“We can’t break town,” Nick grunted. He had yet to take his eyes off Liam. “We need somewhere to lay low, regroup.”

“And then you can tell us what the fuck is going on,” Kelly added.

Zane nodded.

“Where do we go?” Liam asked. “My safe house is blown.”

“How?” Zane demanded.

“Too much activity, I don’t trust it.”

Ty glanced over his shoulder at the man, then back at Zane. His mouth was set in a grim line. “I might know the perfect place.”

“Ava?” Zane asked. Ty nodded.

Nick snorted. “The girl who tried to kill you with a cleaver?”

“It’s worth a shot. I think she might be in danger too; I need to warn her.”

“We’ll split up, then,” Liam said. He gave Ty another pat. “You test the waters with cleaver girl, and we’ll get our supplies.”

Ty glared over his shoulder, but he nodded. “You four, go with him. Keep him in line. Zane and I will scout it out and call you in thirty.”

The others nodded, albeit grudgingly as Liam led them away. Zane and Ty were left alone. Meeting Ty’s eyes made Zane’s stomach flutter, but the anger lingered. He clenched his teeth, trying to keep it in.

“You okay?” Ty asked.

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“Not yet, maybe. He’s slick, Zane. Don’t ever let your guard down around him.”

“Really?” Zane snarled. He took a step closer, straightening to his full height so he could look down at Ty. “Because that’s what people have been saying about you for two years now.”

Ty flinched, but he didn’t look away. He pushed his shoulders back, narrowing his eyes. It was like watching a dog bristle as it stared down a threat. Zane hadn’t felt that since their first few weeks together. He refused to back off, though. He put his finger on Ty’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten just because your ass needed saving.”

It was too dark to read Ty’s expression, but he finally broke eye contact to glance down at Zane’s finger.

“Where is this place?” Zane asked when it became apparent that Ty wasn’t going to respond.

Ty spoke through gritted teeth. “Just off Frenchmen Street. Down Decatur and across Esplanade.”

“Lead the way.”

Ty stared at Zane for another few breaths. Then he stepped past him, brushing his shoulder against Zane’s as he set off through the carousing crowd.

Ty didn’t say a word as they prowled toward the far edge of the French Quarter, heading to the little two-block area of Frenchmen Street and the adjoining Faubourg Marigny. Zane knew how Ty felt about going to see Ava again, and Zane wasn’t too happy about it either. There was a good chance she’d be holding a grudge, and with good reason. Zane knew what kind of lies had to be told when you were undercover, and now, thanks to Ty, he realized how badly it hurt to be on the receiving end of them.

But their options were few and far between, and Ty seemed to think she was in danger.

At least he’d be along to make sure she didn’t throw another knife at Ty. If she did, she’d have a couple to dodge herself.

So, forearmed and forewarned, Zane followed Ty out of the lively French Quarter into the more sedate residential area of Marigny.

Ty turned onto a cobblestone alley of stone walls covered with ivy and blooming flowers. It really was gorgeous down here, with the gaslights and wrought-iron gates and ambiance galore. Even the shards of glass in the concrete on top of walls and fences, meant to keep revelers out of private yards, had its own charm. New Orleans had character. Zane hadn’t really appreciated it when he’d been here with Becky. He’d been more concerned with watching her, observing the joy of the experience through the way she lit up.

He often found himself doing the same thing with Ty. He enjoyed the way Ty lived through every pitch at a baseball game more than he enjoyed the game itself.

How much of his own life had he forgotten to live as he watched the people he loved?

The crowd thinned until they were the only ones on the street, offering them less cover. Ty took Zane’s arm so they’d look more like a couple returning home than two fugitives skirting the shadows. He felt stiff as he did it, as if he expected Zane to rebuff him. Zane’s breath was hard to catch. He had never imagined being alone with Ty feeling so awkward.

“Places this side close down at two,” Ty said. He abruptly turned into a narrower, shadier alley.

Zane slowed, scowling at his surroundings. His arm slipped out of Ty’s as Ty kept walking. “Hey.”

Ty stopped and turned, and Zane had a flash of memory, a picture of Becky, her hair bouncing as she turned, her eyes shining.

Zane stared at Ty’s hazel eyes, shocked into silence.

“You okay?” Ty asked.

Zane shook his head. “I think I’ve been here before.”

Ty raised an eyebrow and looked down the alleyway. “Lots of these back alleys look alike. This is a local place, pretty far off the tourist path.”

Zane glanced at the cobblestone and the plain stone walls. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Ty continued down the alley, and after a few dozen yards he stopped at a weathered wooden door set into the crumbling stone wall. The carved sign that hung over the door read La Fée Verte.

Zane stared at it. He was almost certain that had been the name of the dive Becky had dragged him to all those years ago.

Ty pressed his shoulder against the door, and it creaked open accusingly.

Within was the same large room Zane remembered from his dreams. It was still ill-lit and crowded with tables, and the single microphone stand still stood on the stage in front of wine-colored curtains.

Candles flickered in hurricane lamps on the tables, only now it seemed they were battery powered. Years of wax drippings still decorated the tables.

Zane glanced around, stunned. He turned where he stood, staring at the stage, his mind recreating that night, the man he’d watched and found himself attracted to, the first man he’d ever realized he might want, the man he’d almost unconsciously based most of his sexual encounters on since. He could still see the man standing on that stage, wide shoulders, playful smirk, shining eyes, and a beautiful voice.

“Ty.” Zane gaped at him.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It was you,” Zane whispered.

Ty looked around the bar, brow furrowing.

“Ty, it was you. The man I saw singing, the one I told you about . . . it was you, wasn’t it?”

Ty’s eyes strayed to the stage, then back to Zane. He didn’t look all that shocked. There was a bang from the back and a curtain behind the bar wavered.

A dark-haired woman poked her head out to call, “We’re all closed up now. Try Bourbon Street.” She disappeared behind the curtain again.

Ty and Zane both stared at the curtain before sharing a glance. “It was you,” Zane whispered again, still rocked to his very foundations by the revelation.

“It couldn’t be. You said it was your anniversary. I wasn’t here yet in July.”

“It was for our anniversary. We came in December because it was easier.”

Ty stood motionless, eyes on Zane for a long moment before he glanced back at the curtain. It wasn’t but a few seconds before the curtain swayed again, and the woman shoved it aside as she stepped out. She was on the shorter side, with long hair so black it was almost blue in the smoky haze. A fluffy white feather was tucked behind her ear, and on closer inspection, several more feathers of various colors appeared to be part of her hair too.

Her dark eyes were lined in kohl, masking their real color, and it was hard to tell in the dim light but she seemed exotic in a way, like there may have been Native American blood in her. She was athletic and curvy, certainly Ty’s type, wearing black pants that hugged her hips and a laced corset for a top. Her body was tense as she stared at them.

Zane glanced from Ty to her and back. She was surprised, that was clear, which told Zane she wasn’t behind the hex Ty was sure had been put on him.

“Tyler Beaumont,” she said.

“Hello, Ava,” Ty responded. Zane knew he was nowhere near as calm as he sounded.

She moved suddenly, vaulting over the bar and running toward him. Zane almost moved to block her, but Ty didn’t flinch as she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He grunted in pain, stumbling beneath her weight as she hugged him.

She let him go and slid her feet to the floor, then smacked Ty with an oath that sounded like mangled French. When she pulled back for another smack, Zane reached out and caught her wrist midair. Ty’s guilty conscience may have been willing to stand there and take it, but there was a limit to how much Zane would allow, even if he did want to do the same right now.

She yanked her hand out of Zane’s grasp and drew a deep breath. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I heard about Murdoch,” Ty told her, remarkably calm in the face of her temper.

She glared at Zane, her eyes raking him up and down.

“This is my partner, Zane Garrett.”

“You’re a Fed too?” she spat at Zane.

It was sort of a bullshit question, but she was obviously rattled by Ty showing up out of thin air. Zane tipped his head and raised one eyebrow in silent confirmation, if not a subtle dare to comment about it, before looking her over in return, checking for obvious weapons.

“Zane, this is Ava Gaudet. Ava, we need your help.”

“Right,” she said with obvious disdain. She turned her dark eyes back to Ty. “You need my help. Like you needed my help before?”

Ty narrowed his eyes before letting them stray to meet Zane’s. He shook his head. “This was a waste of time,” he said to Zane. He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Zane was perfectly willing to let any of Ty’s old flames carry on without them, so he nodded and took a slow step back. He didn’t see any knives on Ava, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Or more.

Ty turned to go, showing no compunctions about exposing his back to the woman.

She sighed loudly and held up her hand. “Wait. What do you want from me?”

Ty studied her briefly before digging into his pocket and pulling out the small red bag he’d been carrying. Zane didn’t know how he’d retrieved it from the police station, but he’d obviously thought it a priority as he and Liam had escaped. He held it up and let it drop, holding it between two fingers by its cord.

Ava gasped and took an involuntary step back, running into Zane. He steadied her with a hand on each arm. “Well, I guess that answers that.”

“Is that like the one the cops said they found on Murdoch? Where did you get that?” Ava asked Ty, sounding as if she’d forgotten how angry she was.

“It was under my mattress,” Ty answered through gritted teeth.

She glanced between them. “Well, I didn’t do it! I didn’t even know you were in town.”

“We need a place to lay low. There are seven of us. People are after us, and so are the police.”

“Feet pue tan!” she shouted.

Ty cleared his throat, looking at Zane wryly. “She just called me a goddamned son of a bitch.”

“I like her,” Zane responded.

“You need my help? You don’t need my help, you need an army!” She shooed Ty toward the door. “I want no part in whatever you’re doing.”

“A girl was murdered last night,” Ty hissed.

“That is not my problem!” Ava shoved him toward the door, both hands on his chest. He didn’t budge, and she couldn’t make him.

“She looked like you,” Ty said loudly. He held up the bag. “She had one of these.”

Ava was breathing hard, but she stepped back and stared at the bag, then glanced over her shoulder at Zane. She looked genuinely frightened. “You think they meant to kill me?”

“Yes. The police think I killed her and Murdoch. My name was in these bags.”

“You’re being set up.”

Ty nodded. “And you know the only person who could possibly have known I was in town.”

Ava licked her lips. “Daddy.”

Ty quirked an eyebrow.

“Whoa, wait, Daddy?” Zane blurted.

Ty and Ava both nodded. Ava put a hand over her mouth.

“Now,” Ty said almost gently. “We need a place to stay for the night. They’ll never look here. Are the rooms upstairs empty?”

“Yeah,” Ava whispered. She put a hand on her hip and lowered her head like she was trying to catch her breath.

Ty met Zane’s eyes. “Call them. Let them know how to get here.”

Zane took out his phone, glancing between them as he dialed. He couldn’t wait to hear the rest of this story.

“Can you tell me about this bag?” Ty asked Ava.

Ava glowered at Ty mutinously for a few moments, then dropped her hands and gave a curt nod. “Dump it on the table. I’ll get some drinks.”

She turned on her heel and stalked back to the curtained doorway behind the bar as Zane spoke with Owen. They were the only two who had retained their phones. Once he hung up, he stared at Ty until the man met his eyes.

“Her father was my case when I was here,” Ty told him. “He’s the 8th District Police Commander. He’s dirty as all hell.”

Zane felt his blood run cold. “When you said you left a pissed off Cajun daddy down here . . .”

“I meant it. I never knew if he figured out I was his problem or not. Now I know. He probably caught wind of me when we hit the airport. We’ve been dead men walking ever since we got here.”