Touch&Geaux (32 page)

Kelly coughed and took in a loud, shivering breath. Owen

knelt, cradling Kelly’s head. Nick fell to his knees beside him

and began trying to find the wound through all the blood.

Zane remained standing, keeping guard and watching out

of the corner of his eye.

Mere seconds passed before Ty joined them. He dove to

the ground beside Kelly, jostling Nick as he tried to cut away

the bloody clothing. “Where’s he hit?”

“I don’t know, I can’t find it,” Nick stuttered.

“Doc, stay with me now,” Digger pleaded. He patted

Kelly’s cheek. Kelly’s eyes fluttered open. They all leaned over

him. Digger sounded like a frightened child. “What do we

do, Doc?”

Kelly tried to speak. Blood began to trickle out of the side

of his mouth.

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Ty grabbed Owen’s shirt and shook him. “Get a car.”

Owen nodded and pushed up, darting into traffic

to commandeer a vehicle. They were mere blocks from

the hospital. Zane fired into the cemetery, keeping their

opponents at bay.

Kelly struggled to take another breath, but it only

produced more blood. Digger held onto his hand. Nick’s

fingers trembled as he searched for an exit wound.

Ty leaned over and ran a bloody hand through Kelly’s

hair. “Steady now,” he whispered.

Kelly nodded and closed his eyes.

Zane shot at the cemetery again. Return fire hit the

carriage, and the horse panicked, pul ing away and taking

their cover with it.

Ty and Nick moved together, their backs to the cemetery

so their bodies shielded Kelly’s. Ty’s voice shook as he

whispered, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the

shadow of death, I will fear no evil—”

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

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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.

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y ran as fast as he could down the middle of the street,

T
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 strol ing 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.

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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

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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 smal , 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

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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 wal , 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

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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 hal .

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.

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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.”