Gage (Texas Boudreau Brotherhood #16)

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

D awn had painted the sky with brilliant colors, deep purples giving way to yellows and oranges and blush pink. Gage knew, because he’d been awake and saw it from his balcony. Early morning rising meant a craving for hot coffee and something sweet. Being this was New Orleans, he figured he’d head for Café DuMonde and get a café au lait fix and couple powdered sugar-coated beignets.

Shrugging on a dark black hoodie over his black T-shirt, he made sure his blade was secure in his custom-made ankle sheath and his Glock tucked into a holster in the small of his back. He doubted he’d need either, but he felt naked without them. Tucking his cellphone into his pocket, he headed for the door, stopping at the loud knock.

An older man with gray hair pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck stood in the entryway. Though he’d never met the man before, something about him seemed familiar, though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Awfully early to be pounding on someone’s door don’t you think?”

“Figured you’d be awake. Never met an Agency man who slept passed dawn.” The man’s lips curled upward at the shock that rocked through Gage.

Agency man? How does this guy know anything about me, especially who I work for? Other than my direct supervisor, nobody except the Boudreaus knows I work for the CIA. Or I use to. Now I only do special assignments, and I’ve got the option of saying no.

“Who are you?” Gage’s question was gruff. It was too early to be playing games of twenty questions and he hadn’t had any caffeine yet.

“Gator Boudreau.”

“Douglas’ brother?” Gage had heard stories about Etienne “Gator” Boudreau, both from Douglas as well as from others at the CIA. Gator was a bit of a legend at the Agency, someone who managed to stay beneath the radar on every job he worked. Most people outside the Agency and immediate family had no idea Gator had worked on some of the most important cases in U.S. history. He was considered what was commonly termed a spook, invisible and oftentimes deadly.

“Douglas and Hank are my little brothers. You’re one of Douglas and Patricia’s Lost Boys, right?” The corner of Gator’s lips curved upward the tiniest bit. “Heard through the grapevine you were in New Orleans. Working a case?”

Gage motioned him inside. Didn’t need to be airing all his business in the hallway. “Nothing related to official business. A friend called, asking for a favor. Since I owe him, I couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Hmm. Wouldn’t have anything to do with Suzanna Dawkins showing up in a bar in the French Quarter last night would it?”

Good grief, does the man have spies everywhere? I only talked with her less than twelve hours ago.

“What makes you think that?”

Gator simply smiled an enigmatic smile, and sauntered over to sit in the single chair in the sparse hotel room. With an inward shrug, Gage perched on the edge of the mattress, waiting for Gator’s response. The other man appeared completely relaxed, in his faded jeans, a worn pair of steel-toed boots, and an AC/DC T-shirt that had seen better days. If he’d passed the man on the street, he’d never have suspected him to be another other than a fisherman or somebody who lived on the edge of the bayou. Not one of the smartest and most skilled assets the CIA ever produced.

“This is my town, my people. We tend to keep our eyes and ears open for anything that might cause problems in our area. They tell me…things. Like when a murderess graces our city.” His former friendly tone became decidedly colder with each word, and Gage felt their chill straight to his bones.

“I don’t think she murdered anybody. But you’re right, she is why I’m here. That’s the favor I’ve been asked to repay. My friend wants me to help prove Suzanna didn’t kill her husband.”

Gator leaned back in his chair, his gaze studying Gage intently. Gage fought the urge to get up and pace, because the older man’s focused intensity made him antsy. But he’d been trained by the best, and managed to keep his seat. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to score a few brownie points with Gator Boudreau.

“You believe her.”

Gage nodded. “I do. Something about the evidence isn’t adding up. I’ve only just started digging, because I didn’t know anything about the case until last night. I’ve been preoccupied with another case, and hadn’t been following the news in the papers or online.”

Gator snorted a laugh. “You believe anything you read in the papers? I took you to be smarter than that.”

“Nope, but I can gauge the public opinion by what the reporters are feeding them, and they have tossed Suzanna Dawkins to the wolves. I plan on asking Lucas to check with a few of his colleagues in Dallas, try to see if there’s anything they’ve heard that hasn’t made it into the press.”

“Lucas—that’s a smart move. The boy’s got a good head on his shoulders and he’s like a bulldog with a bone when he digs his teeth into a story.”

Gage nodded. “I’ve also spoken to a friend who used to work at the Agency, retired now, but he lives in North Texas. He gave me the name of the detective working the case. He might be a bit of a problem, because he’s planning on riding this case to a promotion.”

“Ah, a glory hound. That’s gonna make things harder. Doubt you’ll get many answers from him.” Gator reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn business card and handed it to Gage. “After you talk to the lead detective, give Jimmy a call. If there’s any dirt to be found, Jimmy’s somebody you want doing a deep dive. He’s fast and he’s discreet.”

Gage looked at the card, seeing simply a phone number in black slashed across the white.

“Thanks.”

“In the meantime, I’d check with the medical examiner that performed the autopsy. See if he found anything suspicious or out of the ordinary.” He paused for a second before adding, “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Newsome, so I’m going to trust your instincts. Let’s go prove Ms. Dawkins didn’t kill her husband.” After dropping that bombshell, Gator stood and headed for the door.

“Let me give you my cellphone number, in case you find anything.”

“Don’t worry, son, I’ve already got it.” Without another word, Gator was gone. Gage stood for a whole minute, looking at the closed hotel door, and pondered the enigma that was Gator Boudreau. He reminded him of his namesake, who’d sneak up on you from the water and pull you under without warning.

“Glad he’s on my side,” he whispered, shaking his head. He definitely needed a large dose of caffeine after this unexpected wake-up chat. Chuckling, he tried to picture a young Douglas Boudreau growing up with a big brother like Gator. Personality-wise, they were total opposites, but he sensed that underneath the veneer of their personalities, they were both men of honor and loyalty, ones you could depend on.

Maybe with Gator working in the background, he might be able to solve this case, and prove Suzanna innocent.

Suzanna hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, tossing and turning after her meeting with Gage Newsome. The mysterious man piqued her curiosity from the minute she laid eyes on him. Dark hair cut short, not quite in a miliary style but it suited his face. The deep blue of his eyes had been almost hypnotic, searching for her every secret. Brandon McKinney said he’d trust Gage with his life. That he was an honorable man. She wasn’t sure yet what she thought about him, if she was being honest with herself. Gage was the kind of man she’d have turned to before she got married. The whole tall, dark, and handsome type had always been her kryptonite. With Gage, there was also that dark edge, the whole bad boy vibe. She grinned. Forget tall, dark, and handsome, Gage Newsome was the epitome of tall, dark, and deadly.

Running the hairbrush through her hair, staring at her reflection, she couldn’t help wondering what he thought of her. Long blonde hair with flowing waves which always gave her a beachy-type style unless she spent long minutes with the flat iron. There weren’t curls, but waves that tended to get frizzy and puff out when the weather got humid. And in Texas that was more often than not. Her eyes were what she considered a dull brown. Sometimes they reflected the light just right and looked more golden or amber colored, but still brown. She knew she was passably attractive, and when she made an extra effort, or had one of the make-up experts working on her for an event, she was actually pretty, but for the most part she’d rather not wear any of it, and pull her hair back in a ponytail. A good day was working in the garden, with her hands deep in the rich black soil or riding her horse, Jezebel.

Will I ever do any of those things again? I’d give anything to go back in time six months and change everything .

“Stop it. You can’t change the past. Work with Gage, uncover the facts, and prove you didn’t kill Steven.”

Even giving herself the little pep talk didn’t help, but she knew what would. Talking to her best friend, Allison. Grabbing her cellphone from the nightstand beside the bed, she quickly hit the speed dial.

“Hey, Ally.”

“Morning, girlfriend. What’s got you calling so early?”

“Just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Uh oh. Sounds like things didn’t go well last night. Weren’t you meeting with the guy who’s supposed to help you prove you didn’t kill Steven?”

“I did.” Suzanna chewed on the edge of her index finger. “He wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

“Do tell. What was he like?”

“Moody. Broody. He had a bad boy aura, but Brandon swears he’s one of the good ones.”

“Bad boy type, hmm. Tell me, was he delicious looking? All leather and stubble? Because I can be in New Orleans in about six hours, girl.” Ally’s laughter spilled forth, and just like that Suzanna’s spirit lightened.

“Yes on the leather and the stubble. Dark hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He said he’d help me. I almost didn’t expect him to, because he was a bit—distant—at least in the beginning. I have the feeling he’s not the kind to give up. I don’t want to get my hopes up, because nobody’s been able to find anything to clear my name, but Gage seems—I don’t know—different somehow.”

“But he said he’ll help? I just wish I could do more, but I’m halfway across the country right now. These clients are impossible, can’t make up their minds on any one style. As soon as the wife chooses a fabric or a wallpaper design, the husband vetoes it and vice versa. I swear if they don’t make up their minds soon, I’m going to paint every wall in their house bright Barbie pink with orange stripes and put in black carpet. And their fighting? I swear they think I’m their marriage counsellor, and trust me these two need professional help. But say the word, and I’ll head back to Dallas in a heartbeat.”

Tears filled Suzanna’s eyes and she fought them back. She adored Ally, they’d become fast friends from the moment they met. Steven had hired Ally to help Suzanna redecorate their five thousand square foot apartment in Dallas after they got married. They’d spent weeks redoing the entire space, making it elegant yet comfortable. Instead of a corporate apartment, which it had been before Steven and she married, it became a home.

“Stay where you are. This job is important. You know it and I know it too. This contract could put you in the stratosphere of exclusive designer to the stars. All the rich and famous will be clamoring for you to redo their homes.”

“From your mouth to you-know-who’s ears. I’m just wondering if it’s worth all the headaches.”

Suzanna had to bite her tongue to keep from answering. She knew all too well what it was like to get everything you’ve ever wanted handed to you. Turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing. At least for her. The one silver lining in her fairy tale had been Steven. If not for him, she’d have turned her back on everything and walked away a long time ago.

“We’ll celebrate when you get back to Dallas. Hopefully by then we’ll both have something worth breaking out the bubbly for.”

“That’s a promise. I swear I’m going to have Mister I’m-too-busy-to-pick-out-flooring make a decision this morning if it kills me. Honestly, we’ve gone through sixteen different options. Sixteen! We’ve finally narrowed it down to three. Please, for the love of all things marble, let him make a choice.”

Suzanna smiled at her friend’s over-the-top attitude. Ally was the best, always raising her spirits when she’d been in the dumps. She deserved all the accolades and recognition she was finally achieving. Even if it meant dealing with an aging soap opera star and his brand new, much younger, bride.

“You’ve got this. I’ll let you go, since I know it’s way too early there in California and you need to get your elixir of life or you’ll explode.”

“As, yes, caffeine is my best friend—aside from you that is. Listen, Suzanna, I’m serious, if you need me, I’m just a call away.”

“Which is how I know you’re my bestie. I thought I’d spend today in New Orleans, seeing the sights, maybe take a ghost tour or something later tonight, before heading back to Dallas tomorrow. I figured one day away from the paparazzi and gossipmongers is only fair, don’t you?”

“Great idea. Do the whole tourist act. Stroll among the artists. Eat some amazing food at the local restaurants. Oh, go to Café Du Monde and drink some café au lait and eat beignets. Get powdered sugar all over you. That is definitely something a tourist would do on their first visit to New Orleans.”

Suzanna couldn’t stop her grin at Ally’s excitement. Oh, how she wished her friend was with her. Ever since Steven’s death, she’d felt so alone. Even when surrounded by his business associates, lawyers, and so-called friends, she felt a loneliness deep inside that never seemed to go away.

“I’ll do that. In the meantime, try to catch another couple hours sleep if you can. I’ll talk to you later, and you can tell me all about Mr. Big Shot and his wife.”

“Deal. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Disconnecting the call, Suzanna perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the cellphone. She’d promised herself one day of doing nothing but enjoying being alive and free and in a new place. Instead, she felt adrift, not sure where to go or who she could turn to. It seemed like her life was a never-ending cycle of accusations and sorrow.

“I can do this,” she whispered, standing and grabbing her small cross-body bag. It was small enough to hold her cellphone, credit cards and ID. She rarely carried cash, preferring to use her credit or debit cards to pay for everything. Blowing out a deep breath, she opened the door, freezing at the sight of a man wearing a ski mask standing in the doorway.

Holding a wicked-looking gun.