Touch & Geaux
Page 22

“Wow. And I thought I had a scary father-in-law.”
Ty rolled his eyes. He looked around the dim tavern. “Are you sure you and Becky were here?”
“Ty, I may not remember what your face looked like, but I remember this place like it was yesterday. It was you. How long were you down here?”
“Couple years.”
Zane nodded. That wasn’t unusual. It had taken him several months to establish himself in Miami. And they’d both been yanked out of their assignments: Ty because of Hurricane Katrina, Zane because he’d been arrested and had to be pulled for his own safety. When he’d been put back in, he’d discovered most of the Miami cartel still thought he had done his time in prison somewhere and his cover remained intact. Ty’s cover had weathered the storm too, and now he was back in the thick of it.
Ty was chewing on the inside of his lip, his eyes focused on the wall near the door, where an array of framed photographs lined the brick.
A crash and muttered curse came from the kitchen, then Ava stomped through the heavy curtain with a couple of bottles in her hand and a cloth thrown over her shoulder. Ty took a few steps and tossed the bag onto the table. She glared evilly and sat down in front of it, thumped the bottles down, and used the edge of the table to open one with the heel of her hand.
Zane snorted. He liked this one.
“So, Ty’s partner, tell me why you’re here.” She reached for the bag and began pulling at the strings.
Zane considered truth or evasion for a few seconds before shrugging. “We’re celebrating a birthday.”
She laid the cloth out on the table and dumped the contents of the bag onto it. She nodded but didn’t respond, fiddling with the pieces of the gris-gris bag for a few moments. “How did you find the bag?”
“I told you, it—”
“I was talking to your partner,” Ava snapped.
Ty growled softly but let Zane answer, mumbling under his breath as he paced away.
Zane glanced between them. He could see the possibility of chemistry there. A lot of flash and bang . . . much like himself and Ty. Had Ty ever been in a relationship that hadn’t either begun or ended with open animosity?
“We found it in a standard search,” Zane said, wondering how familiar she was with law enforcement procedures.
“Bullshit.” She put her nose closer to the mossy substance on the cloth. “Probably found it having sex.”
Zane snorted. He wasn’t getting any threatening vibe off her, and he kind of liked how direct she was.
She cocked her head at Zane as if sizing him up. Then she turned the other way, to Ty. He was watching her from several feet away, hands in his pockets.
“What was it?” she asked him. “Migraine? Stomach bug?”
“Kidney stone.”
She snorted and nodded. Zane narrowed his eyes, not happy that she’d known something had been wrong with Ty. He pressed his lips together tightly. He didn’t like putting any stock in this voodoo stuff, but he seemed to be the only one. And he had to admit, it was pretty coincidental that Ty had been struck down with a kidney stone on the same night he’d slept over a hoodoo bad luck magnet.
“I don’t recognize the work,” she said stiffly after examining the bag and its contents.
“You’re lying,” Ty hissed.
She smacked her hand against the table.
“Is it your father’s?”
She didn’t answer, still staring at the tabletop.
Ty got in her face and lowered his voice. “Is it Shine’s?”
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.”
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.