“I don’t care! Run!”
Smoke began to billow from the back of the cemetery. Liam tossed two more canisters, closer to their own position. Nick and Kelly skidded to a stop. Nick covered his ears and squeezed his eyes closed as the flashbangs went off.
They wasted precious seconds trying to shake off the concussive blast. Nick could hear screams of pain and anger. He peeked around the corner of the tomb that shielded them, only to come face-to-face with a man who was doing the same thing. Nick rolled away as the man brought his gun up and fired.
“Go!” he yelled, pushing at Kelly’s arm.
They sprinted down the lane, catching glimpses through the narrow alleys of two men racing down the opposite lane. When they reached a widened intersection, Nick raised his weapon, preparing to fire as their pursuers rounded the corner.
But Zane was there, flattened against the tomb wall, knives in his hands. When the two assassins reached the corner of the tomb, he stepped out and swept a hand across one man’s neck. Blood spurted as Zane turned gracefully and shoved a knife into the other man’s side. He jerked it up, under the body armor, under the ribs. He stepped back, covered in blood as both men fell to the ground, dead or dying.
Nick and Kelly gaped at him as he twirled both knives over his fingers and shoved them back into their sheaths.
“Nice,” Kelly grunted.
Zane shrugged and bent to gather the weapons off the dead bodies. He pointed toward the entrance, a mere ten yards away.
Nick and Kelly stayed low and close, watching each other’s backs as Zane brought up the rear, scurrying from tomb to tomb for cover. Owen and Digger appeared from the other side. The smoke bombs Liam had thrown seemed to have bought them enough time to clear the cemetery. Owen and Digger darted out, then took up posts behind the walls to cover their last few yards.
Nick was almost to the open gate when something thumped into him from behind. The report of the shot reached his ears a split-second later. He was thrown forward. More bullets hit the walls around him.
“He’s hit, he’s hit!” Owen cried, the voice coming both from nearby and inside Nick’s ear. “Doc!”
“Who’s hit?” Ty asked, voice suddenly panicked.
No one answered him.
Nick pushed at the ground, but the weight on top of him was too much. He turned his head. Kelly had fallen into him when the bullet hit. Owen fell to his knees beside Nick’s face. They lifted Kelly off him and Nick pushed up, scrabbling the rest of the way out of the cemetery.
They hit open ground and ran, rushing into traffic on Rampart Street. Nick and Zane fell back to cover them as Owen and Digger carried Kelly between them. They faltered in the large grassy median and took cover behind a horse and carriage that had been abandoned by its driver.
Crowds of people were running to and fro, panicked and confused.
“Who’s hit?” Ty demanded, his voice breaking.
“We’re in the median,” Zane said, breathless. “Kelly’s down.”
“Doc,” Digger said as he put a hand on Kelly’s face.
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.
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, pulling 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 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.
Chapter 12
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.