Love Inspired Suspense June 2014 Bundle 2 of 2: Forced Alliance\Out for Justice\No Place to Run (5 page)

“Where would I go?” he asked, his voice near her right ear. When he put his hand on her arm in a protective stance, she shook her head. “I'm going to get us out of this.”

“And I'm going to make sure you stay alive.”

In spite of the unnecessary gesture, she felt a little rip in her doubt of the man. He did have a way of being old-fashioned and debonair, even in a crisis. But right now, she needed him to stay behind her and follow her directions.

When more gunshots rang out, Connor stepped forward. “This isn't good. They've found Armond, Josie. We need to get out of here.”

So he
was
only worried about his own sorry hide.

“I have to go back,” she said, pushing him away. “My boss could be in that room.”

“With Armond and whoever's shooting at him,” Connor said, dragging her away from the area where the gunfire continued. “Josie, I'm serious. Sherwood is probably already dead. They'll ambush you.”

Josie felt a solid need to defend her boss and the other agents who'd been working with them. She didn't have time to explain this to Connor. “I can't let my coworkers get mowed down.”

The shots ended, and Connor tugged her into another open meeting room. “Shh. We'll figure something out.”

“Let me go,” she said, her mind on getting to her people. She'd started this whole thing by agreeing to help him. She had to see it through to the end, no matter what. “I have to—”

When a door down the hall burst open, Connor put a finger to his mouth. “Wait.”

He pushed her behind him and peeked out the sliver of an opening in the door. Then he quickly shut the door, turned off the light and glanced at the balcony across the room. “Three of them and they're dressed for combat. We have to get out of here. Now.”

Josie's shock changed to an automatic survival mode. “The windows?”

“Let's see. And hurry.”

She followed Connor without hesitation now. Whatever he'd seen had put him into action. He tugged her into a circular alcove window covered with heavy curtains. “Stay still while I try to open this window.”

Josie did as he asked, but she put her mind to work so she wouldn't panic. They were in a secluded luxury hotel. The meeting rooms were all on the second floor near the guests' rooms and they each had a balcony to the street below. This was the only other way out. They'd chosen this hotel for its discretion and this floor for easy access to the street and parking garage.

With guards at each elevator and every door, how had anyone gotten in here?

Connor tugged at the heavy glass doors. “Not sure they're made to open. We don't have much time.”

Josie heard the door from the hallway open. “We have to go now, Connor.”

Connor grunted and let out a breath. “It's not budging.”

Too late. She pulled him behind the curtain and held him close. “Don't breathe.”

Connor covered her, his arms stretching to make both of them as tight and still as possible within the foot or so of the circular space. The air grew hot with tension. A cold sweat crawled like a clinging spider down her spine. Josie could hear footsteps, someone moving through the room. She watched through the haze of the heavy floral drapery and saw the silhouette of the lone gunman moving toward the curtain. She held her gun ready, her silent breath matching Connor's. One foot, another foot. She needed to breathe, to find some cool air. One more move and the gunman would be right on them.

And she couldn't hold her breath much longer.

The man stopped and stared. When his phone went off, Josie felt Connor shift close, saw the warning in his eyes. She wanted to gulp fresh air, but she couldn't. She had to stay still and crushed against Connor. He had her against the small alcove seat and he covered her like a shield.
Unnecessary, but comforting,
she thought in a wild, runaway logic that blocked her apprehension.

The lone man standing two feet away said something into the phone. Then he turned and stomped out of the room.

Josie sank into Connor. He pulled her tight against him and held her there, both of them taking deep breaths. “Are you all right?” he asked, his hand on her hair.

“No, I'm not all right,” she said on a sharp inhale. “I'm sweating and I'm tired and I left a perfectly good pizza on the seat of my car last night.”

Connor chuckled and let her go. “Could we run by your car and get it on the way out of here?”

Josie tugged the curtain open and pushed at her damp hair and then tried to put the feel of being in his arms out of her mind. “I'd like nothing better, but my car might be their next target.”

He followed her into the shadows of the room and then turned back to the big sliding window. “We'd better try to get out this way. I don't trust the stairs or the elevators right now.”

“What did that man say?” she asked. “It sounded like Italian.”

Connor's expression went dark. “He told someone they'd taken care of the situation. Then something about a garage—the parking garage maybe.”

“I guess that means they slaughtered everyone in that room. And they're still looking for something or someone.”

“Josie, we can't go back into the hallway. They might still be lurking around to make sure they got everyone. Or they could be looking for us right now. Maybe they think we ran to the parking garage.” He watched her and then said, “Let's get out of here, and we can circle back around to check, okay?”

Josie agreed with a nod. He was right. She just prayed she'd get a call from Sherwood. She followed Connor back to the big window and together they managed to pry the lock, both of them heaving and tugging until it slid open and they crashed against each other again.

A hot, humid night wind hit them, followed by the sounds of revelry down in the Square and traffic somewhere on Canal. Josie inhaled the smell of fried shrimp and freshly baked bread coming from a nearby restaurant.

Together, they climbed over the balcony and made the short drop to the ground. Connor dusted himself off, then took Josie's hand. “Let's get out of here.”

They ran back toward downtown. “Let's get to the Square,” Connor urged. “More of a crowd to hide in until we can get out of town.”

But when they heard shouts, Connor tugged her back into a shadowed alley. “I don't think it's safe to go back.”

Josie started forward, but a gunshot stopped her.

“Let's go,” he urged. “We can do more good finding out who's behind this.”

Josie reluctantly nodded her head. “Then let's get somewhere safe and start working this case.”

An hour later they moved through the tourists crowding into Jackson Square. The sound of a lively jazz number spilled out of an open doorway down the street, followed by the smell of something spicy and tempting. Josie's stomach growled.

“I'm so hungry,” she said, wishing she hadn't answered that phone last night. But this was her job, her life.

“Let's go,” he said, his hand grasping hers. “I know a place out on the bayou where they have the best food in the world—pizza and po'boys and everything in between.”

“Is it safe?” she asked, glad to follow him out of the stifling crowds. They'd backtracked up to Canal, and now he was weaving her in and out of the Quarter to throw off any followers.

“It will be if you're with me,” he replied in that confident way that had her all mushy inside. Unnecessary, but this time she didn't argue with him.

SEVEN

J
osie's cell chimed as they later merged with the crowd on Decatur Street. When she saw the caller ID, she immediately answered. “Josie Gilbert.”

“It's me, Gilbert.”

“Agent Sherwood? You're alive?” She gave Connor a quick thumbs-up.

“Barely,” her superior said with a groan. “Took a through and through in the left shoulder. They hit Armond with three bullets. He's in a coma. I'm with him at the hospital now. Undisclosed. We don't want the press blabbing his whereabouts. Got guards on him, too, but that big guard, Beaux, is on the run.”

“And our other agents, sir?”

“One dead and one in critical condition.”

Josie closed her eyes. “I should have been there.”

“You did the right thing by getting Randall out of there. Stay with him. He's had eyes on Armond for a while, so he might be our last hope to figure this out.” He paused and then added, “Randall could be holding out on us. Try to get him to open up.”

Josie didn't let on. “We'll stay undercover and out of sight until we hear differently,” she said. “And, sir, I'll work on that suggestion.”

“Good idea. And guard yourselves. These people mean business.”

“I'll do my best. They came after Armond at his home and then found him in what we considered a safe location at the hotel. Could this be an inside job?”

“Who knows at this point, but yes, that's possible. We didn't get to question him or even arrest him. He'll hear the good news on that if he ever wakes up. Just keep reporting in so I won't have to worry about you, too.”

“Yes, sir. We got out a window and circled back to the Quarter in a cab so we'd throw off anyone following us. Randall knows of a safe house out from the city.”

“What about our other in-town designated safe house?”

“We think it might have been compromised, considering.”

After a long pause, Sherwood said, “Do what you need to do to stay alive. I'll check back soon. Oh, by the way, before he passed out, Armond said something about a garage.”

“Really? So did one of the hit men. We heard him, but he was speaking in Italian, so we can't be sure.”

“Keep that in mind and check out any leads.”

Josie hung up and gave Connor a nod. “Sherwood is okay. Got hit in the shoulder but it went through.” She filled him in on Armond. “He's at the hospital with Armond, undisclosed location.”

“We have a lot of medical centers and hospitals,” Connor replied. “Why didn't he give you Armond's location? We still need to talk to him, find out what he wanted to tell me.”

“Sherwood's trying to protect us, too,” she explained. “He told me to stay with you. Oh, and he mentioned the garage—said Armond mumbled something about it before he passed out.” She jotted some notes on her phone's notepad. “Maybe we should do a search of the parking garage back at the hotel.”

“Or maybe another type of garage, like the big one back at the estate. But there are outbuildings all over that place. I know of one other one that has a classic car stored in it. We can't be sure which one everyone's talking about.”

“You're right. I'll let the forensic and crime-scene techs handle that until Armond is conscious. Hopefully, he'll come clean.”

“Unless we can figure something else out.” He tugged her through the crowds crossing Decatur between the Square and the Moonwalk. The Quarter was alive with music and laughter. The St. Louis Cathedral looked like a beacon in the wee hours of the night. “We threw them off but need to get out of town.”

Josie agreed. Every face seemed sinister and ominous. She glanced over her shoulder with each turn, expecting a gunman to be following them. She noticed Connor doing the same. He was a distraction. And a partner now, since they'd been forced to team up. They were in this together, for better or worse.

Being an agent meant she always watched her back and stayed alert, but tonight she doubled that practice, her mind going back to the last time she'd been undercover. She'd missed one glaring sign that could have saved a young girl's life. Her informant's life. She wouldn't do that now, even if she thought saving Connor shouldn't be her concern. He was a human being, and he had been helpful in getting them out of that hotel and back to the Square. Sending out a prayer that the Lord would replace her judgmental attitude with one of wisdom, she followed Connor through the busy, crowded streets.

“Are they here?” she asked, her own instincts too blurred to pick up on anything out of the ordinary.

“I don't know,” he said, his gaze roving over the streets. “I don't think they'd come into a crowd, but these people certainly are ruthless. Could be anyone, dressed like a tourist or a vendor. Let's head up Ursulines and take North Rampart back to Canal. Grab a cab and hope we've thrown them off.”

“Not your fancy car?” Josie asked to take her mind off this horrible night.

“No. Too well-known around here.”

“Aren't you too well-known around here, too?”

“Yeah. Which is why I'm going where no man in his right mind would venture.”

“These men might not be in their right minds,” she reminded him.

“Then we'll be waiting for them.”

* * *

Connor had been running all of his life. He was used to running from the law, and lately, he'd learned to run from the bad guys, too. But having a too-bold, too-beautiful woman with him, now, that was different. Not that Josie was deadweight. She knew her stuff and watched and checked diligently as they moved through the shadows.

A beautiful, capable, tough woman who obviously had a strong code of ethics. And maybe a strong faith.

His sister had tutored Connor in that department, but he often wondered if God had heard Deidre's pleas on his behalf. Or his pathetic attempts to talk to God.

Now he thanked God for keeping them alive and pulled out cash to pay the cab driver a hefty fare. They'd made it out of town but the route had been twisted and tiresome.

He glanced over at Josie, then tapped the taxi seat. “Stop here.”

The cabby gave him a strange glance. “You sure? I mean, this ain't the best place to be on a Saturday night—er, make that an early Sunday morning.”

“It's the best place for us,” Connor retorted with a hundred-dollar bill. “And you never saw us.”

“Man, I don't even tell people about this place,” the cabby replied. “So I was never here.”

Connor helped Josie out and straightened. “Dawn's coming.” He pointed to the pink-tipped sun shining through the mossy cypress trees.

“Yes, I see,” she replied. “And I'm so glad. Gives me a chance to really take in my surroundings.” She did a complete turn. “This is sure some kind of resort, Randall. Have we reached the end of the earth?”

“Close,” he said, eyeing the thick swampland and a couple of lean-to shacks on stilts. Early-morning humidity hung like brown gravy over the air. “This is a little-known tributary bayou off the Mississippi. Only outlaws and people who've reached the end of their rope come here.”

“And you've been both?”

“And more,” he replied. Then he took her hand. “But they know things that normal people haven't heard yet, so we might pick up some chatter regarding the Armond shooting. Besides, this place has the best French toast on earth.”

Josie halted and shook her head and then pointed to the shack with the flashing neon sign. “You eat food in there?”

Connor slanted a glance at the run-down old building. The planked restaurant sat fat and swollen atop skinny stilts out over the water. The Crooked Nail lived up to its name. Every nail left in the place was either crooked or rusted out. Connor figured the grease from the fryer and the butter fumes from the griddle were the only things holding the place together. That and a mixture of humanity that rivaled the full-flavored gumbo.

“Yes, I've had a lot of meals here. Mama Joe knows how to make a mean bouillabaisse.”

Josie looked skeptical. “I'm okay with coffee, but I don't want to drink any swamp mud.”

“The coffee is black and strong, but Mama Joe makes it with fresh water. And maybe a little swamp mud.”

He led her up the crusty shell-covered path to the wide, planked front porch that served as part of the restaurant and bar. “We can kick back here and regroup.” He motioned toward another building nearby. “Mama Joe's Bed and Breakfast, bayou-style.”

Josie gasped at the sight of the other squatty house that seemed to be low and floating until she realized it was a boathouse, then gave him a hard stare when they hit the last step. “That's not exactly a hotel. It's a boathouse. You're always luring me out into the boonies, Connor. Why is that?”

He leaned close and winked. “Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Her eye roll didn't offer much hope. Swatting at mosquitoes, she said, “Just get me the coffee, Randall.”

* * *

Josie woke with a start. She'd heard a splash. Blinking, she glanced around the tiny room Mama Joe had put her in early this morning after feeding them a huge platter of that famous French toast. According to the height of the sun, it must be noon. She'd slept about six hours.

The bed was comfortable and clean, and the gentle rocking of the old boathouse had lulled her into a deep sleep. She was forever thankful for that. The heavy screens on the two windows allowed for a nice warm breeze, and the squeaky old ceiling fan had hung on for another night to keep her from sweating to death. The boathouse was all cypress planks and creaking floors with a primitive decor that spoke of eccentricity and a bit of artistic flair. Bright colors in the furniture and the bedspread and curtains took away from the gloom of the weathered wood. And since the sheets smelled like sunshine, Josie decided she could probably stay here forever just rocking with the tide.

But her mind wouldn't let her do that. She got up and rinsed off in the tiny bathroom somewhat attached to the bedroom. The swag suite, as Connor had called it, at least had running water.

When she came out of the bathroom, she heard masculine laughter out on the old dock between the boathouse and the restaurant. Josie went to one of the wide windows and squinted through the hot-pink blossoms of a bougainvillea vine.

Connor. Fishing? Could he really be that relaxed after last night? She took her time studying him, interested in spite of her better judgment.

He looked young and carefree, his hair tousled and windblown, his beard just over a five-o'clock shadow. He wore a blue chambray shirt and old worn jeans. And he was barefoot.

Adorable.
And so different from the man she'd studied and condemned as shallow and unsavory. He didn't look unsavory or shallow right now. He looked good. Too good for a woman who hadn't had any caffeine.

No. Not adorable. Not attractive. Not intriguing.

She needed to get her head together. So she threw on the lavender-scented clothes that had mysteriously appeared on the high-backed chair by the door and went looking for food and drink.

The flared jersey skirt was old but clean, and the softly faded T-shirt had a butterfly printed on the front. Someone with flower-child tendencies must have owned these clothes once. Since she had no idea where her other clothes had landed, Josie was glad her gun was still lying on the old dresser by the bed.

She went to put it on and realized her shoulder holster had gone missing. Leaving the gun on the dresser, she hurried out to the restaurant. The smell of bacon frying and coffee perking made her mouth water.

But the way Connor turned and smiled at her through the veil of Spanish moss hanging from the old cypress trees made her insides turn as mushy as the dirt bank down near the swamp water. Telling herself she had a case to work, Josie gave herself a strict and silent talking-to.

“How ya doing this fine morning?” Mama Joe asked after Josie entered through the back screen door. The restaurant was more of an old family home with a big kitchen and dining area. Mama Joe apparently lived in the back rooms.

“I'm...uh...good, all things considered,” Josie replied. Last night this place had seemed like a dump. But in the bright light of midday, it wasn't half-bad. Quaint and colorful in a folksy way, the restaurant looked a lot like the tiny four-room boathouse. Old road signs and license plates lined the planked walls right along with colorful paintings and signs printed with sage bits of advice. Some people had even left hand-printed messages on the walls.

A crudely scrawled verse from Proverbs, Chapter Four, caught Josie's attention:

Keep thy heart with all diligence: for out of it are the issues of life.

Mama Joe watched as Josie silently read the sign. “Are you a heart girl?”

“Excuse me?” Josie asked as she took the mug of coffee the older woman offered.

“Your eyes, they speak of the heart,” Mama Joe said, bangles and beads rattling against her wrist. She grinned and twirled a strand of bright gold hair that matched her one gold tooth. “But your head, it tells you to guard your heart,
oui?
”

“Maybe,” Josie retorted. “I guess I'm more of a head girl. I use my brain to guard my heart.” She couldn't stop herself from glancing out the window toward the dock.

“You might consider letting go that notion,” Mama Joe said in her singsong part Creole, part Caribbean accent. She dressed with the same vivid colors as her decor, all scarves and fabric, like a patchwork personality.

Josie stared out the window at Connor. “I can't do that.” She got up and grabbed a golden biscuit stuffed with ham off the stove. The crusty bread tasted buttery and the ham was tender-sweet. “Put this on his tab, please.”

Mama Joe chuckled and shuffled back behind the counter.

Josie bit into the fat biscuit and chewed the buttery dough before stopping in midstep to take a long sip of the coffee.