Read Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux for Free Online Page A

five!”
    Zane began to chuckle. It was Ty’s one true weakness they could exploit, his loyalty to them. He had come every time they’d called, and would continue to do so no matter what.
    Kelly chuckled at Zane’s side as they watched Ty disappear into the bar. They followed after him, and Zane’s mind immediately went to the last time he’d been in New Orleans, to the last time he’d followed someone he loved down one of these streets.

    “Where are you taking us?” Zane asked as his wife led him down a series of alleys in the French Quarter that looked like they should be filled with vampires. Or prostitutes.
    She looked back at him, her eyes sparkling and her hair cascading down her back in waves.
    “I promise you’ll love it.”
    Zane smiled and followed, willing to give anything a chance if it got her this excited. New Orleans was their treat to themselves for their tenth anniversary, and Becky had been looking forward to this for months.
    “It’s this little dive I heard about. They do a sort of comedy burlesque act. It’s supposed to be one of the hidden gems of the French Quarter.”
    “I hate to break it to you honey, but we’re not even in the French Quarter anymore.”
    After another thirty yards, Becky paused at a weathered, wooden door set into a stone wall. They were close to the river, heading past the Market and toward the outskirts of the French Quarter. The carved wooden sign that hung perpendicular from the wall named the pitiful little establishment as La Fée Verte.
    “I think this is it.”
    Zane glanced around and smiled weakly. They were well off the beaten path, the noise of the main thoroughfares dulled by the thick walls and crumbling plaster. “If this isn’t it, we’re going to end the night in jail.”
    “You, hush,” Becky muttered as she pushed through the door.
    Within was a surprisingly large room. It was ill lit and crowded with scarred chairs and tables, most of which were full. The walls were brick stained by age, with patches covered haphazardly by aging plaster and thick baroque fabric. A long bar lined the far wall, and opposite that was a stage with a single microphone stand and heavy, wine-colored curtains.
    There were no windows, and the light in the bar came from antique string lights overhead and sconces along the walls that held real candles flickering within hurricane lamps. Wax dripped onto the tables from many nights of lit candles that had never been cleaned up.
    Zane let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He’d seen worse. Better too. But also worse. “Wow, sweetie, you take me to the nicest places,” he drawled.
    Becky laughed and led him to a table near the middle of the room. There was a folded card with the name Garrett written on it in beautiful calligraphy.
    Zane pulled her chair out for her, then unbuttoned his suit coat and sat.
    She leaned toward him, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “I heard the two performers are incredible. And the rumor is that every Friday and Saturday night, they pick out people from the audience to join them afterward.”
    “Join them?”
    “You know, join them.”
    “Oh. Oh!” Zane laughed and looked around as Becky giggled. “What have you gotten us into?”
    “Oh come on, it’s just a rumor. It’ll be fun,” she said as she slid her hand into his and scooted her chair closer so she could settle against his shoulder.
    A woman came to take their drink order just as a man stepped up onto the stage and took the old-fashioned microphone in his hand. The people around them began to applaud, some of them even whistling and hooting.
    Zane smiled and sat back, willing to try to enjoy the evening for his wife’s sake. The man on stage wore an old-fashioned suit and eyeliner, and his long hair was slicked back to the point that the candlelight reflected off it. He held a bowler hat in his hand, pressed to his chest. Zane cocked his head as he admired the man. He had wide shoulders and compact, hard muscles that