Touch & Geaux (Cut & Run, #7) Read online

  She jerked her head away and closed her eyes.

  “Who is Shine?” Zane ventured to ask.

  Ty straightened, looking grim. “Ava’s brother.”

  She frowned. “It’s more refined than his work usually is. And its purpose is . . .” She shook her head. “This level of skill is beyond me, and I would say it’s beyond Shine, but I haven’t spoken to him in a year. I don’t know where he’s been or what he’s been into.”

  Ty grunted, stepped forward, and placed the second alligator tooth on the corner of the cloth, along with the roll of parchment with his alias on it. “I kept that out.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. She picked up the paper and studied the calligraphy. “That does make things clearer. It seems it was meant to do you great harm. How many people here want to kill you? Because with this in your pocket, they will all find you.”

  “You tell me,” Ty said gruffly. He was standing at her shoulder, large and grim next to her.

  She met his eyes and straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t tell anyone who you really were. Not even my dad.”

  Ty didn’t look surprised. More relieved.

  But Zane wasn’t all that taken aback. “If she’d told anyone, it would have cast doubt on her as well, just by association. Especially since you were . . . close.”

  Ty nodded and moved to sit in one of the chairs beside her. Ava was doggedly staring at the red felt bag. “So . . . my cover?”

  “Is still intact,” she told him grudgingly. “Although I told everyone you left me for the Russian whore, so you’re still an ass.”

  Ty grunted at Zane. “She means she told everyone I ran from the hurricane.”

  Zane snorted and didn’t try to hide his smile as he walked toward the wall to peer at the pictures. He supposed he ought to feel more awkward being here with Ty, who he wanted to throttle, and his former almost-fiancée, who had tried to kill him. Especially since he was now positive he had actually met them both years ago and been asked to join them after a show.

  Zane grew warmer with the knowledge. The man he’d seen in New Orleans had been the little spark of interest he’d needed for his first encounter with a man. It had been Ty all along. Zane sniffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t even sure what to do with that realization, especially since every time he thought of Ty, the anger and betrayal threatened to overwhelm him.

  Ty and Ava were talking about the ingredients of the gris-gris as Zane studied the pictures. The one Ty had been staring at earlier was large, with a simple wooden frame, and beneath it the date and event were written on a piece of tape. Easter, 2004. Seven years ago. The picture was of a man sitting in a chair, tipping it back, feet on the table as he grinned. A crowd of people in festive masks danced in the small confines of the bar in the background of the photo, their motions blurred and surreal. The man sitting was the only thing in focus. He wore a bowler hat and a vest. He held a thin cigar near his face, the frozen smoke curling up over his hand.

  It was the man Zane remembered, there in black and white. And after a long moment of staring, Zane knew that he was looking at a picture of a younger, wirier Ty. His hair was different, longer. He had a Van Dyke beard. His face seemed gaunt in a way. He truly was a chameleon. But it was still Ty.

  “I don’t know, Ty, there have to be half a dozen people who’d want to make you miserable,” Ava sneered as Zane turned back to them.

  Ty flopped a hand. “Can you reverse it?”

  “No. Only one who can reverse it is the one who put it on you. Or you.”

  “Well, how do I reverse it, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ty sat back and ran both hands over his face.

  “I’ll see if I can’t find out, though, okay? This curse on you will spread to those around you. Anyone who comes in contact with you now is in danger, including me.”

  “What, like it’s contagious?” Zane couldn’t keep the amusement or the cynicism out of his voice. But Ty and Ava both looked grim.

  “This is like a black spot on his soul,” Ava whispered. “It will spread to everyone he cares for, everyone his soul has touched.”

  Ty slumped and banged his forehead on the table.

  The three rooms above La Fée Verte had once been rented out to travelers, back in the early days of the city, and though most of the old buildings in the neighborhood had been converted into condos and apartments, the layout of La Fée Verte’s rooms was very much unchanged from one hundred years ago. They all had small kitchenettes and just enough space for a double bed, a wardrobe, and a chair. They shared a washroom at the end of the hall, and adjoined a smaller room that served as an office for the bar below.

  Ty knew all of the rooms well. He had lived in one of them for almost two years. They generated extra income for the bar, but Murdoch had rented mostly to employees at a ridiculously low rate. It kept someone on the premises at all times, and it kept them loyal to him. For Ty’s purposes, living there had thrown him right into the middle of the world he’d needed at the time.

  Ava led them up the narrow stairs. Ty let his hand caress the brocade wallpaper as he went, the texture and scent bringing back memories that were, for the most part, good ones.

  His life here had been different from any other he had lived or pretended to live. But there’d been a heady seductiveness about it, something dark and rich and tempting. Ty had almost succumbed to its charms.

  Ava used a key on a long purple ribbon to unlock one of the doors, and she stepped aside to let them into the room. Ty took the key from her. She met his eyes defiantly, but there was pain there too. He knew he’d hurt her. All in the name of doing his job. Just like he’d hurt Zane. He tore his eyes away from her and looked into the room.

  He was stunned to find that little was different since he’d last been there.

  “Murdoch didn’t see any point in changing what you did to it,” Ava told him.

  Ty shook his head and stepped into the room. An odd sense of homesickness flooded him. He stopped in the middle of the threadbare Oriental rug as he distantly registered Ava’s footsteps moving away.

  Not one thing seemed different from the night he’d left.

  The simple iron bed was burnished silver, the patina of age giving it a character the delicate scrollwork could not manage. The ivory quilt was plain, and the design of the cotton sheets was faded and well-worn, giving the entire bed a vintage Dust Bowl look.

  The walls were covered with yellowing pages out of old books, glued haphazardly, one on top of another, onto wooden paneling that could no longer be seen. Ty had spent days doing it, trying to insulate the thin walls so no one could hear what he was up to when he was alone, but people who’d seen his work afterward had attributed it to an artistic, quirky personality instead of simple paranoia.

  Along one wall sat an old stove and an antique Crosley refrigerator that occasionally needed rewiring. Beside that was a tiny table with two celery green padded chairs, and a sink below open shelves that held dishes.

  In the corner of the room opposite the bed was a large wardrobe. Ty stepped toward it and opened the door on the right, almost expecting to see his clothes still hung neatly inside. It was empty, however, not even a hanger left.

  He turned to face Zane, who had stopped on the threshold. “This is almost exactly how I left it.”

  Zane’s focus was on him, though, not the room. His words were quiet, almost bitter. “I can’t believe it was you.”

  Ty swallowed hard. He didn’t know if this was promising or damning.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Zane asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Ty had to avert his eyes. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t . . . I was hoping it wasn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “You and your perfect wife versus me in eyeliner and my girlfriend with feathers in her hair, asking you to play with us? Come on, man.”

  “That’s what makes you you. Jackass.”

  “Exactly.”
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  Zane remained silent, but the irritation and disgust in his expression hit harder than any words. It seemed all Zane could see were lies. The tension was growing heavier, pressing at Ty, making him want to fidget. “You think it was fate?”

  “I don’t believe in fate.

  Ty nodded, pushing back the tumbling of his nerves. “It believes in you.”

  “I think people make their own fate.”

  Ty could think of nothing to say to the anger in Zane’s eyes.

  Zane glared at him for a moment. “This is cozy,” he said, sliding his hand along the doorjamb. “Nicer than my warehouse, that’s for sure.” He stepped inside. “Did you do this to the walls?”

  “Yeah. It’s The Three Musketeers. Mostly.”

  Zane’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer to the pages. “In French.”

  Ty shrugged. “It’s better that way.” Since Zane read novels in Spanish, Ty figured he’d understand.

  Zane had one hand in a pocket. “This place is . . .” He shook his head. “Gothic.”

  Ty nodded wistfully. “That’s part of what I loved about it.”

  “Yeah?” Zane moved a few steps closer. “Another new side to Ty Grady.”

  They faced each other, the silence heavy and tense.

  “I wonder what other sides I don’t know about,” Zane finally murmured, as if talking to himself.

  Ty swallowed hard. “Zane.”

  “What did you take with you when you left?” Zane asked. He turned away, unwilling to let Ty explain. “Anything? Or just the memories?”

  Ty scowled. “Just a book I carried with me. It had a cut-out in it with my real passport.”

  Zane’s jaw clenched, like he was physically holding back his emotions. “What did you miss most?”

  Ty frowned, confused by the questions, until he finally recognized what Zane was doing. This was how his partner interrogated suspects. He would start with that intense stare and then ask mundane questions to throw the suspect off. Then he’d ease out just enough to make it seem okay before he punched through to the real queries in a quiet, frightening voice. It was quite effective, and Ty had seen Zane break people no one else could get to talk.

  Ty chewed on his lip thoughtfully, trying to give Zane a real answer even as he dreaded the punch of the final question. “I missed the smell,” he finally decided.

  Most people would have taken that as a joke, but Zane would take it seriously. He’d been there, that somewhere you remembered by feel and scent more so than sight or sound. It was a visceral answer.

  “Why?” Ty asked when Zane didn’t respond.

  Zane slid his other hand into his pocket and shrugged. “No one ever asked me to remember the good things.”

  Ty sighed. He’d done things here he hadn’t necessarily been proud of. But for the most part, it had been two of the better years of his life. He remembered all of it fondly until the end. He knew Zane’s experience in Miami had been vastly different.

  They were still standing there, silent and uncomfortable, a few minutes later when Ava returned.

  “You find what you need?” she asked, her voice breaking the spell.

  Ty cleared his throat and shook his head. “Got distracted,” he said, surprised when his voice came out hoarse.

  “I called Shine. He wasn’t home. I can go out there, snoop around.”

  “No, I can’t let you do that,” Ty said.

  Ava smirked. “You won’t be letting me do anything.”

  Zane snorted. Ava looked him up and down, then whistled and shook her head. “Tyler does have a type.”

  “Okay,” Ty said loudly.

  She merely smiled at him. “I’ll go keep a lookout for your friends.” She turned away.

  Zane leaned sideways to watch her walk down the hall. “I like her.”

  Ty nodded, unable to say anything.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me before the others get here?”

  Ty took in the rigid line of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw, and the hardness of his eyes. Zane had every right to be angry. The timing could have been better, but all of this mess was on Ty’s head.

  “I love you,” he said quietly.

  “That’s it?”

  Ty nodded.

  Zane met his eyes for a few seconds before turning away and disappearing down the hall.

  “I would very much like to know what the hell is going on,” Kelly said.

  He was sitting across from Nick at the largest table in the place. Nick had his eyes on Liam, who was wandering around the edges of the barroom and refused to sit with the rest of them. Nick didn’t trust the man one bit, but he was willing to hear an explanation from someone before punches were thrown.

  The woman who’d let them in, Ava, had subsequently barred the door and disappeared behind a curtain. Nick could hear her moving back there, but he had no idea what she was doing, nor did he really care.

  Ty sat to Nick’s right, sedate and unusually flustered. And to Nick’s left sat Zane, who seemed irritated and harsh. It wasn’t difficult to deduce whatever Ty had told Zane had jammed a wedge between them. Nick hoped they could keep it together long enough to get through whatever this was and sort it out when they got home.

  The floorboards above them creaked, and all of them looked up.

  “Is someone else here?” Owen asked.

  Zane shook his head.

  “The floors do that,” Ty muttered. He was rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, hunched over the table.

  Nick glanced at the ceiling again. The place had an eerie feeling to it, like it had been abandoned by the living but was still occupied. A shiver ran down Nick’s spine. The whole city kind of felt like that, actually. All the voodoo crap was getting to him.

  “Garrett, why don’t you fill us in,” Nick said, keeping his voice low. If Ty wasn’t going to lead the discussion, someone had to.

  Zane’s dark eyes slid to glare at him, then he glanced up, his gaze following Liam as the man moved. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I was undercover for a while in Miami, working in the Vega cartel.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Nick said. “They reach all the way to Boston sometimes.”

  “And further. They got a tip that they had a mole, so they started a witch hunt. I got arrested one night on a DUI and the Bureau took the opportunity to pull me out, to save me and the information I’d stolen.”

  Liam drifted closer, and everyone was silent as they waited for Zane to connect the pieces.

  “I thought that part of my life was history, but . . .” Zane stared at the tabletop, shaking his head.

  Liam cleared his throat. “But. Roughly two years ago Garrett was inserted back into the cartel for a brief stay. He was pulled again, just days before Antonio de la Vega, the head asshole in charge, died in a plane crash in the Caribbean while returning to Colombia. Of course, Zane’s alter ego became the prime suspect within the cartel. Juan Carlos de la Vega took over, righted the Vega ship, and went on a crusade to find the man who murdered his brother.”

  “How do you come into this?” Ty asked.

  Liam kicked out a chair and sat, staring at Ty. His face was expressionless. “After you shot me, thank you for that by the way, I couldn’t go to the NIA as planned. I had to find work somewhere.”

  Owen huffed and leaned away from Liam to look at him. “You’re a mercenary.”

  “Pays the bills.”

  “Why not NIA?” Ty asked. His frown had deepened.

  Liam’s eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. He tapped his chest with one finger. “Because you missed, darling.”

  Ty’s eyes followed Liam’s hand, and Nick could see the blood draining from his friend’s face.

  “Clipped my heart. The right ventricle.”

  Ty either couldn’t or wouldn’t respond. He sat back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand. Nick wondered what was going on inside Ty’s mind, how he would have reacted if everyone at the table weren’t l
ooking to him for leadership.

  “It was repaired before I bled out, but they weren’t willing to take an active field agent with a compromised heart.”

  “I thought you always had a compromised heart,” Digger muttered.

  “That’s funny from you, Back Woods. How many innocent little bunnies do you have strung up in your hunting shed right now?”

  “I don’t eat bunny!” Digger shouted.

  “Why are you here?” Kelly asked Liam.

  “I was hired by de la Vega. He received an anonymous tip saying the man who killed his brother would be here Easter weekend.”

  All eyes shifted to Zane, but Zane’s eyes were on Ty. He tore them away to glance around the table. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, returning his gaze to Ty.

  “Tyler?” Liam drawled. “Care to share with the class?”

  Ty didn’t move, which was never a good sign. He looked from Zane to Liam, then spoke without removing his hand from his chin. “I tampered with the navigational equipment of his plane,” he admitted. “The horizon should have read wrong and they would have flown straight into the water when the autopilot was turned on. I planted explosive charges as a backup.”

  Zane inhaled sharply. Nick got the feeling Zane already knew this, but hearing it straight from Ty’s mouth was disconcerting, even for Nick.

  “Did you go with the polymer bonded?” Digger asked.

  “Slurries and gel mix.”

  “Oh, nice.”

  “Is that how you broke your finger when we were apart?” Zane demanded. Ty nodded curtly and Zane grunted, looking away with a sneer. “You deserved it, then.”

  Kelly cleared his throat and pointed at Liam. “So let me get this straight. You’re here to kill him,” he said, indicating at Ty. Then he gestured to Zane. “But you thought you were after him because he was the mole.”

  After a moment of contemplation, Liam nodded. “At its very basic, yes.”

  “So why aren’t either of them dead?” Owen asked.

  “Well,” Liam said, drawing out the word. “Either I am the worst assassin in the world, which, if you want a hint, is not the right answer. Or . . . I realized I was after a couple of Feds and I pulled out.”