by Juno Rushdan
Five seconds, and the bodyguard was out cold.
One baited hook had been dropped for Romero.
Time to cast an irresistible, shiny lure for Walsh.
Chapter Thirteen
Devlin shook Tommy’s hand with a pat on the shoulder and strode to the small office in the back of Avido’s.
Inside, Big Bill waved for him to come in. “Can I get you some lunch?” he asked, sprinkling salt on his chicken.
The food smelled wonderful and everything Devlin had ever eaten there had been tasty, but he wanted to get down to business. “I’m good.” He took a seat in one of the leather chairs facing the desk.
Bill set the white porcelain shaker down and took a bite of his food. “What’s the status?”
“Is this place clean?” Devlin asked, referring to listening devices. Bill’s FBI problem was worse than an infestation of roaches.
“Yeah.” Bill nodded. “Tommy swept it this morning.”
“The boys are in Louisiana,” Devlin said. “They checked in with me outside of Lake Charles. Your package can be delivered by five, if you’d like.”
Bill leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin tugging at his mouth. “I’d like that very much.”
“Where?”
Without hesitation and with plenty of zeal, as if he’d given it a lot of thought, perhaps the only thing he’d thought of, Bill said, “Same place we bring the girls through.”
The old port. Bill trafficked young women through on boats in shipping containers. The Coast Guard never went near it, the police were paid to steer clear, and the feds didn’t have a clue Bill used it. A good spot for delivery and whatever else Bill had in store for the package.
“What about the information I need?” Bill cut another piece of chicken and chewed.
“There’s a flash drive that supposedly has everything you could possibly want on it, but the package lost it. I’m working on getting it back.”
“How in the hell are you going to do that?” Bill asked around the food in his mouth.
Devlin crossed his legs and folded his hands, letting his confidence shine through. He had this under control. “The flash drive is in New Orleans.”
“I’m not tracking.” Bill dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Explain.”
“Two marshals that were protecting the package have it. Aiden Yazzie and Charlotte Killinger. I framed them for the murder of one of their own and a local cop. Under the heat, they ran. I made sure to drop bread crumbs that led to me. They followed them and they’re here. In New Orleans.”
“How are you going to get the drive from them?”
“Leave that to me.” One way or another, Devlin would get it and take care of them permanently. “I want the first payment. Three and a half million. Wired now to the same offshore account I used last time.”
“Two million,” Bill said flatly and took a long, hearty sip of his stout beer.
“Your math must be fuzzy. Seven million for the package alive. Half of seven is three and a half.”
“Where’s my proof of life?” Bill gestured dramatically around the office. “I have no doubt that you have him, but Edgar might’ve caught a stray bullet during the kidnapping and could be dead, for all I know. Two now. Five on delivery.”
Devlin reached into his jacket pocket, past his holstered gun, took out a burner phone and dialed.
It rang twice. “What’s up, D?” Tate asked. “We get paid?”
“We need proof of life. Send it now.” Devlin disconnected. Eight seconds later, the phone buzzed. Devlin opened the text, bringing up a picture of the package.
His wrists and mouth were duct-taped, and he was wide-eyed with terror. A receipt from a gas station, with today’s date and time stamp, was next to his head.
Devlin held up the phone, the picture facing out. He zoomed in on the receipt and then refocused on the package’s horrified face.
Evil amusement lit up Bill’s eyes as he flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “Three and a half million it is.”
* * *
THEIR HALF-BAKED plan might get them both killed.
At least death would put her out of her misery, but the thought of anything bad happening to Aiden made Charlie physically ill. She could tolerate a lot, but not that.
She walked beside Aiden down quiet St. Philip Street in the heart of the French Quarter. The city was steeped in history, practically dripping with it. Nineteenth-century homes that lined the road resembled colorful dollhouses. The cheery, built-to-withstand-anything atmosphere was a stark contrast to their predicament and the current status of their friendship.
Charged silence stretched between them, prickling her nerves.
When she sidestepped a stray glass bottle as an excuse to move closer to Aiden, their hands brushed. He recoiled as if he couldn’t bear the slightest physical contact with her and quickened his pace.
A cold shroud settled around her despite the sweltering temperature. With her stomach churning, she caught up and matched his stride.
She was a real mess, emotions running wild, and she couldn’t let any of it show.
It was one bad thing after another. Losing a witness, being framed for the murder of a colleague, no loyalty from a shameful boss, and now being on the run. Yet the distance from Aiden clung to her like a choking vine, tightening her throat, squeezing her chest and making it hard to breathe.
Finally, they reached Bourbon and turned left. The famous bustling street vibrated with crackling energy. The cacophony of laughter, conversations, jazz and rap music was an overwhelming relief.
They strode through the throng of people, looking for Avido’s Restaurant, where they hoped to find Big Bill Walsh and survive the encounter.
Charlie hated fumbling her way through something on a wing and a prayer and unarmed.
At any rate, she wasn’t stuck in this alone. She had Aiden. There wasn’t a better person to have at her side if she was in trouble.
Even if he was still so angry at her that he hadn’t looked at her since they’d left the hotel.
Not only had she deeply hurt him, but she’d also disappointed him.
If she could take back ever sleeping with Nick last year, she would. It had meant nothing to her, whereas Aiden meant everything. Not that it would change anything now.
A chasm had opened between them last night when he’d poured out his heart to her and she hadn’t been fully forthcoming in return. All this time, she’d had him locked tight in the friend zone, never daring to jeopardize their precious bond by sleeping with him, and it had only pushed him away to the point he wanted to leave her. Take the job here in Louisiana, of all places, at Camp Beauregard.
It was like some twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.
There were some things that couldn’t be fixed. Charlie feared that she and Aiden were one of them. If she lost him, it would do more than break her heart. It would devastate her. The thought came with a knife-sharp pang, but she didn’t break her stride.
She saw the sign for Avido’s two doors down on the other side of the street. “There it is.”
“I’d have to be blind to miss it,” he said.
They couldn’t walk into Big Bill’s place like this—distracted and snapping at each other, their friendship fractured.
They needed to be the dynamic duo again if they were going to prevail with the deck stacked against them.
“Hey,” she said, cupping his bare arm, stopping him from crossing the street. “We need to go in there as a united front.”
He jerked away from her grasp. “We both want to clear our names and walk out alive. That’s about as united as we’re going to get. Look, I’m sorry I crossed the line and kissed you. Touched you like that. It was a mistake.”
Her heart sank and her jaw dropped.
“Let’s forget it ever happen
ed,” he continued, “and move on. Stay focused on the mission. Okay, Killinger?”
Inwardly she cringed so hard it hurt every time he called her by her last name. “Stop it. Stop calling me that.” It was driving her insane.
“Why? It’s your name.”
“Aiden, I—”
The door to Avido’s opened, drawing both their gazes.
Charlie’s heart nearly stopped. Frank Devlin walked out along with another man, tall, thickset, with a shaved head. Both had the telltale bulges of holstered weapons under their arm.
The timing couldn’t have been worse.
“He’s supposed to be on a plane later tonight. Not here. Now,” she said.
Aiden took her by the elbow and turned away, shoving through a group of singing drunk guys.
“Watch it, buddy,” one of them said.
A surge of adrenaline made her body buzz. Charlie craned around for a quick glance back.
Devlin spotted them. He tapped the burly guy beside him, pointed at them and then launched across the street.
Charlie took off without saying a word to Aiden. There was no need. She knew he followed right on her heels.
No matter how disconnected they were personally, they had always been in sync professionally.
They ran, forcing their way through the dense weekend crowd.
Aiden snatched her hand and cut down the side street, Orleans, dragging her with him. Then they ran at a flat-out sprint. Keeping up with him wasn’t an issue. She could run like hell. The muggy air seemed to thicken. Breath sawed in and out of her lungs. Her heartbeat and the thump of their boots pounding on the pavement filled her ears.
Devlin and his surprisingly fast cohort came charging after them.
They had to shake those two men.
Straight ahead was a fenced-in garden behind a three-steepled church with a statue of Jesus in the center of the lawn, His arms upraised. This was the time to say a prayer if she knew any. The garden would do them little good, since it was a wide-open space and provided no cover.
Neither Charlie nor Aiden knew the city, while Devlin had home-field advantage and the entire police force on his side.
Charlie and Aiden reached the corner, their breaths coming hard. Looked left. Looked right. Split-second decision made.
They bolted down Pirates Alley and threaded in between strolling pedestrians. To one side of the thoroughfare was a towering church. To the other, the Cabildo and a Technicolor melee of lime green shutters, garish blue doors and neon yellow walls in the bowels of the city—all screaming that they had no clue where to run.
At the gaping mouth of the alley was a milling crowd. With a little luck, they might blend in, disappear.
On instinct, they turned to the left in unison, without hesitation, toward the church. Charlie made a beeline for the doors, hand in hand with Aiden.
It was locked. On the sign, the St. Louis Cathedral didn’t open until five on Saturday.
Aiden tugged her up against him into a pocket of shadows in an alcove. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. Her brain engaged. Professional awareness was in high gear. Her determination like a cold iron bar. But there was no ignoring the feel of him against her, every spot where they touched, each lick of friction as they pressed closer. He was so solid and heavy, warmth radiating from his muscles flexing under her palms.
She wanted to shut off that part of her brain that picked up those details but also commit the particulars to memory. How steady and calm he was. The world could be falling apart, and he’d still be rock-solid.
The taller, stocky guy pounded past the front of the cathedral as vacationers taking photos in the pedestrian-only plaza out front inadvertently helped shield them. It probably didn’t occur to him to look at the entrance since he knew the church would be closed.
For once, not knowing the area worked in their favor.
The thin peal of bells rang out, calling to saints and sinners alike. A circus atmosphere pulsed around them—meandering tourists, mimes, artists, street musicians, magicians, living statues painted in silver and gold, palmists and tarot readers selling glimpses of the future.
She looked up at Aiden. Their eyes locked.
He pressed a palm to her cheek and something she couldn’t define shone in his eyes. “Come on.”
Staying there wasn’t an option. With two men canvassing the area—one a cop—they’d eventually be spotted.
They made a break for it, dashing through Jackson Square, around the equestrian statue and past a row of iron benches with dividers. They narrowly avoided a collision with a group of teenage girls who were running up to a row of fortune-tellers.
Aiden looked back. The squeeze of his hand tightening on hers told Charlie what she needed to know. One of the men wasn’t far behind. Or probably, both were close.
There was no outrunning them. No place to hide where they wouldn’t be found.
They had to make a stand.
Surprise would help, but hesitation would be fatal.
On Decatur, they blew by the French Market and ducked into a restaurant.
“Hello,” said the hostess. “How many—”
Aiden pointed toward the back. “We’re meeting people.”
They strode through the restaurant.
At the sound of the hostess’s voice again, Charlie looked to the front. Devlin breezed inside while the other guy went around the building.
Aiden pushed into the kitchen. “We do it here,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
“As good a place as any.” It was great to be on the same page. “Get out now, or you’ll be shot,” Charlie said to the gawking cooking crew. She waved them toward the back door with all the fierceness the Marine Corps had instilled in her.
The cooks scattered and fled.
Aiden switched off the lights, grabbed a steel meat tenderizer from the counter and stood against the wall beside one of the swing doors to the dining room.
The only light in the room came from the small window in the door and the five burners going on the stove.
Charlie’s gaze flew around for something she could use as a weapon. Before she found one, Devlin rushed into the kitchen. His gun with a silencer attached was already drawn and at the ready.
Menace radiated from him as he leveled the 9 mm at her. Aiden sprang from his position, smashing the steel mallet on Devlin’s wrist and knocking the weapon from his grasp.
Charlie grabbed a metal bowl of flour and spun on her heel when the back door flew open and the stocky guy stormed in. She tossed the flour into his face, followed by the bowl. Metal struck flesh with a resounding clang.
In her periphery, Aiden was going blow for blow with Devlin. A flurry of punches and kicks issued back and forth.
Charlie seized a large rolling pin from a workstation and swung it like a bat. The wood smacked into the man’s solar plexus.
A loud grunt whooshed from the guy’s mouth as he doubled over.
She threw another whack to his head. And another. She planned to keep thrashing him until he was either knocked out cold or the rolling pin broke, whichever came first.
The man dropped to the floor like a wet noodle.
Devlin bulldozed into Aiden, lifting him from the floor and hurling him into a shelving unit. Produce went flying, tumbling to the floor.
Landing a wicked left hook, Aiden forced Devlin off him. The two tussled. Aiden got Devlin facedown over the counter, wrenching one of his arms behind his back.
Charlie rushed to help subdue him.
Aiden’s gaze snapped up at her. “No! Stay back,” he said, bringing her to a halt.
It was in that second, maybe two, when Aiden’s focus slipped slightly, that Devlin reared his head up and back, smashing his skull into Aiden’s face. Her partner stumbled, his arms flailing. Devlin spun, throwing an elbow propelle
d by the momentum of his full weight to Aiden’s head, and was on him like a violent storm.
Charlie surged forward, hoisting the rolling pin high.
Pivoting with his arm extended horizontally, Devlin hit her hard across the cheek. The force of his elbow moving fast ahead of two hundred pounds of mean muscle sent her head twisting around, her body spiraling and knocked to the floor.
Her skull slammed against the cold tile. Her breath left her lungs.
“Charlie!” Aiden cried.
The scuffle between Devlin and Aiden was all she could hear.
Fear mingled with blood. It was bitter and coppery in her mouth. She fought through the haze, needing to move, needing to help Aiden.
Her blurry vision cleared, and Charlie rolled onto her hands and knees. She scrambled to find a gun, scouring the floor, searching under the prep table.
Where did it go?
She made it to her feet, gasped in horror. Devlin had an arm locked around Aiden’s throat, but her partner kicked off the wall, propelling them both into the worktable at the center of the room, sending them crashing to the floor.
Aiden and Devlin were duking it out on the floor, rolling around in a death match. The blows were furious and fast. Aiden flipped him overhead, sending him hurtling against the stove.
As both men stood, Devlin’s back was to Charlie. He reached behind into his jacket, going for the reserve weapon tucked in his waistband.
She snatched the pot of simmering water or broth from the fire and flung the piping hot liquid at him. Devlin howled and spun on her.
But Aiden threw a front kick that sent Devlin pitching to the side over the flames. The sleeve of his lightweight jacket caught fire. With a quick presence of mind, Devlin snatched a pitcher of water and doused the flames with a faint sizzle.
Charlie knocked the gun loose from his hand with the hot pan while he was distracted.
The Beretta clattered to the floor. Aiden grabbed it and leveled the barrel at Devlin, who stood gape-mouthed, manic anger burning in his eyes.
Following Aiden’s hand signal to move toward the door, Charlie backed up and stepped over the unconscious guy sprawled on the floor spread-eagle. She slowed and picked up his suppressed .45 from the corner on the floor.
