Page 18 of Walking the Edge

His broad palm displayed the hasp of the dead-bolt lock. The one that used to be attached to her door. He ran his other hand over the splintered wood. “You’re going to have to replace this whole door.”

“I’ll call the landlord in the morning.” But what about tonight? She rubbed her charm back and forth on the chain. Something heavy pushed against the jamb would hold the door closed, and she scanned the room.

Her brother’s junk littered the floor. The framed reproductions hung askew, and her prized Jazz Fest poster jutted up from the baseboard, the glass a spiderweb of cracks. She toed the rug out of the way and tossed her shawl on the couch to tug the big overstuffed armchair toward the door.

“Move.” Mitch shooed her away, lifting and setting the recliner into place as if he worked out with chairs instead of barbells.

“Thanks.” Did he show off his strength for intimidation purposes? “But you could have asked where I wanted it.”

“That’s the only logical place.” He turned around, bringing his face close enough she could see his dark eyes were actually the color of raw honey. Golden-brown eyes that currently scrutinized her as if she were a bug. What did he see? Why did she care?

She had to care. Mitch could be dangerous. To her. To Les. To their very future. “Have I got mud on my face?”

Firm fingers caught her chin and tipped her face to the light. Heat flooded from the point of connection, and her eyelids drifted lower. She jerked her eyes wide and almost put both hands on his chest to shove him away. But that would only wreak more havoc on her libido than the finger-to-chin move.

“The splinter from the door nicked you. Go wash the cut. Use alcohol.”

She ground her teeth. “I’ll get to it later.” After I get rid of you.

He could leave anytime. Her nerves no longer ran rampant, and she needed to be doing other things. But something other than the mess the burglar left seemed wrong. “Where’s Tiger?”

“I told you there’s no one else here.”

“My kitten.” She knelt to look under the couch. No scared orange tabby hissed at her. She called from the bedroom doorway. Hadn’t the back door been standing open? She scowled at Mitch. “Did you let her out?”

“I didn’t see a cat. I was chasing the gunman.”

And leaving the screen unlatched. The beads clanked behind her, and Mitch trailed her outside with a flashlight.

“Tiger? Kitty?” Come on, please. She searched behind the planters and between the shrubs in the garden.

The rear apartment door opened, and Rhonda came into the patio with her Boston terrier. “Was that your brother I saw at your place?”

Cath kept the wandering dog in sight in case he discovered Tiger. “We don’t think so.”

“We?”

Mitch came out of the side alley, and Cath waved her hand vaguely. “This is Mitch.”

“What a nice name.” Rhonda raised her eyebrows and cocked a hip. “You’re another of Cath’s cus—”

“No.” Cath cut off her friend before she could say anything about the bathrobe joke. Mitch would misunderstand, and she didn’t want to pique his curiosity. “He’s not. Have you seen my kitten?”

“She’s out?” Rhonda looked around.

“I don’t know where she is. If you or your puppy dog find her, will you call me?” Cath opened her screen door.

Her friend waggled her fingers at Mitch. “Come back anytime.”

First, he had to leave, but she’d wait for her snarky neighbor to go inside. In the meantime, she’d thank Mitch so they’d be even again. Mostly. You owe him nothing. He followed you home. “You took a big chance coming in here after the gunman.”

“I’ve cleared a lot of buildings before.”

Bounty hunters didn’t have to do that, did they? “It was still very brave of you. I appreciate your help tonight, but—”

A faint feline cry drifted from the front room. She dashed in there, scooped up her baby, and carried Tiger back to the kitchen. “You want some supper, sweetie?”

She set food down. “Can you believe that? She was inside all the time.”

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