Cut and Run 07 Touch & Geaux (31 page)

Kelly picked up when Ty’s voice broke, his words a struggle. “For thou art with me. And thou carry a big-ass stick.”

Ty hunched over him and winced as a bullet struck nearby. Tears trailed down his cheeks and he pressed his forehead to Kelly’s. Nick realized he had tears streaming down his own face.

Screeching wheels and Owen’s urgent shout forced Nick to tear his eyes away. He glanced over his shoulder to see Owen waving from the driver’s side of a big yellow sedan.

“On three,” Ty said. “Zane! Help us!”

Zane hustled over to help lift Kelly, and they carried him to the vehicle, still taking sporadic fire from the cemetery. Digger ducked into the backseat and pulled Kelly in by his shoulders. Nick spotted Liam, then, laying down covering fire with Zane to keep both the cartel thugs and the police at bay. Liam ducked into the front seat, still returning fire. Ty pushed Nick’s shoulder, forcing him to get in next. Nick clambered into the back, kneeling on the floor between the front seats and holding Kelly’s hand.

“Get in!” Ty shouted, shoving Zane by the shoulder.

Zane crawled in behind Nick, facing backward to keep from jostling Kelly’s sprawled body. “What are you doing, Ty?”

“He’s got to have time,” Ty grunted as he slammed the door in Zane’s face. “Go.”

“No, wait! Ty!”

“Grady! Goddamnit!” Nick shouted.

Ty banged on the roof of the car and shouted at Owen. “Go!”

Owen gunned the engine and sped off. Nick and Zane watched through the window as Ty turned and fired a few shots over the heads of the police with his pistol, then sprinted off toward the French Quarter.

Ty ran as fast as he could down the middle of the street, heading for Bourbon or Royal and what he prayed would be the parade crowd. He knew he had fifteen seconds, maybe thirty, before anyone pursued. They’d be too worried about him taking up a position somewhere and gunning them down. But that was all the leeway he’d have before he was caught, and he had to make it count.

He’d only managed one city block before someone shouted behind him. But they couldn’t fire at him, not with the pedestrian traffic so close.

A bullet pinged off the road next to his feet.

Fuck! Ty covered his head and hunched his shoulders, but he kept running.

They were firing directly into the pedestrian areas of the French Quarter, directly into that parade crowd. The streets were lined with homes and businesses. People who’d been innocently strolling along were now screaming and taking cover wherever they could find it. These weren’t local cops chasing him down. There would be no talking his way around an interrogation until the cavalry arrived. He was running for his life, not a few extra minutes.

He
had
to reach Canal Street, toward the business district and, if his luck held, Harrah’s Casino.

The casino would have facial recognition software covering the floors, everyone knew that, and the cartel thugs wouldn’t risk being identified by it. It was a solid mile away, though.

A chain-link fence appeared on his left, surrounding a rare outlying vacant lot, and he sprinted for it. More shots chased him, busting the rear window of a car parked along the road and pinging off a lamppost just inches from Ty’s head.

“Son of a bitch!”

Ty vaulted the flimsy fence, catching the top of it and taking it down with him as he went over. He hit grass and gravel and rolled, regaining his feet but losing precious seconds. He dug for the other side of the lot where a higher, sturdier fence had been erected. He leapt at the brick wall and kicked off it to clear the fence like a high jumper, then hit the ground running. A bullet sprayed brick dust where his foot had been and men shouted in Spanish from the far corner of the building.

Ty found himself in the interior of a city block, weaving between trash bins, parked cars, bicycles, and buildings. He slowed at a small courtyard, his heart hammering as he realized he may have hemmed himself in. He could hear his pursuers clambering over the fence.

He looked up. He could use the iron stairs of the apartment building and maybe reach the roof with a short climb, but he’d be an easy target for far too long. And if he by some miracle made it up there without getting shot, he’d still have the dilemma of being stuck on a fucking roof.

There was nowhere to hide that he wouldn’t be found eventually. He could kick down someone’s door, hope they had windows or a door that faced the street, and risk whatever homeowner he barged in on being shot behind him. Or beating him with a curling iron.

He grabbed the gun at the small of his back. He had twelve shots left in the magazine, and a spare with fifteen more strapped to his ankle. If he had to make a last stand in this dead-end courtyard, he would make it a bloody one.

He ran for a large green dumpster in the far corner of the courtyard, intending to use it and the trash inside as cover. But as he rounded the dumpster, he found a gap between the buildings. It was narrow, hidden by the layout of the old structures, and it appeared to lead to a dead end. Ty headed down it anyway, praying the darkness was really another gap between buildings rather than mere shadow.

He heard angry voices behind him.

“¿
Ha donde se fue este cabron
?”

“
No esta aqui
.”

“
No le crecio alas. Buscale
!”

Ty knew enough to understand the last word: Find him.

He moved faster, trying to stay silent as he reached the end of the alley. His gamble paid off, and he took a hard right down another tight alleyway that led to another seam between buildings. It went off to the left, even narrower than the first two. Ty had to turn sideways to get through it. It ended with a wooden fence, and after a few hard kicks, Ty broke through into a small, private courtyard filled with plants and garden decorations, colorful tile and antique string lights overhead. And on the far side was an alleyway to the street. Ty could see people walking past.

The alley was blocked at the street end by a tall iron gate topped with broken pieces of colored glass, glinting in the sunlight. But it sure as hell looked better than dying in a hail of bullets.

Ty tucked his gun back into his belt and darted across the courtyard.

He dodged creeping vines and salvaged antiques as he ran through the passage, and when he reached the end, he jumped for the gate, grabbing onto the iron with his hands and pushing with his feet. He scaled the gate as wide-eyed tourists and drunk college kids gaped at him from the other side. A frat boy handed his plastic cup to his friend and brought out a phone to begin recording. A horse and carriage clopped along with a young family in tow.

As Ty reached the top of the gate, where the shards of glass were his last obstacle to freedom, he heard shouting in the courtyard behind him.

He put a foot on the brick beside him and pressed his shoulder into the opposite wall, walking his feet up the side of the wall until he was high enough to simply twist his body into a flip and free-fall over the gate.

He landed too hard and rolled into the street, finding himself at the mercy of a very large white horse that tossed its head and snorted.

Ty scrambled to his feet, backing away from the animal as people broke into excited murmurs around him. He glanced back down the alleyway, edging out of sight behind the horse just as men appeared in the shadows through the wrecked wooden gate.

“That is so going on YouTube!” the guy with the phone cried.

Ty climbed onto the carriage.

“Hey!” the driver started, but Ty put a finger to his lips and showed the man his gun.

He snatched the man’s top hat, then placed it on his head, slid off the carriage, and hustled to the intersection, hoping to blend in with the crowd.

As he rounded the corner, a large man stepped in front of him. Shine Gaudet. The man Ty suspected of killing Murdoch. The man who’d picked a girl out of a crowd and choked the life out of her because she resembled his sister. He was 6’8” with arms the size of river logs. Ty had once playfully sparred with him, and he’d been playfully tossed across the room and bruised three ribs in the process.

“Well if it ain’t Tyler Beaumont,” Shine drawled. He smirked.

Ty took a step back. “Let’s be calm about this, bubba.”

Shine raised his fist, displaying his knuckles to Ty. His attention shifted from Ty to his fist with a widening smile, then he opened his hand, turning his palm up to display a handful of gray dust. With one big puff, he blew the dust into Ty’s face.

Ty held his breath and kept his eyes closed. He could hear Shine laughing, a deep rumbling sound that began to fade into the distance as Ty tried to wipe the dust away with his sleeve. His knees hit the pavement, and his world faded to nothing before the rest of his body could contact the ground.

Zane bulled his way through the electronic door almost before the nurse had it open. He didn’t bother with appearances as he jogged down the hall.

Everyone had tumbled out of the stolen sedan at the emergency entrance, and Zane had rolled over the console to get to the front seat. He and Liam had then peeled away in the car, trying to lead any pursuers away from the others. They’d ditched the car several blocks away, and Zane had been hard-pressed to keep up with Liam as they’d raced back toward the hospital. They hadn’t had a chance to speak a word, but Zane had infinite questions for the man.

When he rounded the corner, Zane saw their companions loitering around one of the emergency bays near a closed curtain. His heart sped up, making him dizzy as he neared them.

Digger was pacing in front of the curtain, fingers laced at the back of his head. The other two were sitting, both of them covering their faces with their hands. All three men were bloody. Bloody gauze littered the floors. Even the curtain had a bloody streak on the edge where someone had grabbed it.

Zane was nearly hyperventilating as he approached. Liam’s breaths were harsh and loud behind him.

Nick looked up at the sound of their approach. His shirtfront was soaked red, his eyes gray, his face streaked with blood and tears. He had a butterfly bandage on his cheek.

Zane slowed, dreading what he might find.

“Kelly?” Zane asked hesitantly.

Nick shook his head, then lowered it again and covered his face in both hands.

“They took him into surgery,” Owen managed to say. “We haven’t heard anything.”

Zane breathed a sigh of relief. Surgery at least meant he wasn’t dead when they’d carried him in.

“Lads, I hate to be insensitive,” Liam said, peering over his shoulder at the nurse’s station. “But we have about five seconds to clear our arses out of here.”

“Fuck you, I’m not leaving him,” Digger growled.

“I know—”

“I said I’m not fucking leaving him!” Digger grabbed Liam by his leather jacket, shaking him. “Where the fuck were you when we needed you?”

“Take your hands off the coat,” Liam said, voice calm. His eyes sparked, though, and even Zane recognized that he’d reached a dangerous point. He was no longer amused.

Digger sneered but released him with a final shove.

“I understand your desire to stay, I really do,” Liam continued, his voice low and soothing. “But you’ve done all you can for the doc, you have to look now to the other team member we lost out there.”

Owen stood and shook his head. “He’s not any teammate of yours.”

“Then why am I the only one wondering how long he’ll survive without help?”

Zane swiped a hand over his face. “He got away from them.”

“And you know that how?” Liam asked.

“Because I know Ty. You can’t trap a cockroach.”

Liam snorted. “But you can kill one if you stomp it hard enough.”

“He got away. He’ll go to ground,” Zane insisted. “He won’t let himself hang in the wind too long.”

“Regardless of what Ty is doing or how capable he might be of slipping through the cracks, Liam’s right,” Nick said. “We need to clear out of here before we’re found. All that blood . . . they’ll know one of us was hit, they’ll be here looking soon enough.”

“What about Kelly? We can’t leave him behind. Unprotected?” Owen asked.