Touch & Geaux
Page 4

His instincts were proven right when his phone began to ring.
“Don’t answer it this time,” Zane murmured. His lips dragged against Ty’s. “Please.”
Ty shook his head. They both knew he had to. He always answered his phone, no matter the time of day or what he was doing. Deuce was constantly complaining about Ty answering his calls during sex.
Zane stepped away with a growl. His hand was still in his pocket. “Better not be work.”
Ty’s eyes stayed on Zane as he stalked toward the large window of the suite. “Grady,” he answered, voice still hoarse.
“Ty,” Nick O’Flaherty said in a low voice, small and distorted over the phone.
“Nick?” Ty cleared his throat. It hadn’t been one of the ring tones Ty associated with the man.
“I need your help.”
The simple phrase hit Ty hard, and his stomach tumbled. “Why, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Ty demanded as he trailed after Zane. Zane returned to his side and placed his hand on the small of Ty’s back, leaning close to listen in.
“I’m in New Orleans,” Nick answered, his voice still pitched low. “I need you to come down here.”
“Why, what happened?”
“I’ve been arrested. They’re going to charge me with murder, Ty.”
Ty stood in stunned silence for a few moments before looking up and turning to meet Zane’s eyes. “What?”
Zane gestured for him to hit the speaker button, and Ty did.
“I’m in jail in New Orleans,” Nick said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “They think I killed somebody, Ty. You’ve got to help me, man.”
“What do you want me to do, come bust you out?”
“Ty, you were assigned here for almost two years!” Someone yelled something unintelligible in the background, and when Nick spoke again his voice was lower. “I’m not asking you to come get me out of jail. I’m asking you to come down here and find the real killer!”
Ty looked down at the phone and shook his head.
“They’re not looking for anyone else,” Nick insisted.
“Who did you kill?”
“Nobody!”
Ty winced. “I mean, who do they think you killed?”
“I don’t even know. But Digger and I have been together since I landed.”
“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.”
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 call.”
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.”
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 all. 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 all. 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, pulling 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 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 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.
“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?”
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.”
“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.
“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 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.”