Vaughn snagged an empty parking spot on the street several spaces behind the black Nissan Xterra that Marcus had said he was driving. He climbed out of the rental and started down the sidewalk. The narrow, one-way street was still in the French Quarter but far enough away from the insanity on Bourbon that it was dark and quiet. Mostly residential, from the looks of it, with lots of houses butted right up against each other.
He approached the Xterra, and the driver’s side window buzzed down.
“Hey, man,” Marcus said as they clapped hands in greeting. “I didn’t expect you until morning.”
“Caught a lucky break at the airport and jumped on an earlier flight.” He nodded up the street. “Which house is she in?”
“Blue one, end of the block. Number 926. After she went in, I did a bit of recon to make sure she couldn’t sneak out a back door. There is one that lets out into the alley next to the house, but the only exit from the alley is onto this street. She hasn’t left.”
Vaughn studied the shotgun style house. Long and narrow, it had elaborate scrollwork under the eaves and two tall, shuttered doors. The first door was marked 928. The second, 926. “You sure she didn’t spot you?”
“Nah. If she had, she wouldn’t have come home. She’s smart. Sent one of her waitress friends to distract us before she left the bar.”
Yeah, that was smart, and his chest expanded with a completely irrational sense of pride. He viciously squashed it. He was not proud of her. “Didn’t work.”
Marcus raised a brow. “You think so? Do you see Jean-Luc anywhere around here?”
Point taken. Vaughn cracked a smile. “So the Rajin’ Cajun is…uh, handling the distraction.”
“Ha. If that’s what the kids are calling it these days.”
“Sorry for ruining your night,” Vaughn said and meant it.
Marcus lifted a shoulder in a shrug meant to be casual, but there was a whole lot of tension behind it. “This is Jean-Luc’s thing. You know, it’s his way of blowing off steam. Figured I’d tag along just to make sure he didn’t end up some husband’s punching bag, but I wasn’t feeling it. Not after all the shit that went down on our last mission.”
Vaughn had heard HORNET’s last mission had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions. They had exposed corruption in some high up places, but it had nearly cost several members of the team their lives, including Gabe Bristow. “How’s Gabe?”
“He’s awake.” Marcus’s voice cracked a bit, and he cleared his throat. “Gave us a scare, but he’s on the road to recovery. It’s just…gonna be a long one. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll ever walk again.”
“He will,” Vaughn said, his own throat tightening at the thought of his former teammate stuck in a wheelchair for life. But Gabe “Stonewall” Bristow had been one of his best friends on the teams, and he knew the bastard was too stubborn not to walk again.
Marcus nodded, sucked in a breath, and returned his attention to the house. “The woman looks familiar. Feel like I’ve seen her face somewhere before. Is she wanted by the FBI for something?”
“Could be, but this is…personal. She stole something from me, and I want it back.”
Marcus looked at him sharply. “That all?”
Vaughn tried for a shrug. “She’s also an identity thief. I plan to take her back to DC and turn her in for that. Who knows what her other crimes are?”
“All right,” Marcus said after a moment. “Want me to stick around in case she decides to bolt?”
“Nah. I don’t want to monopolize any more of your time.”
“Hey, Jean-Luc has his distractions, and I have mine.”
Vaughn studied the former FBI agent for a long second, then patted the side of the vehicle and backed up a step. “I’ve heard you’re good with a lock. Get me in the front door and you take the alley.”
…
Sage needed to go, to jump on the next bus out of town. She’d head west. Houston or Austin. Or maybe south to Miami. Anywhere but here.
She grabbed her emergency go bag out of the closet and tossed it on her bed, then got down on her hands and knees to retrieve the lockbox from under the bed’s frame. She punched in the combo, flipped the top, and her heart plummeted into her belly.
She didn’t have enough cash.
She sat down hard on the wood floor of her little studio apartment and stared at the small stack of bills. Without counting, she knew there wasn’t enough, but still, she drew it out and separated the bills into neat piles on the floor.
Two thousand dollars.