ethan manages to make it out of the alley but there’s no way he’ll make it all the way to our hotel. I’m not even sure where we are. We pass people on the sidewalk and I want to beg them to help us, but I keep quiet. Teeny follows behind me, holding on to the bottom of my shirt. There’s no telling what we look like, me with my still bruised cheek and Ethan with his busted face, walking like a drunk.
“I feel sick.” And then he leans over and pukes all over the sidewalk.
A group of guys jump back from us and one says, “Whoa, dude. You’re supposed to pace yourself.”
“I need to sit down. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
We make it to an open doorway of an abandoned building and I help Ethan to a sitting position. He struggles to stay awake for a few seconds then he’s out again.
We’re only two blocks from the alley now and I don’t like being this exposed. I’m pretty sure Ethan has a concussion on top of a gunshot wound, not to mention the other injuries.
Teeny sits down beside Ethan and holds his hand. “Is he going to be okay?” She’s crying.
“I don’t know.”
He needs help, but the last thing he said to me was not to call the cops. And it will take Will at least four hours to get here.
What do I do…what do I do…
I check Ethan’s arm. There’s so much blood, I can’t tell if the bullet came out of the other side or not.
People walking by are looking at us funny and it won’t be long until someone calls the cops for us.
“Teeny, see if you can flag down a cab.”
Maybe if I can get him to our room, I can wash his arm and see how bad it is.
She’s at the curb, scanning the street, and then runs back to me. “Sissy, I don’t see one. And I’m scared Mateo is going to come back. I don’t like sitting here.”
Mateo’s words run through my brain—There’s nowhere to hide. No matter where you go, I will find you.
I’m not prepared to outmaneuver Mateo, especially with Ethan injured. I can’t even get us two blocks from where we were attacked. He may wake up any minute and he’s going to be even more pissed off. If I call an ambulance and take Ethan to a hospital, what will stop Mateo from coming there?
I feel sick. I want to call Dad, but his cell doesn’t work on that island and I don’t know how to call that satellite phone.
I should have killed Mateo, because he won’t hesitate to kill me.
Tyler’s face with his fresh stitches pops into my head. Thomas stitched him up. And Thomas may be the only match for Mateo. Maybe he can fix Ethan’s arm, too.
My mind spins as I consider our dwindling options…take my chances against an unknown assassin or trust the assassin I know?
“Wait here, Teeny. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” she yells at me as I’m almost across the street.
“I’ve got to make a call.”
Tyler screeches to a stop on the street right in front of where Ethan is passed out in the doorway. It took him less than four minutes to get here, so that means they’re still in the Quarter somewhere.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Teeny says for the fifteenth time. “He needs a doctor.”
“Teeny, Mateo shot him right off a busy street. Do you really think he won’t come for him in a hospital? At this point I’m just trying to keep us alive for the next couple of hours. I can’t think past that right now.”
Tyler goes straight for Ethan and manages to get him over his shoulder with little effort. This is the second time he’s carried him in an unconscious state and chills race down my spine that I have made the worst decision ever. I didn’t know who else to call, and then I remembered he told me at Ursuline that he kept his same number.
I follow Tyler to the car and help get Ethan in the backseat, while Teeny gets in on the other side next to him.
“I have to ask you to put your heads down before we can go.” Tyler’s face is black and blue but I don’t feel sorry for him at all.
We both duck down and then we’re racing through the Quarter and headed right back in the lion’s den.
As Thomas helps Tyler get Ethan out of the car, I wait for the anger or frustration or something similar from Thomas. Surprisingly it doesn’t come. I’ve decided Thomas is a sociopath without emotion.
We follow them through an iron gate, and it’s not what I expect. It’s like an oasis plopped down in the middle of this building and hidden away from the noise-filled streets of New Orleans. There’s a small pool and several brick pathways that weave around overflowing flower beds and overfilled pots leading to secluded seating areas. The inside walls are peppered with old French doors and gaslights and the hanging baskets attached to the second-story balcony drip with trailing plants. I have no idea if we’re still in the French Quarter but wherever we are, it’s beautiful.
They take Ethan up an outside set of stairs through one of the sets of French doors. It’s a huge bedroom, probably twice the size of our hotel room, and has really expensive-looking antique furniture. They set Ethan down in the center of a queen-size bed.
Thomas stands over him but doesn’t move to help him in any way. “What happened?”
I gently crawl on the bed and get as close to Ethan as I can. “Mateo found us. We ran from him but he cornered us in an alley. He shot Ethan, then kicked him
in the head. Teeny and I got Ethan a few blocks away from the alley but then he threw up and passed out.”
Thomas crosses his arms in front of him and continues to study Ethan.
“How did you get away from him?” He’s showing more expression on his face than I’ve seen this entire time.
“I hit him in the head with a beer bottle and knocked him out.”
A ridiculous grin spreads across his face.
“Tyler said you would help us,” I say, feeling stupid the second the words are out of my mouth. Why did I think this was the answer? Why would I assume the person who once kept us bound and gagged would help save Ethan’s life? I must be completely losing my mind.
He looks straight at me. “You want this over, you do what I say.”
My only concern is keeping Ethan alive at this point and if I have to make a deal with the devil for that to happen, I will.
“Just me, not Ethan or Teeny. Just me,” I say, holding his gaze.
Teeny gasps behind me but I don’t turn to look at her.
“I’m not sure you’re in a position to make demands.” He’s back to being cold.
“No, but I know it will be a lot easier for whatever you have planned if I cooperate. And if you help Ethan, I’ll cooperate.”
Thomas rolls up his sleeves and immediately starts unwrapping my jacket from around Ethan’s arm.
“Ty, get my kit.”
Ty. It’s strange hearing him referred to by a nickname, especially from Thomas. Tyler sprints from the room. I hover over Ethan trying to get a better look at his arm.
“Move back; you’re blocking the light.”
I scoot back so quickly I almost fall off the bed.
Ethan’s shirt is soaked with blood and Thomas tears it away to the shoulder. Tyler runs back in the room carrying a large black duffel bag.
“Hot water. And some towels.”
And Tyler is gone again.
“How do you know what to do?” I ask.
He glances up at me, his face blank, then goes back to pulling out supplies from the bag. And all I can think is, how did he manage to come off so personable in Natchitoches? It’s almost impossible to consider him being the least bit charming.
The Rules for Breaking Page 17