For once, not knowing the area worked in their favor.
The thin peal of bells rang out, calling to saints and sinners alike. A circus atmosphere pulsed around them—meandering tourists, mimes, artists, street musicians, magicians, living statues painted in silver and gold, palmists and tarot readers selling glimpses of the future.
She looked up at Aiden. Their eyes locked.
He pressed a palm to her cheek and something she couldn’t define shone in his eyes. “Come on.”
Staying there wasn’t an option. With two men canvassing the area—one a cop—they’d eventually be spotted.
They made a break for it, dashing through Jackson Square, around the equestrian statue and past a row of iron benches with dividers. They narrowly avoided a collision with a group of teenage girls who were running up to a row of fortune-tellers.
Aiden looked back. The squeeze of his hand tightening on hers told Charlie what she needed to know. One of the men wasn’t far behind. Or probably, both were close.
There was no outrunning them. No place to hide where they wouldn’t be found.
They had to make a stand.
Surprise would help, but hesitation would be fatal.
On Decatur, they blew by the French Market and ducked into a restaurant.
“Hello,” said the hostess. “How many—”
Aiden pointed toward the back. “We’re meeting people.”
They strode through the restaurant.
At the sound of the hostess’s voice again, Charlie looked to the front. Devlin breezed inside while the other guy went around the building.
Aiden pushed into the kitchen. “We do it here,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
“As good a place as any.” It was great to be on the same page. “Get out now, or you’ll be shot,” Charlie said to the gawking cooking crew. She waved them toward the back door with all the fierceness the Marine Corps had instilled in her.
The cooks scattered and fled.
Aiden switched off the lights, grabbed a steel meat tenderizer from the counter and stood against the wall beside one of the swing doors to the dining room.
The only light in the room came from the small window in the door and the five burners going on the stove.
Charlie’s gaze flew around for something she could use as a weapon. Before she found one, Devlin rushed into the kitchen. His gun with a silencer attached was already drawn and at the ready.
Menace radiated from him as he leveled the 9 mm at her. Aiden sprang from his position, smashing the steel mallet on Devlin’s wrist and knocking the weapon from his grasp.
Charlie grabbed a metal bowl of flour and spun on her heel when the back door flew open and the stocky guy stormed in. She tossed the flour into his face, followed by the bowl. Metal struck flesh with a resounding clang.
In her periphery, Aiden was going blow for blow with Devlin. A flurry of punches and kicks issued back and forth.
Charlie seized a large rolling pin from a workstation and swung it like a bat. The wood smacked into the man’s solar plexus.
A loud grunt whooshed from the guy’s mouth as he doubled over.
She threw another whack to his head. And another. She planned to keep thrashing him until he was either knocked out cold or the rolling pin broke, whichever came first.
The man dropped to the floor like a wet noodle.
Devlin bulldozed into Aiden, lifting him from the floor and hurling him into a shelving unit. Produce went flying, tumbling to the floor.
Landing a wicked left hook, Aiden forced Devlin off him. The two tussled. Aiden got Devlin facedown over the counter, wrenching one of his arms behind his back.
Charlie rushed to help subdue him.
Aiden’s gaze snapped up at her. “No! Stay back,” he said, bringing her to a halt.
It was in that second, maybe two, when Aiden’s focus slipped slightly, that Devlin reared his head up and back, smashing his skull into Aiden’s face. Her partner stumbled, his arms flailing. Devlin spun, throwing an elbow propelled by the momentum of his full weight to Aiden’s head, and was on him like a violent storm.
Charlie surged forward, hoisting the rolling pin high.
Pivoting with his arm extended horizontally, Devlin hit her hard across the cheek. The force of his elbow moving fast ahead of two hundred pounds of mean muscle sent her head twisting around, her body spiraling and knocked to the floor.
Her skull slammed against the cold tile. Her breath left her lungs.
“Charlie!” Aiden cried.
The scuffle between Devlin and Aiden was all she could hear.
Fear mingled with blood. It was bitter and coppery in her mouth. She fought through the haze, needing to move, needing to help Aiden.
Her blurry vision cleared, and Charlie rolled onto her hands and knees. She scrambled to find a gun, scouring the floor, searching under the prep table.
Where did it go?
She made it to her feet, gasped in horror. Devlin had an arm locked around Aiden’s throat, but her partner kicked off the wall, propelling them both into the worktable at the center of the room, sending them crashing to the floor.
Aiden and Devlin were duking it out on the floor, rolling around in a death match. The blows were furious and fast. Aiden flipped him overhead, sending him hurtling against the stove.
As both men stood, Devlin’s back was to Charlie. He reached behind into his jacket, going for the reserve weapon tucked in his waistband.
She snatched the pot of simmering water or broth from the fire and flung the piping hot liquid at him. Devlin howled and spun on her.
But Aiden threw a front kick that sent Devlin pitching to the side over the flames. The sleeve of his lightweight jacket caught fire. With a quick presence of mind, Devlin snatched a pitcher of water and doused the flames with a faint sizzle.
Charlie knocked the gun loose from his hand with the hot pan while he was distracted.
The Beretta clattered to the floor. Aiden grabbed it and leveled the barrel at Devlin, who stood gape-mouthed, manic anger burning in his eyes.
Following Aiden’s hand signal to move toward the door, Charlie backed up and stepped over the unconscious guy sprawled on the floor spread-eagle. She slowed and picked up his suppressed .45 from the corner on the floor.
Devlin glared at them, his upper lip curling over his teeth, his eyes wild and furious. “This isn’t over,” he growled.
“It better be.” Aiden came up beside her and they backed through the door one at a time, her first. “Because if it’s not, I’ll kill you. That’s not a threat. That’s a promise.” He slammed the door shut.
They hustled down the alley behind the restaurant. Aiden scooped up a dirty paper bag from the ground, dumped the contents and stowed the two guns inside.