Knight Errant Read online

  One moment passed, then another, and Nicholas didn’t move. Finally he raised his head to stare down at her. “Are you all right?”

  Wide-eyed, she nodded, then raised her hand to his face. “Are you?”

  He didn’t pull away, but closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against her palm. He gave her only a moment to savor the sensation, and then he was kissing her, his mouth hard, hungry and desperate on hers. He kissed her as if he might crawl deep inside her, as if he might imprint himself on her soul, as if the kiss might somehow save them both. It was exactly what she needed to calm her nerves, to warm the chill of fear that had swept over her. It was exactly what she needed to give her hope.

  Too soon he pulled away, lifting himself off her, rising easily to his feet. For a moment he looked numb as he gazed around the room. Lainie stood up, too, dusting her clothes. Her first look around made her whisper. “Oh my God.”

  The bar was pretty much destroyed. Tables were splintered, legs shot off, chairs broken into pieces. Not one of the shutters or the French doors remained intact. Fragments of wood hung where the hinges attached to the wall, but the rest of the doors lay in pieces on the floor. The shelves behind the bar that had held rows of glasses and bottles of liquor were littered with glass shards, and a thin stream of whiskey dripped from one to puddle on the counter below. The space where they had lain was the only bit of floor that wasn’t littered with chunks, shards and slivers of glass, making her curse the fact that she’d come downstairs barefoot.

  Turning to Nicholas, she saw the blood that spotted his T-shirt and automatically reached out. It wasn’t his, though. Her hand was marked with a half-dozen little cuts from the shattering beer bottle. When she’d tucked it between the his shirt had absorbed the blood.

  He still looked dazed, but anger was seeping into his eyes and the harsh set of his mouth. He turned in a slow circle taking in all the damage, no doubt considering the damage those hundreds of bullets could have done to them. By the time he faced her again, there was nothing in his face but icy rage. “No more.” The words were soft, no more than a whisper, followed by such volume, such intensity, that she flinched. “No more, damn it!”

  Spinning around, he headed for the hall. Lainie stared after him, studied the heavy layer of glass and wood on the floor, then crossed it anyway. Safe in the hallway, she stopped to pull a shard of glass from each foot, then, ignoring the blood, rushed to the stairs. Halfway up, she me Nicholas on his way back down. Deadly determination marked his face, and her gun was in his hand.

  “Nicholas, wait—”

  He pushed her aside and was in the hall below before she caught her balance. Swearing, she raced upstairs shoved her feet into the first pair of shoes she came to grabbed her credentials from the drawer he’d left open, then took the stairs three at a time. When she rounded the corner into the bar, she was relieved to see a tall figure in jeans and a T-shirt standing in one door, but her relief drained away when she realized it wasn’t Nicholas.

  “What the hell happened here?” Jamey demanded. Reid was right behind him, and across the street on the sidewalk she could see Karen and Cassie huddled together with nearby neighbors.

  “Jimmy tried to make good on his threat against Nich olas. Did you see him?”

  “Jimmy?”

  “Nicholas.”

  Jamey shook his head. “I figured he was in here.”

  Shoving the credentials into her pocket, she pushed pas him and onto the sidewalk, staring down the street. Except for a few curious faces, it was empty. There was no sign of Nicholas. Trying to ignore the knot of fear in her chest, she returned to the bar, where she found the phone in pieces. In frustration, she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes for a moment, dropping them away only when Jamey’s and Reid’s footsteps came close. “I need one of you to call Smith Kendricks or Remy Sinclair. Tell him Jimmy tried to kill Nicholas and—” She broke off, wet her lips, then finished. “Tell him that I think Nicholas is going to kill Jimmy.”

  It was three-fifteen in the morning. The police had come and gone, more than willing to relinquish a middle-of-the-night investigation on Serenity Street to the federal authorities. Only one New Orleans officer, Michael Bennett, had stayed, in part because he’d conducted more than his share of investigations into Falcone and knew as much about him as the feds and in part because of his friendship with Kendricks and Sinclair. While the evidence had been photographed, studied and gathered, at the table in the back hallway Lainie had been questioned to the point that she felt more like a subject than one of their own who had been a witness to—and practically a victim of—a violent crime. Of course, she wasn’t one of them anymore. That had changed the first time Nicholas had kissed her.

  Now they were all gone. Jamey and Reid had boarded the gaping doors with plywood from Karen’s shed before going home. Jamey had asked her to spend the night at Kathy’s House, but she’d refused. The other agents were all going out looking for Nicholas—an assignment from which she’d been pointedly excluded—but she would wait here in case he came back. In case he changed his mind. In case he didn’t kill Jimmy.

  She was so worried, so scared and tired. Sliding her chair back was a major effort. Standing up required pushing against the table—the one intact table in the place. If she could drag herself upstairs, she was going to collapse face forward across the bed, but she wouldn’t sleep. Not tonight. Not as long as Nicholas was out there somewhere with her gun.

  She was approaching the kitchen door when a tall man in a windbreaker stepped out. For an instant she panicked, then gave a nervous little laugh. Everyone here tonight, with the exception of Smith and herself, had worn navy nylon raid jackets. She’d left her own back in Atlanta. “My gosh, you scared me. I thought everyone had gone.”

  Then she remembered that the raid jackets were stamped FBI in gold on both sleeves and on the back, with the letters or a gold badge on the left breast. This man’s jacket was just plain navy. Her smile faded, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and alarm rocketed through her.

  He brought his left hand into view. The gun he held was pointed directly at her middle. “Would you come with me, Ms. Farrell?” He sounded so polite, so businesslike. If she refused, would he politely drag her out of here? If she tried to run, would shooting her in the back be just business?

  She didn’t have the option to refuse or the energy to resist. Instead she offered a smile and a mock-pleasant response. “Why, of course. How could I possibly refuse such a gracious invitation?”

  So many years of being watched by the government and by Jimmy’s own people had taught Nicholas a lot about moving around undetected. His clandestine meetings with Jolie five years ago had been easy to arrange, at least until, through Kendricks, the FBI had gotten involved. At the final meeting, Shawna Warren had led Falcone’s men right to him, and he had barely escaped with his life.

  He knew enough about the way the FBI did business to know that they were looking for him now. Ostensibly they wanted to stop him before he got to Jimmy. In all honesty, though, none of them would give a damn if he blew Jimmy’s brains out in the most public of executions. They just wanted to be there to arrest him when it was done. It would look good in the papers, solving the murder of a major mob boss in record time. That it was Falcone who had died would be the icing on the publicity cake.

  They didn’t need to worry. If Nicholas survived to walk away—which was doubtful, considering that Jimmy was always surrounded by heavily armed men whose loyalty was bought and paid for—he would turn himself in. He didn’t mind going back to prison. Living a long life on Serenity with Lainie would be his first choice, but knowing that she was safe, that she would never go through another incident like last night because of him, that she would never again be hurt, frightened, or damn near killed because of him, made a pretty good second choice.

  The best way to ensure her safety was to remove the threat. That was why he’d spent the last hour standing in the corner of this shop, wat
ching the street out front. The place was barely eight feet wide and maybe three times as long. Heavy brocade drapes hung at the windows and strings of beads dangled from above the door. The door was propped open with a brick, but what little fresh air it let in couldn’t compete with the sickly sweet scents of incense that burned constantly on the table and permeated even the wood.

  The shop belonged to a reader, an old crone dressed in a ragbag version of gypsy-style clothes who billed herself as Madame Helen. Promising answers to questions about love, life, money and the future, she claimed to know all and see all—and, for a price, she would tell all. For twenty bucks and no curiosity, she’d rented him this small corner, then settled into a ratty old recliner and fallen asleep.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock. Provided his routine hadn’t changed in the last five years, any minute now, Jimmy’s limo would come around the corner and pull to a stop in front of the restaurant across the street. Jimmy and three or four of his bodyguards would go inside through the private side entrance while the driver went off to wait in a nearby lot, always prepared for a quick getaway. Since his routine hadn’t changed in the ten years Nicholas had worked for him, there was no reason to think it had since.

  The limo appeared, and Nicholas headed for the back of the shop. It took him more than twenty minutes to make his way unseen through the courtyard behind Madame Helen’s shop to the back door, marked Employees Only, of the restaurant, but he didn’t worry about the time. Jimmy was a man of habit, and habit made lunch a drawn-out affair. He usually discussed business over appetizers and multiple courses before finishing with dessert. The whole event took two hours, sometimes longer.

  No one in the kitchen noticed him as he slipped through, though in jeans, a bloodstained T-shirt and the black leather jacket he’d bought off some kid last night—needed to hide the gun in his waistband—he definitely stood out. Sliding his hand underneath the jacket and wrapping his fingers around the grips, he made his way out of the kitchen and from one dining room to the next.

  Jimmy favored the dining room in the distant corner of the building. The private entrance opened into a hall just this side of the room so he could enter and leave without notice. The central table was large enough to seat everyone he chose to invite, with small booths in the corners where additional guests could sit—or where bodyguards could watch those they were guarding without necessarily being privy to what was said. The arched doorway leading into the room was broad enough for comfort, but narrow enough that two men could easily block it. There were two men there now, faces he didn’t recognize, but they certainly recognized him. The speed with which their hands went to the guns underneath their suit coats was proof of that.

  He shoved past both men before they got their weapons drawn, took up a place directly across the table from Jimmy and pulled out Lainie’s gun, pointing it at the old man.

  Jimmy lifted a bite of salad to his mouth and slowly chewed it, his gaze never leaving Nicholas’s. After washing it down with wine, he stabbed another forkful, then said, “Nice to see you again, Nicholas. I would invite you to join us, but it seems there’s no room.”

  He laughed at his own joke, as there was plenty of room. Fewer than half the chairs were filled. Today was no business lunch. There was only Jimmy, Vince Cortese on his left and the lawyer who had replaced Nicholas on his right. A couple of men were seated at the booth off to the left, and Vinnie Marino and Trevor Morgan stood off to Nicholas’s right. Protecting the boss was a step up from the intimidation or drug running they usually handled.

  “You look a little put out, Nicholas. You have some trouble at that dive where you work?”

  “I hear Jamey plans to do some redecorating.” The remark and the laughter that accompanied it came from Vince.

  “What a coincidence,” Nicholas said dryly. “They’ll be doing some redecorating here, too, after today.”

  Jimmy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Before this goes any further and you do something you can’t back down from, maybe you should take a closer look at my dining companions. Alex?”

  Over in the corner, one of the men rose from the booth and dragged a figure out behind him. He was so big and she was so slim that Nicholas hadn’t even realized she was there. Upon seeing her, he felt sick all the way through his soul. When Alex, still chewing on a crust of bread, raised a gun to her temple, Nicholas died a little inside.

  At Jimmy’s impatient gesture, Alex pushed her around the table, stopping an arm’s length away from Nicholas, offering a trade—Lainie for the gun. Knowing that it meant Lainie’s death as well as his own, Nicholas handed the pistol over, then caught her as the man shoved her forward. She was trembling uncontrollably when he wrapped his arms around her, and her face was white, her eyes reddened, weariness etched into every pore.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his neck.

  “It’s all right.” Of course it wasn’t. Instead of Lainie living with his death on her conscience, he was going to die with her death on his. Once more, the simple act of loving him was going to cost a woman her life. She had already sacrificed enough for him. Her life was too much.

  “They came to O’Shea’s last night. They had guns.”

  And she’d been unarmed because he’d taken her gun. If only he’d been there... But it wouldn’t have changed anything. He and Lainie would still be in exactly the same situation.

  Jimmy stood up and leaned forward, his hands on the table. “Tell me one thing before Alex takes you away. Why? Why did you betray me? Why did you make this necessary?”

  Still holding Lainie close, Nicholas answered for the first time. “Do you remember a girl named Rena Baker?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so. She worked at a place in Baton Rouge named the Bayou. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “Sure. It was a club I acquired...oh, twenty years ago.”

  “And when the owner told you he wasn’t interested in selling, you changed his mind for him. Rather, you changed his widow’s mind. Your boys shot the place up. They killed him, one of his bartenders, three waitresses and a customer. Rena was one of the waitresses. She wasn’t important to you, but she meant everything to me.” Everything, until he met Lainie. Rena had sent him down his self-destructive path. Lainie had saved him from it.

  For her efforts, she was going to die.

  Jimmy’s reaction was understated. He didn’t express disbelief that anyone could hold a grudge for twenty years. He wasn’t at all surprised that love could drive Nicholas to do all that he’d done. He understood vengeance. “I’m sorry the girl died, but it was just the cost of doing business.” He said it so simply, the way any businessman might talk about expenses and losses. “You were part of my family, Nicholas. I loved you like a son. I’m very sorry you have to die.”

  When he gestured to Alex to take them away, Nicholas protectively moved Lainie to his other side. He had one last chance to get her out of this alive. It was slim, and it might possibly seal her fate, but he had to try. “How did you find out about Lainie?”

  “We saw you together and asked a few questions. Everyone on Serenity seems to know Miss Farrell.”

  “Actually no one on Serenity truly knows her except me. Does she look like an out-of-work waitress who can’t find anything better than a gardening and errand boy’s job on Serenity?” He paused, giving Falcone a chance to study Lainie before going on. “She’s an FBI agent, Jimmy. She was sent here to keep an eye on me.”

  “Sent by whom?”

  Lainie answered, her voice steady if not strong. “Remy Sinclair is the case agent. He and Smith Kendricks came up with the idea. They brought me in from Atlanta because neither you nor Nicholas would know who I was.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She fished in the hip pocket of her jeans, drew out a thin black case and tossed it on the table. It slid to a stop just in front of the salad plate. Jimmy opened it, compared the photograph on the credentials with her face, then close
d it again with a decisive snap. For a long time he didn’t say anything. He was weighing the pros and cons of each option available to him. If Nicholas were on the other side of the table, he would be vehemently advising the old man against doing anything to bring the full wrath and scrutiny of the government down on him, but the lawyer who was over there wasn’t saying a word. He was just looking scared.

  “Whatever else I did, Jimmy, I never gave you bad advice,” Nicholas said quietly. “Last night you almost killed a federal agent. Now you’ve kidnapped her. If anything happens to her, Sinclair is going to camp in your back pocket. You won’t be able to sneeze without him knowing it. Let her go.”

  “And, of course, I’d have to let you go, too.”

  He shook his head. “You let her walk out the door, and I’ll go wherever Alex wants to take me.”

  “If I let her walk out the door, she’ll go straight to the nearest phone and call Sinclair.”

  “Probably. But Alex and I will already be gone. You’ve got plenty of hiding places that they’ve never found. There’ll never be any proof of what happens next.” Beside him, Lainie started to protest, but Nicholas hushed her. Fear widened her pupils until her eyes were nearly black, and she was beginning to tremble again. The only time she’d said she loved him, he had doubted her sincerity, but he didn’t have any doubts now. He didn’t have any doubts about his own love now. Unfortunately it was a little too late.

  It was the story of his life. Too little or too late.

  Across the table, Jimmy reached a decision. As soon as he slid Lainie’s credentials inside the breast pocket of his coat, Nicholas knew it wasn’t the right one. “It’s a simple fact—if I let her go, I can’t kill you. I’ve been waiting a long time to do that, Nicholas. My reputation demands it. Sinclair can suspect all he wants, but there’ll be no proof to tie her disappearance to me. No one saw her leaving Serenity last night with Alex and Mack. No one saw her coming in here with us. I doubt even the waiter could tell you anything about her, but even if he could, he wouldn’t. He’s Vince’s cousin, you know.” He gestured once more as he sat down. “Alex. Go with them, Vinnie.”