by Chloe Neill
“I’ll go my own way,” Malachi said, then glanced at me. “Would you like a ride into New Orleans?” He extended his wings, the ivory feathers reflecting back the sunlight that dappled through the tree limbs.
Although the thought of getting a bird’s-eye view of New Orleans was interesting, the thought of flying all the way back in the arms of a rogue Paranormal was not.
“Rain check,” I said.
“We’ll see you there,” Gavin said. “We should probably meet tonight, discuss the plan of attack, so to speak.” He slid his brother a glance. “Since this is no longer just a warning mission, but an investigatory one.”
Liam nodded. “We need to find out what we can about Broussard’s death. The why, the how, the when. That will lead us to the culprit.”
“I’ll speak with Moses,” Malachi said, and gave Liam the address. “We’ll meet there, unless it’s not safe.” He nodded at me.
“I know the system,” I assured him. A string of Mardi Gras beads—yellow, with enormous plastic monkeys holding enormous plastic bananas—hanging on the front door meant the coast was clear. If the beads were gone, it wasn’t safe, and we were supposed to keep on walking.
“Then it’s a date,” Malachi said, and took to the sky.
I held a hand over my eyes, watched his body rise, wings smooth and powerful against the thick air, until he became a thin sliver of white against the brilliant sky and then disappeared.
When I looked back again, Gavin was clapping Liam on the back, then walking toward the jeep, singing as he strolled, “Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans . . .”
At least he was better at it than Moses.
• • •
Liam wasn’t any more communicative in the jeep than he had been during the walk.
“If we play I Spy or the alphabet game,” Gavin said, catching his gaze in the rearview, “will you contribute to the discussion?”
“Doubtful.”
“Grouchy ass,” Gavin muttered.
He went back to singing and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel—until he suddenly went quiet.
“Forget the words?” I murmured, my eyes closed as I tried to take a catnap in the passenger seat.
“No,” he said, and there was no humor in his voice. “Look. Road-block.”
My eyes flashed open, and I blinked in the brilliant sunlight, caught a glimpse of four vehicles, two on each side of the divided highway. On the side heading into New Orleans, the vehicles were parked nose to nose, just enough space between them to allow one car to pass at a time.
Gavin swung the jeep onto a gravel road, sending a spray of dirt and gravel into the air.
“I’m sure they won’t notice that and think it’s suspicious,” Liam muttered.
“Defensive maneuvers,” Gavin said.
“Why is there a roadblock around New Orleans?” I asked. Had something happened in the two days we’d been gone? “Was there another attack on Devil’s Isle?”
“Doubtful,” Gavin said. “Someone would have gotten word to Malachi.”
“Is this because of Broussard?” Liam asked.
“It couldn’t possibly be,” Gavin said, tapping the top of the gearshift. “Shutting down access to New Orleans to find a suspect in one murder? Not to diminish what happened to Broussard, but that’s not procedure. That’s overkill.”
“The entire thing is overkill,” Liam said. “The murder, the literal writing on the wall, the frame job. Maybe this is bigger than Broussard.”
“Maybe,” Gavin said, but he didn’t seem convinced. He glanced back, looked at his brother. “What’s the plan?”
“I can swim in,” Liam said.
“Swim in?” I asked, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. “You’re going to swim into New Orleans?”
“Just to the river,” Liam said. “Containment doesn’t patrol the canals. You stay low along the wall, and you can move in and out of the city pretty easily.”
“You want to meet down the road?” Gavin asked.
Liam shook his head. “I’ll take the ferry when I get to the river. Meet you at Moses’s place.”
“That’s a long trip,” I said.
Liam’s gaze on me was intense. “It’s safer for all of us if we split up.”
“And speaking of safety,” Gavin said, looking at me, “the roadblock wouldn’t be for you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t take you in if they can. Can you swim?”
“I can swim, but I’m not strong enough to go through miles of canals.” And that didn’t take into account the gators, snakes, rats, and nutria, among other things. “So no.”
“Then you pretend to be someone else,” Gavin said, turning in his seat to glance at me. “Grab that cap, please.”
“I’ll do you one better,” I said, and rummaged through the backpack at my feet to find the wig I’d thrown in. It was cut into a short, dark bob, not unlike Darby’s. She was a former employee of PCC Research and a member of Delta.
I pulled off the cap, twisted up my braid, then leaned over and stuffed the wig on. It took a little adjusting in the mirror to get it straight and to tuck up the stray ends, but I didn’t look like an obvious redhead anymore. I pulled the cap down over it, then turned to Gavin, lifted an eyebrow.
“Not bad.” His appraising look turned to an appreciative one. “Not bad at all.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Focus,” Liam said, elbowing the back of Gavin’s seat.
“A man can focus on multiple things at once.”
“Focus.” This time I said it. I checked the car’s side mirrors again, since I was expecting a Containment vehicle to come storming down the gravel road any minute.
“Be careful,” Gavin said.
Liam nodded. “I know how to stay below the radar.”
“Then let’s do this,” Gavin said, starting the car again.
Liam climbed out, shut the door, and glanced through my open window. “Be careful,” he said, and gave me a long look before walking away.
“Is he brave, or stupid?” I asked.
“Both, obviously.” Gavin’s face changed, became serious, as he pulled the car around to head back to the highway.
• • •
“I’m with Containment,” Gavin reminded me, “or close enough. Hunter on my way into the city for a meeting. And you are?”
“Your girlfriend, along for the ride. Name’s . . . Mignon.”
“Excellent choice,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to date a Mignon.”
I sat back, crossed my arms, and tried to ignore the butterflies in my belly. I’d been purposely avoiding not just Containment but nearly everyone and everything from my previous life that Containment could have used to get to me. Now we were running toward the trouble, and there was no turning back.
Gavin waved out the window as we came to a stop. Two agents in dark fatigues, guns strapped to their waists, approached us.
“Sir,” said the one on Gavin’s side. “Ma’am.” He was big and beefy, with pale skin, shorn hair, a square jaw, and a puggish nose.
“Agent,” Gavin said. “I’m no sir, and she’s no ma’am.” He yanked away an ID clipped to his visor, offered it to the agent. “I’m Special Ops.”
The agent looked at the badge, then up at Gavin again. “Reason for visiting New Orleans?”
“I live there, as my badge says.” He checked his watch. “And in particular, I’ve got a meeting with Gunnar Landreau in half an hour.”
“And your business outside New Orleans?” the agent asked.
“Not at liberty to disclose to anyone without sigma clearance. Containment can confirm.”
The agent lifted his eyes to me. “And you?”
“Field trip,” I said, sounding as bored as possible. “Although this ain’t exactly what I had in mind.”<
br />
The agent gave the badge another careful study, then looked at me and did the same. “Step out of the car, please.”
“Sure,” Gavin said. “But can I ask why?”
“You’re on the list.”
Shit, I thought.
“What list is that?”
“You may have information about persons of interest.”
“I’m sure I do, having sigma status. But as I noted, I’m not authorized to give out that information.”
“We’re looking for Liam Quinn. Your brother.”
Gavin’s jaw went tight in a pretty good imitation of someone very, very angry at Liam.
“Merde,” he muttered, really pushing the Cajun accent. “The hell has he done this time?”
“Killed a Containment agent, name of Broussard.”
Gavin visibly jerked, then pulled his sunglasses off very, very slowly. “Say what?”
“Killed Broussard in his own home. Bounty’s been issued. He’s a wanted man, and Containment wants him inside sooner rather than later.”
“I guess so—you’ve got a roadblock. But I ain’t seen that couillon in weeks. We had what you might call a bit of a falling-out after the battle.”
He gestured to the roadblock. “Containment thinks he’s outside NOLA?”
That was a good strategy lesson: Containment knocks down your door, take the opportunity to get what information you can.
“Don’t know. Just following orders.”
“Of course you are.” He swore, shook his head. “He thinks I’m going to save his ass again, he is very mistaken. Tête dur.” Gavin wet his lips, looked at the agent conspiratorially. “How much is the bounty?”
The agent threw out a number that would have kept Royal Mercantile in the green for months. Containment was serious about getting Liam.
Gavin whistled. “I didn’t ask this question, but just so I’m sure—family members get the bounty, should they come across him?”
“I believe so.” He stepped away for a moment, had a conversation with the other agent, spoke into his communicator. Gavin, who looked completely cool from the neck up, squeezed my hand.
The agents came back.
Let us go, I murmured. Just let us go.
“Sir, please step out of the car,” the agent said again. “We need to take a look inside.”
Gavin nodded. “Of course, Agent. I’m being an asshole, and you’re just doing your job. I’m coming out,” he said, then opened the door, climbed outside. “But if I’m late for my meeting,” he added with a grin, “could you write me a note?”
I exited under the watch of the other agent.
“Hands on the hood, please.” We were both steered to face opposite sides of the hood, and we put our palms on the car. After baking in the sun, the hood was hot enough to fry an egg. But at least it kept my hands from visibly shaking.
Gavin winked at me, which helped a little. But I knew some of that was bravado he didn’t feel. If someone was willing to frame Liam and put Containment on his trail, it wasn’t hard to believe they’d bring in his brother, too.
They opened the doors, began sorting through the Jeep’s contents. Gavin’s backpack, my backpack. I did a quick mental inventory of what I’d thrown in there and if there was anything damaging.
“Well,” said one of the agents.
I froze, swallowed down a hard ball of fear, and glanced around the vehicle.
The agent, whose cheeks were flushed pink, held up by two fingers the raunchiest bit of black lingerie I’d ever seen. Cheap black lace with bows and cords, and strategic cutouts that seemed to defeat the point of wearing lingerie in the first place.
I glared at Gavin.
He managed to scrounge up a blush, coughed delicately. “So, I may not have cleaned out that bag very well after its last use.”
Since I was playing a role, I figured I might as well go for the gold. “You asshole!” I lunged at him across the hood of the car, managed to get in a couple of slaps on his arms before the agent dragged me out of range, pulled back my arms. “What the hell is that? Why the hell is there lingerie—lingerie—in your bag?”
He held up his hands, all innocent. “Mignon, baby, it’s nothing. I swear.”
“You asshole! Was it Lucinda’s? You promised me you wouldn’t see her again! You promised!”
He looked at the agent who held my arms. “Could you please give us a minute here?”
“Ma’am,” the agent said, “you going to control yourself?”
I curled my lip at Gavin. “You mean like how he controls himself? Can’t keep his fly zipped. Can’t keep his damn hands to himself.”
“Ma’am.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, fine. I can control myself.”
He let me go, and I adjusted my shirt, then brushed a hand over the wig to smooth it.
When I turned back to Gavin, glaring at him over the hood, the agent stepped carefully away and joined the other agent at the back of the jeep.
“You’re violent,” Gavin murmured.
“You’re a pervert.”
“It’s not my underwear.”
“Yeah, that was my point. Do I want to know why you have it?”
“You do not,” he said matter-of-factly. “Lucinda?”
“Mean girl from sixth grade. Hated her.” I couldn’t let it go. “Were you hoping you’d find a little company on this trip?”
“I mean, I’m not saying I can’t appreciate a good time when I find it, but no. I really did forget it was in there.”
Probably best not to dig too deeply into the rest of it.
• • •
Five awkward minutes later, the agent came back and avoided all eye contact with me.
“You’re free to go,” he said. “We appreciate your cooperation, and we’re sorry for the, um, domestic issues.”
“Not your fault he’s an asshole,” I said, giving Gavin one last leer.
The agent nodded awkwardly, looked back at Gavin. “If you see your brother, call Containment. He needs to be stopped before he hurts someone else.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Gavin said, and we climbed into the car again. “We appreciate your service.”
We pulled away, both of us still checking the mirrors, waiting to be followed. But the cars stayed parked where they were.
“That was easy,” I said.
“Too easy,” Gavin said, his gaze still flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. “And . . . there it is.”
I checked the side mirror. About a quarter mile behind us, a silver sedan pulled onto the highway.
“Who is it?”
“A Containment tail would be my guess. They probably assume I’m lying about Liam—or they hope I am—and figure I’ll either lead them directly to him or I’ll take them to a drop-off spot, and they can lie in wait.”
“You don’t actually have one of those, do you? A drop-off spot?”
He smiled. “Not one, no. More like”—he paused, lips moving silently—“eleven, at last count. Twelve? No. Eleven.”
“Why?”
“It’s a big city. You never know where you’re going to wake up.”
I snorted. “That sounds like a personal problem.”
Gavin grinned. “Personal, but never a problem. A tail, though, would be a problem. And confirms that Containment is very serious about finding Liam. What the hell did he do to get so much interest?”
“Wrong place, wrong time?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
We watched the sedan draw closer.
“How, exactly, do they plan to tail you? It’s pretty obvious they’re back there.”
“Multiple cars,” he said. “They’ll do a handoff a mile or two up the road. Watch,” he said. And sure enough, the sedan drew cl
oser, then pulled into the other lane and passed us, as if totally oblivious to our car.
“This car will pull off the road ahead. Another car will pull in behind me, follow me until they hopscotch again, and so on. It’s a good trick.”
“And you’ve got a plan to deal with it?”
“Of course I’ve got a plan. Which, unfortunately, is going to mean ditching this jeep. Which is a bummer, because I really like it. Found it in the Garden District behind an old bookstore. Full bottle of Jack Daniel’s.” He smiled, patted the dash lovingly. “She’s been good since the beginning. Alas. I’ll leave the keys in it for the next person who might need it. And maybe I’ll come across a Range Rover.” He glanced at me. “You buckled up?”
“I am,” I said, and pulled the seat belt to check the tension, just in case.
“Then sit back and enjoy the ride.”
With a grin on his face, he gunned it.
• • •
Between the two of them, I’d figured Gavin for the risk-taker, Liam for the planner. If Gavin’s driving was any sign, I’d been exactly right.
Gavin knew how to handle a tail. He played oblivious, weaving through Carrollton—up and down side streets, occasionally stopping to chat up some random person he spotted on the street and forcing the cars tailing him to stop and hide. I kept the wig in place while we drove. There was no point in riling them up with the thought of more quarry.
After half an hour of cruising through the city, and no loss of interest by the agents watching us, Gavin waited until the next handoff, then took a chance and pulled the jeep into an alley, driving through it until he found an empty garage. He backed in and turned off the engine while I jumped out and closed the garage door.
The trick worked. They drove right past us. We waited and listened for them to circle back, and when the coast was clear, we pulled out and headed toward Mid-City.
I’d already given Gavin my drop-off location, an alley a few blocks from the gas station that wasn’t close enough to clue him in to my secret lair. I wanted a shower and food before I headed to Moses’s place for round two.
