Once he stopped abruptly in the middle of the narrow sidewalk and let a pack of rowdy, inebriated young men eddy around them and then engaged one of the stragglers in conversation as though they were buddies.
After separating from the group and moving on, she asked, “Do we have a destination? Where are you taking me?”
Shaw didn’t answer; she didn’t bother to ask again.
She was well acquainted with the city and the Quarter, so she knew that in addition to quickly crossing streets in the middle of the block and ducking into and out of crowded shops, they were going in circles and doubling back frequently.
Finally she asked, “Are you afraid we’re being followed?”
“Wishful, actually. I’d love nothing better than for Panella to be on our tail.”
“Why?”
“I could take him out and not have to justify my means.”
He wasn’t kidding about that, either.
They walked for another half hour. Either he grew too weak to continue, or he became convinced that no one was following them. He slowed their pace, and, after taking a final look behind them, rounded a corner.
Different from the noisy, commercial streets, this one was dark and quiet. An elderly couple were walking an ancient-looking dog on a leash. Otherwise the street was deserted.
They had almost reached the next corner when Shaw stopped at an iron gate that led into a narrow alley between two brick buildings, both of which were shuttered and dark. Tiny ferns sprouted from cracks in the crumbling mortar.
He worked the combination to open the padlock on the gate, then pushed it open. The hinges squealed. Jordie wondered if perhaps that noise passed for a security system.
Once they were through the gate, Shaw reached between the pickets and replaced the padlock, then took her hand and led her down the alley, which wasn’t much wider than his shoulders. The stepping-stones were loose and uneven, slippery with moss.
The alley opened into a walled courtyard dominated by a live oak tree that formed a canopy over the area. What at one time must have been a lovely garden was now derelict. The vines clinging to the enclosing walls were either overgrown or dead. The cherub in the center of the concrete fountain was missing an arm, and she seemed to be looking forlornly into the stagnant water in the basin at her feet.
Shaw climbed a metal staircase affixed to the building’s exterior wall, pulling Jordie behind him. At the top, he worked loose a brick from the adjacent wall, took out a key and unlocked the door, then guided her into the enveloping darkness inside. He closed the door before switching on the light.
He tossed the key onto the top of a bookshelf then crossed to a window-mounted AC unit and turned it on. “I haven’t been here in a few days, so it’ll take a while to cool down.”
Jordie looked around in wonder. The living area in which they stood shared an open space with a compact kitchen, an eating bar separating the two. A door on her left led into what was obviously a bedroom. The apartment was inexpensively but comfortably furnished, the pieces arranged to maximize the limited floor space.
After taking a long look around, she came back to him. “You live here?”
“No. An apartment in Atlanta is my permanent residence. If you can call it that. I’m rarely there.”
“Then…?” She raised her hands to her sides and looked at him inquiringly.
“This belonged to my folks. They bought it cheap years ago. We stayed here whenever we came down to visit my grandparents. Mom liked the French Quarter.”
“Does anyone live downstairs?”
“Not anymore. A bachelor leased it from my parents for a while, but when he moved away, they—” He shut down as though a switch had been flipped. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. If it didn’t matter you wouldn’t have kept the place all this time.”
Shaw turned away before she detected just how accurate she was. “I’ll be back.” At the bedroom door, he paused. “Don’t even think about skipping out.”
He went through the bedroom into the bathroom. Using liquid soap and the hottest water he could stand, he scrubbed Hickam’s blood off his hands, trying not to dwell on the amount of it he’d seen pumping out of him.
When the water in the sink ran clear, he dried his hands, peeled back the bandage to check his incision, then returned to the living room. Jordie had removed the t-shirt, beads, and bulletproof vest and piled them in a chair. Otherwise, she was standing precisely where she’d been, looking around in bewilderment.
“What?” he said.
“You’re full of surprises. That’s all.”